Authors: Jim Butcher
Tags: #Mystery & Detective - General, #Magicians - Crimes against, #Fiction, #Crimes against, #Contemporary, #Fantasy - Epic, #General, #Epic, #Science Fiction, #Chicago (Ill.), #Mystery & Detective, #Wizards, #Magicians, #Dresden, #Harry (Fictitious character), #Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary, #Fantasy fiction, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Mystery Fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Brothers
White Night (40 page)
By Thomas.
He was chatting with her amiably as he worked, and she was in the middle of a little laugh when I came in. He leaned down and said something in her ear, and though I couldn't hear the substance of it, it came across in an unmistakable just-us-girls kind of tone, and she laughed again, replying in a similar manner.
Thomas laughed and turned away, practically prancing over to a tray of… styling implements, I supposed. He came back with a towel and, I swear to God, a dozen bobby pins held in his lips. He rinsed her hair and started pinning.
"Sir!" protested the coffee girl, who had followed me into the room.
Everyone stopped and looked at me. Even the woman with the cucumbers over her eyes took one of them off and peered at me.
Thomas froze. His eyes widened to the size of hand mirrors. He swallowed, and the bobby pins fell out of his mouth.
All the women looked back and forth between us, and there was an immediate buzz of whispers and quiet talks.
"You have got to be kidding me," I said.
"O-oh," Thomas said. "Ah-ree."
One of the stylists glanced back and forth between us and said, "Thomas." (She pronounced it Toe-moss.) "Who is
your friend?"
Friend. Oy vey. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose with one hand. I was never going to get away from this one. Not if I lived to be five hundred.
Thomas and I sat down at a table over cups of coffee.
"This?"
I asked him without preamble.
"This
is your mysterious job?
This
is the moneymaking scam?"
"It was cosmetology school first," Thomas said. He spoke in a French accent so thick that it barely qualified as English. "And night work as a security guard in a warehouse where no one else ever showed up, to pay for it."
I rubbed at my nose again. "And then…
this
? Here I'm thinking you've created your own batch of personal thralls while running around as a hired killer or something, and… you're washing
hair
?"
It was difficult to keep my voice quiet, but I made the effort. There were too many ears in that little place.
Thomas sighed. "Well. Yes. Washing, cutting, styling, dying. I do it all, baby."
"I'll bet." Then it hit me. "That's how you're feeding," I said. "I thought that took…"
"Sex?" Thomas asked. He shook his head. "Intimacy. Trust. And believe me, next to sex, washing and styling a woman's hair is about as intimate as you can get with her."
"You're still feeding on them," I said.
"It isn't the same, Harry. It isn't as dangerous—more like… sipping, I suppose, than taking bites. I can't take very much, or very quickly. But I'm here all day and it…" He shivered. "It adds up." He opened his eyes and met mine. "And there's no chance I'm going to lose control of myself. They're safe." He shrugged a shoulder. "They just enjoy it."
I watched the woman who'd been under the hair dryer come out, smile at Thomas, and pick up a cup of coffee on the way out. She looked… well, radiant, really. Confident. She looked like she felt sexy and beautiful, and it was quite pleasant to watch her move while she did.
Thomas watched her go with what I recognized as his look of quiet possession and pride. "They enjoy it a lot." He gave me one of his brief, swift grins. "I imagine there's a lot of husbands and boyfriends enjoying it, too."
"But they're addicted to it, I'd imagine."
He shrugged again. "Some, maybe. I try to spread myself around as much as I can. It isn't a perfect solution—"
"But it's the one you've got," I said. I frowned. "What happens when you try to wash somebody's hair and it turns out that they're in love? Protected?"
"True love isn't as common as you'd think," Thomas said. "Especially among people rich enough to afford me and superficial enough to think that it is money well spent."
"But when they do show?" I asked.
"That's why I've got all the hired help, man. I know what I'm doing."
