Bullies make me mad—and I've been known to do some foolish things when I'm angry.
"Forget it," I said, my voice hot. "No deal. Get it over with and blast me. Lock the door on your way out."
My response didn't seem to ruffle her. She folded her arms and murmured, "Such anger. Such fire. Yes. I watched you stalemate your godmother the Leanansidhe autumn last. Few mortals ever have done as much. Bold. Impertinent. I admire that kind of strength, wizard. I need that kind of strength."
I fumbled around on my desk until I found the tissue dispenser and started packing the wound with the flimsy fabric. "I don't really care what you need," I told her. "I'm not going to be your emissary or anything else unless you want to force me, and I doubt I'd be much good to you then. So do whatever you're going to do or get out of my office."
"You should care, Mister Dresden," Mab told me. "It concerns you explicitly. I purchased your debt in order to make you an offer. To give you the chance to win free of your obligations."
"Yeah, right. Save it. I'm not interested."
"You may serve, wizard, or you may be served. As a meal. Do you not wish to be free?"
I looked up at her, warily, visions of barbecued me on a table with an apple in my mouth dancing in my head. "What do you mean by 'free'?"
"Free," she said, wrapping those frozen-berry lips around the word so that I couldn't help but notice. "Free of Sidhe influence, of the bonds of your obligation first to the Leanansidhe and now to me."
"The whole thing a wash? We go our separate ways?"
"Precisely."
I looked down at my hurting hand and scowled. "I didn't think you were much into freedom as a concept, Mab."
"You should not presume, wizard. I adore freedom. Anyone who doesn't have it wants it."
I took a deep breath and tried to get my heart rate under control. I couldn't let either fear or anger do my thinking for me. My instincts screamed at me to go for the gun again and give it a shot, but I had to think. It was the only thing that could get you clear of the fae.
Mab was on the level about her offer. I could feel that, sense it in a way so primal, so visceral, that there was no room left for doubt. She would cut me loose if I agreed to her bargain. Of course, her price might be too high. She hadn't gotten to that yet. And the fae have a way of making sure that further bargains only get you in deeper, instead of into the clear. Just like credit card companies, or those student loan people. Now there's evil for you.
I could feel Mab watching me, Sylvester to my Tweetie Bird. That thought kind of cheered me up. Generally speaking, Tweetie kicks Sylvester's ass in the end.
"Okay," I told her. "I'm listening."
"Three tasks," Mab murmured, holding up three fingers by way of visual aid. "From time to time, I will make a request of you. When you have fulfilled three requests, your obligation to me ceases."
Silence lay on the room for a moment, and I blinked. "What. That's it?"
Mab nodded.
"Any three tasks? Any three requests?"
Mab nodded.
"Just as simple as that? I mean, you say it like that, and I could pass you the salt three times and that would be that."
Her eyes, green-blue like glacial ice, remained on my face, unblinking. "Do you accept?"
I rubbed at my mouth slowly, mulling it over in my head. It was a simple bargain, as these things went. They could get really complicated, with contracts and everything. Mab had offered me a great package, sweet, neat, and tidy as a Halloween candy.
Which meant that I'd be an idiot not to check for razor blades and cyanide.
"I decide which requests I fulfill and which I don't?"
"Even so."
"And if I refuse a request, there will be no reprisals or punishments from you."
She tilted her head and blinked her eyes, slowly. "Agreed. You, not I, will choose which requests you fulfill."
There was one land mine I'd found, at least. "And no more selling my mortgage, either. Or whistling up the lackeys to chastise or harass me by proxy. This remains between the two of us."
She laughed, and it sounded as merry, clear, and lovely as bells—if someone pressed them against my teeth while they were still ringing. "As your godmother did. Fool me twice, shame on me, wizard? Agreed."
I licked my lips, thinking hard. Had I left her any openings? Could she get to me any other way?
"Well, wizard?" Mab asked. "Have we a bargain?"
I gave myself a second to wish I'd been less tired. Or less in pain. The events of the day and the impending Council meeting this evening hadn't exactly left my head in world-class negotiating condition. But I knew one thing for certain. If I didn't get out from under Mab's bond, I would be dead, or worse than dead, in short order. Better to act and be mistaken than not to act and get casually crushed.
"All right," I said. "We have a bargain." When I said the words, a little frisson prickled over the nape of my neck, down the length of my spine. My wounded hand twitched in an aching, painful pang.
Mab closed her eyes, smiling a feline smile with those dark lips, and inclined her head. "Good. Yes."
You know that look on Wile E. Coyote's face, when he runs at full steam off the cliff and then realizes what he's done? He doesn't look down, but he feels around with one toe, and right then, right before he falls, his face becomes drawn with a primal dread.
That's what I must have looked like. I know it was pretty much what I felt like. But there was no help for it. Maybe if I didn't stop to check for the ground underneath my feet, I'd keep going indefinitely. I looked away from Mab and tried to tend to my hand as best I could. It still throbbed, and disinfecting the wound was going to hurt a lot more. I doubted it would need sutures. A small blessing, I guess.
A manila envelope hit my desk. I looked up to see Mab drawing a pair of gloves onto her hands.
"What's this?" I asked.
"My request," she replied. "Within are the details of a man's death. I wish you to vindicate me of it by discovering the identity of his killer and returning what was stolen from him."
I opened the envelope. Inside was an eight-by-ten glossy black-and-white of a body. An old man lay at the bottom of a flight of stairs, his neck at a sharp angle to his shoulders. He had frizzy white hair, a tweed jacket. Accompanying the picture was an article from the Tribune, headlined LOCAL ARTIST DIES IN MIDNIGHT ACCIDENT.
"Ronald Reuel," I said, glancing over the article. "I've heard of him. Has a studio in Bucktown, I think."
Mab nodded. "Hailed as a visionary of the American artistic culture. Though I assume they use the term lightly."
"Creator of worlds of imagination, it says. I guess now that he's dead, they'll say all kinds of nice things." I read over the rest of the article. "The police called it an accident."
"It was not," Mab responded.
I looked up at her. "How do you know?"
She smiled.
"And why should you care?" I asked. "It isn't like the cops are after you."
"There are powers of judgement other than mortal law. It is enough for you to know that I wish to see justice done," she said. "Simply that."
"Uh-huh," I said, frowning. "You said something was stolen from him. What?"
"You'll know it."
I put the picture back in the envelope and left it on my desk. "I'll think about it."
Mab assured me, "You will accept this request, Wizard Dresden."
I scowled at her and set my jaw. "I said I'll think about it."
Mab's cat-eyes glittered, and I saw a few white, white teeth in her smile. She took a pair of dark sunglasses from the pocket of her jacket. "Is it not polite to show a client to the door?"