Skin Game (The Dresden Files 15)

“What a load of tripe,” Binder said. “You think I don’t know what the Coins and the Swords are like with each other? You didn’t bring him to watch your back. You brought him to fight.”

“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.

“So what happened last night?” Ascher asked me. “Binder’s goons drew him a picture of a lion. The ones who came back, I mean.”

“Yeah, it got a little crazy,” I said.

“Did you get the guy?” Binder asked.

“Nah, he skated,” I said. “Nobody’s fault, really. Tricky, slippery little bastard.”

Binder eyed me. “Yeah. Right. You give me a big speech about how you’ll come down on my neck if I hurt anyone in your town. Then you two tear out of here to take up the chase, and Murphy winds up too busted up to continue after a ‘misunderstanding’ with Nicodemus.”

I gave him a beatific smile. “Binder, relax. The op isn’t in any danger. I made sure he’s not going to go to anyone. That was the point of chasing him down in the first place, right?”

Binder frowned. “I thought the White Council didn’t let you use mind magic.”

Which I hadn’t meant, at all, and which I really couldn’t do, considering my utter lack of talent in that area, but Binder didn’t know that. “I did what needed to be done,” I said. “And think of it like this—I don’t have to stomp on your neck now.”

Binder looked skeptical, but he didn’t push it—which was smart. Binder had a really formidable skill, but he was a one-trick pony. He wasn’t up to facing a Wizard of the White Council directly, and he knew it.

Michael rounded himself up a cup of coffee and looked at me. I nodded, and he brought me back one. “That’s a very large pen for just four goats,” he noted.

Which meant that the Genoskwa had come back here last night, and gotten a couple more meals in. Damn, but that thing ate a lot. It ate more than something that size should have been able to consume—but a lot of supernatural creatures had supernatural metabolisms that helped fuel their exceptional speed and strength. Ghouls could put down forty or fifty pounds of meat in a meal, and need more the next day. Maybe Big Shaggy had a similar high-consumption engine fueling its physical power.

I sipped coffee and waited. At a quarter to four, Goodman Grey came ambling in. The unassuming-looking man stopped ten feet short of the table and stared hard at Michael. The Knight returned the shifter’s look, and dropped the heel of his hand casually to the hilt of Amoracchius, resting it there with his fingers relaxed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“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 grunted and seemed to relax a little. “Well. I won’t give him any cause to take issue with me. But if he does, don’t think I won’t take him apart.”

“Pretty sure you can’t,” I told him. “But it might be fun to watch you try it.”

Grey gave me a sour look and went over to the coffeepot.

At five minutes to four, Nicodemus and Deirdre arrived together. Deirdre was in her demonic battle form, all purple scales and metallic ribbons of hair. Both sets of her eyes were focused on Michael warily. Nicodemus looked like he always did, but more smug. “Good morning, everyone,” he said. “Table, please.”

In the shadows back behind Nicodemus, I could see the hulking outline of the Genoskwa, lurking in silence.

We all gathered around the table, where Nicodemus had laid out a large piece of paper with a map of the bank drawn cleanly upon it. “This will be a simple entry,” he said. He pointed at the front doors of the bank. “We’ll go in through these doors. There will be between three and six security personnel, and I will expect Binder and Dresden to keep their attention and eventually neutralize them. The rest of us will head straight back to the vaults. There are two large security doors in the way, but we aren’t going to bother opening them. Miss Ascher will go through the walls beside them here and here.” He marked the appropriate places with a red pen. “After that, Miss Valmont and Mr. Grey will move forward into the main vault. Miss Valmont will open the vault’s door, and Mr. Grey will open the target’s private storage room. Once those systems have been circumvented and the doors opened, it will be safe to bring our wizards into the vault.” He smiled widely. “And then the real fun can begin. Are there any questions?”

