it?"
"Plenty of groups. Brotherhoods connected to the White Council, historic societies, a couple of fringe groups of occult scholars, personality cults, television psychics, comic book heroes-"
"I get the point," I said. I turned to a fresh page and from razor-sharp memory sketched out the symbol I'd seen on the demon Ursiel's forehead. "Do you recognize this?"
Bob's eyelights widened. "Are you insane? Harry, tear that paper up. Burn it."
I frowned. "Bob, wait a minute-"
"Do it now!"
The skull's voice was frightened, and I get nervous when Bob gets frightened. Not much can scare Bob out of his usual wiseass-commentator state of mind. I tore up the paper. "I guess you recognize it."
"Yeah. And I'm not having anything to do with that bunch."
"I didn't hear that, Bob. I need information on them. They're in town, they've taken a shot at me, and I'm betting they're after the Shroud."
"Let them have it," Bob said. "Seriously. You've got no idea the kind of power this group has."
"Fallen, I know," I said. "Order of the Blackened Denarius. But they have to play by the rules, right?"
"Harry, it isn't just the Fallen. The people they've taken are nearly as bad. They're assassins, poisoners, warriors, sorcerers-"
"Sorcerers?"
"The coins make them effectively immortal. Some of the Order have had a thousand years to practice, and maybe more. That much time, even modest talents can grow teeth. Never mind everything experience would have taught them, everything they could have found to make themselves stronger over the years. Even without infernal superpowers, they'd be badass."
I frowned, and tore the bits of paper into smaller bits. "Badass enough to manage that curse?"
"There's no question that they'd have the skill. Maybe enough that they wouldn't need as big a power source."
"Great," I said, and rubbed at my eyes. "All right, then. Big-leaguers all around. I want you to track down the Shroud."
"No can do," Bob said.
"Give me a break. How many pieces of two-thousand-year-old linen are in town?"
"That's not the point, Harry. The Shroud is …" Bob seemed to struggle to find words. "It doesn't exist on the same wavelength as me. It's out of my jurisdiction."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm a spirit of intellect, Harry. Of reason, logic. The Shroud isn't about logic. It's an artifact of faith."
"What?" I demanded. "That doesn't make any sense."
"You don't know everything, Harry," Bob said. "You don't even know a lot. I can't touch this. I can't come anywhere near it. And if I even try, I'll be crossing boundaries I shouldn't. I'm not going up against angels, Dresden, Fallen, or otherwise."
I sighed, and lifted my hands. "Fine, fine. Is there someone I can talk to?"
Bob was quiet for a moment before he said, "Maybe. Ulsharavas."
"Ulsha-who?"
"Ulsharavas. She's an ally of the loa, an oracle spirit. There's details about halfway through your copy of Dumont's Guide to Divinationators."
"How are her prices?"
"Reasonable," Bob said. "You've got everything you need for the calling. She isn't usually malicious."
"Isn't usually?"
"The loa are basically good guys, but they all have their darker aspects, too. Ulsharavas is a pretty gentle guide, but she's been harsh before. Don't let your guard down."
"I won't," I said, and frowned. "One more thing. Swing by Marcone's place and see if there's anything interesting there. You don't have to go all David Niven; just take a look around."
"You think Marcone's involved in this one?"
"His thugs already took a poke at me. I might as well find out whatever I can. I give you permission to leave in pursuit of that information, Bob. Get back before dawn. Oh, do we still have that recipe for the antivenom to vampire spit?"
A cloud of orange lights flowed out of the skull, across the table, and then up the stairs. Bob's voice, oddly modulated, floated back to me. "Red notebook. Don't forget to light the wardflame while I'm gone."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. I gave Bob a minute
"Plenty of groups. Brotherhoods connected to the White Council, historic societies, a couple of fringe groups of occult scholars, personality cults, television psychics, comic book heroes-"
"I get the point," I said. I turned to a fresh page and from razor-sharp memory sketched out the symbol I'd seen on the demon Ursiel's forehead. "Do you recognize this?"
Bob's eyelights widened. "Are you insane? Harry, tear that paper up. Burn it."
I frowned. "Bob, wait a minute-"
"Do it now!"
The skull's voice was frightened, and I get nervous when Bob gets frightened. Not much can scare Bob out of his usual wiseass-commentator state of mind. I tore up the paper. "I guess you recognize it."
"Yeah. And I'm not having anything to do with that bunch."
"I didn't hear that, Bob. I need information on them. They're in town, they've taken a shot at me, and I'm betting they're after the Shroud."
"Let them have it," Bob said. "Seriously. You've got no idea the kind of power this group has."
"Fallen, I know," I said. "Order of the Blackened Denarius. But they have to play by the rules, right?"
"Harry, it isn't just the Fallen. The people they've taken are nearly as bad. They're assassins, poisoners, warriors, sorcerers-"
"Sorcerers?"
"The coins make them effectively immortal. Some of the Order have had a thousand years to practice, and maybe more. That much time, even modest talents can grow teeth. Never mind everything experience would have taught them, everything they could have found to make themselves stronger over the years. Even without infernal superpowers, they'd be badass."
I frowned, and tore the bits of paper into smaller bits. "Badass enough to manage that curse?"
"There's no question that they'd have the skill. Maybe enough that they wouldn't need as big a power source."
"Great," I said, and rubbed at my eyes. "All right, then. Big-leaguers all around. I want you to track down the Shroud."
"No can do," Bob said.
"Give me a break. How many pieces of two-thousand-year-old linen are in town?"
"That's not the point, Harry. The Shroud is …" Bob seemed to struggle to find words. "It doesn't exist on the same wavelength as me. It's out of my jurisdiction."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm a spirit of intellect, Harry. Of reason, logic. The Shroud isn't about logic. It's an artifact of faith."
"What?" I demanded. "That doesn't make any sense."
"You don't know everything, Harry," Bob said. "You don't even know a lot. I can't touch this. I can't come anywhere near it. And if I even try, I'll be crossing boundaries I shouldn't. I'm not going up against angels, Dresden, Fallen, or otherwise."
I sighed, and lifted my hands. "Fine, fine. Is there someone I can talk to?"
Bob was quiet for a moment before he said, "Maybe. Ulsharavas."
"Ulsha-who?"
"Ulsharavas. She's an ally of the loa, an oracle spirit. There's details about halfway through your copy of Dumont's Guide to Divinationators."
"How are her prices?"
"Reasonable," Bob said. "You've got everything you need for the calling. She isn't usually malicious."
"Isn't usually?"
"The loa are basically good guys, but they all have their darker aspects, too. Ulsharavas is a pretty gentle guide, but she's been harsh before. Don't let your guard down."
"I won't," I said, and frowned. "One more thing. Swing by Marcone's place and see if there's anything interesting there. You don't have to go all David Niven; just take a look around."
"You think Marcone's involved in this one?"
"His thugs already took a poke at me. I might as well find out whatever I can. I give you permission to leave in pursuit of that information, Bob. Get back before dawn. Oh, do we still have that recipe for the antivenom to vampire spit?"
A cloud of orange lights flowed out of the skull, across the table, and then up the stairs. Bob's voice, oddly modulated, floated back to me. "Red notebook. Don't forget to light the wardflame while I'm gone."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. I gave Bob a minute
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