Skin Game by Jim Butcher

tentacles lifted off of me instantly in a vain attempt to protect its face and head. The beast writhed in torment, and I managed to get a leg into place to shove it off me. I pushed myself to my feet.
    “Go!” I shouted at Ascher and Valmont. “Go, go, go!”
    They didn’t need any more encouragement. We fled down the hallway, leaving the screaming octokong behind us, and all but flew down the stairs.
    “There,” I snapped at Ascher on the way down. “We got her out and she’s helping. You happy?”
    “Yeah, Dresden,” she said, her tone cross. “I’m happy. I’m thrilled. I’m freaking joyous. Now shut up and run.”
    And I fled the hotel, blood oozing out to stain my shredded tux.
    I didn’t mind so much.
    I’d like to see Nicodemus try to get his deposit back on that.

Eleven
    O n the way down the stairs, Anna Valmont ditched her tunic and pants, and proved to be wearing a little party dress beneath. Once she’d kicked off her shoes and socks, she blended in with every other society girl fleeing the building. A small bag belted around her waist and concealed beneath the tunic became a clutch. She pulled her hair off, ditched the wig, and shook out shoulder-length dark blond hair from beneath it, fashionably tousled. She put on sunglasses, and appropriated Hannah Ascher’s heels. She hurried a little, caught up to the last group to head out in front of us, and blended in with them seamlessly. By the time we’d reached the ground floor, the shapeless, shorter, brunette hotel staffer had vanished, and a tall and lean blond woman in a black dress was tottering out of the building along with all the rest of them.
    Valmont was no dummy. The Fomor servitors were waiting outside, in their caterer uniforms, scanning everyone leaving the building with their flat, somehow amphibian gazes.
    “I’ll run interference. You get her to the car,” I muttered to Ascher as we exited the building.
    Then I pointed a finger at the nearest servitor and thundered, “You!”
    The man turned his eyes to me. I felt the rest of them do the same. Good. The more of them that were looking at me, the fewer eyes there were to notice Valmont making good her escape. I stalked over to the servitor like a man spoiling for a fight. “What do you people think you’redoing? I mean, I’ve heard of getting your sushi fresh, but that’s just plain ridiculous.”
    Fomor servitors were not known for their bantering skills. The man just stared at me and took an uneasy half step back.
    “I’ve got half a mind to sue!” I shouted, waving an arm in a broad, drunken gesture. “Do you
see
the state of my tux? You’ve taken something from me tonight. My wardrobe’s peace of mind!”
    By now, I was getting the attention of all kinds of people—evacuated guests, hotel staff, passersby on the sidewalk. There are a limited number of blood-covered economy-sized males ranting at the top of their lungs in a shredded tuxedo, even in Chicago. Sirens were wailing too, coming closer. Emergency services were en route. Motorcycle cops and prowl cars were already beginning to arrive, lickety-split here in the heart of the city.
    I saw the servitor take note of the same thing. His weight shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
    “Yeah,” I said in a lower, quieter voice. “I don’t know which of the Fomor you serve. But tell your boss that Harry Dresden is back, and he says to stay the hell out of Chicago. Otherwise, I’m going to knock his teeth out.” I paused. “Assuming, uh, he has teeth, I mean. But I’ll knock something out. Definitely. You tell him that.”
    “You dare to threaten him?” the servitor whispered.
    “Just stating facts,” I said. “You and your crew better go. Before I start ripping off your collars and asking the police and reporters what’s wrong with your necks.”
    The servitor stared at me with empty eyes for a long moment. Then he turned abruptly and started walking. The other guys in caterer uniforms went with