“What happens when we get where we’re going?” I asked. “You got a map for that?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Nicodemus said. “Though our path should be an obvious one. Our target uses active defenses to protect his vaults, not obfuscation.”

“No map,” I said. “Just some vague references to gates.”

“One does not attain great reward without daring similarly great risk,” Nicodemus said. “We will simply have to adapt to what we find as we enter.”

I did not, for a minute, believe that Nicodemus had no further information about Hades’ vault. But there wouldn’t be much point in saying it.

“If that is all,” Nicodemus said, “we shall load up. Dresden and his escort, Grey, and Valmont will be in the leftmost van. The rest of us will take the one on the right. I took the liberty of stocking them with heavy-duty backpacks for each of you, in order to allow you to gather up your shares. Mr. Binder, twenty of your associates in each van, if you please.”

“Got it,” Binder said. He produced his circle of wire and began calling up suits, issuing them an Uzi and a couple of spare clips as they arrived. They rushed to the waiting vans, leaping up into them with a will.

Michael watched and shook his head.

“Oh, cheer up, Mr. Carpenter,” Nicodemus said. “By the time the sun rises this morning, you may be twenty million dollars richer.”

“I have a family. I am already rich beyond measure,” Michael said. “But I really wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

Nicodemus’s face went blank, his eyes cold.

I took note of that. It was far more reaction than I’d seen from him this whole time. Something about what Michael had said struck home.

“The time for talking and planning is over,” Nicodemus said. “Now is the time for action. Everyone get in the vans.”

Thirty-four

The inside of the van was crowded, with twenty of Binder’s goons crammed in with the four of us, and a couple of squires driving.

“All right, Dresden,” Grey said. “Let’s have your wrists.”

“What?” I said. “Oh, right. The manacles.”

“What is he talking about?” Michael asked.

“Thorn manacles,” I said. “They inhibit magical ability. They should greatly reduce the odds that I’ll blow out any of the building’s security systems by walking past—and we need them to stay up and functioning until we get all the doors open.”

“His wrist is broken,” Michael said to Grey. “Wil

l they fit on his ankles?”

Grey held up a set of manacles on a heavy steel chain. They looked just like the ones I’d seen before, only they had the heavy gleam of steel to them, instead of that weird silvery metal the Sidhe used. The inner surfaces of the cuffs were lined with small, sharp thorns of steel. They would bite into the flesh when they were locked on—and with that steel breaking my skin, the Winter mantle would go to pieces.

That wasn’t going to feel good.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, eyeing them. “If either of the cuffs is on, I can’t use the magic. Just have them both on one wrist and wrap the chain around to keep it out of my way. Gimme.”

“Sure you don’t want me to do it?” Grey asked.

“Nah, I dislike you enough already. I’ll put them on.” I took the manacles from Grey and gave Michael a look to let him know that I wanted him to pay attention. He frowned and did.

I elbowed myself enough room to wrap the chain around my wrist. Then I closed my eyes for a moment and took slow, deep breaths, concentrating. Blocking out pain was a lesson I’d learned a long time ago, and I could do it pretty well if I had time to prepare for it. Mostly, the bad guys aren’t that courteous before they start hurting me, but fortunately this time the bad guy was me, and I was willing to cut myself a break. It took me a couple of minutes to erect the mental barriers, and then I opened my eyes, pulled up the sleeve of my duster, and fastened both manacles onto my right wrist, locking them on with their key.

Steel bit into my skin with a hundred tiny teeth, and the Winter mantle vanished. As suddenly as light comes on when you flip the switch, my body started reporting injuries.

My arm was pretty horrid, but my back had apparently turned into a single large contusion when the Genoskwa slammed me into that parked car. My calf burned steadily where I’d been shot. My feet were killing me, too, which—what the hell? Had I gotten a pair of shoes the wrong size or something? I was aching in the knees, and somehow I’d collected a cut on my tongue and on one of my gums—I hadn’t really noticed them before, though I sure as hell felt them now.