Jim Butcher - White Night

M any things are not as they seem: The worst things in life never are.

I pulled my battle-scarred, multicolored old Volkswagen Beetle up in front of a run-down Chicago apartment building, not five blocks from my own rented basement apartment. Usually, by the time the cops call me, things are pretty frantic; theres at least one corpse, several cars, a lot of flashing blue lights, yellow-and-black tape, and members of the pressor at least the promise of the imminent arrival of same.

This crime scene was completely quiet. I saw no marked police cars, and only one ambulance, parked, its lights off. A young mother went by, one child in a stroller, the other toddling along holding Mommys hand. An elderly man walked a Labrador retriever past my car. No one was standing around and gawking or otherwise doing anything at all out of the ordinary.

Odd.

A creepy shiver danced over the nape of my neck, even though it was the middle of a sunny May afternoon. Normally, I didnt start getting wigged out until Id seen at least one nightmarish thing doing something graphic and murderous.

I put it down to the paranoia of advancing age. It isnt like Im all that old or anything, especially for a wizard, but age is always advancing and Im fairly sure its up to no good.

I parked the Blue Beetle and headed into the apartment building. I went up several flights of stairs that needed their old tile replaced, or at least scrubbed and shined. I left them to find a hallway carpeted in a low, grey-blue pile that had been crushed down to shiny smoothness in the middle. The apartment doors were battered, old, but made of thick oak. I found Murphy waiting for me.

At five feet and small change, a hundred and not much, she didnt exactly look like a tough Chicago cop who could face down monsters and maniacs with equal nerve. Chicks like that arent supposed to be blond or have a cute nose. Sometimes I think Murphy became that tough cop she didnt look like purely for the sake of contrarinessno amount of sparkling blue eyes or seeming harmlessness could hide the steel in her nature. She gave me her were-at-work nod, and a terse greeting. Dresden.

Lieutenant Murphy, I drawled, with an elaborate bow and flourish of one hand, deliberately at odds with her brusque demeanor. I wasnt doing it out of pure contrariness. Im not like that. I am dazzled by your presence once more.

I expected a snort of derision. Instead, she gave me a polite, brittle little smile and corrected me in a gentle tone: Sergeant Murphy.

Open mouth, insert foot. Way to go, Harry. The opening credits arent done rolling on this case, and youve already reminded Murphy of what it cost her to be your friend and ally.

Murphy had been a detective lieutenant, and in charge of Special Investigations. SI was Chicago PDs answer to problems that didnt fall within the boundaries of normal. If a vampire slaughtered a transient, if a ghoul killed a graveyard watchman, or if a faerie cursed someones hair to start growing in instead of out, someone had to examine it. Someone had to look into it and reassure the government and the citizenry that everything was normal. It was a thankless job, but SI handled it through sheer guts and tenacity and sneakiness and by occasionally calling in Wizard Harry Dresden to give them a hand.

Her bosses got real upset about her abandoning her duties in a time of crisis, while she helped me on a case. Shed already been exiled to professional Siberia, by being put in charge of SI. By taking away the rank and status she had worked her ass off to earn, they had humiliated her, and dealt a dreadful blow to her pride and her sense of self-worth.

Sergeant, I said, sighing. Sorry, Murph. I forgot.

She shrugged a shoulder. Dont worry about it. I forget sometimes, too. When I answer the phone at work, mostly.

Still. I should be less stupid.

We all think that, Harry, Murphy said, and thumped me lightly on the biceps with one fist. But no one blames you.

Thats real big of you, Mini Mouse, I replied.

She snorted and rang for the elevator. On the way up, I asked her, Its a lot quieter than most crime scenes, isnt it?