Dead Beat(53)

She laughed. "You caught me in the nick of time. I was just about to leave to get together with some people I know."
"Costume party?" I asked.
"No, I dress like this all the time." Her eyes sparkled. "It is Halloween."
"Even with the lights out?"
She bobbed her brows, her smile wicked for a second. "Who knows. That might make it more fun."
I had been right about the curves that had been hidden under her loose clothing back at Bock's. They were awfully pleasant ones. It was an effort of will to stay focused on her face-especially when she laughed. Her laugh made all sorts of interesting little quivers run over her. "Do you have a minute?" I asked.
"Maybe even two," she said. "What did you have in mind?"
"I need your help with something," I said. I looked up and down the hallway. As far as I knew I hadn't been followed, and I'd been watching my back-but that didn't mean that no one was there. I was pretty good at noticing such things, but there were plenty of people (and nonpeople) who were better than me. "If you don't mind, can we talk about it inside?" Her expression became a little wary, and she looked up and down the hall herself. "Are you in trouble? Is this about the people at the store?"
"Pretty much," I said. "May I come in?"
"Of course, of course," she said, and stepped back inside, holding the door open for me. I limped in. "Oh, my God," she said, staring at me as I came in. "What happened?"
"A ghoul threw a knife into my leg," I told her.
She blinked at me. "You mean …  a real ghoul? An actual ghoul?"
"Yeah."
Her face twisted up with dismay. "Oh. Wow. I've heard stories, but I never thought …  you know. It's hard to believe they're really out there. Does that make me an idiot?"
"No," I said. "It makes you lucky. If I never see another ghoul, it will be too soon."
Her apartment was pretty typical of the kind: small, worn, run-down, but clean. She had mostly secondhand furniture, an ancient old fridge, mis-matched bookshelves that overflowed with paperbacks and textbooks, and a tiny, aged television that looked as if it didn't get much use.
"Sit down," she said, picking up a couple of blankets and a throw pillow from the couch, clearing off a space for me. I tottered over to the couch and sat, which felt entirely too good. I grunted and got my leg elevated onto the coffee table, and it felt even better. "Thanks," I said. She shook her head, staring at me. "You look frightful."
"Been a tough couple of days."
She studied me with serious eyes. "I suppose it must have been. What are you doing here?"
"The book," I said. "The one on the Erlking that I got from Bock."
"I remember," she said.
"Exactly."
"Um. What?"
"That's why I'm here," I said. "You remember but I don't, and the bad guys stole my copy. I need you to remember it for me."
She frowned. "The whole thing?"
"I don't think so," I said. "There were several poems and stanzas in there. I think what I need is in one of them."
"What do you need?" she said.
I stared at her for a second. Then I said, "It might be better if you don't know."
She lifted her chin and regarded me for a moment, as if I'd just said something bad about her mother. "Excuse me?"
"This is some bad business," I said. "It might be safer for you if I don't tell you much about it."
"Well," she said. "That's quite patronizing of you, Harry. Thank you."
I held up a hand. "It isn't like that."
"Yes," she said. "It is. You want me to give you information, but you won't tell me why or what you are going to do with it."
"It's for your own protection," I said.
"Perhaps," she replied. "But if I give you this information, I'm going to bear some responsibility for what you do with it. We don't know each other very well. What if you took the information I gave you and used it to hurt someone?"
"I won't."
"And maybe that's true," she said. "But maybe it isn't. Don't you see? I have an obligation in this matter," she said, "to use my talent responsibly. That means not using it blindly or recklessly. Can you understand that?"
"Actually," I said, "I can."
She pursed her lips and then nodded. "Then if you want me to help you, tell me why you need it."
"You could be put at risk if you become involved in this," I said. "It could be very dangerous." I left a clear silence between the last two words for emphasis.
"I understand," she said. "I accept that. So tell me."
I stared at her for a second, and then sighed, a little frustrated. She had a point, after all. But dammit, I didn't want to see anyone else get hurt because of Kemmler's disciples. Particularly not anyone with such lovely breasts.
