White Night by Jim Butcher Page B

work any forces while I was in there, I'd be crippled practically to the point of total impotence.
    I turned to see Anna staring at me in blank surprise. She was aware of what I had just done.
    "There," I told her. "If I was of the spirit world, I couldn't cross your threshold. If I had planned on hurting someone in here, would I have disarmed myself? Stars and stones, would I have shown up with a cop to witness me doing it?"
    Murphy took her cue from me, and entered the same way.
    "I…" Anna said, at a loss. "How… how did you know the ward wouldn't go off in your face?"
    "Judgment call," I told her. "You're a cautious person, and there are kids in this building. I don't think you'd have slapped up something that went boom whenever anyone stepped through the doorway."
    She took a deep breath and then nodded. "You wouldn't have liked what happened if you'd tried to force the door, though."
    "I believe you," I told her. And I did. "Ms. Ash, I'm not here to threaten or harm anyone. I can't make you talk to me. If you want me to go, right now, I'll go," I promised her. "But for your own safety, please let me talk to you first. A few minutes. That's all I ask."
    "Anna?" came Abby's voice. "I think you should hear them out."
    "Yes," said another woman's voice, quiet and low. "I agree. And I know something of him. If he gives you his word, he means it."
    Thinking on it, I hadn't ever really heard Helen Beckitt's voice before, unless you counted moans. But its quiet solidity and lack of inflection went perfectly with her quasi-lifeless eyes.
    I traded an uneasy glance with Murphy, then looked back to Anna.
    "Ms. Ash?" I asked her.
    "Give me your word. Swear it on your power."
    That's serious, at least among wizards in my league. Promises have power. One doesn't swear by one's magical talent and break the oath lightly—to do so would be to reduce one's own strength in the Art. I didn't hesitate to answer. "I swear to you, upon my power, to abide as a guest under your hospitality, to bring no harm to you or yours, nor to deny my aid if they would suffer thereby."
    She let out a short, quick breath and nodded. "Very well. I promise to behave as a host, with all the obligations that apply. And call me Anna, please." She pronounced her name with the Old World emphasis: Ah-nah. She beckoned with one hand and led us into the apartment. "I trust you will not take it amiss if I do not make a round of introductions."
    Understandable. A full name, given from one's own lips, could provide a wizard or talented sorcerer with a channel, a reference point that could be used to target any number of harmful, even lethal spells, much like fresh blood, nail clippings, or locks of hair could be used for the same. It was all but impossible to give away your full name accidentally in a conversation, but it had happened, and if someone in the know thought a wizard might be pointing a spell their way, they got real careful, real fast, when it came to speaking their own name.
    "No problem," I told her.
    Anna's apartment was nicer than most, and evidently had received almost a complete refurbishing in the past year or three. She had windows with a reasonably good view, and her furnishings were predominantly of wood, and of excellent quality.
    Five women sat around the living area. Abby sat in a wooden rocking chair, holding her bright-eyed little Yorkie in her lap. Helen Beckitt stood by a window, staring listlessly out at the city. Two Anna lifted a hand in a gesture beseeching Helen for silence. "At least two more reliable witnesses have reported that the last time they saw some of the folk who had disappeared, they were in the company of the grey-cloaked man. Several others have reported sightings of the beautiful dark-haired man instead."
    I shook my head. "And you thought the guy in the cloak was me?"
    "How many tall, grey-cloaked men move in our circles in Chicago, sir?" Priscilla said, her voice frosty.
    "You can get grey corduroy for three dollars a