Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,20

coat and abruptly frowned as she handed it back.

"What?" I asked her.

Her mouth twisted into the shape it got when she tried to hold back laughter. "Is that a puppy in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

I looked down. The puppy had woken from his nap and poked its head out of my duster's pocket, and was panting happily. "Oh. Right."

Murphy plucked the puppy out of my pocket, turned him belly up, and started rubbing his tummy. "What's his name?"

"No name. I'm not keeping him."

"Ah," Murphy said.

"Want a dog?"

She shook her head. "They take too much attention, and I'm gone at all hours."

"Tell me about it. Know anyone who does?"

"Not really."

"Do me a favor. Keep him for a day."

Murphy blinked. "Why me?"

"Because I have to go on a new job this morning and I haven't had time to get him settled with someone. Come on, Murph. He's friendly. He's quiet. You'll never know he's there. Just for the day."

Murphy glowered at me. "I'm not keeping him."

"I know, I know."

"I'm not keeping him."

"You just said that, Murph."

"Just so long as you understand that I'm not keeping him."

"I get it already."

She nodded. "Just this once, then. I'm doing paperwork at my desk today. But you'd better be there to pick him up by five."

"You're an angel, Murph. Thank you."

She rolled her eyes and settled the pup in the curl of her arm. "Yeah, yeah. What's the new job?"

I sighed and told her.

Murphy burst out laughing. "You're a pig, Dresden."

"I didn't know," I protested.

"Oink. Oink, oink."

I glowered at her. "Don't you have some paperwork to do?"

"Get there by five, pig."

"By five." I sighed. I grumbled to myself as I walked out to my car and left for my first day on the set.

Chapter Seven

Chicago is a business town. Entrepreneurs of every stripe duke it out ferociously in pursuit of the American dream, discarding the carcasses of fallen ventures along the way. The town is full of old business headquarters, most of them held by the long-term commercial giants. When a new business sets its sights on Second City, it's cheaper for them to settle in one of the newer industrial parks littered around the city's suburbs. They all look more or less alike—a grid of plain, blocky, readily adaptable buildings two or three stories high with no windows, no landscaping, and gravel parking lots. They look like enormous, ugly concrete bricks, but they're cheap.

Arturo had acquired a short-term lease on such a building in such an industrial complex twenty minutes west of town. There were three other cars parked in its lot by the time I got there. I had a nylon backpack full of various magical tools I might need to ward off malevolent energies: salt, a bunch of white candles, holy water, a ring of keys, a small silver bell, and chocolate.

Yeah, chocolate. Chocolate fends off all kinds of nasty stuff. And if you get hungry while warding off evil, you have a snack. It's multipurpose equipment.

One end of my carved wooden blasting rod protruded from the backpack in case I needed to make a fast draw. I was also wearing my shield bracelet, my mother's pentacle amulet, my force ring, and a new gizmo I'd been working with—a silver belt buckle carved into the shape of a standing bear. Better to have the magical arsenal and not need it, than to not have it and get killed to death.

I got out of the car. I had on a pair of slacks and a polo shirt, since I had no idea of what a production assistant on an adult film set was supposed to wear. The client would have to be happy with business casual. I slung the backpack over one shoulder and locked up the car. A second car pulled up as I did, a shiny green rental number, and parked next to the Blue Beetle.

Two men got out. The driver was a fit-looking man, maybe in his late thirties. He was a little taller than average and had the build of someone who works out in a nonfanatic kind of way. His medium-brown hair was long enough to look a little disheveled. He wore round-rimmed spectacles, a Nike T-shirt, and Levis, and his cross-trainers probably cost him upwards of a hundred bucks. He nodded at me and said, "Good morning," in a tone of genuine cheer.

"Hi," I responded.

"New guy?" he asked.

"New guy."

"Cameraman?"

"Stunt double."

"Cool." He grinned, pulled a designer-label gym bag out of the back of