Cold Days (The Dresden Files #14) - Jim Butcher Page 0,36

monitor was on, and in the reflection in the glass of the room’s single window, I could see that the screen had been divided into maybe a dozen sections, and every single one of them was playing a different pornographic scenario.

A human skull sat on the table, facing the monitor, and faint orange flickers of light danced in its eyes. Despite its utter inability to form any expression, it somehow gave the impression of a happily glazed look.

I’d been in the room for about two seconds when the computer made an awful sound, coughed out a little puff of smoke, and the monitor screen went black. I winced. My fault. Wizards and technology don’t get along so well, and the more advanced the technology is, the sooner something seems to go wrong—especially with electronics. Butters had been cobbling together a theory to explain why the world worked like that, but I’d drawn the line at covering my head in a tinfoil hat in the name of science.

The skull let out a startled, disappointed sound, and after several disoriented flickers, its eyelights panned around the room and landed on me.

“Harry!” said the skull. It didn’t move its jaws to form the words or anything. They just came out. “Hell’s bells, you’re back from the dead?”

“From the mostly dead,” I replied. “You made it out of Omaha Beach, huh?”

“You kidding?” Bob said. “The minute you were clear, I ran like a bunny and hid!”

“You could have taken that jerk,” I said.

“Why would I want to?” Bob asked. “So when do we set up the new lab? And can I have broadband?” His eyes gleamed with avarice or something near it. “I need broadband, Harry.”

“That’s a computer thing, right?”

“Philistine,” Bob the Skull muttered.

Bob wasn’t a skull, per se. He was a spirit of air, or intellect, or one of any of a great many other terms used to describe such beings. The skull was the vessel that he inhabited, kind of like a djinni’s bottle. Bob had been working as an assistant and adviser to wizards since before crossbows had gone out of style, and he’d forgotten more about the ins and outs of magical theory than I knew. He’d been my assistant and friend since I’d first come to Chicago.

I hadn’t realized, until I actually heard his voice, how much I’d missed the demented little perv.

“When do we get to work?” Bob asked brightly.

“I am working,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m all ears,” Bob said. “Except for the ears part.” Bob blinked. “Are you wearing a tux?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Tell me you did not get married.”

“I didn’t get married,” I said. “Except for the whole Mab thing, which is creepy and weird. She spent the last three months trying to kill me once a day.”

“Sounds like her style,” Bob said. “How’d you get out of it?”

“Um,” I said.

“Oh,” Bob said. “Uh . . . oh. Maybe you should go, Harry.”

“Relax,” I said. “I know you’ve had your issues with Mab, but I’m the only one here.”

“Yeah. That’s kinda the part that bothers me.”

I scowled at him. “Oh, come on. How long have you known me?”

“Harry . . . you’re Mab’s hit man.”

“Yeah, but I’m not here to hit you,” I said.

“You could be lying,” Bob said. “Maybe the Sidhe can’t lie, but you can.”

“Hell’s bells, I’m not lying.”

“But how do I know that?”

“Because I haven’t hit you already?” I frowned at him. “Wait a minute. . . . You’re stalling me, aren’t you?”

“Stalling you?” Bob asked brightly. “What do you mean?”

There was no warning. None at all. The door to Butters’s bedroom exploded outward, sending splinters of cheap plywood sailing everywhere. A missile of living muscle hit me in the back at almost the same instant, shoving my chest forward and whiplashing my head back. My spine lit up like a casino, and I felt myself driven hard to the ground.

Something powerful and snarling and terribly strong came down on top of me, and I felt claws and fangs begin to rake at me.

Guess I used up all my evening’s luck on the front door guy.

Chapter

Ten

Claws shredded my tux, raking over my back, my buttocks, and the backs of my legs. Jaws would have bitten into my neck if I hadn’t gotten my hands in the way, clamping them over the back of my neck and squeezing them as tight as I could, hoping that a finger wouldn’t come up and be nipped off. Pain came in, hot and high, but