"I think the dead can move through walls and the floor, and that there are a whole lot more of them than there are of me," I said. "If you ask them, they might do it."

"They might attract attention to themselves, you mean," Mort said. "No. They may be dead, but that doesn't mean that they can't get hurt. I won't risk that for Council infighting."

I blinked for a second. A few years ago Mort had barely been able to crawl out of his bottle long enough to cold-read credulous idiots into believing he could speak to their dead loved ones. Even after he had gotten his life together and begun to reclaim his atrophied talents, he had never displayed any particular indication that he wanted anything more than to turn a profit on his genuine skills rather than with fraud. Mort always looked out for number one.

But not tonight. I recognized the quiet, steady light in his eyes. He was not going to be pushed on this issue. Maybe Mort wasn't willing to go to the wall for his fellow human beings, but apparently with the dead it was different. I hadn't expected the little ectomancer to grow a backbone, even if it was only a partial one.

I weighed my options. I could always try to lean harder on Mort, but I was pretty sure that it wouldn't do me much good. I could try contacting the ghosts of Chicagoland myself—but while I knew the basic theory of ectomancy, I had no practical experience with it. I had no time to waste floundering around like a clueless newbie in an area of magic totally outside my practical experience.

"Mort," I said, "look. If you mean it, I'll respect that. I'll go right now."

He frowned, his eyes wary.

"But this isn't about wizard politics," I said. "Kemmler's disciples have already killed at least one person here in town, and they're going to kill more."

He slumped a little in his chair and closed his eyes. "Bad things happen to people, Dresden. That's not my fault."

"Please," I said. "Mort, I have a friend involved in this. If I don't deal with these assholes, she's going to get hurt."

He didn't open his eyes or answer me.

Dammit. I couldn't force him to help me. If he wasn't going to be moved, he wasn't going to be moved.

"Thanks for nothing then, Mort," I told him. My voice sounded more tired than bitter. "Keep on looking out for number one." I rose, picked up my staff, and walked toward the door.

I had it unlocked and half-open when Mort said, "What's her name?"

I paused and inhaled slowly. "It's Murphy," I said without turning around. "Karrin Murphy."

There was a long silence.

"Oh," Mort said then. "You should have just said so. I'll ask them."