I jerked my eyes away from them and said, "The people you've seen around the store are going to use the book to call up the Erlking."
She frowned. "But …  he's an extremely powerful faerie, yes? Can they do that?"
"Do you mean is it possible?" I asked. "Sure. I whistled up Queen Mab a few hours ago, myself." Which was technically the truth.
"Oh," she said, her tone mild. "Why?"
"Because I needed information," I said.
"No, not that. Why are these people calling up the Erlking?"
"They're going to use his presence on Halloween night to call up an extra-large helping of ancient spirits. Then they're going to bind and devour those spirits in order to give themselves a Valhalla-sized portion of supernatural power."
She stared at me, her mouth opening a little. "It's …  a rite of ascension?" she whispered. "A real one?"
"Yeah," I said.
"But that's …  that's insane."
"So are these people," I said. "What you tell me could stop it from happening. It could save a lot of lives-not least of which is my own."
She folded her arms over her stomach as if chilled. Her face looked pale and worried. "I need the poems because I'm going to summon the Erlking before they can do it and make sure that I sidetrack him long enough to ruin their plans."
"Isn't that dangerous?" she asked.
"Not as dangerous as doing nothing," I said. "So now you know why. Will you help me?"
She fretted her lower lip, as though mulling it over, but her eyes were sparkling. "Say please."
"Please," I said.
Her smile widened. "Pretty please?"
"Don't push me," I half growled, but I doubt it came out very intimidating.
She smiled at me. "It might take me few minutes. I haven't looked at that book in some time. I'll have to prepare. Meditate."
"Is it that complicated?" I asked.
She sighed, the smile fading. "There's so much of it, sometimes my head feels like a library. I don't have a problem remembering. It's finding where I've put it that's a challenge. And not all of it is very pleasant to remember."
"I know what that's like," I said. "I've seen some things I would rather weren't in my head."
She nodded, and paced over to settle down on the couch next to me. She drew her feet up underneath her and wriggled a bit to get comfortable. The wriggling part was intriguing. I tried not to be too obviously interested, and fumbled my notebook and trusty pencil from my duster's pocket.
"All right," she said, and closed her eyes. "Give me a moment. I'll speak it to you."
"Okay," I said.
"And don't stare at me."
I moved my eyes. "I wasn't."
She snorted delicately. "Haven't you ever seen breasts before?"
"I wasn't staring," I protested.
"Of course." She opened one eye and gave me a sly oblique glance. Then she closed her eyes with a little smile and inhaled deeply.
"That's cheating," I said.
She smiled again, and then her expression changed, her features growing remote. Her shoulders eased into relaxation, and then her eyes opened, dark, distant, and unfocused. She stared into the far distance for several moments, her breathing slowing, and her eyes started moving as if she were reading a book.
"Here it is," she said, her voice slow, quiet, and dreamy. "Peabody. He was the one to compile the various essays."
"I just need the poems," I said. "No need for the cover plate."
"Hush," she said. "This isn't as easy as it looks." Her fingers and hands twitched now and then while her eyes swept over the unseen book. I realized after a moment that she was turning the pages of the book in her memory. "All right," she said a minute later. "Ready?"
I poised my pencil over my notepad. "Ready."
She started quoting poetry to me, and I started writing it down. It wasn't in the first poem or the second, but in the third one I recognized the rhythms and patterns of a phrase of summoning, each line innocent on its own, but each building on the ones preceding it. With the proper focus, intent, and strength of will, the simple poem could reach out beyond the borders of the mortal world and draw the notice of the deadly faerie hunter known as the ErIking, the lord of goblins.
"That's the one," I said quietly. "I need you to be completely sure of your accuracy of recollection."
Shiela nodded, her eyes faraway. Her hand made a reverse of the page-turning motion she used and she spoke the poem to me again, more slowly. I double-checked that I'd written it all down correctly.