Skin Game (The Dresden Files 15)

“Why?” I asked Uriel.

“I had to do something,” he said. “I couldn’t just . . . stand there. But my options are limited.”

“Oh,” I said. “I get it. I think.”

“Harry,” Michael said. “What are you talking about?”

“Um,” I said, and rubbed at my aching head. “Uriel wanted to help you, but he couldn’t exert his will over the situation to change it. Right?”

“Correct,” Uriel said.

“But he could act in accordance with your will, Michael. Which was to go out and meet Nicodemus.”

“Yes,” Michael said.

“So he couldn’t change you,” I said. “And he couldn’t change the world around you, at least not of his own will. But he could change himself. So he gave you his power in order to make your body function the way it used to. That way it isn’t his will that’s using the power. It’s yours.” The throbbing had begun to recede, slowly, and I looked up. “It’s way more than you needed, but it’s the only unit he had to work with. It’s as if . . . he loaned you his giant passenger jet because you needed a reading light.” I eyed the angel. “Right?”

Uriel nodded and said, “Close enough.”

Michael opened his mouth in understanding. “Loaned,” he said. “It won’t last.”

Uriel shook his head. “But this task is an important one. You need it. Use it.”

Michael titled his head. “But . . . Uriel, if I were to misuse it . . .”

“I would Fall,” Uriel said quietly.

I choked on the air.

Holy crap.

The last time an archangel Fell, I’m pretty sure there were extended consequences.

Uriel smiled faintly at Michael. “I’m confident that you won’t.” His smile turned a little green. “I would, however, appreciate it if you . . . did not push any buttons or pull any of the levers in my giant passenger jet.”

“How could you do this?” Michael breathed.

“You need the reading light,” Uriel said. “You have more than earned whatever help I can give. And you are a friend, Michael.”

“What happens to you, while I . . . borrow your jet?” Michael asked.

“Transubstantiation,” Uriel said. He gestured with his bloodied fingers.

Butters finally chimed in. “Holy. Crap. He’s mortal?”

“And he can die,” I said quietly.

Thirty-two

The fire crackled.

“Because, obviously,” I said, “there wasn’t enough on the line already.”

Uriel smiled. It was a tight, pained expression.

“Take it back,” Michael said. “You’ve got to take it back, right now.”

“I can do that,” Uriel said. “If that is your choice, I will respect it.”

Something in his voice triggered my instincts, and I said, “Michael, wait. Think about this.”

“What’s to think about?” Michael asked. “An archangel of the Lord is vulnerable.”

“Right,” I said, and spread my hands. “Almost as if he thinks this is important or something. Or maybe you figure Uriel for the kind of guy who hands out this kind of power all willy-nilly, every time the wind blows.” I looked at Uriel. “Right?”

Uriel helped Butters get another blanket around the shuddering Karrin, watched us, and said nothing.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can tell when you’re on the right track, because he shuts up and doesn’t tell you a damned thing. It’s about the Grail, isn’t it? About what Nicodemus wants to do with it.”

Uriel gave me a knowing look.

I flushed and said, “I’m playing my cards close to the chest, okay? I know it’s about more than that.”

He put his hand on Karrin’s head and smiled at her encouragingly.

Michael shook his head and walked over to where he’d set Amoracchius after he’d drawn it from his belt once we had Karrin inside. He picked it up absently, and started cleaning the water from it carefully with one of the used towels. “You’re asking me to make a very large choice.”

“Yes,” Uriel said.

“With potentially horrible consequences.”

Uriel looked at him with sympathetic eyes and nodded.

“Can you tell me what is at stake, that I should risk this?”

Uriel frowned, considering the question for a moment. Then he said, “A soul.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “You should have said that from the beginning.” He extended the Sword and looked down the length of its blade. “I’m not retired at the moment,” he said. “What about my family?”

“The guards remain,” Uriel said. “I have taken your place.”

Michael exhaled and some of the tension eased out of him. “Right. Though this is going to draw attention here again.”

“It might.”

“And your protection doesn’t extend to the merely mortal,” Michael said.

“No.”

“So mortals could enter, and kill you. Kill them.”

“Potentially,” he said.

“Guys,” Butters said, “we need to get her to a hospital.”

“Right,” I said. “Here’s the plan. Butters drives Murphy to the hospital and tells the guys at SI she needs looking after.”

“Those guys can’t stop someone like Nicodemus,” Butters said.

“No,” I said, “but they can force him to get noisy if he wants to get to her, and Nick won’t want that until after the job. He might send some of his squires to do it, but SI can go up against them just fine. Michael, will you loan Butters a car?”

“Of course,” Michael said.

“Good. They’ll help you unload her at the emergency room, Butters.”

“Right,” Butters said. “Great.”

“I’m going to go clean up out front,” I said. “What’s left of the Sword, shell casings, what have you. Those shots were

muffled by the sleet, but we don’t need to leave things lying around in case some busybody called the cops.”

“Leaving me to talk to Charity alone,” Michael said drily.

“Yeah, funny how that worked out,” I said. “Where is she, anyway?”

“In the panic room with Mouse and the kids,” Michael said. “Little Harry was all but bouncing off the walls, he was so excited. I didn’t want him seeing . . .” He nodded toward Karrin. “I’ll sound the all clear as soon as she and Butters leave.”

“Good call,” I said.

“What should I do?” Uriel asked.

“Sit,” I said. “Stay inside. Don’t put pennies in the outlets or play with matches or run with scissors.”

“I don’t understand,” Uriel said.

“Take no chances,” I clarified.

“Oh, yes.” He frowned and said, “But I want to help.”

“So sit,” I said. “Sitting quietly is very helpful.”

He sat down on the arm of the couch, frowning.

“I think this will hurt the least if one person carries her,” Butters said.

“Right,” I said, rising, and wobbled as the blood rushed to my head.

“Harry,” Michael said, and pushed gently in front of me. He went over to Karrin and adjusted the couch to give him room to stand in front of her. He passed Butters a set of car keys.

“It’s her left arm and leg that are hurt,” Butters said. “Carry her right side against you and try to support her left knee.”

“I’ll be careful,” Michael said, and lifted her gently, keeping her wrapped in the blankets. He didn’t seem to have any trouble doing it. I mean, he didn’t look like he’d gained muscle or anything, but his strength was certainly that of the Knight I remembered, and not of the lame contractor and Little League softball coach he’d been lately.

Karrin let out a soft sound of pain, and closed her eyes, breathing with steady, disciplined rhythm through her nose.

“Right, right,” Butters said. He’d discarded his pack before, but he recovered it now, as we went outside and loaded Karrin into Michael’s white pickup truck.