I shook my head. "All this time and…" I snorted and sipped at some coffee. It was amazing. Smooth and rich and just sweet enough, and it probably cost more than a whole fast-food meal. "They all think I'm your lover, don't they."
"This is a trendy, upper-class boutique, Harry. No one expects a man with a place like this to be straight."
"Uh-huh. And the accent, Toe-moss?"
He smiled. "No one would pay that much money to an American stylist. Please." He shrugged. "It's superficial and silly, but true." He glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. His voice lowered, and his accent dropped. "Look. I know it's a lot to ask…"
It was an effort not to laugh at him, but I managed to give him a hard look, sigh, and say, "Your secret is safe with me."
He looked relieved. "
Merci
."
"Hey," I said. "Can you stop by my place tonight after work? I'm putting something together that might help people if someone else starts something like those White Court bozos just tried. I thought maybe you'd want to be in on it."
"Um, yeah. Yeah, we can talk about it."
I sipped more coffee. "Maybe Justine could help, too. Might be a way to get her out, if you want to do it."
"Are you kidding?" Thomas asked. "She's been working for a year to get closer to Lara."
I blinked up at him. "Hell's bells, I thought she was acting weird," I said. "She came on all zonked out, like the mindless party girl, but she dropped it a couple of times, where I could see. I just put it down to, well. Weirdness."
He shook his head. "She's been getting information to me. Nothing huge, so far."
"Does Lara know about her?"
Thomas shook his head. "She hasn't tipped to it yet. Justine is, as far as Lara is concerned, still one more helpless little doe." He glanced up. "I talked it over with her. She wants to stay. She's Lara's assistant, most of the time."
I exhaled slowly. Holy crap. If Justine stayed in place, and was willing to report on what she knew… intelligence gathered at that level could turn the entire course of the war—because even if the White Court's peace proposal went through, it just meant a shift in focus and strategy. The vamps weren't about to let up.
"Dangerous," I said quietly.
"She wants to do it," he said.
I shook my head. "I take it you've been in touch with Lara?"
"Of course," Thomas said. "Given my recent heroism"—his voice turned wry—"in defense of the White King, I am now in favor in the Court. The prodigal son has been welcomed home with open arms."
"Really?"
"Well," Thomas amended, "with reluctant, irritated arms, anyway. Lara's miffed about the Deeps."
"Guess the bombs weren't good for them."
Thomas's teeth showed. "The whole place just collapsed in on itself. There's a huge hole in the ground, the plumbing at the manor got torn up, and the foundation cracked. It's going to cost a fortune to fix it."
"Poor Lara," I said. "No more convenient corpse-disposal facilities."
He laughed. "It's nice to see her exasperated. She's usually so self-assured."
"I have a gift."
He nodded. "You do." We sat quietly for a few minutes.
"Thomas," I said, finally, gesturing at the room. "Why didn't your tell me about this?"
He shrugged and looked down. "At first? Because it was humiliating. I mean… working nights to put myself through cosmetology school? Starting my own place and posing as…" He waved a hand down at himself. "I thought… I don't know. At first I thought you'd disapprove or… laugh at me or something."
I kept a straight face. "No. Never."
"And after that… well. I'd been keeping secrets. I didn't want you to think I didn't trust you."
I snorted. "In other words you
didn't
trust me. To understand."
His cheeks turned very slightly pink and he looked down. "Um. I guess so, yeah. Sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
He closed his eyes and nodded and said, "Thanks, Harry."
I put a hand on his shoulder for a second, then dropped it again. Nothing else needed to be said.
Thomas gave me a suspicious look. "Now you're going to laugh at me."
"I can wait until you've turned your back, if you like."
He grinned at me again. "It's all right. I sort of stopped caring about it after I got fed steady for a few weeks straight. Feels too nice not to be starving again. Laugh all you want."
I looked around the place for a minute more. The coffee girls were having a private conversation, evidently discussing us, if all the covert glances and quiet little smiles were any indication.
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, and it felt good.
Table of Contents