Small Favor (The Dresden Files 10)

Kincaid gave me a skeptical glance but, tellingly, he didn't argue with the Archive. Instead he vanished quickly down the stairs.

The Archive turned to me. "Statistically speaking, the emergency services of this city should begin to arrive in another three minutes, given the weather and the condition of the roads. It would be best for all of us if we were gone by then."

"Couldn't agree more," I said. I grimaced. "Whoever did this is taking awful chances, moving this publically."

The Archive's not-quite-human gaze bored into me for a moment. Then she said, "Matters may be quite a bit worse than that. I'm afraid our troubles are just beginning."

Chapter Twenty-six

M ichael stopped in his tracks when he saw the gaping hole Tiny the gruff had left in the east wall of Union Station. "Merciful God," he breathed. "Harry, what happened?"

"Little problem," I said.

"You didn't say anything to me."

"You looked busy," I told him, "and you already had a couple of hundred bad guys to handle." I nodded at the hole. "I only had the one."

Michael shook his head bemusedly, and I saw Luccio look at the hole with something like mild alarm.

"Did you get it?" Michael asked.

Luccio cocked her head at Michael when he spoke, and then looked sharply at me.

I gave Michael a level look and said, "Obviously." Then I turned on my heel and whistled sharply. "Mouse!"

My dog, soggy but still enthusiastic, came bounding toward us over the water-coated marble floors. He slid to a stop, throwing up a little wave that splashed over my feet as he did. The Archive peered intently at Mouse as he arrived, and took a step toward him-but was prevented from going farther by Kincaid's hand, which came to rest on her slender shoulder.

Michael frowned at the girl and then at the dog. "This," he said, "brings up a problem."

There was only so much room in the cab of Michael's truck.

All of us were soaking wet, and there was no time to get dry before the authorities arrived. I didn't think it completely fair that I got a number of less than friendly looks on the walk to the garage, after I explained that it had been me who set off the sprinkler system, but at least no one could claim that I hadn't been willing to suffer the consequences right along with them.

The Archive might have been a creepy Billy Mumy-in-The Twilight Zone kind of child, but she was still a child. By general acclamation she was in the cab. Michael had to drive.

"I'm not letting her sit in there alone," Kincaid stated.

"Oh, come on," I said. "He's a Knight of the freaking Cross. He isn't going to hurt her."

"Irrelevant," Kincaid said. "What about when someone starts shooting at her on the way there? Is he going to throw his body in front of her to keep her from harm?"

"I-" Michael began.

"You're damned right he will," I growled.

"Harry," Michael said, his tone placating, "I'd be glad to protect the child. But it would be somewhat problematic to do that and drive at the same time."

Mouse let out a low, distressed sound, which drew my attention to the fact that the Archive had fallen uncharacteristically silent. She was standing beside Kincaid, shuddering, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Dammit," I said. "Get her into the truck. Go, Kincaid, Michael."

Kincaid scooped her up at once, and he and Michael got into the cab of the truck.

"I-is y-your h-house far from here, Warden?" Luccio asked me.

She didn't look good. Well, she looked good given the circumstances. But she also looked soaked and half-frozen already, kneeling to hug Mouse, ostensibly rubbing his fur to help dry it and fluff it out. I'd seen Luccio in action, as captain of the Wardens of the White Council, and I had formed my opinion of her accordingly. When I looked at the woman who'd faced Kemmler's disciples without batting an eye, whom I'd once seen stand in the open under fire from automatic weapons to protect the apprentices under her care, I tended to forget that she was about five-foot-four and might have checked in at a hundred and thirty or forty pounds soaking wet.

Which she was.

In the middle of a blizzard.

"It isn't far," I said. Then I went up to the door beside Kincaid and said, "Put the kid on your lap."

"She wears the seat belt," Kincaid said. "She's in danger enough from exposure already."

"Luccio doesn't weigh much more than Ivy does," I said in a flat tone. "She's in almost as much danger as the kid. So you're holding Ivy on your lap and letting my captain ride in the cab, like a gentleman."

Kincaid gave me a level look, his pale eyes cold. "Or what?"

"I'm armed," I said. "You're not."

He looked at me levelly, then at my hands. One of them was in my coat pocket. Then he said, "You think I believe that you'd kill me?"

"If you try to make me choose between you and Luccio," I said, with a brittle smile, "I'm pretty sure whom I'm going to bid aloha."

His teeth flashed in a sudden, wolfish smile. And he moved over, drawing the freezing child onto his lap.

By the time I got back to Luccio she was upright only because Mouse sat placidly in the cold, supporting her. She mumbled some kind of protest in a faint, commanding tone, but since she said it in Italian I declared her brain frozen and assumed command of the local Warden detachment, which was handy, since it consisted of only me anyway. I bundled her into the truck's cab and got her buckled in beside Kincaid. He helped with it-my fingers were too cold and stiff to manage very quickly.

"Harry," Michael said. He reached back, drew a rolled-up thermal blanket from behind the truck's front seat, and tossed it to me. I caught it and nodded my thanks with the cold already starting to chew at my belly.

That left me and Mouse in the back of the truck, both of us soaking wet, in the middle of winter, in the middle of a blizzard. The cold moved from my belly to my chest, and I curled up into a ball because I didn't have much choice in the matter. Magic wasn't an option. My palm-sized ball of flame wouldn't get along well with the back of a moving truck, especially given how much I was already shaking. I wanted to get warm, not set myself on fire.

"S-s-s-sometimes ch-ch-ch-chivalry s-s-s-sucks," I growled to Mouse, teeth chattering.

My dog, whose thick winter coat wasn't much good after it had gotten a good soaking, leaned against me as hard as I leaned against him, underneath the rough blanket, while the cab of the truck heated up nicely, its windows fogging. I felt like a Dickens character. I thought about explaining that to Mouse, just to occupy my thoughts, but he was suffering enough without being forced to endure Dickens, even by proxy. So we made the trip in miserable, companionable silence. There might have been emergency lights going by us. I was too busy enjoying the involuntary rhythmic contractions of every muscle cell in my freaking body to notice.