Some of my racing thoughts coalesced into irritated anger. "What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one."

I took an angry hit from my can of Coke. "Of course it hurts."

"You're different than I thought you'd be."

I squinted over my shoulder at her.

"They tell stories about you, Mister Dresden."

"It's all a lie."

Her teeth gleamed. "Not all of them are bad."

"Mostly good or mostly bad?"

"Depends on who's talking. The Sidhe crowd thinks you're an interesting mortal pet of Mab's. The vampire wanna-be crowd thinks you're some kind of psychotic vigilante with a penchant for vengeance and mayhem. Sort of a one-man Spanish Inquisition. Most of the magical crowd thinks you're distant, dangerous, but smart and honorable. Crooks think you're a hit man for the outfit, or maybe one of the families back East. Straights think you're a fraud trying to bilk people out of their hard-won cash, except for Larry Fowler, who probably wants you on the show again."

I regarded her, frowning. "And what do you think?"

"I think you need a haircut." She lifted a can to her mouth and I caught a whiff of beer. "Bill called all the morgues and hospitals. No Jane Doe with green hair."

"Didn't figure there would be. I talked to Aurora. She seemed concerned."

"She would. She's everyone's big sister. Thinks she needs to take care of the whole world."

"She didn't know anything."

Meryl shook her head and was quiet for a while before she asked, "What's it like being a wizard?"

I shrugged. "Mostly it's like being a watch fob repairman. It's both difficult and not in demand. The rest of the time …"

More emotion rose in me, threatening my self-control. Meryl waited.

"The rest of the time," I picked up, "it's scary as hell. You start learning the kinds of things that go bump in the night and you figure out that 'ignorance is bliss' is more than just a quotable quote. And it's-" I clenched my hands. "It's so damned frustrating. You see people getting hurt. Innocents. Friends. I try to make a difference, but I usually don't know what the hell is going on until someone is already dead. Doesn't matter what kind of job I do-I can't help those folks."

"Sounds hard," Meryl said.

I shrugged. "I guess it isn't any different than what anyone else goes through. The names just get changed." I finished off the Coke and stomped the dead soldier flat. "What about you? What's it like being a changeling?"

Meryl rolled the beer can between her broad hands. "About like anyone, until you hit puberty. Then you start feeling things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Different, depending on your Sidhe half. For me it was anger, hunger. I gained a lot of weight. I kept losing my temper over the most idiotic things." She took a drink. "And strength. I grew up on a farm. My older brother rolled a tractor and it pinned him, broke his hip, and caught on fire. I picked it up and threw it off him, then dragged him back to the house. More than a mile. I was twelve. My hair had turned this color by the next morning."