Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,79
I grew more excited. "The malocchio. The curse that's hitting Genosa's people. It's on a timer."
She tilted her head. "It's automated?"
"No, no," I said, waving my hands. "It's on a schedule. Both women who died were killed in the morning, a little bit before ten o'clock." I closed my eyes, trying to picture the reports Genosa had given me. "Right… nine forty-seven and nine forty-eight. They died at the same time."
"That's not the same time, Harry."
I waved a hand, impatient. "They are. I'll bet you anything. The recorded time gets written down by officers on the scene in their report, and who would worry about a minute either way?"
"Why is it significant?" Murphy said.
"Because the two curses that have struck here in Chicago arrived at eleven forty-seven in the morning, and damned close to that last night. Add two hours to the deaths in California to account for the difference in time zones. The curse was sent at the same time. Thirteen minutes before noon or midnight." I followed the logic chain forward from that one fact. "Hell's bells," I breathed.
"I'm not going to ask you to explain every time you pause, Harry, because you know damned well I don't have a clue about what you're saying or what it means."
"It means that the killer isn't doing the curse on his own," I said. "I mean, there's no reason to do it that way, unless it's because you don't have a choice. The killer is using ritual magic. They've got a sponsor."
"You don't mean a corporation," Murphy said.
"No," I answered. "What time is it?"
"Ten-thirty," Murphy said.
"Yes," I hissed, and slammed the clutch into gear. "If I haul ass there's time."
"Time?"
"To protect Genosa and his people," I said. "That entropy curse is coming down on them in about an hour." I stomped on the gas and shouted out the window over my shoulder, "This time I'll be ready for it!"
Chapter Twenty-Four
I expected Genosa to look awful the next morning, but evidently I had a temporary monopoly on rough nights in Chicago. He was waiting for me at the door when I got to the studio, dressed in slacks and a tennis shirt, perfectly coiffed and genial. I got another European-type hug before I'd gotten all the way out of the Beetle.
"The malocchio, it happened again," he said. "Didn't it. Last night when you ran out."
"Yeah," I said.
He licked his lips. "Who?"
"Inari. She's all right."
Arturo blinked several times. "Inari? That's insane. What possible threat could she be to anyone?"
Incipient succubus. No threat at all there. "There's got to be some reason she was targeted. We just don't know what it is yet."
"She's only a child," Genosa said, and for the first time I heard something like real anger in his voice. That was something to be noted. When kind men grow angry, things are about to change. "Have you any idea who is behind it?"
"Not yet," I said, and opened the storage compartment under the Beetle's hood. "But this is definitely more than business for somebody. For them it's personal. I think they're going to take another swing this morning, and I'm going to have a surprise for them when they do."
"How may I help?"
"Get the set moving like everything's normal. I need to get a spell of my own ready."
Arturo frowned at that, and it crinkled all the creases at the corners of his face into unfamiliar lines. "And that is all I can do?"
"For now."
He sighed. "All right. May fortune smile on your efforts, Mister Dresden."
"Don't know why she'd start now," I said, but gave him a quick smile by way of encouragement.
Genosa returned the smile and went back into the building. I followed him a couple of minutes later with my pack loaded with a fifty-foot retractable chalk line, a mirror, a box of tinfoil, and half a dozen candles. I hurried inside, and checked the greenroom and the dressing room before I found Jake Guffie loitering around the shooting studio in dark grey boxers and a loose silk robe. He had a paperback and a bottle of Gatorade, and was draped over his chair in a pose meant to convey calm and confidence. I'm not sure what made me think he was faking, but I knew it even before I spoke to him.
"Jake," I said. "Just the guy I need to see."
He jumped like a nervous cat and gave me a reproachful glance. "Oh. Good morning, Harry. What can I do for you?"