Summer Knight (The Dresden Files #4) - Jim Butcher Page 0,33
overjoyed to see me.
"Murph," I said, "relax. Its me. Hells bells, there isnt anything that I can think of that would mimic me looking like this. Even demonic fiends from the nether regions of hell have some taste."
I stepped across her threshold. Something tugged at me as I did, an intangible, invisible energy. It slowed me down a little, and I had to make an effort to push through it. Thats what a threshold is like. One like it surrounds every home, a field of energy that keeps out unwanted magical forces. Some places have more of a threshold than others. My apartment, for example, didnt have much of a thresholdits a bachelor pad, and whatever domestic energy is responsible for such things doesnt seem to settle down as well in rental spaces and lone dwellings. Murphys house had a heavy field surrounding it. It had a life of its own; it had history. It was a home, not just a place to live.
I crossed her threshold uninvited, and I left a lot of my power at the door as I did. I would have to really push to make even the simplest of spells work within. I stepped inside and spread my hands. "Do I pass inspection?"
Murphy didnt say anything. She crossed the room and put her gun back into its holster, setting it down on an end table.
Murphys place was dare I say it, cute. The room was done in soft yellows and greens. And there were ruffles. The curtains had ruffles, and the couch had more, plus those little knitted things (arent they called doilies?) were draped over the arms of the two recliners, the couch, the coffee table, and just about every other surface that seemed capable of supporting lacy bits of froo-fra. They looked old and beautiful and well cared for. I was betting Murphys grandma had picked them out.
Murphys own decorating was limited to the gun-cleaning kit sitting on the end table beside the holster for her automatic and a wooden rack over the fireplace that bore a pair of Japanese swords, long and short, one over the other. That was the Murphy I knew and loved. Practical violence ready at hand. Next to the swords was a small row of photographs in holdersmaybe her family. A thick picture album with what looked like a real leather cover sat open on the coffee table, next to a prescription bottle and a decanter of some kind of liquorgin? The decanter was half empty. The glass next to it was completely empty.
I watched her settle down in the corner of the couch in her oversized bathrobe, her expression remote. She didnt look at me. I got more worried by the moment. Murphy wasnt acting like Murphy. Shed never passed up a chance to trade banter with me. Id never seen her this silent and withdrawn.
Dammit, just when I needed some quick and decisive help. Something was wrong with Murphy, and I hardly had time to play dime-store psychologist, trying to help her. I needed whatever information she could get me. I also needed to help her with whatever it was that had hurt her so badly. I was fairly sure I wouldnt be able to do either if I didnt get her talking.
"Nice place, Murph," I told her. "I havent seen it before."
She twitched one shoulder in what might have been a shrug.
I frowned. "You know, if conversation is too much for you we could play charades. Ill go first." I held up my hand with my fingers spread. Murphy didnt say anything, so I provided her end of the dialogue. "Five words." I tugged on my ear. "Sounds like What Is Wrong with You?"
She shook her head. I saw her eyes flicker toward the album.
I leaned forward and turned the album toward me. It had been opened on a cluster of wedding pictures. The girl in them must have been Murphy, back when. She had longer, sunnier hair and a kind of adolescent slenderness that showed around her neck and wrists. She wore a white wedding gown, and stood next to a tuxedo-clad man who had to have been ten years older than she was. In other pictures she was shoving cake into his mouth, drinking through linked arms, the usual wedding fare. He had carried her to the getaway car, and the photo-Murphys face had been caught in a moment of laughter and joy.