Michael frowned. "He was after the Archive all along? He deliberately came here and provoked a confrontation to get you to call her in to arbitrate?"
"That isn't much of a plan," Luccio said. "You could have chosen any one of a dozen neutral arbiters."
Murphy snorted. "But it's Dresden. He's lived in the same apartment since I first met him. Drives the same car. Drinks at that same little pub. Favorite restaurant is Burger King. He gets the same damned meal every time he goes there, too."
"You can't improve on perfection," I said. "That's why it's called perfection. And what's your point?"
"You're a creature of habit, Harry. You don't like change."
There wasn't much use denying that. "Even if I hadn't called Ivy, Nicodemus still could realize some gains. Maybe recruit Marcone. Maybe kill off Michael or Sanya. Maybe ditch some deadwood within his own organization. Who knows? The point is, I did call Ivy in, he did get the opportunity to take her down, and it paid off."
"But the Archive was created neutral," Sanya said. "Constrained. You said so yourself."
"The Archive was," I said. "But Ivy wasn't, and Ivy controls the Archive. She's still a child. That child can be hurt. Frightened. Coerced. Tempted." I rubbed at the spot between my eyes. "They want to make her one of them. Probably hoping to gobble up Marcone along the way."
"God help us if they're taken," Murphy said quietly.
"God help them if they're taken," Michael murmured. "We have to find them, Harry."
"Not even Mab could locate the Denarians with magic," I said. "Gard. Could your firm do any better?"
She shook her head.
I glanced at Michael. "I don't suppose anyone's drawn a big flashing arrow in the sky for you two to see?"
Michael shook his head, his expression sober. "I looked."
"Okay, then. Barring divine intervention we have no way of finding them." I took a deep breath. "So. We're going to make them find us."
"That would be a good trick if we could do it," Sanya said. "What did you have in mind?"
Hendricks lifted his head suddenly. "Coins."
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Hendricks counted on his fingers for a second. "They only got six. And six people. So how they gonna get the creepy little girl a coin? Or one for the boss?"
"Good thinking, Cujo," I said. "It'll only hurt for a minute. But we've got to move fast to make it work. Nicodemus can't afford to throw away any more manpower, but his conscience won't hesitate for one itty-bitty second to kill one of his own people for their coin, if it comes to that. So we're going to offer him a trade. Eleven old nickels in exchange for the girl."
Michael and Sanya both came to their feet in an instant, speaking loudly and in two different languages. It was hard to make out individual words, but the gestalt of their protest amounted to, Are you out of your mind?
"Dammit all, Michael!" I said, swinging around to face him, thrusting out my jaw. "If Nicodemus manages to take the Archive, it won't matter how many of the damned coins you have locked away."
Silence. The clock in the entry hall ticked very loudly.
I didn't back down. "Right now six demons are torturing an eleven-year-old girl. The same way they tortured me. The same way they tortured Shiro."
Michael flinched.
"Look me in the eye," I told him, "and tell me you think that we should let that child suffer when we have the means to save her."
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
Michael shook his head.
Sanya subsided, sinking back to lean against a cabinet again, his expression pensive and solemn.
"Nicodemus will never accept that trade," Michael said quietly.
Luccio smiled, showing a lot of teeth. "Of course he will. Why sacrifice a useful retainer when he can show up for the exchange, double-cross us, steal the coins, and keep the Archive?"
"Bingo," I said. "And we'll be ready for him. Captain, do you know how to contact him through the channels outlined in the Accords?"
"Yes," she said.
"Harry," Michael said gently, "we're taking a terrible risk."
He and Luccio exchanged a glance pregnant with silence, swayed by deep undercurrents.
"At this point," Luccio said, "the only riskier thing we can do is..." She shrugged and spread her hands. "Nothing."
Michael grimaced and crossed himself. "God be with us."
"Amen," Sanya said, winking over Michael's shoulder at me.
"Call Nicodemus," I said. "Tell him I want to make a deal."
Chapter Thirty-six
I t takes time to go through channels.
The last thing I wanted to do was get wet again, but I was still freezing, and shaky, and as it turns out, there are a number of other inconvenient and unpleasant side effects to accidentally gulping down gallons of salt water. It's the little things that get to you the most.
It took me a couple of hours to get my system straightened out, get showered, and get horizontal, and by the time I finally did it I was so tired that I could barely focus my eyes. Molly was committing dinner by that time, aided and abetted by Sanya, who seemed to take some kind of grim Russian delight in watching train wrecks in progress. I fell down on the couch to debate whether or not I wanted to risk putting anything else in the pipes, and Rip van Winkled my way right through the danger.
I didn't want to wake up. I was having a dream where I wasn't hurt, and no one was kicking me around. The walls were white and smooth and clean, lit only by frosty moonlight, and someone with a gentle voice was speaking quietly to me. But my right hand had broken into fierce tingling, all pins and needles, and sleep began to retreat. I started to wake slowly. Voices murmured in the room.
"...can she possibly be sure?" Murphy demanded in a heated whisper.
"It isn't my area of knowledge," Michael rumbled back. "Ma'am?"
Luccio's tone was cautious. "It is a delicate area of the art," she said. "But the girl does have a gift."
"Then we need to say something."
"You can't," Molly said, her tone quiet and sad. "It wouldn't help. It might make things worse."
"And you know that?" Murphy demanded. "You know that for a fact?"
I was so tired, I'd probably missed a sentence or three in there. I blinked my eyes open and said muzzily, "The kid knows what she's talking about." I fumbled about and found Mouse lying on the floor beside the couch, immediately under my arm. I decided sitting up could wait for a minute. "What are we talking about?"