Dead Beat(70)

"More north," he said.
I peered at the darkness as I got moving, going through my mental map of Chicago. "Soldier's Field?"
"Maybe," he said. "I can't see anything."
We drove north and cruised past the home of da Bears. I stopped just on the other side and Butters checked again, facing the stadium. Then he blinked and turned around. His eyes widened and he came running back to the car. "We're really close. I think it's the Field Museum."
I got the car moving. "Makes sense," I said. "Bony Tony had plenty of contacts there. He did some trading in discretionary antiquities."
"You mean stolen artifacts?"
"What did I just say? He probably has some kind of arrangement with security there. Maybe he stashed it in a staff locker or something."
I parked in front of the Field Museum under a no parking sign. There were a couple of actual spots I could have used, but the drive was even closer. Besides, I found it aesthetically satisfying to defy municipal code.
I put the Beetle's parking brake on and got out into the rain. "Stay, Mouse," I said. "Come on, Butters. Can that thing get us close to the book?"
"Within ten feet or so," he said. "But Harry, the museum is closed. How are we going to-"
I blew out the glass of the front door with my staff, just as I had at Radio Shack.
"Oh," he said. "Right."
I strode into the main hall, Butters walking on my heels. Lightning flashed, abruptly illuminating Sue the Tyrannosaurus in all her bony Jurassic glory. Butters hadn't been expecting it, and let out a strangled little cry.
Thunder rolled and I got out my amulet for light, lifting an eyebrow at Butters.
"Sorry," he said. "I, uh …  I'm a little nervous."
"Don't worry about it," I told him, my own heart pounding wildly. The sudden reveal of that monstrous skeleton had shaken me, too.
Don't look at me like that. It was a tense sort of evening.
I looked slowly around the place, and Listened for a moment. I couldn't sense anyone's presence. I opened my Sight again, just for a quick glance around, but I didn't see anyone hiding behind a veil of magic. I backed off. "Check again."
He did so, though the shining floor of the museum didn't take the chalk as readily as concrete. A few minutes later he nodded toward Sue and said, "Over that way."
He broke the circle and we hurried across the enormous floor. "Try to keep quiet," I told him. "Security might still be around."
We stopped at Sue's feet and checked again. Butters frowned, peering around. "This can't be right," he said. "According to the GPS, these coordinates are inside that wall. Could Bony Tony have hidden it in the wall?"
"It's stone," I said. "And I think someone might have noticed if he'd torn out a wall in the entry hall and replaced it."
He shook the GPS a little. "I don't get it, then."
I chewed on my lip and looked up at Sue.
"Elevation," I said.
"What?"
"Come on." I pointed up. "There's a gallery overlooking the main hall. It must be either up there or on a floor below us."
"How do we know which?"
"We look. Starting with the upstairs. The levels below us are like some kind of gerbil maze from hell." I started for the stairs, and Butters came after me. Going up them was a pain, but my instincts were screaming that I was right, and my excitement made the discomfort unremarkable.
Once on the gallery, we went past a display of articles from Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show-saddles, wooden rifles that had been carried by the show's cowboys and Indians alike, cavalry bugles, feathered war bonnets, beaded vests, moccasins, ancient old boots, several worn old tomtoms, and about a million old photographs. Beyond that was some kind of interactive ecology display, and just past that there was a table bearing the weight of an enormous, malformed-looking dinosaur skull.
Butters checked again and nodded toward the skull. "I think it's there."
I went down to the skull. The display proclaimed that it was Sue's actual skull, but that geological shifts and pressures had warped it, so the museum had created an artificial skull for the display. Holding my light up, I walked slowly around the skull-an enormous block of rock now. I peered into darkened crevices in the rock, and when I didn't find a book I got down on the floor and started checking under the heavy platform that supported the skull.
I found a manila envelope duct-taped to the underside of the platform, and snatched it. I got out from under the platform and tore the envelope open, my fingers shaking.
An old, slender black volume not much larger than a calendar notebook fell from the envelope.
I held it in my bare right hand for a moment. There was no tingle of arcane energies to the book, no sense of lurking evil or imminent danger. It was simply a book-but nonetheless I was sure I had found The Word of Kemmler. My fingers shook harder, and I opened it.
