Butters did and then nodded at me. I hurried over to him and said, "Now hold still." Then I drew a piece of chalk from my duster pocket and marked out a quick circle around him on the concrete.
Butters frowned down at the chalk and said, "Is this… some kind of mime training? Do you want me to press my fingers against an invisible wall?"
"No," I said. "You're going to throw up a circle around you-an outwardly directed barrier. It should put a screen between you and any outside magical influence."
"I am, huh?" he said. "How do I do that?"
I completed the circle, reached for my penknife, and passed it to him. "You need to put a drop of your blood on the circle, and picture a wall going up in your head."
"Harry. I don't know magic."
"Anyone can do this," I said. "Butters, there isn't any time. The circle should hold out Cowl's working and give you a chance to get a signal normally."
"An anti- Murphyonic field, huh?"
"You've watched too many Trek reruns, Butters. But basically, yeah."
He pressed his lips together and then nodded at me. I backed away to the Beetle again. Butters grimaced and then touched the penknife to the base of his left thumbnail, where the skin is thin and fragile. Then he leaned over self-consciously and squeezed his thumb until a drop of blood fell on the chalk circle.
The circle barrier snapped up immediately, invisibly. Butters looked around for a second and then said, "It didn't work."
"It worked," I told him. "It's there. I can feel it. Try again."
Butters nodded and went back to his gizmo. Five seconds later, his face brightened. "Hey, whaddya know. It worked. So this circle keeps out magic?"
"And only magic," I said. "Anything physical can cross it and disrupt the barrier. Handy for hedging out demons and such, though."
"I'll remember that," Butters said. He peered down at the gadget. "Harry!" he exclaimed. "You were right! The numbers match up to coordinates right here in Chicago."
"Where?" I demanded.
"Hang on." The little guy punched buttons and frowned. "I have to get it to calculate distance and heading from here."
"It can do that?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Plus AM/FM radio, weather reports, fish and game reports, maps of major cities, locations of restaurants and hotels for travelers, all kinds of stuff."
"That," I said, "is really cool."
"Yeah. You really get a lot for the five hundred bucks on this model." The whole time his fingers flicked back and forth on the gadget. "Right," he said. "Uh, northwest of us and maybe a mile off."
I frowned at him. "Doesn't it tell you the address or something?"
"Yeah," Butters said, pushing more buttons. "Oh, wait. No, you have to buy the expansion card for that." He looked up thoughtfully. "Maybe we could go back and get it?"
"One little burglary and you've gone habitual," I said. "No, it's a bad idea. If a patrol car spotted the broken window there will be police there. I doubt anyone saw us, but there's no reason to take chances."
"Well, how do we find it then?" he asked.
"Turn it off. Then break the circle with your foot and get in the car. We'll head that way and stop in a bit and you can check again. Rinse and repeat."
"Right, good idea." He turned the gizmo off and smudged the chalk circle with his foot. "Like that?"
"Like that. Let's go."
Butters got in the Beetle and we started through the dark, dank streets. After several long blocks I stopped with my lights shining into the awning in front of an apartment building, and Butters got out to repeat the process. He took my chalk with him, dribbled a bit of his blood on the circle he drew, and tried the GPS gadget again. Then he hurried through the rain back into the car.
"More north," he said.
I peered at the darkness as I got moving, going through my mental map of Chicago. "Soldier's Field?"
"Maybe," he said. "I can't see anything."
We drove north and cruised past the home of da Bears. I stopped just on the other side and Butters checked again, facing the stadium. Then he blinked and turned around. His eyes widened and he came running back to the car. "We're really close. I think it's the Field Museum."
I got the car moving. "Makes sense," I said. "Bony Tony had plenty of contacts there. He did some trading in discretionary antiquities."
"You mean stolen artifacts?"
"What did I just say? He probably has some kind of arrangement with security there. Maybe he stashed it in a staff locker or something."
I parked in front of the Field Museum under a no parking sign. There were a couple of actual spots I could have used, but the drive was even closer. Besides, I found it aesthetically satisfying to defy municipal code.
I put the Beetle's parking brake on and got out into the rain. "Stay, Mouse," I said. "Come on, Butters. Can that thing get us close to the book?"
"Within ten feet or so," he said. "But Harry, the museum is closed. How are we going to-"
I blew out the glass of the front door with my staff, just as I had at Radio Shack.
"Oh," he said. "Right."
I strode into the main hall, Butters walking on my heels. Lightning flashed, abruptly illuminating Sue the Tyrannosaurus in all her bony Jurassic glory. Butters hadn't been expecting it, and let out a strangled little cry.
Thunder rolled and I got out my amulet for light, lifting an eyebrow at Butters.
"Sorry," he said. "I, uh… I'm a little nervous."
"Don't worry about it," I told him, my own heart pounding wildly. The sudden reveal of that monstrous skeleton had shaken me, too.
Don't look at me like that. It was a tense sort of evening.
I looked slowly around the place, and Listened for a moment. I couldn't sense anyone's presence. I opened my Sight again, just for a quick glance around, but I didn't see anyone hiding behind a veil of magic. I backed off. "Check again."
He did so, though the shining floor of the museum didn't take the chalk as readily as concrete. A few minutes later he nodded toward Sue and said, "Over that way."
He broke the circle and we hurried across the enormous floor. "Try to keep quiet," I told him. "Security might still be around."
We stopped at Sue's feet and checked again. Butters frowned, peering around. "This can't be right," he said. "According to the GPS, these coordinates are inside that wall. Could Bony Tony have hidden it in the wall?"
"It's stone," I said. "And I think someone might have noticed if he'd torn out a wall in the entry hall and replaced it."
He shook the GPS a little. "I don't get it, then."
I chewed on my lip and looked up at Sue.
"Elevation," I said.
"What?"
"Come on." I pointed up. "There's a gallery overlooking the main hall. It must be either up there or on a floor below us."
"How do we know which?"
"We look. Starting with the upstairs. The levels below us are like some kind of gerbil maze from hell." I started for the stairs, and Butters came after me. Going up them was a pain, but my instincts were screaming that I was right, and my excitement made the discomfort unremarkable.
Once on the gallery, we went past a display of articles from Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show-saddles, wooden rifles that had been carried by the show's cowboys and Indians alike, cavalry bugles, feathered war bonnets, beaded vests, moccasins, ancient old boots, several worn old tomtoms, and about a million old photographs. Beyond that was some kind of interactive ecology display, and just past that there was a table bearing the weight of an enormous, malformed-looking dinosaur skull.
Butters checked again and nodded toward the skull. "I think it's there."
I went down to the skull. The display proclaimed that it was Sue's actual skull, but that geological shifts and pressures had warped it, so the museum had created an artificial skull for the display. Holding my light up, I walked slowly around the skull-an enormous block of rock now. I peered into darkened crevices in the rock, and when I didn't find a book I got down on the floor and started checking under the heavy platform that supported the skull.