Summer Knight (The Dresden Files #4) - Jim Butcher Page 0,12
Or less in pain. The events of the day and the impending Council meeting this evening hadnt exactly left my head in world-class negotiating condition. But I knew one thing for certain. If I didnt get out from under Mabs bond, I would be dead, or worse than dead, in short order. Better to act and be mistaken than not to act and get casually crushed.
"All right," I said. "We have a bargain." When I said the words, a little frisson prickled over the nape of my neck, down the length of my spine. My wounded hand twitched in an aching, painful pang.
Mab closed her eyes, smiling a feline smile with those dark lips, and inclined her head. "Good. Yes."
You know that look on Wile E. Coyotes face, when he runs at full steam off the cliff and then realizes what hes done? He doesnt look down, but he feels around with one toe, and right then, right before he falls, his face becomes drawn with a primal dread.
Thats what I must have looked like. I know it was pretty much what I felt like. But there was no help for it. Maybe if I didnt stop to check for the ground underneath my feet, Id keep going indefinitely. I looked away from Mab and tried to tend to my hand as best I could. It still throbbed, and disinfecting the wound was going to hurt a lot more. I doubted it would need sutures. A small blessing, I guess.
A manila envelope hit my desk. I looked up to see Mab drawing a pair of gloves onto her hands.
"Whats this?" I asked.
"My request," she replied. "Within are the details of a mans death. I wish you to vindicate me of it by discovering the identity of his killer and returning what was stolen from him."
I opened the envelope. Inside was an eight-by-ten glossy black-and-white of a body. An old man lay at the bottom of a flight of stairs, his neck at a sharp angle to his shoulders. He had frizzy white hair, a tweed jacket. Accompanying the picture was an article from the Tribune, headlined LOCAL ARTIST DIES IN MIDNIGHT ACCIDENT .
"Ronald Reuel," I said, glancing over the article. "Ive heard of him. Has a studio in Bucktown, I think."
Mab nodded. "Hailed as a visionary of the American artistic culture. Though I assume they use the term lightly."
"Creator of worlds of imagination, it says. I guess now that hes dead, theyll say all kinds of nice things." I read over the rest of the article. "The police called it an accident."
"It was not," Mab responded.
I looked up at her. "How do you know?"
She smiled.
"And why should you care?" I asked. "It isnt like the cops are after you."
"There are powers of judgement other than mortal law. It is enough for you to know that I wish to see justice done," she said. "Simply that."
"Uh-huh," I said, frowning. "You said something was stolen from him. What?"
"Youll know it."
I put the picture back in the envelope and left it on my desk. "Ill think about it."
Mab assured me, "You will accept this request, Wizard Dresden."
I scowled at her and set my jaw. "I said Ill think about it."
Mabs cat-eyes glittered, and I saw a few white, white teeth in her smile. She took a pair of dark sunglasses from the pocket of her jacket. "Is it not polite to show a client to the door?"
I glowered. But I got up out of the chair and walked to the door, the Faerie Queens heady perfume, the narcotic scent of her enough to make me a little dizzy. I fought it away and tried to keep my scowl in place, opening the door for her with a jerky motion.
"Your hand yet pains you?" she asked.
"What do you think?"
Mab placed her gloved hand on my wounded one, and a sudden spike of sheer, vicious cold shot up through the injury like a frozen scalpel before lancing up my arm, straight toward my heart. It took my breath, and I felt my heart skip a beat, two, before it labored into rhythm again. I gasped and swayed, and only leaning against the door kept me from falling down completely.
"Dammit," I muttered, trying to keep my voice down. "We had a deal."
"I agreed not to punish you for refusing me, wizard. I agreed not to punish or harass you by proxy." Mab smiled. "I did that just for spite."