Small Favor

"Keep an eye on Mister, all right? If he starts getting sick, take the catnip away."

My dog gave the door to the lab a dubious glance.

"Oh, give me a break," I said. "You’re seven times as big as he is."

Mouse looked none too confident.

Thomas blinked at me, and then at the dog. "Can he understand you?"

"When it suits him," I grumped. "He’s smarter than a lot of people I know."

Thomas took a moment to absorb that, and then faced Mouse a little uncertainly. "Uh, okay, look. What I said about Harry earlier? I wasn’t serious, okay? It was totally a joke."

Mouse flicked his ears and turned his nose away from Thomas with great nobility.

"What?" I asked, looking between them. "What did you say?"

"I’ll warm up the car," Thomas said, and retreated to the frozen grey outdoors.

"This is my home," I complained to no one in particular. "Why do people keep making jokes at my expense in my own freaking home?"

Mouse declined to comment.

I locked up behind me, magically and materially, and scaled Mount Hummer to sit in the passenger seat. The morning was cold and getting colder, especially since I was fresh from the shower, but the seat was rather pleasantly warm. There was no way I’d admit to Thomas that the luxury feature was superior to armored glass, but gosh, it was cozy.

"Right," Thomas said. "Where are we headed?"

"To where they treat me like royalty," I said.

"We’re going to Burger King?"

I rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead and spelled fratricide in a subvocal mutter, but I had to spell out temporary insanity and justifiable homicide, too, before I calmed down enough to speak politely. "Just take a left and drive. Please."

"Well," Thomas said, grinning, "since you said ‘please.’"

Chapter Eleven

E xecutive Priority Health was arguably the most exclusive gym in town. Located in downtown Chicago, the business took up the entire second floor of what used to be one of the grand old hotel buildings. Now it had office buildings on the upper levels and a miniature shopping center on the first floor.

Not just anyone could take the private elevator to the second floor. One had to be a member of the health club, and membership was tightly controlled and extremely expensive. Only the wealthiest and most influential men had a membership card.

Oh, and me.

The magnetic stripe on the back of the card didn’t work when I swiped it through the card reader. No surprise there. I’d had it in my wallet for several months, and I doubt the magnetic signature stored on the card had lasted more than a couple of days. I hit the intercom button on the console.

"Executive Priority," said a cheerful young woman’s voice. "This is Billie, and how may I serve you?"

Thomas glanced at me and arched an eyebrow, mouthing the words, Serve you?

"You’ll see," I muttered to him. I addressed the intercom. "My card seems to have stopped working. Harry Dresden and guest, please."

"One moment, sir," Billie said. She was back within a few seconds. "I apologize for the problem with your membership card, sir. I’m opening the elevator for you now."

True to her word, the elevator opened, and Thomas and I got in.

It opened onto the main area of Executive Priority.

"You’re kidding me," Thomas said. "Since when do you go to the gym?"

It looked pretty typically gymlike from here. Lots and lots of exercise machines and weight benches and dumbbells and mirrors; static bikes and treadmills stood in neatly dressed ranks. They’d paid some madman who thought he was a decorator a lot of money to make the place look hip and unique. Maybe it’s my lack of fashion sense talking, but I thought they should have held out for one of those gorillas who has learned to paint. The results would have been of similar quality, and they could have paid in fresh produce.

Here and there men, mostly white, mostly over forty, suffered through a variety of physical activities. Beside each and every one of them was a personal trainer coaching, supporting, helping.

The trainers were all women, none of them older than their late twenties. They all wore ridiculously brief jogging shorts so tight that it had to be some kind of minor miracle that allowed the blood to keep flowing through the girls’ legs. They all wore T-shirts with the gym’s logo printed on them, also tight-and every single woman there had the kind of body that made her outfit look fantastic. No gym in the world had that many gorgeous girls in its employ.

"Ah," Thomas said after a moment of looking around. "This isn’t a typical health club, is it?"

"Welcome to the most health-conscious brothel in the history of mankind," I told him.

Thomas whistled quietly through his teeth, surveying the place. "I’d heard that the Velvet Room had been retooled. This is it?"

"Yeah," I said.

A brown-haired girl jiggled over to us, her mouth spread in a beauty-contest smile, and for a second I thought her shirt was about to explode under the tension. Bright gold lettering over her left breast read, BILLIE.

"Hello, Mister Dresden," she chirped. She bobbed her head to Thomas. "Sir. Welcome to Executive Priority. Can I get you a drink before your workout? May I take your coats?"

I held up a hand. "Thanks, Billie, but no. I’m not here for the exercise."

Her smile stayed locked in place, pretty and meaningless, and she tilted her head to one side.

"I’m here to speak to Ms. Demeter," I said.

"I’m sorry, sir," Billie said. "She isn’t in."

The girl was a confection for the eyes, and I felt sure that the other four senses would feel just as well fed after a bit of indulgence, but she wasn’t a good liar. "Yeah, she is," I said. "Tell her Harry Dresden is here."

"I’m sorry, sir," she said again, like a machine stuck on repeat. "Ms. Demeter is not in the building."

I gave her my toothiest smile. "You’re kind of new here, eh, Billie?"

The smile flickered, then stabilized again.

"Thomas." I sighed. "Give her a visual?"

My brother looked around, then went over to a nearby rack of steel dumbbells and picked up the largest set there, one in each hand. With about as much effort as I’d use to bundle twigs, he twisted the steel bars around each other, forming an asymmetric X shape. He held it up to make sure Billie saw it, and then dropped it at her feet. The weights landed with a forceful thump, and Billie flinched when they did.

"You should see the kinds of things he can bend and break," I said. "Expensive exercise machines, expensive furniture, expensive clients. I don’t know how hard he could throw some of this stuff around, but I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t kinda curious." I leaned down a little closer and said, "Billie, maybe you should kick this one up the line. I’d hate them to dock your pay to replace all the broken things."