Small Favor

Kincaid gave Nicodemus a chill little smile, and the air boiled with potential violence.

I held up a hand and said quietly, "Easy there, Wild Bill. I’ll talk with him. Then we’ll have our sit-down. All nice and civilized."

Kincaid glanced at me and arched a shaggy, dark-gold eyebrow. "You sure?"

I shrugged a shoulder.

"All right," he said. "I’ll be back in five minutes." He paused, then added, "If either of you initiates violence outside of the strictures of a formal duel, you’ll be in violation of the Accords. In addition, you will have offered an insult to the reputation and integrity of the Archive-which I will take personal action to amend."

The wintry chill in his blue eyes was mostly for Nicodemus, but I got some of it too. Kincaid meant it, and I’d seen him in action before. He was one of the scarier people I knew; the more so because he went about matters with ruthless practicality, unhindered by personal ego or the pride one often encountered in the supernatural set. Kincaid wouldn’t care if he looked into my eyes as he killed me, if that was what he set out to do. He’d be just as happy to put a bullet through my head from a thousand meters away, or wire a bomb to my car and read about my death on the Internet the next morning. Whatever got the job done.

That kind of attitude doesn’t help you when it comes to finding flashy or dramatic ways to do away with your enemies, but what it lacks in aesthetics it makes up in economy. Marcone, whom this whole mess was about, worked the same way, and it had taken him far. You crossed such men at extreme peril.

Nicodemus let out another quiet, charming laugh. He didn’t look impressed by Kincaid. Maybe that was a good thing. Too much pride can kill a man.

On the other hand, from what I’d seen of him, maybe Nicodemus really was that tough.

"Run along, Hellhound," Nicodemus said. "Your mistress’s honor is quite safe." He drew an X on his chest. "Cross my heart."

Maybe it was an inside reference. Kincaid’s eyes flashed with something hot and furious before they went glacial again. He nodded to me, then precisely the same way to Nicodemus, and left.

I’m pretty sure the room didn’t actually become darker and scarier and more threatening when I was left alone with the most dangerous man I’d ever crossed.

But it sure felt that way.

Nicodemus turned that toothy predator’s smile to me as his shadow began to glide around the walls of the entry hall. Circling me. Like a shark.

"So, Harry," he said, walking closer, "what shall we talk about?"

Chapter Twenty-nine

"Y ou’re the one who wanted a conversation," I said. "And don’t call me Harry. My friends call me Harry."

He turned one hand palm up. "And who is to say I cannot be your friend?"

"That would be me, Nick. I say. Here, I’ll show you." I enunciated: "You can’t be my friend."

"If I am to call you Dresden, it is only fair that you should call me Archleone."

"Archleone?" I asked. "As in ‘seeking whom he may devour’? Kinda pretentious, isn’t it?"

For half of a second, the smile turned into something almost genuine. "For a godless heathen, you are entirely too familiar with scripture. You know that I can kill you, do you not?"

"We’d make a mess," I said. "And who knows? I might get lucky."

Really, really, really lucky.

Nicodemus moved a hand in acknowledgment. "But barring luck."

"Yeah," I said.

"And you offer such insouciance regardless?"

"Habit," I said. "It doesn’t make you special or anything, believe me."

"Oh, I picked the right coin for you." He started to walk in a slow circle around me, the way you might a car at the dealership. "There are rumors that a certain Warden has been flinging Hellfire at his foes. How do you like it?"

"I’d like it better if it came in Pine Fresh and New Car instead of only Rotting Egg," I said.

Nicodemus completed his circuit of me and arched an eyebrow. "You haven’t taken up the coin."

"I would, but it’s in my piggybank," I said, "and I can’t break the piggy, obviously. He’s too cute."

"Lasciel’s shadow must be slipping," Nicodemus said, shaking his head. "It has had years to reason with you, and still you refuse our gifts."

"What with the curly little tail and the big, sad brown eyes," I said, as if he hadn’t said anything.

One of his heels hit the ground with unnecessary force, and he stopped walking. He inhaled through his nose and out again. "Definitely the proper coin for you." He folded his hands carefully behind his back. "Dresden, you have a skewed image of us. We were operating at cross-purposes the first time we met, and you probably learned everything you know about us from Carpenter and his cohorts. The Church has always had excellent propaganda."

"Actually, the murder, torture, and destruction you and your people perpetrated spoke pretty loudly all by themselves."

Nicodemus rolled his eyes. "Dresden, please. You have done all of those things at one time or another. Poor Cassius told me all about what you did to him in the hotel room."

"Gosh," I said, grinning. "If someone had walked in on us in the middle of that sentence, would my face be red or what?"

He stared at me for a second, and the emotion and expression drained out of his features like dewdrops vanishing under a desert sunrise. What was left behind was little more than desolation. "Harry Dresden," he said, so softly that I could barely make it out. "I admire your defiance of greater powers than your own. I always have. But tempus fugit. For all of us."

I blinked.

For all of us? What the hell did he mean by that?

"Have you not seen the signs around you?" Nicodemus asked. "Beings acting against their natures? Creatures behaving in ways that they should not? The old conventions and customs being cast aside?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You’re talking about the Black Council."

He tilted his head slightly to one side. Then his mouth twitched at a corner and he nodded his head very slightly. "They move in shadows, manipulate puppets. Some of them may be on your Council, yes. As good a name as any."

"Stop playing innocent," I spat at him. "I saw the leftovers of the Black Council attack on Arctis Tor. I know what Hellfire smells like. One of yours was in on it."

Nicodemus.

Blinked.

Then he surged forward-fast. So fast that by the time I’d registered that he was moving, my back had already hit the wall that had been twenty feet behind me. He hadn’t been trying to hurt me. If he had, the back of my head would have splattered open. He just pinned me there against the wall with one hand on my throat, tighter and harder than a steel vise.