Dead Beat by Jim Butcher Page A
Authors: Jim Butcher
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy - Contemporary, Contemporary, People & Places, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Detective and Mystery Stories, Wizards, Dresden, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Chicago (Ill.), Harry (Fictitious character), Harry (Fictitious cha
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whole truth. And the whole time he'd been teaching me, he'd been under orders from the Council to execute me if I wasn't perfectly behaved. I hadn't been perfect. The old man didn't kill me, but he didn't trust me enough to come clean, either. He didn't tell me that he was in charge of dirty jobs for the Council. That he was their wetworks man, the one who broke the Laws of Magic with their blessing, who betrayed the same responsibility he wrote about, talked about, and had apparently lived.
He was trying to protect you, Harry , I told myself.
That didn't make it right.
He never tried to be your hero, your role model. You did that.
That didn't change a damned thing.
He never wanted to hurt you. He had the best intentions.
And the road to hell is paved with them.
You need to get over it. You need to forgive him.
I slammed the book back onto the shelf. Hard.
"Hello?" called a woman's voice from behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My staff clattered to the ground, and when I spun around my shield bracelet was up and spitting sparks, and my .44 was in my right hand, pointing at the office.
She was young, mid-twenties at most. She was average height, dressed in a long wool skirt, a turtleneck, and a cardigan sweater, all in colors of grey. She had hair of medium brown, held up into a bun with a pair of pencils, wore glasses, and had a heart-shaped face that was more attractive than beautiful, her features soft and appealing. She had a smudge of ink on her chin and on the fingers of her right hand, and she wore a name tag that had the store logo at the top and HI, MY NAME IS SHIELA below it.
"Oh," she said, and stiffened, becoming very pale. "Oh. Um. Just take what you want. I won't do anything."
I let out my breath between my teeth, and slowly lowered the gun. For crying out loud, I had nearly started shooting. Tense much, Harry? I let go of the energy running through the shield bracelet, and it dimmed as well. "Excuse me, miss," I said as politely as I could manage. "You startled me."
She blinked at me for a second, confusion on her features. "Oh," she said, then. "You aren't robbing the store."
"No," I said.
"That's good." She put a hand to her chest, breathing a little quickly. It had to be a fairly generous chest, given that I could notice the curves of her breasts even through the cardigan. Ah, trusty libido. Even when I am up to my ears in trouble, you are there to distract me from such trivial matters as survival. "Oh. Then you're a customer, I suppose? May I help you?"
"I was just looking for a book," I said.
"Well," she said with businesslike cheer, "flick on that lamp next to you, to begin with, and we'll find what you're looking for." I did, and
Shiela smoothed her skirts and walked over to me. She was average height, maybe five-six, which made her approximately a foot shorter than me. She paused as she got closer, and peered up at me. "You're him," she said. "You're Harry Dresden."
"That's what the IRS keeps telling me," I said.
"Wow," she said, her eyes bright. She had very dark eyes that went well with skin like cream, and as she got closer I saw that her outfit did a lot to conceal some pleasant curves. She wasn't going to be modeling bikinis anywhere, but she looked like she'd be very pleasant to curl up with on a cold night.
Man. I needed to date more or something. I rubbed at my eyes and got my mind back on business.
"I've wanted to meet you," she said, "ever since I came to Chicago."
"You new in town? I haven't seen you here before."
"Six months," she said. "Five working here."
"Bock works you pretty late," I said.
She nodded and brushed a curl of hair away from her cheek, leaving a smudge of dark ink on it. "End of the month. I'm doing books and inventory." Then she looked stricken and said, "Oh, I didn't even introduce myself."
"Shiela?" I guessed.
She stared at me for a second, and then flushed and said, "Oh, right. The name tag."
I stuck out my hand. "I'm Harry."
She
He was trying to protect you, Harry , I told myself.
That didn't make it right.
He never tried to be your hero, your role model. You did that.
That didn't change a damned thing.
He never wanted to hurt you. He had the best intentions.
And the road to hell is paved with them.
You need to get over it. You need to forgive him.
I slammed the book back onto the shelf. Hard.
"Hello?" called a woman's voice from behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My staff clattered to the ground, and when I spun around my shield bracelet was up and spitting sparks, and my .44 was in my right hand, pointing at the office.
She was young, mid-twenties at most. She was average height, dressed in a long wool skirt, a turtleneck, and a cardigan sweater, all in colors of grey. She had hair of medium brown, held up into a bun with a pair of pencils, wore glasses, and had a heart-shaped face that was more attractive than beautiful, her features soft and appealing. She had a smudge of ink on her chin and on the fingers of her right hand, and she wore a name tag that had the store logo at the top and HI, MY NAME IS SHIELA below it.
"Oh," she said, and stiffened, becoming very pale. "Oh. Um. Just take what you want. I won't do anything."
I let out my breath between my teeth, and slowly lowered the gun. For crying out loud, I had nearly started shooting. Tense much, Harry? I let go of the energy running through the shield bracelet, and it dimmed as well. "Excuse me, miss," I said as politely as I could manage. "You startled me."
She blinked at me for a second, confusion on her features. "Oh," she said, then. "You aren't robbing the store."
"No," I said.
"That's good." She put a hand to her chest, breathing a little quickly. It had to be a fairly generous chest, given that I could notice the curves of her breasts even through the cardigan. Ah, trusty libido. Even when I am up to my ears in trouble, you are there to distract me from such trivial matters as survival. "Oh. Then you're a customer, I suppose? May I help you?"
"I was just looking for a book," I said.
"Well," she said with businesslike cheer, "flick on that lamp next to you, to begin with, and we'll find what you're looking for." I did, and
Shiela smoothed her skirts and walked over to me. She was average height, maybe five-six, which made her approximately a foot shorter than me. She paused as she got closer, and peered up at me. "You're him," she said. "You're Harry Dresden."
"That's what the IRS keeps telling me," I said.
"Wow," she said, her eyes bright. She had very dark eyes that went well with skin like cream, and as she got closer I saw that her outfit did a lot to conceal some pleasant curves. She wasn't going to be modeling bikinis anywhere, but she looked like she'd be very pleasant to curl up with on a cold night.
Man. I needed to date more or something. I rubbed at my eyes and got my mind back on business.
"I've wanted to meet you," she said, "ever since I came to Chicago."
"You new in town? I haven't seen you here before."
"Six months," she said. "Five working here."
"Bock works you pretty late," I said.
She nodded and brushed a curl of hair away from her cheek, leaving a smudge of dark ink on it. "End of the month. I'm doing books and inventory." Then she looked stricken and said, "Oh, I didn't even introduce myself."
"Shiela?" I guessed.
She stared at me for a second, and then flushed and said, "Oh, right. The name tag."
I stuck out my hand. "I'm Harry."
She
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