Small Favor

Then Thomas said, "I don’t think we learned much."

"The hell we didn’t," I said.

"Like what?"

"We know that there are more than five Denarians in town. And we know that they’re signatories of the Accords-who apparently object to Marcone’s recent elevation."

Thomas grunted acknowledgment. "What now?"

I shook my head wearily. That last spell had been a doozy. "Now? I think…" I turned my head and studied the unconscious Gard. "I think I’d better call the Council."

Chapter Fourteen

N ow that I had not one, but two supernatural hit squads with a good reason to come after me, my options had grown sort of limited. In the end there was really only one place I could take Gard and Hendricks without endangering innocent lives: St. Mary of the Angels Church.

Which was why I told Thomas to drive us to the Carpenter house.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Thomas said quietly. The plow trucks were working hard, but so far they’d barely been keeping even with the snow, ensuring that the routes to the hospitals were clear. The streets in some places looked like World War I trenches, snow piled up head-high on either side.

"The Denarians know that we use the church as a safehouse," I said. "They’ll be watching it."

Thomas grunted and checked the rearview mirror. Gard was still unconscious, but breathing. Hendricks’s eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open. I didn’t blame him. I hadn’t been standing watch over a wounded comrade all night, and I felt like I could have taken a nap, too.

"What were those things?" Thomas asked.

"The Knights of the Blackened Denarius," I replied. "You remember Michael’s sword? The nail worked into the hilt?"

"Sure," Thomas said.

"There are two others like it," I said. "Three swords. Three nails."

Thomas’s eyes widened for a moment. "Wait. Those nails? From the Crucifixion?"

I nodded. "Pretty sure."

"And those things were what? Michael’s opposite number?"

"Yeah. Each of those Denarian bozos has a silver coin."

"Three silver coins," Thomas said. "I’m drawing a blank."

"Thirty," I corrected him.

Thomas made a choking sound. "Thirty?"

"Potentially. But Michael and the others have several of them hidden away at the moment."

"Thirty pieces of silver," Thomas said, understanding.

I nodded. "Each coin has the spirit of one of the Fallen trapped inside. Whoever possesses one of the coins can draw upon the Fallen angel’s power. They use it to shapeshift into those forms you saw, heal wounds, all kinds of fun stuff."

"They tough?"

"Certifiable nightmares," I said. "A lot of them have been alive long enough to develop some serious talent for magic, too."

"Huh," Thomas said. "The one who came through the door didn’t seem like such a badass. Ugly, sure, but he wasn’t Superman."

"Maybe you got lucky," I said. "As long as they have the coins, ‘hard to kill’ doesn’t begin to describe it."

"Ah," Thomas said. "That explains it, then."

"What?" I asked.

Thomas reached into his pants pocket and drew out a silver coin a little larger than a nickel, blackened with age, except for the shape of a single sigil, shining cleanly through the tarnish. "When I gutted Captain Ugly, this went flying out."

"Hell’s bells!" I spat, and flinched away from the coin.

Thomas twitched in surprise, and the Hummer went into a slow slide on the snow. He turned into it and regained control of the vehicle without ever taking his eyes off me. "Whoa, Harry. What?"

I pressed my side up against the door of the Hummer, getting as far as I physically could from the thing. "Look, just…just don’t move, all right?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Ooookay. Why not?"

"Because if that thing touches your skin, you’re screwed," I said. "Shut up a second and let me think."

The gloves. Thomas had been wearing gloves earlier, when fingering Justine’s scarf. He hadn’t touched the coin with his skin, or he’d already know how much trouble he was in. Good. But the coin was a menace, and I strongly suspected that the entity trapped inside it might be able to influence the physical world around it in subtle ways-enough to go rolling away from its former owner, for example, or to somehow manipulate Thomas into dropping or misplacing it.

Containment. It had to be contained. I fumbled at my pockets. The only container I was carrying was an old Crown Royal whiskey bag, the one that held my little set of gaming dice. I dumped them out into my pocket and opened the bag.

I already had a glove on my left hand. My paw had recovered significantly from the horrible burns it had gotten several years before, but it still wasn’t what you’d call pretty. I kept it covered out of courtesy to everyone who might glance at it. I held the little bag open with two fingers of my left hand and said, "Put it in here. And for God’s sake, don’t drop it or touch me with it."

Thomas’s eyes widened further. He bit his lower lip and moved his hand very carefully, until he could drop the inoffensive little disk into the Crown Royal bag.

I jerked the drawstrings tight the second the coin was in, and tied the bag shut. Then I slapped open the Hummer’s ashtray, stuffed the bag inside, and slammed it closed again.

Only then did I draw a slow breath and sag back down into my seat.

"Jesus," Thomas said quietly. He hesitated for a moment and then said, "Harry…is it really that bad?"

"It’s worse," I said. "But I can’t think of any other precautions to take yet."

"What would have happened if I’d touched it?"

"The Fallen inside the coin would have invaded your consciousness," I said. "It would offer you power. Temptation. Once you gave in enough, it would own you."

"I’ve resisted temptation before, Harry."

"Not like this." I turned a frank gaze to him. "It’s a Fallen angel, man. Thousands and thousands of years old. It knows how people think. It knows how to exploit them."

His voice sharpened a little. "I come from a family where everyone’s an incubus or a succubus. I think I know a little something about temptation."

"Then you should know how they’d get you." I lowered my voice and said gently, "It could give Justine back to you, Thomas. Let you touch her again."

He stared at me for a second, a flicker of wild longing somewhere far back in his eyes. Then he turned his head slowly back to the road, his expression slipping into a neutral mask. "Oh," he said quietly. After a moment he said, "We should probably get rid of the thing."