Bob said. "Yeah, but be careful. It’s got to be a weapon that he can use. If you pick one he can’t, he can refuse it, and force you to take your second choice."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning that regardless of what happens, if he doesn’t want to fight you in magic, he won’t have to. Ortega didn’t get to be a warlord without thinking things through, Harry. Odds are that he has a good idea what you can do and has planned accordingly. What do you know about him?"
"Not much. Presumably he’s tough."
Bob’s eyelights stared at me for a minute. "Well, Napoleon, I’m sure he’ll never overcome that kind of tactical genius."
I flicked my pencil at the skull in annoyance. It bounced off a nose hole. "Get to the point."
"The point is that you’d be better off taking something you can predict."
"I’m better off not fighting to begin with," I said. "Do I need to get a second?"
"You both do," Bob said. "The seconds will work out the terms of the duel. His should be getting in touch with yours at some point."
"Uh. I don’t have one."
Bob’s skull turned a bit on its shelf and banged its forehead gently into the brick wall a few times. "Then get one, dolt. Obviously."
I got another pencil and a pad of yellow lined paper and wrote To do across the top, and Ask Michael about duel underneath it. "Okay. And I want you to find out whatever you can about Ortega before dawn."
"Check," Bob said. "I have your permission to come out?"
"Not yet. There’s more."
Bob’s eyelights rolled. "Of course there’s more. My job sucks."
I got out a jug of distilled water and a can of Coke. I opened the can, took a sip, and said, "That corpse Murphy showed me. Plague curse?"
"Probably," Bob agreed. "But if it was really that many diseases, it was a big one."
"How big?"
"Bigger than that spell the Shadowman was using to tear hearts out a few years ago."
I whistled. "And he was running it off of thunderstorms and ceremonial rites, too. What would it take to power a curse that strong?"
"Curses aren’t really my thing," Bob hedged. "But a lot. Like maybe tapping into a sorcerous ley line, or a human sacrifice."
I sipped more Coke, and shook my head. "Someone is playing some serious hardball then."
Bob mused, "Maybe the Wardens used it to get nasty on a Red Court agent."
"They wouldn’t," I said. "They wouldn’t use magic like that. Even if technically it was the diseases that killed the guy, it’s too damn close to breaking the First Law."
"Who else would have that kind of power?" Bob asked me.
I turned to a fresh page and sketched out a rough version of the tattoo on the corpse. I held it up to show it to Bob. "Someone who didn’t like this, maybe."
"Eye of Thoth," Bob supplied. "That the tattoo on the corpse?"
"Yeah. Was this guy in someone’s secret club?"
"Maybe. The eye is a pretty popular occult symbol though, so you can’t rule out the possibility that he was an independent."
"Okay," I said. "So who uses it?"
"Plenty of groups. Brotherhoods connected to the White Council, historic societies, a couple of fringe groups of occult scholars, personality cults, television psychics, comic book heroes—"
"I get the point," I said. I turned to a fresh page and from razor-sharp memory sketched out the symbol I’d seen on the demon Ursiel’s forehead. "Do you recognize this?"
Bob’s eyelights widened. "Are you insane? Harry, tear that paper up. Burn it."
I frowned. "Bob, wait a minute—"
"Do it now!"
The skull’s voice was frightened, and I get nervous when Bob gets frightened. Not much can scare Bob out of his usual wiseass-commentator state of mind. I tore up the paper. "I guess you recognize it."
"Yeah. And I’m not having anything to do with that bunch."
"I didn’t hear that, Bob. I need information on them. They’re in town, they’ve taken a shot at me, and I’m betting they’re after the Shroud."
"Let them have it," Bob said. "Seriously. You’ve got no idea the kind of power this group has."
"Fallen, I know," I said. "Order of the Blackened Denarius. But they have to play by the rules, right?"
"Harry, it isn’t just the Fallen. The people they’ve taken are nearly as bad. They’re assassins, poisoners, warriors, sorcerers—"
"Sorcerers?"
"The coins make them effectively immortal. Some of the Order have had a thousand years to practice, and maybe more. That much time, even modest talents can grow teeth. Never mind everything experience would have taught them, everything they could have found to make themselves stronger over the years. Even without infernal superpowers, they’d be badass."
I frowned, and tore the bits of paper into smaller bits. "Badass enough to manage that curse?"
"There’s no question that they’d have the skill. Maybe enough that they wouldn’t need as big a power source."
"Great," I said, and rubbed at my eyes. "All right, then. Big-leaguers all around. I want you to track down the Shroud."
"No can do," Bob said.
"Give me a break. How many pieces of two-thousand-year-old linen are in town?"
"That’s not the point, Harry. The Shroud is …" Bob seemed to struggle to find words. "It doesn’t exist on the same wavelength as me. It’s out of my jurisdiction."
"What are you talking about?"
"I’m a spirit of intellect, Harry. Of reason, logic. The Shroud isn’t about logic. It’s an artifact of faith."
"What?" I demanded. "That doesn’t make any sense."
"You don’t know everything, Harry," Bob said. "You don’t even know a lot. I can’t touch this. I can’t come anywhere near it. And if I even try, I’ll be crossing boundaries I shouldn’t. I’m not going up against angels, Dresden, Fallen, or otherwise."
I sighed, and lifted my hands. "Fine, fine. Is there someone I can talk to?"
Bob was quiet for a moment before he said, "Maybe. Ulsharavas."
"Ulsha-who?"
"Ulsharavas. She’s an ally of the loa, an oracle spirit. There’s details about halfway through your copy of Dumont’s Guide to Divinationators."
"How are her prices?"
"Reasonable," Bob said. "You’ve got everything you need for the calling. She isn’t usually malicious."
"Isn’t usually?"
"The loa are basically good guys, but they all have their darker aspects, too. Ulsharavas is a pretty gentle guide, but she’s been harsh before. Don’t let your guard down."
"I won’t," I said, and frowned. "One more thing. Swing by Marcone’s place and see if there’s anything interesting there. You don’t have to go all David Niven; just take a look around."