that I possess self-interest.”
“If you didn’t,” I said, “you would have pulled the trigger already.”
For a second, nothing happened. Then the skull tilted slightly to one side, and I got the impression that Evil Bob had become suddenly pensive.
I rushed to continue. “There’s no percentage for your boss in hesitation. And since I know you aren’t doing it for my sake, your hesitation must therefore be an act of self-interest.”
“An intriguing argument,” said Evil Bob, “and potentially valid, given the penchant for independence evident in my progenitor.”
“By which you mean the original Bob?”
“Obviously,” Evil Bob sniffed. “He from whose essence I came to be. Your instincts for such matters are acute, Dresden. You have given me something to consider in the future, when my attention is not otherwise occupied by mildly effective stalling tactics.”
And he pulled the trigger—
—just as Sir Stuart’s thrown ax whirled into Evil Bob’s outstretched shooting arm.
It hit him only with the spinning wooden handle, but it was enough to save my life. A blast of psychic energy, of sheer, deadly will, hit the concrete wall of the trench about five feet to my left and turned it into a cloud of powder.
I raised my right hand and snarled, “Forzare!” and responded with a hammerblow of force of my own.
Evil Bob lifted the other black-leather-clad hand and brushed my strike aside, but it rocked him back a step.
Sir Stuart charged into sight, hitting Evil Bob hard at the hips, and tackled him forward and down into the trench. The pair of them hit hard, but the dark spirit was on the bottom, and Evil Bob’s skull cracked as it hit the concrete. His high-crowned SS hat went flying.
I let out a short scream of rage and swung my staff at the skull. Evil Bob caught my descending staff in one hand and locked it in place as if his fingers had been a hydraulic vise. He got his other hand under Sir Stuart’s chest and simply thrust his arm forward. Sir Stuart went flying out of the trench, and I heard him hit the ground again about a second and a half later.
“Ah,” Evil Bob said. Cold blue eyelights regarded my staff. “A simple tool, but serviceable. In McCoy’s style.” The eyes flared brighter. “And the key to your rather effective little army, as well. Excellent.”
I wrenched at the staff but couldn’t get it away from the dark spirit. I felt sort of goofy about it, in addition to being extremely alarmed about how strong the thing was. I wrenched at the staff with all the power of my hips, legs, back, and shoulders, with the leverage of my wide-spaced grip, and only barely managed to make Evil Bob wobble. He just stood up, holding the end of the staff in his hand, and only after examining it again did he apparently notice me.
“I will make this offer exactly once, Dresden,” Evil Bob said quite calmly. He put his other hand on the staff, mirroring me, and I suddenly realized that if he wanted to, he could fling me considerably farther than he had Sir Stuart—assuming he didn’t just ram the staff straight back into my chest and out of my back.
I was suddenly unsure whether the spook squad could take Evil Bob even if they were all right there, Lecters, guardians, and all.
“What offer?” I asked him.
“A relationship,” he replied. “With me.”
Yeah. He actually said it like that.
“Um,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe you could clarify what you mean by a relationship. Because I’ve got to tell you, Bob, I’ve, uh . . . I’ve been hurt.”
The joke missed him completely. I was apparently snarking on the wrong frequency. “In the nature of an apprenticeship,” he said. “You have sound fundamental skills. You are practical. Your ambition is tempered by an understanding of your limits. You have the potential to be an excellent partner.”
“And I’m not flipping insane like the Corpsetaker,” I said.
“Hardly. But your insanities are more manageable,” Evil Bob said, “and you have few self-delusions.” He sniffed. “The Master never favored that creature, in any case. But he would have been interested in you.”
“Even if Kemmler was still around, I’m pretty sure a relationship with him wouldn’t be in the cards, either,” I said in an apologetic tone. “I’ve got a strict rule about dating older men.”
The spirit looked at me blankly for a moment. Then, as the real Bob sometimes did, he gave me the impression of an expression that simple, immobile