Skin Game (The Dresden Files, #15)

by Jim Butcher

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.

But they were doughnuts of darkness. Evil, damned doughnuts, tainted by the spawn of darkness . . . . . . which could obviously be redeemed only by passing through the fiery, cleansing inferno of a wizardly digestive tract.

Grey stared at her for a long time and then said, “The loup-garou videotape. You were in it with Dresden.” “Set the Wayback Machine for a damned long time ago,” I said. “That tape went missing.” “Yes,” Grey said, not quite amicably. “And I wasn’t actually talking to you, wizard, was I now?” That made everyone at the table notice. It got quiet and they got still, waiting to see what would happen next. One thing you learn hanging out with people like Mab—you don’t show weakness to predators. Especially not to the really confident ones. “Not yet.

Grey seemed to consider that for a moment, and then shrugged. “The argument is not entirely without merit. Tell me, wizard, does it give you some sort of satisfaction to protect this man?” “Yeah.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Hmm.”

Evidently, Grey had me figured the same way. He let out an impatient sigh. “Wizard. You know I’m telling you the truth, right?” “Right,” I said. “Sure you are. We’re a trustworthy bunch of Boy Scouts.”

“The wizard has a point,” Grey said. “He is an annoying, headstrong ass, but he isn’t stupid. It would not be foolish for you to invest some measure of trust to balance what you ask for.”

“I don’t like that man very much,” Michael said. “He’s done terrible things.” “Obviously,” Goodman Grey said, his tone wary. “I’m a monster for hire. But I’ve got no quarrel with you today, sir Knight.” “Maybe,” Michael said. “Maybe not.” Grey’s eyes flicked to me. “Do you really expect me to work with someone like this, wizard, on our side?” “Yes,” I said. “You’ve been hired, haven’t you? Show a little professionalism.”

Grey slid back into the room and reported, conversationally, “They’re using suppressed weapons. There are enough of them to make a great big mess of this entire operation, but so far they’re just probing us.” “Heh,” I said. “Probe.” “Wizard,” Grey said, a trifle impatiently, “are you sure you want to keep pushing it like this?” “Yeah,” I said. “Think so.”

“Grey,” I said, “I thought you were a pro.” “I am,” Grey said calmly. “You knew something like this was coming, wizard.” His fingers flexed gently on Valmont’s throat, by way of demonstration. “Do you really want everyone to fall apart right now?” I thought about it hard for a minute. “Not yet. Look, what I did, I did for insurance,” I said, “but he’s talking about killing one of us . . .”

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.

‘Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.’”

I tracked Grey, staring hard at him as he took up position at the fourth corner of the square centered on me and Michael, watching him as he set the pack of diamonds and artifacts to one side and cracked his knuckles, smiling. “I never pretended to be anything but a villain,” he said to me, as if baffled by my glare. “Should have seen this one coming, wizard.” “You really killed her?” I asked. “No particular reason not to. It was quick.” “You are a treacherous son of a bitch,” I said. He rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should have been the one to hire me, then.” His response made me grind my teeth.

Wow. Mac’s beer is an excellent argument that there is a God, and that furthermore, He wants us to be happy.

“Uh . . . ,” I said. “He’d be taking his cues from me, so mostly he’d be the one asking me questions. Tell him to refer to me as ‘wizard’ just before he asks a question relating to the situation at hand. The first word of my response would be the answer. Then we could make the actual conversation sound like something else entirely. We play along until it’s time for me to make my move. Then I use the phrase ‘game over’ and we hit them.”

“Home is where, when you go there and tell people to get out, they have to leave.”