“Ms. Murphy,” Morty said, nodding to her.

“Lindquist, isn’t it?” Murph asked. “The medium?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“Behind us,” Sir Stuart murmured.

I checked. A slender male figure in heavy winter clothing was crossing the street toward us. A third wolf, this one’s fur edged with auburn, walked beside him.

“I’m here to speak to you on behalf of someone you knew,” Mort told Murphy.

Murphy’s blue eyes became chips of glacial ice. “Who?”

“Harry Dresden,” Mort said.

Murphy clenched her right hand into a fist. Her knuckles made small popping sounds.

Mort swallowed and took half a step back. “Look, I don’t want to be here,” he said, raising his hands and displaying his palms. “But you know how he was. His shade is no less stubborn or annoying than Dresden was in life.”

“You’re a goddamned liar,” Murphy snarled. “You’re a known con artist. And you are playing with fire.”

Mort stared at her for a long moment. Then he winced and said, “You… you believed he was still alive?”

“He is alive,” Murphy replied, clenching her jaw. “They never found a body.”

Mort looked down, pressing his lips together, and ran his palm over his bald pate, smearing away a few clinging snowflakes. He blew out a long breath and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this is difficult.”

“It isn’t difficult,” Murphy replied. “Just annoying. Because he’s still alive.”

Mort looked at me and spread his hands. “She’s still in denial. There’s not much I can do here. Look, I’ve done this a lot. She needs more time.”

“No,” I said. “We’ve got to make her see. Tonight.”

Mort pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It isn’t like you’re getting any older, Dresden.”

Murphy fixed Morty with her cop glare. It hadn’t lost any of its intensity. “This is neither believable nor amusing, Lindquist. I think you’d better go now.”

Lindquist nodded, holding up his hands in a gesture of placation. “I know. I’m going. Please understand, I’m just trying to help.”

“Wait!” I snapped. “There’s got to be something you can say.”

Mort glanced at me as he began walking back toward his car and lifted both of his hands, palms up, in a little helpless gesture.

I ground my teeth, standing less than a foot away from Murphy. How the hell did I get her to believe it really was me?

“By having Morty talk about something only you could know, dummy,” I said to myself. “Morty!”

He paused about halfway down the driveway and turned to look at me.

“Ask her this,” I said, and spouted a question.

Mort sighed. Then he turned toward Murphy and said, “Before I go… Dresden wants me to ask you if you ever found that reasonably healthy male.”

Murphy didn’t move. Her face went white. After maybe a minute, she whispered, “What did you say?”

I prompted Mort. “Dresden wants me to tell you that he hadn’t intended to do anything dramatic. It just sort of worked out that way.”