Shiro waited until Sanya was gone before he set the platter down on a card table. My stomach went berserk at the sight of the sandwiches. Heavy exertion coupled with insane fear does that to me. Shiro gestured at the plate and pulled up a couple of folding chairs. I sat down, nabbed a sandwich of my own, and started eating. Turkey and cheese. Heaven.
The old Knight took a sandwich of his own, and ate with what appeared to be a similar appetite. We munched for a while in contented silence before he said, "Sanya told you about his beliefs."
I felt the corners of my mouth start to twinge as another smile threatened. "Yeah."
Shiro let out a pleased snort. "Sanya is a good man."
"I just don’t get why he’d be recruited as a Knight of the Cross."
Shiro looked at me over the glasses, chewing. After a while, he said, "Man sees faces. Sees skin. Flags. Membership lists. Files." He took another large bite, ate it, and said, "God sees hearts."
"If you say so," I said.
He didn’t answer. Right about the time I finished my sandwich, Shiro said, "You are looking for the Shroud."
"That’s confidential," I said.
"If you say so," he said, using my own inflection on the words. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you looking for it?" he asked, chewing.
"If I am—and I’m not saying that I am—I’m doing it because I’ve been hired to look for it."
"Your job," he said.
"Yeah."
"You do it for money," he said.
"Yeah."
"Hmph," he said, and pushed his glasses up with his pinky. "Do you love money then, Mister Dresden?"
I picked up a napkin from one side of the platter, and wiped my mouth. "I used to think I loved it. But now I realize that it’s just dependency."
Shiro let out an explosive bark of laughter, and rose, chortling. "Sandwich okay?"
"Super."
Michael came in a few minutes later, his face troubled. There wasn’t a clock in the room, but it had to have been well after midnight. I supposed if I had called Charity Carpenter that late, I’d be troubled after the conversation, too. She was ferocious where her husband’s safety was concerned—especially when she heard that I was around. Okay, admittedly Michael had gotten pretty thoroughly battered whenever he came along on a case with me, but all the same I didn’t think it was fair of her. It wasn’t like I did it on purpose.
"Charity wasn’t happy?" I asked.
Michael shook his head. "She’s worried. Is there a sandwich left?"
There were a couple. Michael took one and I took a second one, just to keep him company. While we ate, Shiro got out his sword and a cleaning kit, and started wiping down the blade with a soft cloth and some kind of oil.
"Harry," Michael said finally. "I have to ask you for something. It’s very difficult. And it’s something that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t even consider doing."
"Name it," I said between chews. At the time, I meant it literally. Michael had risked his life for me more than once. His family had been endangered the last time around, and I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask something unreasonable. "Just name it. I owe you."
Michael nodded. Then looked at me steadily and said, "Get out of this business, Harry. Get out of town for a few days. Or stay home. But get out of it, please."
I blinked at him. "You mean, you don’t want my help?"
"I want your safety," Michael said. "You are in great danger."
"You’re kidding me," I said. "Michael, I know how to handle myself. You should know that by now."
"Handle yourself," Michael said. "Like you did tonight? Harry, if we hadn’t been there—"
"What?" I snapped. "I’d have been dead. It isn’t like it isn’t going to happen sooner or later. There are enough bad guys after me that one of them is eventually going to get lucky. So what else is new."
"You don’t understand," Michael said.
"I understand all right," I said. "One more wacky B-horror-movie reject tried to kill me. It’s happened before. It’ll probably happen again."
Shiro said, without looking up from his sword, "Ursiel did not come to kill you, Mister Dresden."
I considered that in another pregnant silence. The lamps buzzed a little. Shiro’s cleaning cloth whispered over the steel of his sword.
I watched Michael’s face and asked, "Why was he there then? I’d have put down money that it was a demon, but it was just a shapechange. There was a mortal inside it. Who was he?"
Michael’s gaze never wavered. "His name was Rasmussen. Ursiel took him in eighteen forty-nine, on his way to California."
"I saw him, Michael. I looked in his eyes."
Michael winced. "I didn’t know that."
"He was a prisoner in his own soul, Michael. Something was holding him. Something big. Ursiel, I guess. He’s one of the Fallen, isn’t he?"
Michael nodded.
"How the hell does that happen? I thought the Fallen aren’t allowed to take away free will."
"They aren’t," Michael said. "But they are allowed to tempt. And the Denarians have more to offer than most."
"Denarians?" I asked.
"The Order of the Blackened Denarius," Michael said. "They see an opportunity in this matter. A chance to do great harm."
"Silver coins." I took a deep breath. "Like the one you wrapped up in blessed cloth. Thirty pieces of silver, eh?"
He nodded. "Whoever touches the coins is tainted by the Fallen within. Tempted. Given power. The Fallen leads the mortal deeper and deeper into its influence. Never forcing them. Just offering. Until eventually they have surrendered enough of themselves and—"
"The thing gets control of them," I finished.
Michael nodded. "Like Rasmussen. We try to help them. Sometimes the person realizes what is happening. Wants to escape their influence. When we face them, we try to wear the demon down. Give the person taken the chance to escape."
"That’s why you kept talking to it. Until its voice changed. But Rasmussen didn’t want to be free, did he?"
Michael shook his head.
"Believe it or not, Michael, I’ve been tempted once or twice. I can handle it."
"No," Michael said. "You can’t. Against the Denarians, few mortals can. The Fallen know our weaknesses. Our flaws. How to undermine. Even warned and aware of them, they have destroyed men and women for thousands of years."
"I said I’ll be fine," I growled.
Shiro grunted. "Pride before fall."
I gave him a sour glance.
Michael leaned forward and said, "Harry, please. I know that your life has not been an easy one. You’re a good man. But you are as vulnerable as anyone. These enemies don’t want you dead." He looked down at his hands. "They want you."
Which scared me. Really scared me. Maybe because it seemed to disturb Michael so much, and very little disturbs him. Maybe because I had seen Rasmussen, and would always be able to see him there, trapped, wildly laughing.