Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,90

'em all!" Bob said with weary cheer.

I sighed. "What about the dogs?"

"Your basic animal," Bob said. "But they've been infused with a portion of the same kind of dark power that the Black Court runs on. They're stronger, faster, and they don't feel pain. I once saw a darkhound rip its way through a brick wall."

"I bet they look like normal dogs afterward, huh?"

"And before-ward," Bob said.

"I guess if the cops are on my case when this is over, the SPCA can come along for the ride." I shook my head. "And on top of all that, Mavra is also keeping those hostages in the closet for food. She'll use them as human shields once fighting starts."

"Or as bait in a trap," Bob said.

"Yeah. Either way it makes things more complicated, even if we go in when Mavra and her scourge are sleeping." I looked at Bob's diagram of the lair. "Any security system?"

"Old electronic one," Bob said. "Nothing fancy. No problem for you to hex it down."

"Mavra will know that. She'll have sentries. We need to get past them."

"Forget it. Rough thralls and Renfields don't exactly make the most observant guardians in the world, but the darkhounds make up for them. If you want to sneak up, you'll have to be invisible, inaudible, and unsmellable. Don't count on a surprise attack."

"Dammit. What kind of weapons are they toting?"

"Uh, teeth. Mostly teeth, Harry."

I glared at him. "Not the dogs."

"Oh. The thralls have got some baseball bats. The Renfields have assault rifles, grenades, and body armor."

"Holy crap."

Bob leered at me from his shelf. "Awww. Izzums scared of the mean old machine guns?"

I glowered and flipped a pencil at the skull. "Maybe Murphy can figure out a way to do this without starting World War Three. Meanwhile, change of topic incoming. I need your opinion."

"Sure," Bob said. "Hit me."

I told him about the entropy curse and who I thought was behind it.

"Ritual magic," Bob confirmed. "More amateurs."

"Who sponsors ritual curses these days?" I asked.

"Well. In theory, a lot of Powers. In practice, though, the writings on most of them have been gathered up by the Council or the Venatori or someone else with some supernatural clout. Or else destroyed. It might take me some time to recall all the details."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I've got about six hundred years' worth of memories to sort through, and I'm exhausted," Bob said, his voice softer, as though coming from far away. "But you can be pretty sure that whoever is backing a death curse isn't real friendly."

"Tell me something I don't know," I said. "Hey, Bob."

"Hmm?"

"Is it possible to work some kind of spell that would last, I dunno, maybe twenty or thirty years?"

"Sure, if you spend enough money," Bob said. "Or if you're some kind of sentimental family sap."

"Sentimental? How's that?"

"Well, you can anchor magic to certain materials, right? Most of them are very expensive. Or you do the cheap kind like you use on your blasting rod and such, refresh them once in a while." The skull's eyes were growing rapidly dimmer. "But there are times when you can anchor it to a person."

"That isn't doable," I said.

"Not for you," Bob said. "Gotta be a blood relation. Blood in common, that kind of thing. Maybe if you had a kid. But I guess you'd need a girlfriend for that, huh."

I raked my hand through my hair, thinking. "And if you do it that way, the spell lasts? Even for that long?"

"Oh, sure," Bob said. "As long as the person you anchor it to is alive. Takes a tiny bit of energy off them to keep the spell from slowing down. That's why all the really nasty curses you hear about usually involve some family somewhere."

"So for instance," I said, "my mother could have laid out a curse on someone. And as long as I was alive, it would still be viable."

"Exactly. Or like that loup-garou guy. His own bloodline keeps the curse fueled." The skull's mouth opened in a yawn. "Anything else?"

I picked up the map and tucked it into a pocket. Bob was at the end of his resources, and I had no time to lose. I'd have to finish out this one on my own. "Get some rest and see what you can remember," I said. "I've got to clear out before the cops get here." I started to get up off my stool, and every muscle in my body complained to be moving again. I winced and said, "Painkillers. Definitely