She was keeping track of what was happening, what was likely to happen, deciding what wasn't likely to happen, all in a window of a few seconds." I shook my head. "It's a lot worse if they can see any farther than a second or two."
Murphy frowned. "Why?"
"Because the farther you can see, the more possibilities exist," I said. "Think of a chess game. A beginning player is doing well if he can see four or five moves into the game. Ten moves in holds an exponentially greater number of possible configurations the board could assume. Master players can sometimes see even further than that—and when you start dealing with computers, the numbers are even bigger. It's difficult to even imagine the scope of it."
"And that's in a closed, simple environment," Murphy said, nodding. "The chess game. There are far more possibilities in the real world."
"The biggest game." I shook my head. "It's a dangerous talent to have. It can leave you subject to instabilities of one kind or another as side effects. Doctors almost always diagnose folks like Abby with epilepsy, Alzheimer's, or one of a number of personality disorders. I got five bucks that says that medical bracelet on her wrist says she's epileptic—and that the dog can sense seizures coming and warn her."
"I didn't see the bracelet," Murphy admitted. "No bet."
While we stood there talking quietly for maybe five minutes, a discussion took place inside the apartment. Low voices came through the door in tense, muffled tones that eventually cut off when a single voice, louder than the rest, overrode the others. A moment later, the door opened.
The first woman we'd seen enter the apartment faced me. She had a dark complexion, dark eyes, short, dark straight hair that made me think she might have had some Native Americans in the family a generation or three back. She was maybe five foot four, late thirties. She had a serious kind of face, with faint, pensive lines between her brows, and from the way she stood, blocking the doorway with solidly planted feet, I got the impression that she could be a bulldog when necessary.
"No one here has broken any of the Laws, Warden," she said in a quiet, firm voice.
"Gosh, that's a relief," I said. "Anna Ash?"
She narrowed her eyes and nodded.
"I'm Harry Dresden," I said.
She pursed her lips and gave me a speculative look. "Are you kidding? I know who you are."
"I don't make it a habit to assume that everyone I meet knows who I am," I said, implying apology in my tone. "This is Karrin Murphy, Chicago PD."
Anna nodded to Murphy and asked, in a neutral, polite tone, "May I see your identification, Ms. Murphy?"
Murphy already had her badge on its leather backing in hand, and she passed it to Anna. Her photo identification was on the reverse side of the badge, under a transparent plastic cover.
Anna looked at the badge and the photo, and compared it to Murphy. She passed it back almost reluctantly, and then turned to me. "What do you want?"
"To talk," I said.
"About what?"
"The Ordo Lebes," I said. "And what's happened to several practitioners lately."
Her voice remained polite on the surface, but I could hear bitter undertones. "I'm sure you know much more about it than us."
"Not especially," I said. "That's what I'm trying to correct."
She shook her head, suspicion written plainly on her face. "I'm not an idiot. The Wardens keep track of everything. Everyone knows that."
I sighed. "Yeah, but I forgot to take my George Orwell-shaped multivitamins along with my breakfast bowl of Big Brother Os this morning. I was hoping you could just talk to me for a little while, the way you would with a human being."
She eyed me a bit warily. Lots of people react to my jokes like that. "Why should I?"
"Because I want to help you."
"Of course you'd say that," she said. "How do I know you mean it?"
"Ms. Ash," Murphy put in quietly, "he's on the level. We're here to help, if we can."
Anna chewed on her lip for a minute, looking back and forth between us and then glancing at the room behind her. Finally, she faced me and said, "Appearances can be deceiving. I have no way of knowing if you are who—and what—you say you are. I prefer to err on the side of caution."
"Never hurts to be cautious," I agreed. "But you're edging toward paranoid, Ms. Ash."
She began to shut the door. "This is my home. And I'm