Free Side Jobs by Jim Butcher Page A

She went over to the throw rug in the middle of my living room floor, hauled it to one side, and opened the trapdoor leading down to my lab in the subbasement. She lit a candle in the fire, wrinkling her nose at the stink from the greasy smoke coming up from my coat, and padded down the stepladder stairs into the lab.
    Mouse, my pet saber-toothed retriever, trotted out of my bedroom and spread his doggy jaws in a big yawn, wagging his shaggy grey tail. He took one step toward me, then froze as the smell of the mucus hit his nose. The big grey dog turned around at once and padded back into the bedroom.
    “Coward!” I called after him. I glanced up at Mister, my tomcat, who drowsed upon the top of my heaviest bookshelf, catching the updraft from the fireplace. “At least you haven’t deserted me.”
    Mister glanced at me, then gave his head a little shake as the pungent smoke from the fireplace rose to him. He flicked his ears at me, obviously annoyed, and descended from the bookshelf with gracefully offended dignity to follow Mouse into the relative aromatic safety of my bedroom.
    “Wimp,” I muttered. I eyed my staff. It was crusty with the ichor. I’d have to take it off with sandpaper and repair the carvings. I’d probably have to do the blasting rod, too. Stupid freaking amateurs, playing with things they didn’t understand. Slime golems are just disgusting.
    Molly thumped back up the stairs, now dressed in her backup clothes. Her experiences in training with me had taught her that lesson in about six months, and she had a second set of clothing stored in a gym bag underneath the little desk I let her keep in the lab. She came up in a black broomstick skirt—those skirts that are supposed to look wrinkled—and Birkenstocks, inappropriate for the winter weather but way less inappropriate than black athletic panties. “Harry, are you going to be able to drive me home?”
    I frowned and checked the clock. It was after nine—too late for a young woman to trust herself to Chicago’s public transportation. Given Molly’s skills, she probably wouldn’t be in any real danger, but it was best not to tempt fate. “Could you call your folks?”
    She shook her head. “On Valentine’s Day? Are you kidding? They’ll have barricaded themselves upstairs and forced the older kids to wear the little ones out so they’ll sleep through the noise.” Molly shuddered. “I’m not interrupting them. Way too disturbing.”
    “Valentine’s Day,” I groaned. “Dammit.”
    “What?”
    “Oh, I forgot, what with the excitement. It’s, uh, someone’s birthday. I got them a present and wanted to get it to them today.”
    “Oh?” Molly chirped. “Who?”
    I hesitated for a minute, but Molly had earned a certain amount of candor—and trust. “Thomas,” I said.
    “The vampire?” Molly asked.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “Wow, Harry,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. “That’s odd. I mean, why would you get him a birthday present?” She frowned prettily. “I mean, you didn’t get my dad one, and you’re friends with him, and he’s a Knight of the Sword and one of the good guys, and he’s saved your life about twenty times and all.”
    “More like four times,” I said testily. “And I do Christmas for hi—”
    Molly was looking at me, a smug smile on her face.
    “You figured it out,” I said.
    “That Thomas was your brother?” Molly asked innocently. “Yep.”
    I blinked at her. “How?”
    “I’ve seen you two fight.” She lifted both pale eyebrows. “What? Have you seen how many brothers and sisters I have? I know my sibling conflicts.”
    “Hell’s bells.” I sighed. “Molly—”
    She lifted a hand. “I know, boss. I know. Big secret; safe with me.” Her expression turned serious, and she gave me a look that was very knowing for someone so young. “Family is important.”
    I’d grown up in a succession of orphanages and foster homes. “Yeah,” I said, “it is.”
    She nodded. “So you