"You are now," I said. I kept smiling, but all I really wanted to do was throw a jab at his nose. I guess my feelings must have leaked through into my expression, because Mort took one look at my face and blanched. "People are in trouble. I'm helping them. Now open this damned door and help me, or I swear to God I am going to come camp out on your lawn in my sleeping bag."

Mort's eyes widened, and he looked around outside the house, nervous energy making his eyes flick back and forth rapidly. "You son of a bitch," he said.

"Believe it."

He opened the door. I stepped inside and he shut it behind me, snapping several locks closed.

The interior of the house was clean, businesslike. The entry hall had been converted into a small waiting room, and beyond it lay the remainder of the first floor, a richly colored room lined with candles in sconces, now unlit, featuring a large table of dark polished wood surrounded by matching hand-carved chairs. Mort stalked into his seance room, picked up a box of kitchen matches, and started lighting a few candles.

"Well?" he asked. "Going to show me how all-powerful you are? Call up a gale in my study? Maybe slam a few doors for dramatic effect?"

"Would you like me to?"

He threw the matches down on the table and took a seat at its head. "Maybe I haven't been clear with you, Dresden," Mort said. "I'm not a wizard. I'm not with the Council. I have no interest in attracting their attention or that of their enemies. I am not a participant in your war with the vampires. I like my blood where it is."

"This isn't about the vampires," I said.

Mort frowned. "No? Are things dying down, then?"

I grimaced and took a seat a few chairs down. "There was a nasty fight in Mexico City three weeks ago, and the Wardens bloodied the Red Court's nose pretty well. Seems to have thrown a wrench in their plans for some reason."

"Getting ready to hit back," Mort said.

"Everyone figures that," I said. "We just don't know where or when."

Mort exhaled and leaned his forehead on the heel of one hand. "Did you know I found someone they'd killed a couple of years ago? Young boy, maybe ten years old."

"A ghost?" I asked.

Mort nodded. "Little guy had no idea what was going on. He didn't even know he was dead. They cut his throat with a razor blade. You could barely see the mark unless he turned to look over his right shoulder."

"That's what they do," I said. "How can you see things like that and not want to fight them?"

"Bad things happen to people, Dresden," Mort said. "I'm sorry as hell about it, but I'm not you. I don't have the power to change it."