I tapped the hilt of Shiro’s Sword, hanging from its improvised strap over one shoulder. Then I drew the purple Crown Royal bag out of my pocket and held it up. I shook it. It jingled.

“Give the coins to me,” Rosanna said.

I folded my arms. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Our bargain—”

“You can see them after I’ve seen the girl,” I replied. “Until then, you’ll have to settle for some jingle.” I shook the bag again.

She glowered at me.

“Make up your mind,” I said. “I haven’t got all night. Do you want to explain to Nicodemus how you threw away his chance of destroying the Swords? Or do you want to get moving and take us to the kid?”

Her eyes flickered with something like anger, and warm brown became brilliant gold. But she only gave me a small, stiff nod of her head, and said, “I will take you to her. This way. Please.”

Chapter Forty-one

The next few minutes were intense, and I didn’t dare let it show. If I’d been completely wrong in my deductions—which was possible; God knew it had happened before—then Michael, Sanya, and I were about to walk into the lion’s den together. Granted, that worked out for Daniel, but he was the exception to the rule. Most of the time it works out well only for the lions. That’s why the Persians used it as a means of execution.

Granted, Michael was working for the same employer, and technically Sanya was too, even if he wasn’t wholly decided on whether or not that was what he was doing. But me and the Almighty haven’t ever really sat down for a chat. I’m not really sure where He stands on the Harry Dresden issue, and as a result my theological stance has been pretty simple: I try not to get noticed by anything Godly, godly, or god-ish. I think we’re all happier that way.

All the same, given who I was up against, I didn’t think it would be inappropriate if a couple of breaks came my way. Hopefully Michael had put in a good word for me.

Rosanna walked down the street and lifted a hand. A van cruised up out of the night. It was occupied by a single driver, a thick-necked, broken-nosed type whose eyes didn’t look like he was all the way there. One of Nick’s fanatics, probably. They had their tongues ritually removed as a point of honor and practicality—from Nicodemus’s perspective, anyway. I supposed I could ask him to open up and confirm it, but it seemed a little gauche.

Michael stuck his head in the van and checked it out. Then he politely opened the passenger door for Rosanna. The Denarian stared levelly at him for a moment, and then nodded her head and slid into the van.

Sanya went in the van first, taking the rearmost seat. I went in after Michael. Rosanna muttered something to the driver, and the van took off.