The front bore a spidery scrawl of cursive writing: The Word of Heinrich Kemmler.
"Hey, that was kind of fun!" Butters said. "Is that it?"
"This is it," I said. "We found it." I glanced up at Butters and said, "Actually, you found it, Butters. I couldn't have done it without your help. Thank you."
Butters beamed. "Glad I could help."
I thought I heard a noise.
I lifted a hand, forestalling whatever Butters was about to say.
The sound didn't repeat itself. There was only thunder and rain.
I put a finger to my lips and Butters nodded. Then I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, slow and careful. For the barest second I felt my thoughts brush against a stirring of cold energy.
Necromancy.
I drew back from it with panicked haste. "Butters, get out."
The little ME blinked up at me. "What?"
"Get out," I said, my voice harsher. "There's a fire exit at the far side of the gallery. Go out it. Run. Get out of here and don't stop until you're someplace safe. Don't look back. Don't slow down."
He stared at me, his eyes huge, his face deathly pale.
"Now!" I snarled.
Butters bolted. I could hear terrified little sounds escaping his throat as he sprinted toward the far end of the gallery.
I closed my eyes and concentrated again, drawing in my will and power as I did so, casting my senses about in an effort to find the source of the dark power. I touched the necromantic working again, and this time I didn't even try to hide my presence by pulling away.
Whoever it was had come in through the door I'd broken open. I could feel a slithering sort of power there, mixed in with a cold kind of lust, a passion for despair.
I walked to the railing of the gallery and looked down into the entry hall.
Grevane stood below, trench coat wet and swaying, water dripping from the brim of his fedora. There was a half circle of dead men standing behind him, and he beat a slow rhythm on his leg with one hand.
I wanted to cut and run, but I couldn't. I had to hold things up here until Butters had a chance to get away. And besides, if I ran away, toward the back exit and nowhere near my car, Grevane's zombies would catch me and tear me apart.
I licked my lips, struggling to weigh my options.
Then I had an idea. Holding my pentacle's chain in my teeth for light, I opened the book and started flipping through it, one page after another. I didn't read it. I didn't even try to read it. I just opened the pages, fixed my gaze at a couple of points on each, and moved on.
It wasn't a long book. I was finished less than two minutes later.
There was a sound from the stairway, and I rose, readying my shield bracelet.
Grevane came onto the gallery floor, zombies marching behind him. He stood and stared at me for a moment, his expression impossible to read.
"Stay back," I said quietly.
He blinked at me very slowly. "Why?"
I held up the book in one hand. "Because I've got the Word here, Grevane. And if you don't back off, I'll burn it to ash."
His eyes widened, and he lurched a half step closer to me, licking his lips. "No, you won't," he said. "You know that. You want the power as much as I do."
"God, you people are dysfunctional," I said. "But just to save time I'll give you a reason that you're capable of understanding. I've read the book. I don't need it anymore. So if you push me, I'll be glad to flash-fry it for you."
"You didn't read it," Grevane spat. "You haven't had it for ten minutes."
"Speed- reading," I lied. "I can do War and Peace in thirty minutes."
"Give me the book," Grevane said. "I will allow you to live."
"Get out of my way. Or I will allow it to burn."
Grevane smiled.
And suddenly a weight fell on me, like someone had dropped a lead-lined blanket on my shoulders. My ears filled with rushing, hissing whispers. I stumbled and felt a dozen flashes of burning, needle-fine pain, and between that and the extra weight I fell to my knees. It took me a second to realize what was happening.
Snakes.
I was covered in snakes.
There were too many of them to count or identify, and they were all furious. Some dark green reptile as long as my arm struck at my face, sinking fangs into my left cheek and holding on. More of them struck at my neck, my shoulders, my hands, and I screamed in panic and pain. My duster took several hits, but the enspelled leather held out against them. I tore at my neck and shoulders and head, ripping snakes free of me by main strength, their fangs tearing at my flesh as I did.
I struggled to order my thoughts and rise, because I knew Grevane would be coming. I tried to gather my shield as I pushed myself to my hands and knees, but I saw a flash of a heavy boot driving toward me and light exploded in my eyes and I flopped back to the floor, briefly stunned.