"Like hell you don't," I said. "You're an ectomancer. One of the strongest I've met. You've got access to all kinds of information. You could do a lot of good."

"Information doesn't stop fangs, Dresden. If I start using what I know against them, I'd be a threat. Five minutes after I get involved I'll be the one with his throat cut."

"Better them than you, huh?"

He looked up and spread his hands. "I am what I am, Dresden. A coward. I don't apologize for it." He folded his fingers and regarded me soberly. "What's the fastest way for me to get you away from my home and out of my life?"

I leaned my staff against the table and slouched into my chair. "What do you know about what's been happening in town lately?"

"Black magic?" Mort asked. "Not much. I've had nightmares, which is unusual. The dead have been nervous for several days. It's been difficult to get them to answer a summons, even with Halloween coming up."

"Has that happened before?" I asked.

"Not on this scale," Mort said. "I've asked, but they won't explain to me why they're afraid. In my experience, it's one way that spiritual entities react to the presence of dark powers."

I nodded, frowning. "It's necromancy," I said. "You ever heard about a guy named Kemmler?"

Mort's eyes widened. "Oh, God. His disciples?"

"I think so," I said. "A lot of them."

Mort's face turned a little green. "That explains why they're so afraid."

"Why?"

He waved a hand. "The dead are terrified of whatever is moving around out there. Necromancers can enslave them. Control them. Even destroy them."

"So they can feel their power?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

"Good," I said. "I was counting on that."

Mort frowned and arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure how many of them are in town," I said. "I need to know where they are—or at least how many of them are here. I want you to ask the dead to help me locate them."

He lifted both hands. "They won't. I'll tell you that for certain. You couldn't get a ghost to willingly appear within screaming distance of a necromancer."

"Come on, Mort. Don't start holding out on me."

"I'm not," he said, and held up two fingers in a scout's hand signal. "My pledge of honor upon it."

I exhaled, frustrated. "What about residual magic?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever these necromancers work with dark magic it leaves a kind of stain or footprint. I can sense it if I get close enough."

"So why don't you do it?"

"It's a big town," I said. "And whatever these lunatics are up to, it's got to happen by midnight Halloween. I don't have time to walk a grid hoping to get close."

"And you think the dead will?"