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Chapter Text

"Have I mentioned that I hate it when you drag me into this shit, Harry?" I panted, willing my battered body to move faster.

I was barely keeping pace with the others, at a disadvantage wearing layers of plate armor. The kevlar pieces Marcone always wore under his ensembles these days were lightweight compared to my old-school setup. But that style of armor had its downsides when you were facing an army of things with claws and razor-sharp teeth like the one veering toward us. Because of course we'd run into trouble on Halloween night. My karma was in the red, so something like this was bound to happen at the worst time possible.

Harry was keeping pace with Marcone, though he could have outrun us with ease. He was on par with an Olympian when he got his Winter Knight on. He didn't, because, for the first time in almost a year, the nasty thing wanted to eat his face, not mine. The blood streaming from his ankle left a psychic trail that even a blind practitioner could follow, and it whipped our pursuers into a frenzy. Weirdly modulated shrieks and bloodthirsty war cries raised the hairs on the back of my neck. They echoed through the night air, seemingly unheard by the drivers far below.

Marcone snorted, somehow injecting a world of scorn into the sound, despite being as winded as me. "This is Dresden we're talking about. Shit is pretty much all he can drag his allies into."

"Not true," Harry said, and he hardly sounded winded. The jerk. "There's no dragging involved. You could have gone on the boat with the others."

And leave him to the Erlking's wrath? No. If anyone could throw an enormous monkey wrench into the attack on the island, it was Harry. We just had to survive the Wild Hunt long enough to circle our way back to the marina. There had to be a way to divert their attention from Harry to a new target. If we had just a moment to hide, there was a chance that I could whip up an illusion that could sidetrack them for long enough.

Even so, it was a big maybe, and we wouldn't be afforded the time. The Hunt was pressing down on us and only the presence of the mortals below kept them from diving toward us like a falcon. Maybe they could have shielded themselves from most eyes, but not all. That would cease to be true the moment we had a little more privacy, and we couldn't risk the lives of so many by staying in population centers forever. They'd get impatient, and then it would be curtains for us, and for a lot of innocent bystanders. I didn't want to picture what those hounds' teeth could do to mortal flesh.

"I'm not leaving you," I shot back. "Keep moving. I'll think of something."

If only the horns and shrieks would allow for a moment of pure, logical thought. It was a psychic scramble aimed at the fear center of the brain. I could almost picture my personified amygdala running in panicked circles around the war room while my id watched for an opportunity to trip her.

Harry's next look was aimed at Marcone, and his lips twisted into a half-smile. "And what about you? Why are you coming along for the ride? They're not after you."

Marcone's gaze shifted to me, lingering on my face for a moment before he faced forward again. "I'm not leaving her."

Harry's emotions flickered wildly. Annoyance, the territorial urge to posture brought on by Winter, a sliver of gratitude, and then grudging respect. I could empathize with the conflicted stew of emotions where the man was concerned. I wasn't entirely sure what to think of my boss either. Though I doubted Harry had ever had to grapple with the urge to kiss Marcone even once, which I took to mean that my burden to bear was heavier than his. So there.

Another, louder roar nearby made us jump and flinch toward whatever weapons were on our person. But it wasn't coming from the pounding hooves above or from the shadowy riders of the Hunt. It was mechanical and familiar. We turned in time to see Murphy whip around a corner and brake hard enough to send a hail of gravel toward us. We ducked out of the way just in time for her Harley to crunch to a stop a foot away. She flashed us a quick, fierce grin and winked at Harry.

"Get on the bike, bitch!" she shouted over the continued thunder from above. "Let's make them work for it!"

"Fuck yeah!" Harry replied, slinging a leg over the back of the Harley.

Then they were peeling away from us, leaving me blinking at the dust they left in their wake. Marcone cast a glance skyward, grimacing as the Hunt passed overhead. I felt the urge to run wash over me, but the effects of their attack had diminished. I was an amusement, but not their intended quarry. I could run in the opposite direction, and there was a chance they wouldn't come for me. At least, not until they'd speared Harry.

I couldn't let it happen.

"Damn it," I muttered. "We can't let the Hunt catch up to them."

"What do you suggest?" Marcone asked. "I doubt we can get ahead of them on foot. My closest operative is at least a mile away."

An idea flashed into my head, and I was stunned that I hadn't thought of it before. The Erlking's mojo was a hell of a thing if it could drive the thought out of my head for even a second. We could catch up. No, with her help, I was sure we would catch up.

"Wilde!" I called, willing my words into the wind. "Come to me! I need you!"

There was a frozen moment where nothing happened. Then she simply materialized, stepping from the shadows cast by a nearby building like she'd been drawn out of it. Her coat was a sleek, shiny black and steady muscle flowed beneath it, even at rest. Her eyes were startling chartreuse in the darkness of her face. She tracked the receding Hunt through narrowed eyes, seeming to know what I wanted without words.

