I frowned. The demon had two of my names already. If he gained my whole name, from my own lips, he could use it in any number of magical applications against me. That didn't particularly disturb me-demons and their ilk had great difficulty in reaching out from the Nevernever, the spirit world beyond the physical one we inhabited, with sorcery.
But Chaunzaggoroth was a popular source of information among wizards who went to the underworld in need of it. What bothered me was the possibility that one of them would get it. Chauncy was correct-there were a lot of people on the White Council who would be happy to see me dead. If one of them got my name, there was the chance that they would use it against me, either to kill me or to magically force me to do something that would openly violate one of the Seven Laws and have me brought to trial and killed.
On the other hand, Chauncy never lied to me. If he said he had information that could save people's lives, he had it, and that's all there was to it. Hell, he might even know who the killer was, though a demon's grasp of individual human identity was somewhat shaky.
I decided to gamble.
"Done," I said. "All pertinent information on the subject of my inquiry in exchange for another of my names."
Chauncy nodded once. "Agreed."
"All right," I said. "Let's have the information on MacFinn and the Northwest Passage Project."
"Very well," Chauncy said. "Harley MacFinn is an heir to a considerable fortune made in coal mining and railroads at the turn of the twentieth century. He is one of the ten richest men in the country known as the United States. He served during the police action in Vietnam, and when he returned to this country he began divesting himself of business interests, merely accruing capital. His favorite color is red, his shoe size is-"
"We can skip the little details unless you think they will be really relevant," I said. "I could hear about his favorite food and his problems in middle school all day and it wouldn't help anything." I got out my notebook and started taking notes.
"As you wish," Chauncy assented. "The object of his endeavors for the past several years has been the Northwest Passage Project. The project is an effort to buy enormous tracts of land, beginning in the central Rocky Mountains of the American Southwest, and moving northwest into Canada, to provide for an enormous, migratory-sized preserve for North American wildlife."
"He wants to make his own private playground out of the Rocky Mountains?" I blurted.
"No, Harry Dresden. He wishes to acquire the lands that are not already owned by the government, then donate them, provided the government guarantees that they will be used as a part of the Northwest Passage Project. He has considerable backing from environmentalist groups throughout the country, and support in your capital, as well, provided he can get the land."
"Wow," I said, impressed. "You said he has a lot of support. Who wants to stop him?"
"Industrial interests still looking to expand into the Northwest," Chauncy said.
"Let me guess. James Harding III was one of them," I said, already writing it down.
"How did you know?" Chauncy asked.
"He was killed by a werewolf last month, along with his bodyguard. Several other people died as well."
Chauncy beamed. "You are a clever man, Harry Dresden. Yes. James Douglas Harding III was exceptionally interested in blocking MacFinn's efforts to acquire property. He came to Chicago to have negotiations with MacFinn, but died before they were complete."
I closed my eyes for a minute, thinking. "Okay. Harding comes to town to talk to MacFinn. Harding's in cahoots with Marcone, so maybe Marcone is hosting the talks. Harding and his bodyguard get et-all-up by a werewolf. So … MacFinn is the werewolf in question?"
Chauncy smiled, a rather intimidating expression. "MacFinn is a member of an ancient family line from an island known as Ireland. His family has a notable history. Sometime in the murky past, legend would have it, the man known as Saint Patrick cursed his ancestor to become a ravening beast at every full moon. The curse came with two addenda. First, that it would be hereditary, passing down to someone new each and every generation. And second, that the cursed line of the family would never, ever die out, lasting until the end of days."
I wrote that down as well. "A Catholic saint did that?"
Chauncy made a sound of distaste. "I am not responsible for the sorts of people the Other Side employs, wizard. Or the tactics they use."
"Considering the source, I think I'll note it as a biased opinion. Your folk have done a thousand times worse," I said.
"Well. True," Chauncy admitted. "But we tend to be quite honest about the sort of beings we are and the sorts of things we stand for, at least."
