She looked down, biting her lip. "I … I don’t know."
"This is a limited-time offer."
She drew in a shaking breath. "All right. All right, let me clean up a little. Get dressed. I’ll tell you what I know."
"Fine," I said. "Come on. There’s a shower in the bathroom at the end of the hall. I’ll get you towels and stuff."
"Is this your house?"
"Friends’. But I’ve stayed here before."
She nodded and fished around until she came up with the black shirt she’d been wearing the night before. She slipped into it and rose. She had long, pretty, and bruised legs, and as she stepped onto her right leg she let out a pained cry and fell forward. I caught her before she could hit the ground, and she leaned into me, lifting her right foot from the floor.
"Bloody hell," she wheezed. "I must have twisted my ankle last night." She shot me a hard-eyed glance. "Hands."
I jerked my hand off something pleasantly smooth and firm. "Sorry. Accident. Can you manage?"
She shook her head, balanced on one leg. "I don’t think so. Lend me your arm a moment."
I helped her hobble down the hall and into the bathroom. I dug some more towels out of the linen closet, then passed them into her through a mostly closed door. She locked it behind her and started the shower.
I shook my head and went back down the hall, dialing Father Vincent’s phone number. On the fifth ring, he answered, his voice sounding tired and strained. "Vincent."
"It’s Harry Dresden," I said. "I know where the Shroud came into Chicago and who was buying. It got intercepted by a third party and they have it now."
"You’re certain?" Vincent demanded.
"Yeah."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Not exactly, but I’m going to find out. I should know by this evening, maybe sooner."
"Why will it take until this evening?" Vincent asked.
"Well, uh. It’s a little hard to explain," I said.
"Perhaps the police should handle the rest of the investigation."
"I’d advise against it."
"Why?"
"I have some information that indicates your mistrust may not have been misplaced."
"Oh," Vincent said. His voice sounded worried. "I think we should meet and talk, Mister Dresden. I’d rather not discuss this over the phone. Two o’clock, at the room we spoke in last?"
"I can probably do that," I said.
"Until then," said Vincent, and hung up.
I paced back into the living room and found Susan sitting and reading the morning paper with coffee and a doughnut. One of the sliding glass doors that had previously led to the back patio was open, and on the other side was a lot of bare wood and plastic—the addition Michael was building. The rasping of a saw came through the open door.
I stepped out and found Father Forthill at work. He’d taken off his coat and collar. He had a short-sleeved black shirt underneath. He wore leather work gloves and safety glasses. He finished sawing a beam, and blew dust off the cut before rising. "How is Father Vincent?"
"Sounds tired," I said. "I’m going to talk to him later, assuming we don’t have something going on first."
"I worry for him," Forthill said. He held up the beam to the top of what would eventually be a window. "Here, hold this for me."
I did. Forthill started driving in a few nails, clenching several in his teeth. "And Miss Valmont?"
"Taking a shower. She’s going to cooperate with us."
Forthill frowned, taking a nail from his lips. "I really wouldn’t have expected that from her, from the sense I had of her."
"It’s my charming personality," I said. "The ladies can’t resist."
"Mmmm," Forthill said, around the nails.
"It’s the only decent thing to do. And her back is against a wall, right?"
Forthill drove the nail in and frowned. He looked at me.
I looked back at him for a moment and then said, "I’ll just go check on her."
I got about halfway across the living room before I heard a car door shut, immediately followed by a car engine. I ran to the front door and threw it open just in time to see the shattered rear window of the Blue Beetle zipping down the street and out of sight.
I fumbled at my pockets and groaned. My keys were missing. "Son of a bitch," I snarled. I punched the door frame in sheer frustration. I didn’t punch it very hard. I was angry, not looking to break my own knuckles. "The old stumble and bump and I fell for it."
Susan stepped up beside me and sighed. "Harry, you idiot. You’re a good man. But an idiot where women are concerned."
"First my coat and now my car. That’s freaking gratitude for you."
Susan nodded. "No good deed goes unpunished."
I stared at her. "Are you laughing at me?"
She faced me from behind a perfectly straight face. But her voice sounded a little choked. "No."
"You are."
Her face turned pink and she shook her head.
"Laughing at my pain."
She turned and walked back to the living room and picked up her paper. She sat down and held it up so that I couldn’t see her face. Choked sounds came out from behind the paper.
I stalked back out to the addition, growling. Forthill looked back at me, his eyebrows raised.
"Give me something to break. Or hit really hard," I told him.
His eyes sparkled. "You’ll hurt yourself. Here, hold this for me."
I lifted another cut board into place, while Forthill reached up to hammer it in. As he did, the sleeve of his shirt tugged up, and showed me a pair of green lines.
"Wait," I said, and snapped my hand over to his arm. The board slipped out of my other hand and bonked me on the head on the way down. I scowled at it, wincing, but tugged the sleeve up.
Forthill had a tattoo on the inside of his right arm.
An Eye of Thoth.
"What is this?" I demanded.
Forthill looked around and tugged his sleeve back down. "A tattoo."
"Duh, a tattoo. I know that. What does it mean?"
"It’s something I had done when I was younger," he answered. "An organization I belonged to."
I tried to calm down but my voice still sounded harsh. "What organization?"
Forthill blinked mildly at me. "I don’t understand why you are so upset, Harry—"
"What organization?"
He continued to look confused. "Just several of us who took our orders together. We were barely more than boys, really. And we’d … well. We’d happened on to some of the stranger events of our day. And records of others. A vampire had killed two people in town, and we stopped it together. No one believed us, of course."
"Of course," I said. "What about the tattoo?"
Forthill pursed his lips, thoughtful. "I haven’t thought about it in so long. Well, the next morning we went out and got the tattoos. We swore an oath to be always watchful against the forces of darkness, to help one another whenever we could."
"Then what?"