Murphy frowned. “He didn’t want the others to hear it being asked.”

Childs nodded. “He feared it might generate unintended negative consequences.”

Murphy stared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Well?”

Childs showed his teeth in a smile for the first time. It made me think of skulls. “He wishes to know if you trust the Ragged Lady.”

Murphy straightened at the question, her back going rigid. She waited to take a deep breath and exhale before responding. “What do you mean?”

“Odd things have begun happening near some of the locations she haunts. Things that no one can quite explain.” Childs shrugged, leaving his hands in plain sight, resting comfortably on the sofa. “Which part of the question is too difficult for you?”

Murphy’s shoulder twitched, as if her hand had been thinking about grabbing the gun from her waistband. But she took another breath before she spoke. “What’s he offering for the answer?”

“Northerly Island. And before you ask, yes, including the beach.”

I blinked at that. The island over by Burnham Park Harbor wasn’t exactly prime criminal territory, being mostly parks, fields, and a beach a lot of families visited—but “Gentleman” John Marcone, kingpin of Chicago’s rackets and the only plain-vanilla mortal to become a signatory of the Unseelie Accords, simply did not surrender territory. Not for anything.

Murphy’s eyes widened, too, and I watched her going through the same line of thought I had. Though, to be perfectly fair, I think she got to the end of that line before I did.

“If I do agree to this,” she said, her tone cautious, “it will have to pass our standard verification by Monday.”

Childs’s face was a bland mask. “Done.”

Murphy nodded and looked down at the floor for a moment, evidently marshaling her thoughts. Then she said, “There isn’t a simple answer.”

“There rarely is,” Childs noted.

Murphy passed a hand back over her brush cut and studied Childs. Then she said, “When she was working with Dresden, I’d have said yes, in a heartbeat, without reservation.”

Childs nodded. “And now?”

“Now… Dresden’s gone. And she came back from Chichén Itzá changed,” Murphy said. “Maybe post-traumatic stress. Maybe something more than that. She’s different.”

Childs tilted his head. “Do you distrust her?”

“I don’t drop my guard around her,” Murphy said. “And that’s my answer.”

The bleach-blond man considered her words for a few seconds and then nodded. “I will carry it to my employer. The island will be clear of his interests by Monday.”

“Will you give me your word on that?”

“I already have.” Childs stood up, the motion a portrait of grace. If he was a mortal, he was deadly fast. Or a ballet dancer. And somehow I didn’t think he had some Danskins stuffed in his suit’s pockets. “I will go. Please inform me if anything of relevance comes out of the meeting.”

Murphy nodded, her hand near her gun, and watched Childs walk to the front door. Childs opened it and began to leave.