Dead Beat(62)

"Yeah," I said. "Unless the one who calls him traps him in a circle to contain his power and leaves him there."
Bob made a spluttering sound. "Harry, that's a dangerous proposition. No, scratch that, it's an insane proposition. Even assuming you have the will to trap something like the Erlking in a circle, and even if you keep him there all night, he is not going to let that kind of insult go. He'll come back the next night and kill you. If you're lucky."
"I can worry about that after I've done it," I said.
"Wait," Butters said. "Wait, wait. I mean, will it really matter? These guys don't have the bad magic book, right? Without that book, all they can do is call up the spirits. They can't, you know, eat them. Right?"
"We can't assume that they don't have it," I said. "Grevane might have found it."
"But the other two couldn't, right?" Butters said.
"Even if they haven't, they'll still be there," I said. "They can't afford to assume that their rivals haven't gotten the book. So they're going to show up with everything they have to try to prevent one of the others from going through with the ritual."
"Why?" Butters asked.
"Because they hate each other," I said. "And if one of them goes all godly, he's going to enjoy crushing the others. It will probably be the first thing he does."
"Oh," Butters said.
"That's why I need you to do something for me, Thomas."
My brother nodded. "Name it."
I grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pencil and started writing. "This is a note. I want you to take it down to the address I'm writing down and get it to the Wardens."
"I'm not going anywhere close to the Wardens," Thomas said.
"You don't have to," I said. "They're at a hotel. You'll leave it at the desk and ask the clerk to take it to them. Then clear out fast."
"Are they going to trust a note?" Thomas asked, skeptical.
"I told them to expect a messenger if I couldn't get there myself. They know about the Erlking. That I'm trying to sidetrack him. They need to know where the heirs of Kemmler are going to be so that they can take them down."
"Five of them," Thomas said quietly. "They'll be outnumbered by one."
I grimaced. It would be worse than that. Ramirez had looked like he could handle himself, but the two rookies couldn't have stood up to any of the heirs or their companions, from what I'd seen. "Once I've secured the Erlking, I'll be along as quick as I can. Besides that, they're Wardens," I said. "They'll take down Kemmler's flunkies."
"Or die trying," Thomas said. He grimaced. "How should I get down there?"
I went to another kitchen drawer and rummaged in it until I found Murphy's spare keys. I tossed them to Thomas. "Here. Her motorcycle is in the shed."
"Right," he said, but his expression was wary. "She going to mind me stealing her bike?"
"It's in a good cause," I told him. "The streets are bad, and the Wardens need to get moving soonest. Go."
Thomas nodded, pocketed the keys, and shrugged into his leather jacket. "I'll get back here as soon as I'm done."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Thomas. To the Wardens you're nothing but a White Court vampire. If they see you, they'll be out for blood."
"I understand," he said. His voice was a little bitter. "If I'm not back in time, Harry …  good luck."
He offered his hand, and we traded grips, hard. My hand must have been cold with nerves, because his felt warm. Then he let go of my hand, nodded to Bob and Butters, and headed out into the rain. A minute later Murphy's Harley grumbled in the backyard, and then purred off into the rain and gloom.
I sat there in silence for a minute, then got up and went to the stove. I got the teapot out, filled it up, and put it on the gas burner to boil. It took me a minute to find Murphy's collection of teas, and it was gratuitously complex. I mean, come on, how many different types of tea do you really need? Maybe I'm prejudiced, because I take my tea with so much sugar that the actual flavor is sort of an aftertaste.
I found some in instant bags that smelled vaguely minty. "Tea?" I asked Butters.
"Sure," he said.
I got out two cups.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Hot tea," I said. "Staying warm. Then I go out in the rain and call up the Erlking. You're staying inside while I do."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's going to be dangerous."
"Well, yeah," he said. "But why inside the house? I mean, this super-goblin can just rip the walls apart, right?"
"Strong enough to do it, probably," I said. "But it can't. The house is protected by its threshold."
