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He didn’t actually thank me, but it was in his voice. I pretended that I hadn’t heard it there, which was what he expected me to do. It’s a guy thing.
Billie came fibrillating back over to us.
“Mister Dresden. What happened to your face?” “It’s always like this,” I said. “I forgot to put on my makeup today.”
“That’s the problem with you nearly immortal types,” I said. “You couldn’t spot a pop culture reference if it skittered up and implanted an embryo down your esophagus.”
That was the damnedest thing about these demonic collaborator types. Even though they didn’t work out and practice, they still got to run faster than we dedicated roadsters who actually sweated and strained for our ability to haul ass. Jerks.
A dark form on one of the oncoming rafts let out a cry and fell into the water with a splash. I scowled at Thomas. He doesn’t even practice.
“We’ve got to move before we get carried onto the reef,” Thomas muttered. He hurried off, pirate style. He looked good doing it. Of course. He doesn’t even moisturize.
