Skin Game (The Dresden Files, #15)

by Jim Butcher

We got out of Karrin’s little SUV and headed toward the creepy old slaughterhouse full of dangerous beings. Which . . . pretty much tells you what kind of day I was having, right there.

“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.”

“Let’s just say I don’t mind having a deterrent around,” I said. “If Nicodemus plays it straight and keeps his word, I will too and we’ll all get rich.” Binder scowled and eyed Michael. “Is that right, Knight?” “Harry’s generally a very honest man,” Michael said. “I really don’t care about the money, though.” Binder and Ascher both tilted their heads to one side, like dogs that have just heard a new noise. Anna Valmont smiled and shook her head slightly, going back to checking her tools.

I sighed. Maggie’s limp, warm little body was emitting a barrage of some kind of subatomic particle that was making me drowsy. Probably sleepeons. Mouse snored a little, generating his own sleepeon field. The gentle night wasn’t helping things, either. Nor was my battered body.