"It is foolishness," she said, voice almost matronly in its disapproval.

Wilde's voice made Marcone jump. "Did it just talk?"

"She did. This is Wilde. Wilde, this is John Marcone, Baron of Chicago and a freeholding lord under the Unseelie Accords. He cannot allow this trespass to go unchallenged. As one of his vassals, I have an obligation to assist him."

Wilde's whinny sounded resigned. I had a case, and she knew it. She bent her knees a fraction after a moment. "No time to waste then. On my back."

I scrambled onto her back, scooting as far forward as possible to leave room for Marcone. When I craned my neck. I found him staring at Wilde with trepidation. I grinned at him.

"You heard Murphy. On the puca, bitch. Time to make 'em work for it."

He raised a brow at me but didn't argue further. He climbed onto Wilde's back with ease, as though he regularly mounted horses. For all I knew, he did. Riding was a pastime for the rich and pretentious, right?

Before Wilde could break into a trot he seized my face and gave me a brief but fervent kiss. I stared at him.

"Just in case," he said.

His arms wound around my waist, his breath warm on the back of my neck. I seized the inky reins and steered Wilde in the direction Harry and Murphy had gone. And then we were off, streaking down Chicago's streets after the Wild Hunt.

Chapter Text

Earlier...

I woke in a hospital bed. Which, sadly enough, wasn't an unusual occurrence these days. Acting as Chicago's sole wizardly protector came with its share of risks. Stress. Crushing depression. Injury. Death. You know, the usual. I'd been treated by one of Marcone's private doctors before. Dr. Stafford was in the know, an old-school army surgeon who could deal with anything from fractures to internal injuries.

No, the strange thing was that I didn't remember what I'd done to land myself here again. I usually had an inkling by the time I was conscious. But this time was different. Railroad spikes of agony pinned me flat, and even the notion of opening my eyes for a mere millisecond sounded like a terrible idea. The pain seemed to move in slow corkscrews toward my brain, trying to push gray matter out of my ears. The unbearable pressure drew a pitiful moan from my throat. I wanted to crawl away from it, but moving hurt. Even breathing hurt, and coherent thought was next to impossible.

Then a hand slid into mine, pressing a cool rectangle against my palm. The pain dimmed almost immediately, though it didn't disappear completely. It was manageable, which was more than I'd expected or hoped for. I cautiously blinked one eye open, turning my hand over in a man's grip, catching a flash of white tile and a shimmering Futhark rune. Uruz, the rune of manifestation, life force, strength, and good health. I'd seen Sigrun and Freydis use runes like these on wounded einherjar.

I blinked both eyes open and found myself staring at John Marcone. He'd slipped me the rune. It was his gentle, calloused hand that still gripped the back of mine, half-folding my fingers over the tile. The faded green of his eyes was a warm, summery color, so it was always a marvel to me how cold he could look at times. He wasn't glaring at me precisely, but there was a touch of frustration layered over his concern. He regarded me, unsmiling.

I swallowed and tasted blood. My tongue hurt, though it was nothing to the sledgehammer blow of pain that had knocked me flat. I vaguely remembered stepping into his office with a migraine and then...nothing.

"What happened?" I rasped.

"You demanded to see me in my office, barged in, and then abruptly collapsed. Dr. Stafford said you had a series of grand mal seizures."

I felt cold. Grand Mal seizures, paired with the pounding pain in my temples could only mean one thing. The kiddos were running out of room and were forced to invade crucial parts of my brain to stay inside for a little longer. This episode was the first, but I doubted it would be the last. Pax and Fortnea had promised to stay still as long as possible, but how long could they keep it up? At some point, survival instinct would kick in, and they'd spring from my head a la Athena and Zeus. Only, I wasn't a philandering god capable of taking that kind of damage. I'd be a very bloody mess on the floor, leaving my children to fend for themselves in a cruel and confusing world. And I still didn't have any idea how to stop it.

"How long have I been down?" I asked.

"You stopped seizing after six minutes, but you've been unconscious for hours. You started screaming when you finally had motor control."

Had I been? That would explain why my throat was sore. I'd also mashed my cheeks with my teeth at some point. Fun.

Marcone gave me a long, steady look. "When were you going to tell me?"

He spoke so quietly that I had to lean in to hear him properly. There was a look in his eye that I didn't like, though he kept his emotions and body language in check. It was one of the things that I liked about Marcone. No matter how bad things got, his reactions were tempered with something firmly rational. The only time I'd felt him truly frightened, he'd been trying to shove my guts back in, and I could give him a pass for that one.

"Tell you what?"

His mouth mashed into a thin, angry line. "That you're pregnant."

