Small Favor(61)

Murphy glanced obliquely at me. "You mean … you could have become one of those things?"
"Yeah," I said. "Couple of times, it was close."
"Is it still … Is that what … ?"
I shook my head. "It's gone now. She's gone now. I guess the whole time she was trying to change me, I was trying to change her right back. And in the Raith Deeps last year, she took a psychic bullet for me-at the very end, after everyone else had gotten out." I shrugged. "I had … We'd sort of become friends, Murph. I'd gotten used to having her around." I glanced at her and gave her a faint smile. "Crazy, huh? Get all broken up over what was essentially my imaginary friend."
Her fingers found my hand and squeezed tight once. "We're all imaginary friends to one another, Harry." She sat with me for a moment, and then gave me a shrewd glance. "You never told Michael the details."
I shook my head. "I don't know why."
"I do," she said. "You remember when Kravos stuck his fingers in my brain?"
I shuddered. He'd been impersonating me when he did it. "Yeah."
"You said it caused some kind of damage. What did you call it?"
"Psychic trauma," I said. "Same thing happens when a loved one dies, during big emotional tragedies, that kind of thing. Takes a while to get over it."
"But you do get over it," Murph said. "Dresden, it seems to me that you'd lock yourself up pretty tight if someone took a regular bullet for you with a regular body. Much less if you were under psychic attack and this imaginary friend died right inside your own brain. Something like that happens, shouldn't you have expected to be a basket case, at least for a little while?"
I frowned, staring down at my hands. "I never even considered that."
She snorted gently. "There's a surprise. Dresden forgets that he's not invincible."
She had a point there.
"This plan of yours," she said. "Do you really think it's going to work?"
"I think I've got to try it." I took a deep breath. "I don't think you should be involved in this one, Murph. The Denarians have human followers. Fanatic ones."
"You think we're going to have to kill some of them," Murphy said.
"I think we probably won't have much choice," I said. "Besides that, I wouldn't put it past them to send someone here for spite, win or lose."
Murphy glanced up at me rather sharply.
I shrugged. "They know that Michael and Sanya and I are going to be out there. They'll know that there will be someone here, unprotected. Whether or not they get the coins, Nicodemus might send someone here to finish off the wounded."
Murphy stared at me for a second, then looked back at Kincaid. "You bastard," she said without emphasis.
"I'm not playing big brother with you, Karrin," I replied. "But we are dealing with some very bad people. Molly's staying with Kincaid. I'm leaving Mouse here too. I'd appreciate it if someone with a little more experience was here to give the kid some direction, if it was needed."
She scowled at Kincaid. Then she said, "Trying to guilt me into playing worried girlfriend, domestic defender, and surrogate mother figure, eh?"
"I figured it would work better than telling you to shut up and get into the kitchen."
She took a deep breath, studying the sleeping man. Then she reached out and touched his hand. She stood and faced me. "No. I'm coming with you."
I grunted, rising. "You sure?"
"The girl is important to him," Murphy said. "More important to him than anything has been for a long time, Harry. He'd die to protect her. If he was conscious, he'd be demanding to go with you. But he can't do that. So I'll have to do it for him."
"Could be real messy, Murph."
She nodded. "I'll worry about that after the girl is safe."
There was a clock ticking quietly on the wall. "The meeting's in an hour."
Murphy nodded and reached for her coat. The tears were gone, and there was no evidence of them in the lines of her face. "You'd better excuse me, then. If we're going to have an evening out, I need to change into something more comfortable."
"I never tell a lady how to accessorize."
Going forth to do battle with the forces of darkness is one thing. Doing it in a pair of borrowed sweatpants and an ill-fitting T-shirt is something else entirely. Fortunately, Molly had been thoughtful enough to drop my own clothes into the washer, bless her heart. I could forgive her for the pot roast.
In the laundry room I had skinned out of Michael's clothes and was in the act of pulling up my jeans when Luccio opened the door and leaned in, her expression excited. "Dresden. I think I know wh-Oh."
