JIM BUTCHER - SMALL FAVOR

I didn’t actually notice when Luccio paused and turned her head to face me. I just noticed, suddenly, that she was returning my gaze, her dark eyes steady. I swallowed. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. Sudden outrage, maybe, or a biting remark, or at least a blush. Luccio didn’t do any of that. She just returned my stare, calm and poised and lovely as you please, one arm folded across her breasts while the other dipped the cloth into the steaming basin again.

“Sorry,” I said finally, lowering my eyes. I was probably blushing. Dammit. Maybe I could pass it off as mild frostbite, heroically suffered on her behalf.

She let out a quiet little murmur of sound that was too relaxed to be a chuckle. “Did it displease you?”

“No,” I said, at once. “God, no, nothing like that.”

“Then why apologize?” she said.

“I, uh…” I coughed. “I just figured that a girl who came of age during the reign of Queen Victoria would be a little more conservative.”

Luccio let out a wicked little laugh that time. “Victoria was British,” she said. “I’m Italian.”

“Bit of a difference, then?” I asked.

“Just a little,” she replied. “When I was young, I posed for a number of painters and sculptors, you know.” She tilted her head back and washed her throat as she spoke. “Mmm. Though that was in my original body, of course.”

Right. The one that had been stolen by an insane necromancer, leaving Luccio’s mind permanently trapped in a loaner. A really young, fit, lovely loaner. “I don’t see how the one you’re in now could possibly come up short by comparison.”

She opened her eyes and flashed me a smile that was entirely too pleased and girlish. “Thank you. But I would not have you misunderstanding me. I’d avail myself of your shower, after being soaked in that foul soup, but the Archive is on your bed, and Kincaid has closed the door. He’s resting too, and I’d rather not have him go for my throat before he wakes. And you were asleep, so…” She gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

It did really interesting things to the shadows the fire cast upon her skin, and I was suddenly glad of all the blankets piled on me.

“Are you feeling all right?” Luccio asked me.

“I’ll live,” I said.

“It was gallant of you to face down Kincaid like that.”

“No problem. He’s an ass.”

“A very dangerous one,” Luccio said. “I wouldn’t have traveled with him if I had not seen him pass through the security checkpoint in Boston.” She rose, dropped the washcloth in the basin, and pulled her shirt on, giving me a rather intriguing view of her back and waist silhouetted against the firelight.

I sighed. Moment over. Back to business.

“What were you doing traveling with them?” I asked.

“Bringing them here for the parley,” she replied.

“Parley?”

“The Archive contacted Nicodemus Archleone regarding our accusations. He agreed to meet with us here, in Chicago, to discuss the matter. You are the initiating party in this instance, and I am here to serve as your second.”

I blinked at her. “You? My second?”

She turned to face me as she finished buttoning her shirt and smiled faintly. “Duty before ego. Relatively few of the Wardens with sufficient seasoning for the role were willing. I thought it might be best if you worked with me instead of Morgan.”

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Cap. That keen interpersonal insight.”

“That and because I’m quite good at killing things,” Luccio said, nodding. She turned to the fireplace and took Gard’s little wooden box off the mantel. “Dresden…”

“Hell’s bells,” I breathed, sitting up. “Captain, that thing is dangerous. Put it down .” I snapped out that last in a tone of pure authority, one I’d gotten used to when working with Molly and various folks I’d met through the Paranet.

She froze in her tracks and arched an eyebrow at me, but only for a split second. Then she smoothly replaced the box and stepped away from it. “I see. You were holding it when we dragged you in here. You wouldn’t let it go, in fact.”

“Well,” I said, “no.”

“Which, I take it, explains what you were doing at the station.”

“Well,” I said, “yes.”

“Quite a coincidence,” she said.

I shook my head. “In my experience, when there’s a Knight of the Cross around, there’s no such thing as coincidence.”

She frowned at that. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to confession. Nearly a century, in fact. I’m not aware that the Almighty owes me any favors.”

“Mysterious ways,” I said smugly.

She laughed. “I take it they’ve used that line on you before?”

“Constantly,” I said.

“A good man,” she said. “You’re lucky to have him as a friend.”

I frowned and said quietly, “Yeah. I am.” I shook my head. “When’s the parley?”

“Noon, tomorrow.” She nodded at the mantel. “Can you tell me what’s in there?”

“Options,” I said. “If the parley fails.”

“Out with it, Dresden,” she said.

I shook my head.

She put a fist on one hip. “Why not?”

“Gave my word.”

She considered that for a moment. Then she nodded once and said, “As you wish. Get some more rest. You’ll need it.” Then she prowled over to my love seat, sank wearily down into it, and, without another word, curled up under a blanket. She was apparently asleep seconds later.

I thought about getting up and checking out Gard’s case, maybe calling Michael and Murphy, but the weariness that suddenly settled on my limbs made all of that sound impossibly difficult. So I settled in a little more comfortably and found sleep coming swiftly to me as well.

The last thing I noticed, before I dropped off, was that under all the blankets I was entirely undressed.

And I was clean.

“I still don’t see why I can’t go,” Molly said, folding her arms crossly.

“You know how you told me how much you hate it when your parents quote scripture at you to answer your questions?” I asked her.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna do that. Because I don’t know this one well enough to get the quote right.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But it’s something about the best way to defeat temptation is to avoid it.”

“Oh, please,” Molly said.

“Actually, he’s right,” Thomas said, passing over my duster. “Seriously. I know temptation.”

Molly gave my brother a sidelong look and blushed faintly.

“Stop that,” I told him.

Thomas shrugged. “Can’t help it. I’m hungry. I wound up jumping rooftop to rooftop for half an hour, dodging a bunch of three-foot-tall lunatics with bows and arrows.”

“Elves,” I murmured. “Someone on Summer’s team was calling in backup, too. Interesting. I wonder which side tipped the scales first.”

“You’re welcome,” Thomas said.

“Hey,” Molly snapped. “Can we get back on topic? I know how to handle myself, Harry. This is supposed to be a talk, not a fight.”

I sighed, turning to her. We were talking to each other in the Carpenters’ kitchen, while everyone else geared up in the workshop. Thomas had sneaked in the front door of the house to pass my staff and coat back to me, after his evening of decoy work.

“Grasshopper,” I said, “think who we’re going to be talking to.”

“Nicodemus. The head of the Denarians,” she said. “The man who tried to kill my father and my teacher, and did his best to put a demon inside my little brother’s head.”

I blinked. “How did you know about-”