Skin Game (The Dresden Files, #15)

by Jim Butcher

My back might have been against a wall, but that was hardly anything new. One thing I’d learned in long years of spine-to-brick circumstance was that anything you could do to create a little space, time, or support was worth doing.

There’s power in the touch of another person’s hand. We acknowledge it in little ways, all the time. There’s a reason human beings shake hands, hold hands, slap hands, bump hands.

The first thing we ever learn is that the touch of someone else’s hand can ease pain and make things better. That’s power. That’s power so fundamental that most people never even realize it exists.

“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” I replied. “There’s always something. It doesn’t matter how smooth you are, or how smart the plan is, or how plain the mission—something goes wrong. Nothing’s ever simple. That’s how it works.”

“I look around me, man … I’m trying to do what I’ve always done, to protect people, to keep them safe from the monsters—only I’m pretty sure I’m one of them. I can’t figure out where I could have … what else I might have done…” I swallowed. “I’m lost. I know every step I took to get here, and I’m still lost.”

“You wouldn’t be twisting yourself into knots like this, Harry, if you didn’t care.” “So?” “Monsters don’t care,” Michael said. “The damned don’t care, Harry. The only way to go beyond redemption is to choose to take yourself there. The only way to do it is to stop caring.”

I finished the beer and sighed. “Arrogance,” I said. “I feel stupid.” “Good,” Michael said. “It’s good for everyone to feel that way sometimes. It helps remind you how much you still have to learn.”

“If you do this, I can take no action to protect you,” he said. “And this creature will be free to inflict upon you such pain as even you could not imagine.” A sudden, sunny smile lit Michael’s face. “My friend…” Uriel blinked, and rocked slightly, as if the words had struck him with physical force. “…thank you,” Michael continued. “But I’m not the Carpenter who set the standard.”

Michael leaned down and said, “Have faith, Ms. Murphy,” he said, his voice serious. “Things are not always as bad as they seem. Sometimes, the darkness only makes it easier to see the light.”

“Nicodemus and his ilk operate in the shadows, in secret. The Swords aren’t meant for that. I have nothing to hide.” “Hey,” I said, letting my voice be annoyed, “as shadowy ilk myself, I think I resent that statement.” Michael snorted. “You destroy buildings, fight monsters openly in the streets of the city, work with the police, show up in newspapers, advertise in the phone book, and ride zombie dinosaurs down Michigan Avenue, and think that you work in the shadows? Be reasonable.”

“Oh, cheer up, Mr. Carpenter,” Nicodemus said. “By the time the sun rises this morning, you may be twenty million dollars richer.” “I have a family. I am already rich beyond measure,” Michael said. “But I really wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

“We’re not dramatic,” I said. “Just—” “Complicated?” she asked. She shook her head. “It isn’t complicated. You just open up and let someone in. And whatever comes after that, you face it together.”

“All of you, hear me,” Michael said quietly. He turned and stood between them—Fallen angels and monsters and scoundrels and mortal fiends—and me. “You think your power is what shapes the world you walk in. But that is an illusion. Your choices shape your world. You think your power will protect you from the consequences of those choices. But you are wrong. You create your own rewards. There is a Judge. There is Justice in this world. And one day you will receive what you have earned. Choose carefully.”

I had to tread very carefully here. Bad Things Would Happen To Me if I dared to violate my guest-right. But I couldn’t help but think that Bad Things Would Happen To Me even faster if I insulted a freaking Greek god by refusing his invitation. I remember very little of my father, but one thing I do remember is him telling me always to be polite. It costs you nothing but breath, and can buy you as much as your life. What, don’t look at me like that. I’m only a wiseass to monsters. And people who really need it. And when it suits me to be so.

People I loved were going to die. I had to believe that there was hope. Hope lets you do things you would otherwise never be able to do, gives strength when everything is darkest. In that moment, maybe it helped me—because I forced my nerve endings to respond and dragged myself toward the hilt of the Sword, clenching my teeth in sheer defiance of the agony supplanting my existence.

Uriel smiled again. “I must admit,” he said, “I never foresaw that particular form of faith being expressed under my purview.” “Belief in a freaking movie?” I asked him. “Belief in a story,” Uriel said, “of good confronting evil, of light overcoming darkness, of love transcending hate.” He tilted his head. “Isn’t that where all faith begins?” I grunted and thought about it. “Huh.” Uriel smiled.