Dresden10 - Small Favor by Jim Butcher

Author:Jim Butcher [Butcher, Jim]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-09-26T07:00:00+00:00

“I guess not,” I said quietly.

“I have to ask,” Michael said, studying me intently. “Lasciel’s shadow. Is it really gone?”

I nodded.

“How?”

I looked away from him. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded slowly. “Can you tell me why not?”

“Because what happened to her wasn’t fair.” I shook my head. “Do you know why the Denarians don’t like going into churches, Michael?”

He shrugged. “Because the presence of the Almighty makes them uncomfortable, or so I always supposed.”

“No,” I said, closing my eyes. “Because it makes the Fallen feel, Michael. Makes them remember. Makes them sad.”

I felt his startled glance, even with my eyes closed.

“Imagine how awful that would be,” I said, “after millennia of certainty of purpose. Suddenly you have doubts. Suddenly you question whether or not everything you’ve done has been one enormous, futile lie. If everything you sacrificed, you sacrificed for nothing.” I smiled faintly. “Couldn’t be good for your confidence.”

“No,” Michael said thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose it would be.”

“Shiro told me I’d know who to give the Sword to,” I said.

“Yes?”

“I threw it into the deal with Nicodemus. The coins and the Sword for the child.”

Michael drew in a sharp breath.

“He would have walked away otherwise,” I said. “Run out the clock, and we’d never have found him in time. It was the only way. It was almost like Shiro knew. Even back then.”

“God’s blood, Harry,” Michael said. He pressed a hand to his stomach. “I’m fairly sure that gambling is a sin. And even if it isn’t, this probably should be.”

“I’m going to go get that little girl, Michael,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”

He rose, frowning, and buckled his sword belt around his hips.

I held up my right hand. “Are you with me?”

Michael’s palm smacked solidly into mine, and he hauled me to my feet. Chapter Thirty-nine

A s war councils go, our meeting was fast and dirty. It had to be.

Afterward I tracked down Murphy. She’d gone back to Charity’s sewing room to check on Kincaid. I stood quietly in the door for a minute. There wasn’t much room to be had in there. It was piled high with plastic storage boxes filled with fabric and craft materials. There was a sewing machine on a table, a chair, the bed, and just enough floor space to let you get to them. I’d been laid up in this room before. It was a comforting sort of place, awash in softness and color, and it smelled like detergent and fabric softener.

Kincaid looked like the Mummy’s stunt double. He had an IV in his arm, and there was a unit of blood suspended from a small metal stand beside his bed—courtesy of Marcone’s rogue medical facilities, I supposed.

Murphy sat beside the bed, looking worried. I’d seen the expression on her face before, when I’d been the one lying horizontal. I expected to feel a surge of jealousy, but it didn’t happen. I just felt bad for Murph.

“How is he?” I asked her.

“This is his third unit of blood,” Murphy said.

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