Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,3

a sigh. "Shen," I said. "Chinese spirit creatures. Demons. Shapeshifters."

"Christ, Dresden! You almost got me killed!"

"Don't be a baby. You're fine."

Thomas frowned at me. "You at least could have told me!"

"I did tell you," I said. "I told you at Mac's that I'd give you a ride home, but that I had to run an errand first."

Thomas scowled. "An errand is getting a tank of gas or picking up a carton of milk or something. It is not getting chased by flying purple pyromaniac gorillas hurling incendiary poo."

"Next time take the El."

He glared at me. "Where are we going?"

"O'Hare."

"Why?"

I waved vaguely at the backseat. "Returning stolen property to my client. He wants to get it back to Tibet, pronto."

"Anything else you're neglecting to tell me? Ninja wombats or something?"

"I wanted you to see how it feels," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Thomas. You never go to Mac's place to hang out and chum around. You're wealthy, you've got connections, and you're a freaking vampire. You didn't need me to give you a ride home. You could have taken a cab, called for a limo, or talked some woman into taking you."

Thomas's scowl faded away, replaced by a careful, expressionless mask. "Oh? Then why am I here?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't look like you showed up to bushwhack me. I guess you're here to talk."

"Razor intellect. You should be a private investigator or something."

"You going to sit there insulting me, or are you going to talk?"

"Yeah," Thomas said. "I need a favor."

I snorted. "What favor? You do remember that technically we're at war, right? Wizards versus vampires? Ring any bells?"

"If you like, you can pretend that I'm employing subversive tactics as part of a fiendishly elaborate ruse meant to manipulate you," Thomas said.

"Good," I said. " 'Cause if I went to all the trouble of starting a war and you didn't want to participate it would hurt my feelings."

He grinned. "I bet you're wondering whose side I'm on."

"No." I snorted. "You're on Thomas's side."

The grin widened. Thomas has the kind of whiter-than-white boyish grin that makes women's panties spontaneously evaporate. "Granted. But I've done you some favors over the past couple of years."

I frowned. He had, though I didn't know why. "Yeah. So?"

"So now it's my turn," he said. "I've helped you. Now I need payback."

"Ah. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to take a case for an acquaintance of mine. He needs your help."

"I don't really have time," I said. "I have to make a living."

Thomas flicked a piece of monkey flambé off the back of his hand and out the window. "You call this living?"

"Jobs are a part of life. Maybe you've heard of the concept. It's called work? See, what happens is that you suffer through doing annoying and humiliating things until you get paid not enough money. Like those Japanese game shows, only without all the glory."

"Plebe. I'm not asking you to go pro bono. He'll pay your fee."

"Bah," I muttered. "What's he need help with?"

Thomas frowned. "He thinks someone is trying to kill him. I think he's right."

"Why?"

"There have been a couple of suspicious deaths around him."

"Like?"

"Two days ago he sent his driver, girl named Stacy Willis, out to the car with his golf clubs so he could get in a few holes before lunch. Willis opened the trunk and got stung to death by about twenty thousand bees who had somehow swarmed into the limo in the time it took her to walk up to the door and back."

I nodded. "Ugh. Can't argue there. Gruesomely suspicious."

"The next morning his personal assistant, a young woman named Sheila Barks, was hit by a runaway car. Killed instantly."

I pursed my lips. "That doesn't sound so odd."

"She was waterskiing at the time."

I blinked. "How the hell did that happen?"

"Bridge over the reservoir was the way I heard it. Car jumped the rail, landed right on her."

"Ugh," I said. "Any idea who is behind it?"

"None. Think it's an entropy curse?" Thomas asked.

"If so, it's a sloppy one. But strong as hell. Those are some pretty melodramatic deaths." I checked on the puppies. They had fallen together into one dusty lump and were sleeping. The notch-eared pup lay on top of the pile. He opened his eyes and gave me a sleepy little growl of warning. Then he went back to sleep.

Thomas glanced back at the box. "Cute little furballs. What's their story?"

"Guardian dogs for some monastery in the Himalayas. Someone snatched them and came here. A couple