I snorted. "All right. This is making a lot more sense now. MacFinn is a loup-garou, one of the legendary monsters. He's trying to do some good in his spare time, make the big park for all the furry critters, but Harding puts himself in the way. MacFinn goes on a killing spree and wipes him out." I frowned. "Except that Harding was the last person to be murdered last month. You would have thought that if MacFinn was going to lose it, Harding would be the first to go." I peered at Chauncy. "Is MacFinn the murderer?"
"MacFinn is a murderer," Chauncy said. "But among humankind, he is one of many, and not the most monstrous."
"Is he the one who killed Marcone's bodyguard? The other people last month?"
"My information on that point is inconclusive, Harry Dresden," Chauncy said. His black eyes gleamed. "Perhaps for the price of another name, I could inquire of my brethren and give you a more precise answer."
I scowled. "Not a chance. Do you know who murdered the other people, last month?"
"I do," Chauncy said. "Murder is one of the foremost sins, and we keep close track of sins."
I leaned forward intently. "Who was it?"
Chauncy laughed, a grating sound. "Really, Harry Dresden. In the first place, our bargain was for information regarding MacFinn and the Northwest Passage Project. In the second, I could not tell you the answer to such a direct question, and you know it. There is a limit to how much I may involve myself in mortal affairs."
I let out a breath of frustration and rubbed at my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. All right, Chauncy. What else can you tell me?"
"Only that Harley MacFinn was planning to meet with John Marcone tomorrow night, to continue the talks."
"Wait a minute. Is Marcone the major opponent to the project now?"
"Correct," Chauncy said. "He assumed control of a majority of the business interests shared with Harding upon Harding's death."
"So … Marcone had a fantastic motive to have Harding killed. It broadened his financial empire, and put him in a position to gouge MacFinn for as much money as he possibly could."
Chauncy adjusted his wire-frame spectacles. "Your reasoning would seem to be sound."
I thumped my pencil on my notebook, staring at what I had written. "Yeah. But it doesn't explain why everyone else got killed. Or who did it. Unless Marcone's got a pack of werewolves in his pocket, that is." I chewed on my lip, and thought about my encounter at the Full Moon Garage. "Or Streetwolves."
"Is there anything else?" Chauncy asked, his manner solicitous.
"Yes," I said. "Where can I find MacFinn?"
"Eight eighty-eight Ralston Place."
I wrote it down. "But that's right here in Chicago. In the Gold Coast."
"Where did you expect a billionaire to live when he was in Chicago, Harry Dresden? Now, I seem to have lived up to all of my obligations. I expect my payment now." Chauncy took a few restless steps back and forth within the circle. His time on earth was beginning to wear on him.
I nodded. "My name," I said, "is Harry Blackstone Dresden." I carefully omitted ?Copperfield? from the words, while leaving the tones and pronunciation the same.
"Harry. Blackstone. Dresden," Chauncy repeated carefully. "Harry as in Harry Houdini? Blackstone, the stage illusionist?"
I nodded. "My dad was a stage musician. When I was born, he gave me those names. They were always his heroes. I think if my mother had survived the birth, she would have slapped him for it." I made a few more notes on my page, getting ideas down on paper before they fled from memory.
"Indeed," Chauncy agreed. "Your mother was a most direct and willful woman. Her loss was a great sadness to all of us."
I blinked, startled, and the pencil fell from my fingers. I stared at the demon for a moment. "You … you knew my mother? You knew Margaret Gwendolyn Dresden?"
Chauncy regarded me without expression or emotion. "Many in the underworld were … familiar with her, Harry Blackstone Dresden, though under a different name. Her coming was awaited with great anticipation, but the Dark Prince lost her, in the end."
"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"
Chauncy's eyes gleamed with avarice. "Didn't you know about your mother's past, Mr. Dresden? A pity that we didn't have this conversation sooner. You might have added it into the bargain we made. Of course, if you would like to forfeit another name, to know all about your mother's past, her … " his voice twisted with distaste, "redemption, and the unnatural deaths of both mother and father, I am certain we can work something out."