“Get your hands away from the skull,” said Andi’s shortened, pained voice, “or I put a bullet in you.”

I paused. My first impulse was to cover the floor of the computer room with frozen chunks of Andi, and what the hell was I thinking? It was the anger that kept on rolling through me in cold waves that was pushing for that, for action, for violence. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I exactly have an allergy to either of those things—but I’d always done a reasonably good job of keeping my temper under control. I hadn’t felt like this in years, not since the first days I’d nearly been killed by the White Council.

I fell back on what I’d learned then. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, reminding myself that the anger was just anger, that it was a sensation, like feeling hot or cold. It didn’t mean anything by itself. It wasn’t a reason to act. That’s what thinking was for.

The old lessons helped, and I separated myself from the fury. I put my hands slowly out to my sides, making sure they were visible. Then I turned to face Andi. She stood with a pistol in a solid Weaver stance, like she’d learned how from someone who knew.

I could deflect bullets if I had to do it, but I couldn’t stop them. And we were in a building full of innocent bystanders. “You know about the skull?” I asked.

“Kind of hard not to,” she said. “Since I live here.”

I blinked several times. “You and . . . Damn. Way to go, Butters.”

Andi stared steadily down the sights of her gun. She was holding herself a little hitched, as if her right side pained her. That elbow I’d thrown must have caught her in the ribs. I winced. I don’t mind a little of the rough-and-tumble when necessary, but I don’t hit my friends, I don’t hit women, and Andi was both.

“Sorry about that,” I said, nodding toward her. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“And I still don’t know if it’s you,” she replied. “Especially with you dead and all. There are plenty of things that might try to look like Harry.”

“Bob,” I said over my shoulder. “Tell her it’s me.”

“Can’t,” Bob said in a dreamy tone. “Boobs.”

Right. Because Andi was naked. I’d seen her that way before, because that was one of the hazards of being a werewolf. I knew several, and they’d been my friends. When they change form, clothes and things don’t go with, so when they change back, they’re stark naked.

I’ll give Bob this much—the little creep had good taste. Changing into a wolf must be a really fantastic exercise regimen, because Andi and naked went really well together. Although at the moment, I was mostly impressed with her great big, slightly heaving gun.

“Bob,” I said more urgently. I put my hand out, trying to get it between the skull and Andi without actually reaching for it.

“Hey!” Bob demanded. “Dammit, Harry! It’s not like I get much of a chance to see ’em!”

Andi’s eyes widened. “Bob . . . is it really him?”

“Yes, but he works for the bad guys now,” Bob said. “It’s probably safest to shoot him.”

“Hey!” I said.

“Nothing personal,” Bob assured me. “What would you advise a client to do if the Winter Knight broke into her place, fought with her, and cracked two of her ribs?”

“Not to shoot,” I said. “The bullet’s going to bounce and there are way too many people in the apartments around us.”

At that, Andi took her finger off the trigger, though she left it extended and pressed against the guard. She exhaled slowly. “That’s . . . more like what I would expect from . . . from you, Harry.” She swallowed. “Is it really you?”

“Whatever’s left of me,” I said.

“We heard about your ghost. I could even sort of . . . sort of smell you, when you were near. I knew. We thought you were dead.”

“Wasn’t really my ghost,” I said. “It was me. I just sort of forgot to bring my body along with me.” I coughed. “Think you could maybe point that somewhere else?”

“My finger’s not on the trigger,” she said. “Don’t be such a baby. I’m thinking.” She watched me for a moment and said, “Okay, let’s assume it’s really you. What are you doing here?”

“I came for the skull,” I said.

“I’m invaluable!” Bob piped.

“Useful.” I scowled at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I know you came for the skull,” Andi said. “Why now? In the middle of the night? Why break in? Harry, all you had to do was ask.”

I ground my teeth. “Andi . . . I don’t have a lot of time. So I’m going to give you the short answer. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“When I break in here and take something from Butters, he’s my victim and of no particular consequence. If I come here and ask him for help, he’s my accomplice, and it makes him a target for the people I’m working against.”

She frowned. “What people?”

I sighed. “That’s the kind of thing I’d tell an accomplice, Andi.”

“Um,” she said, “isn’t that kind of what we are?”

“It’s what you were,” I said, with gentle emphasis. “Bob’s right. I’m not exactly on the side of the angels right now. And I’m not taking you and Butters down the drain with me.”

“Say, Harry,” Bob asked, “who are you up against?”

“Not in front of the eye-stander-bey,” I said.

“Just trolling for info like a good lackey,” Bob said. “You understand.”

“Sure,” I said.

Andi frowned. “Bob isn’t . . . Isn’t he supposed to be yours?”

“I’m not the present owner of the skull,” I said. “Whoever has the skull has Bob’s loyalty.”

“Services,” Bob corrected me. “Don’t get cocky. And right now I’m working for Butters. And you, of course, toots.”

“Toots,” Andi said in a flat voice. “Did you really just say that?” Her gaze shifted to me. “Bystander?”

“If you don’t know anything,” I said, “there’s no reason for anyone to torture you to death to find it.”

That made her face turn a little pale.

“These people think the Saw movies were hilarious,” I said. “They’ll hurt you because for them, it feels better than sex. They won’t hesitate. And I’m trying to give you all the cover I can. You and Butters both.” I shook my head and lowered my hands. “I need you to trust me, Andi. I’ll have Bob back here before dawn.”

She frowned. “Why by then?”

“Because I don’t want the people I work for to get hold of him either,” I said. “He’s not the same thing as a human—”

“Thank you,” Bob said. “I explain and explain that, but no one listens.”

“—but he’s still kind of a friend.”

Bob made a gagging sound. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Dresden.”

“Andi,” I said, ignoring him. “I don’t have any more time. I’m gonna pick up the skull now. You gonna shoot me or what?”

Andi let out a short, frustrated breath and sagged back against the table. She lowered the gun, grimaced, and slipped one hand across her stomach to press against her ribs on the other side.

I didn’t look at what that motion did to her chest, because that would have been grotesquely inappropriate, regardless of how fascinating the resulting contours may or may not have been.

I picked up the skull, an old, familiar shape and weight in my hand. There was a flitter in the flickering eyelights, and maybe a subtle change of hue in the flames.

“Awright!” Bob crowed. “Back in the saddle!”

“Pipe down,” I said. “I’ve got backup with me. The other team might have surveillance on me that is just as invisible. I’d rather they didn’t listen to every word.”

“Piping down, O mighty one,” Bob replied.

When I turned back to Andi, she looked horrified. “Oh, God, Harry. Your back.”

I grunted, twisted a bit, and got a look at myself in the reflection in the window. My jacket was in tatters and stained with blots of blood. It hurt, but not horribly, maybe as much as a bad sunburn.

“I’m sorry,” Andi said.

“I’ll live,” I said. I walked over to her, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry about your ribs. And the computers. I’ll make up the damages to you guys.”