Fitz told him that he needed to see Father Forthill, that it was a matter of life and death. Only after several minutes of emphasizing his original statement did Father Paolo sigh and invite Fitz in.

“Stay there,” Paolo said, pointing a stern finger at Fitz.

Fitz pointed at the ground, questioningly, and then nodded. “Got it.” Then he deliberately took a small shuffle-step to one side as the priest began to turn away, drawing a scowl worthy of at least a cardinal.

I probably shouldn’t have undermined Paolo’s authority by chuckling like that, but come on. That’s comedy.

Forthill came down the hall from his chambers a few moments later, dressed in flannel pajamas and a heavy, black terry-cloth robe. He had thick, fuzzy house shoes on his feet, and his fringe of hair was standing up every which way. His bright blue eyes were a little watery and squinty without the aid of his glasses. He blinked at Fitz for a moment and then said, “Can I help you, my son?”

“Harry Dresden said you could,” Fitz said.

Forthill raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Perhaps you should come with me.”

Fitz looked around and then nodded. “I guess.”

Forthill beckoned and led Fitz back down some hallways to the neat, modest chamber where he slept and lived. It was maybe ten feet square and contained a bed, a desk, a chair, and a couple of lamps. Forthill let Fitz in, then closed the door behind the young man. “Please have a seat, my son.”

Fitz looked around for a moment, then sat down on the chair. Forthill nodded and sat on the edge of his bed. “First things first,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Should I give you a good set-up line for you to make a pithy comment about Catholic priests and sexual abuse of young men, or would you prefer to find your own opening during the conversation?”

Fitz blinked a couple of times and said, “What?”

“Such remarks are apparently quite popular. I wouldn’t want to deny you the enjoyment.”

“Oh, uh. No, that’s all right, Father.”

Forthill nodded gravely. “As you wish. Shall we talk about your problems now?”

“All right.”

“Well, then,” the priest said, “perhaps you should start by telling me when Dresden told you to come to me for help.”

“Uh…” Fitz said. He glanced around, as if looking for me.

“Go ahead,” I told him. “Just tell him the truth. It’s all right.”

Fitz took a deep breath and said, “About thirty minutes ago, Father.”

Forthill’s eyebrows tried to turn themselves into a toupee. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, his eyes restless. “I, uh. I hear dead people.”

“That must be disconcerting.”

“I’m not crazy,” Fitz said quickly.

“I never thought you were, my son,” Forthill said.

Fitz gave him a suspicious scowl. “You believe me?”

The old man gave him an imp’s grin. “I’m well aware of the supernatural facets of our city—and that the streets have been particularly dangerous for the past six months or so.”