Butters looked at me blankly. "Which means what?"
I leaned a hip on the counter and explained. "A threshold is a kind of energy that surrounds a home. It's … " I frowned, thinking how to explain it. "It's sort of like the home has a positive charge to it. If outside magic wants to come in, it has to neutralize that charge first. Big, tough things from the Nevernever need a lot of power just to stay in our world. They don't usually have enough to take out a threshold and still have enough juice to be dangerous."
"It's like that vampire thing?" he asked. "They can't come in if you don't invite them?"
"Pretty much, yeah. If you invite something in, your threshold won't affect it. But other magical beings and energy have trouble with it. It's a solid defense."
"Didn't help your place much," Butters observed.
"My place is a rental apartment," I said. "And except for the past several months, it's been just me living there. Doesn't give it the same kind of energy as you'd find in a long-established home."
"Oh. Is that what they mean by 'safe as houses,' then?"
I smiled a little. "A house doesn't make a home. When the place has got history, family, emotions, worries, joys worked into the wood, that's when it gets a solid threshold. This house has been in the Murphy clan for better than a hundred years, and lived in for every one of them. It's solid. You'll be safe in here."
"But it's not going to get loose once you call it up," Butters said. "Right?"
"That's the plan. But even if it did, you aren't the one who is going to piss it off. There won't be any reason for it to come after you."
"Oh, good," he said. He blinked at me and said apologetically, "Not that I want it to come after you, Harry."
"I don't blame you," I said.
Butters nodded. "Why zombies?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Sorry. Changing topics. New question. Why do all these necromancer types use zombies?"
"Not all of them do," I pointed out. "Corpsetaker had called up a bunch of semicorporeal ghosts. Specters."
"But human," Butters said. "Zombies look human. Specters look human. Why not whistle up a pack of decayed rats? Or maybe semicorporeal mosquitos? Why use people?"
"Oh," I said. "It's got to do with a kind of metaphysical impression that any given creature leaves upon its death. Sort of like a footprint. Human beings leave larger footprints than most animals, which means that you can pour more energy into reanimating them."
"They make stronger goons," Butters clarified.
"Yes."
"How come Grevane had fresh corpses when he came to get me, but he attacked your house with old ones? I mean, I saw those things up close." He shivered. "Some of them must have dated back to the beginning of the twentieth century."
"Same reason they animate humans instead of animals," I said. "Older corpses leave a deeper metaphysical imprint. They're harder to call up, but once you get them here they're easier to control, stronger, more difficult to damage."
"Old corpses get you stronger undead flunkies," he said.
"Right," I said. I could see the wheels turning in Butters's head as he processed the information. He looked like he was busy lining up dozens more questions spawned by the answers to the first few, and I had a feeling he would pursue them with relentless curiosity.
"Okay. But what if-"
"Butters," I said as gently as I could. "Not now. All I want to do is have a quiet cup of tea." An inspiration hit me. "Ask Bob," I told him. "Bob knows a hell of a lot more than I do, anyway."
"Oh," Butters said. He looked from me to the skull. "Um. Yeah, I guess Thomas was talking to it."
"He!" Bob said indignantly. "I am very much a he! I'm not some kind of freaking animatronic Tinkertoy!"
"Right," Butters said. "Um. Sorry. Bob. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"
"It's a waste of my vast intellect and talent," Bob sneered.
"Do it, Bob," I told him.
"Oh, man." The orange lights in the skull's eye sockets rolled. "Fine. I haven't got anything better to do than to teach kindergarten."
"Great!" Butters bubbled, and sat down at the table. He grabbed some more paper and a pencil. "Well, how about we start with … "
I fixed myself a cup of tea and one for Butters. I put the cup down near him, but he took little notice of it. He was deeply involved in a conversation with Bob.
I slipped out into the living room and put my aching leg up on the table, then settled back onto the couch with my tea. I sat in the gloom, sipping hot, sweet mint something-or-other and tried to order my thoughts. I was tired enough that it didn't take too long.