Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,18

blocked a jab and a slow reverse punch, got the rookie by the wrist, and sent him smashing down on the impact mat, one hand twisted to the breaking point and held firm at the small of his back. The rookie grimaced and slapped the mat three times. Murphy released him.

"Hey, Stallings," she said, loudly enough to be heard by the whole gym. "What just happened here?"

The older opponent grinned and said, "O'Toole just got beat up by a girl, Lieutenant."

There was a general round of applause and good-natured jeers from the other cops in the gym, including several calls of "Pay up!" and "Told you so!"

O'Toole shook his head ruefully. "What did I do wrong?"

"Telegraphed the kick," Murphy said. "You're a moose, O'Toole. Even a light kick from you will do the job. Don't sacrifice speed to get more power. Keep it quick and simple."

O'Toole nodded, and walked over to an open corner of the mat with his partner.

"Hey, Murphy," I called. "When are you gonna stop picking on little kids and fight someone your own size?"

Murphy flicked her tail over her shoulder, her eyes shining. "Come say that to my face, Dresden."

"Give me a minute to amputate my legs and I will," I responded. I took my shoes off and set them against the wall, along with my duster. Murphy got a smooth wooden staff about five feet long from a rack on the wall. I took my staff into a square marked in tape on the mat, and we bowed to each other.

We warmed up with a simple sequence, alternating strikes in a steady, working rhythm, wooden staves clacking solidly. Murphy didn't start pushing for more speed. "Haven't seen you for almost two weeks. You flaking out on this self-defense notion?"

"No," I said, keeping my voice down. "Been on a job. Finished it up last night." I lost focus, slipped up in the sequence, and Murphy's staff banged down hard on the fingers of my left hand. "Hell's bells, ow!"

"Concentrate, wimp." Murphy gave me a second to shake my fingers, and then she started again from the beginning. "You've got something on your mind."

"Something off the record," I said, lowering my voice.

She looked around. No one was close enough to listen in. "Okay."

"I need a thug. You available?"

Murphy arched a brow. "You need manpower?"

"Thugpower," I said.

Murphy frowned. "What do you have in mind?"

"Black Court," I said. "At least two in town, probably more."

"Hitters?"

I nodded. "One of them came pretty close to taking me last night."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. But we have to shut these guys down, and fast. They aren't gentle and fun-loving like the Reds."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that when they feed, their victims don't usually survive. They don't feed as often, but the longer they stay, the more people are going to get killed."

Murphy's eyes glittered with a sudden, angry fire. "What's the plan?"

"Find them. Kill them."

Her brows shot up. "Just like that? No formal balls, no masquerades, no clandestine meetings as preliminaries?"

"Nah. I thought it might be nice to get the drop on the bad guys for a change."

"I like that plan."

"It's simple," I agreed.

"Like you," Murphy said.

"Just like me."

"When?"

I shook my head. "As soon as I find where they're holed up during daylight. I can probably do it in a day or three."

"How's Saturday?"

"Uh. Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Murphy annual family reunion is this weekend. I try to be working on reunion weekend."

"Oh," I said. "Why don't you just, you know… not show up."

"I need a good excuse not to show up, or my mother won't let me hear the end of it."

"So lie."

Murphy shook her head. "She'd know. She's psychic or something."

I felt my eyebrows go up. "Well, gee, Murph. I guess I'll just try to arrange things so that the deadly monster threat will be convenient to ducking your annual family fun-fest. Your sense of priorities once more astounds me."

She grimaced. "Sorry. I spend time dreading this every year. Things are sort of hard between me and my mother. Family skews your sanity. I don't expect you to under—"

She broke off abruptly, and a little pang of hurt went through me. She didn't expect me to understand. I didn't have a mother. I didn't have a family. I never had. Even my dim memories of my father had all but vanished. I'd been only six years old when he died.

"God, Harry," Murph said. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

I coughed and focused on the sequence. "It shouldn't be a long job. I find the vamps. We go