Free Turn Coat by Jim Butcher

leading up to the highest platform, and he took the last steps three at a time. I followed along behind him, scanning around me steadily, trying to be on the lookout for potential bad guys. This had the side effect of me getting to ogle more pretty girls than I’d ever seen in one place at one time. But it was professional ogling. One of them could have been concealing—
    Well, actually, I was sort of shocked at what one of them was concealing.
    I made it up the last stairway just in time to see Thomas throw himself into a woman’s arms.
    Justine wasn’t particularly tall, for a girl, or at least she hadn’t been before she’d put on the boots with the five-inch heels. She looked like I remembered her last—a gorgeous face that still fell into the girl-next-door category, with a heart-melting smile. Her hair was silver-white, and was being held in a tight bun up high on the back of her head with a pair of white chopsticks.
    Of course, the last time I’d seen her, she hadn’t been dressed in a formfitting white rubber cat suit that included gloves over her fingers. It emphasized absolutely everything and did it well.
    Thomas fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. She twined her rubber-covered arms around his neck and clung tightly. Both of them closed their eyes, and just stood there for a long minute, embracing without moving, just holding each other close.
    It was an alien act in that place.
    I turned away, leaned on the platform’s safety railing, and stared down at the club, trying to give my brother and the woman he loved a moment of privacy. Justine hadn’t worn the cover-everything suit for the sake of fashion. The touch of honest love, real and selfless love, was anathema to the White Court. Thomas had told me about White Court vampires who had been badly burned by the touch of some wedding rings, or the brush of a sweetheart’s rose. But most dangerous of all to them was the touch of someone who was loved and who loved in return.
    I’d seen Thomas give himself a second-degree burn on his lips and mouth the last time he’d kissed Justine.
    They hadn’t been together since the night she had laid down her life to save his, offering herself up to his hunger so that he could survive the evening. Thomas, in turn, had refused to devour her, denying his own darker nature. It had nearly killed her anyway, turning her hair white literally overnight. It had taken her years to recover her mind, after a long-term addiction to being fed upon by an incubus, but she’d done it. She was currently an assistant to Thomas’s older sister, Lara, and positioned to find out all kinds of juicy details about the White Court. Being protected by love meant that the vamps couldn’t feed on Justine, which Lara thought ideal in a personal assistant.
    It also meant that my brother couldn’t touch the woman he loved. If he’d been like most of the White Court, only interested in feeding his hunger, he’d have been able to have her all he wanted. Instead . . .
    Sometimes irony is a lot like a big old kick in the balls.
    I stared down at the dance floor for a while, not so much ogling as simply taking in the light and motion as a whole, until I saw them part in my peripheral vision. Then I turned and walked over to join them, as Justine gestured for us to sit on a pair of couches that had been moved to face each other.
    Thomas sat down in a corner of the couch, and Justine pressed up close against him, careful to keep what little of her was exposed from touching his skin. I settled down across from them, leaning my elbows forward onto my knees.
    I smiled at Justine and nodded to her. The floor and half-wall railing of the platform must have been made from sound-absorbing material. The roar of the club was much reduced up here. “Justine. You look like the Michelin Man’s wet dream.”
    She laughed, pink touching her cheeks. “Well. The club has a look we try to maintain. How are you,