I jerked my jeans the rest of the way up and closed them as hurriedly as I could without causing any undue discomfort. "Oh. Um. Excuse me," I said.
Luccio smiled, the dimples in her cheeks making her look not much older than Molly. She didn't blush. Instead she folded her arms and leaned one shoulder on the door frame, her dark eyes taking me in with evident pleasure. "Oh, not at all, Dresden. Not at all."
I paused and returned her look for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to be embarrassed, apologize, and quietly leave?"
Her smile widened lazily, and she shrugged a shoulder. "When I was a girl, perhaps. But even then I had difficulty forcing myself to act awkward when looking at something that pleased me." She tilted her head and moved toward me. She reached out and rested her fingertips very lightly against a scar on my upper arm. She traced its outline and glanced up at me, lifting an eyebrow.
"Bullet wound," I said. "FBI werewolves."
She nodded. Then her fingers touched the hollow of my throat and slid slowly down over my chest and belly in a straight line. A shuddering sensation of heat fluttered through my skin in the wake of her fingertips. She looked up at me again.
"Hook knife," I said. "Sorcerer tried to filet me at the Field Museum."
Her touch trailed down my bare arms, lingering on my forearms, near my wrists, avoiding the red, scalded skin around my left wrist.
"Thorn manacles," I said. "From when Madrigal Raith tried to sell me on eBay."
She lifted my scarred left hand between hers, fingers stroking over the maimed flesh. These days I could move it pretty well, most of the time, and it didn't look like some kind of hideous, half-melted wax image of a hand anymore, but it still wasn't pretty. "A scourge of Black Court vampires had a Renfield that got creative. Had a homemade flamethrower."
She shook her head. "I know men centuries older than you who have not collected so many scars."
"Maybe they lived that long because they were smart enough not to get them," I said.
She flashed me that grin again. At close range it was devastating, and her eyes looked even darker.
"Anastasia," I said quietly, "in a few minutes we're going to go do something that might get us killed."
"Yes, Harry. We are," she said.
I nodded. "But that's not until a few minutes from now."
Her eyes smoldered. "No. No, it isn't."
I lifted my still-tingling right hand to gently cup the line of her jaw, and leaned down to press my mouth to hers.
She let out a quiet, satisfied little moan and melted against me, her body pressing full-length to mine, returning the kiss with slow, sensuous intensity. I felt her slide the fingers of one hand into my hair, while the nails of the other wandered randomly over my chest and arm, barely touching. It left a trail of fire in my flesh, and I found myself sinking the fingers of my right hand into the soft curls of her hair, drawing her more deeply into the kiss.
I don't know how long that went on, but it wound down deliciously. By the time she drew her mouth away from mine, both of us were breathing harder, and my heart was pounding out a rapid beat against my chest. And against my jeans.
She didn't open her eyes for five or ten seconds, and when she did, they were absolutely huge and molten with desire. Anastasia leaned her head back and arched in a slow stretch, letting out a long, low, pleased sigh.
"You don't mind?" I asked her.
"Not at all."
"Good. I just … wanted to see what that was like. It's been a long time since I kissed anyone. Almost forgot what it was like."
"You have no idea," she murmured, "how long it has been since I've kissed a man. I wasn't sure I remembered how."
I let out a quiet laugh.
Her dimples returned. "Good," she said, satisfaction in her tone. She looked me up and down, taking in the sights again. This time it didn't make me feel self-conscious. "You have a good smile. You should show it more often."
"Once we're done tonight," I said, "maybe we could talk about that. Over dinner."
Her smile widened, and color touched her cheeks. "That would please me."
"Good," I said. I arched an eyebrow at her. "I'll put my shirt on now, if that's all right."
Anastasia let out a merry laugh and stepped back from me, though she didn't lift her fingertips from my skin until the distance forced her to do it. "Very well, Warden. As you were."
"Why, thank you, Captain." I tugged the rest of my clothes back on. "What were you going to tell me?"
"Hmmm?" she said. "Oh, ah, yes. Before I was so cleverly distracted. I think I know where the Denarians are holding the Archive."
I blinked. "You got through with a tracking spell?"