I froze. My first instinct was to deny it. That would be safest for them, though it could have disastrous consequences for me in the long run. I might have feelings where Marcone was concerned, but it didn't make him a good man. The more I thought about it, I was sure that was probably the reason I liked him in the first place. Spending my teenage years in a war zone, pushed and prodded by the fallen angel that had taken up residence in my head had stunted my emotional intelligence. Every relationship I'd had up to this point was toxic in some way or another. John Marcone was a siren's call to all my worst instincts. I couldn't trust him. Especially not with this.

An insidious little voice at the back of my mind urged me to twist his memory or kill him to keep the secret safe, but I squashed that plan almost as soon as it formed. Gard had probably taken a peek into my head and told him what she'd seen, which meant there was at least one other person I'd have to bump off to keep this under wraps. I didn't think I could take a vanilla human in my condition, let alone a hyper-competent Valkyrie who favored a battle ax. For all I knew, it was office gossip by now, and I'd have to kill a dozen more. Topple one domino, and more would fall. Best not to push it at all.

Oh, and it would be wrong.

Marcone's expression darkened as he watched the struggle play out over my face. "Well?"

"Never," I said, deciding honesty was best. "It's none of your business."

His fingers flexed almost painfully around mine. Irritation rippled over him like a wind stirring the surface of a lake. Then it was gone, leaving his mind relatively smooth. I envied his ability to collect himself quickly and stuff his emotions down. If everyone was as compartmentalized, the world would be easier to navigate.

"If it affects you, it is my business."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, because you need at least thirty days' notice so you can replace me. It won't do to lose the Black Knight."

"You know it's more than that," he snapped, holding tightly to my hand when I tried to pull it away. The edges of Gard's tile bit into my palm.

I couldn't look him in the eye. Yes, we'd had this conversation before. Once, in the hospital, and again in the week after the maenad incident. Marcone always cared when his people got hurt and redressed the wrong when he had the opportunity. This went beyond that. It was as close to irrational as he got. I also meant what I'd said to him. He couldn't afford to love anyone, and I wouldn't want a relationship without it. It left us at an impasse. We cared about each other, but couldn't take that last step.

"They're my kids," I said quietly, examining the blunt fingers of his hand, rather than raising my gaze. "I want to keep them safe. You're many things, John, but safe isn't one of them. I don't care if you're angry with me, they're my priority. You shouldn't have asked to Gard poke around in my head."

"I had to. Abnormal behavior, headaches, and seizures can all be symptoms of a psychic assault. You've had a history of mental tampering before, and it killed members of House Raith. I couldn't afford to let you loose without knowing."

He was right, and I hated it. Psychomancy was the most common violation of the law of magic by new practitioners. It was also a favorite for sorcerers looking to amass followers quickly. I'd dealt with my fair share of them and my checkered past made me vulnerable to that kind of tampering. He had every right to be concerned when I exhibited symptoms. But it didn't change the fact it had been a violation. Now he knew, and I'd have to be wary of him as well.

"Gard says they're around seven years old," he continued when I said nothing. "Which means that they were conceived when you were a part of Nicodemus' crew."

"Before that," I said with a sigh. “If I have my timeline right, it happened about seven or eight months after I touched the coin. I didn't join up with Nic for another year. And before you ask, yes, Lasciel is the baby daddy."

"They're hurting you. If nothing changes, they're going to kill you."

That finally drew my chin up. I met his eyes solidly for the first time since waking. "I know. It doesn't change anything. Gard can peek in there, but I doubt she has the chops to deliver them. And even if she could, I don't have vessels ready to protect them. I've schooled them on what to do if they end up outside my head with no place else to go. Don't cross thresholds, avoid daylight, and don't pick fights with wraiths. You know, the usual. I plan to tell my mom and dad soon, just in case. If they have an invitation inside the house, they can cross the threshold. The Carpenter house is probably the safest place I can put them."

He raised a brow at me. "They don't know?"

My cheeks heated, just a little. "If you'd been raised by a Knight of the Cross, would you want to tell him that you'd gotten knocked up by a fallen angel?"

His lips twitched. "Fair enough."

I scrubbed my face, trying to dispel the last of my headache. "I'm working on a solution. I just need time."

"You have a year according to Gard," Marcone said quietly. "Perhaps a year and a half, if extraordinary measures are taken. She's looking into those as we speak. You have six months to safely deliver. Anything beyond that, and the chances you die during delivery go through the roof. I advise not waiting for more than a year."

I pulled the sheets up to conceal the goosebumps rioting up my arms. A year. I only had a year before my kids had no choice but to redecorate the inside of my skull. The silence stretched, punctuated occasionally by the beeping from one of my monitors. Dr. Stafford had taken a page out of Thomas' playbook and hooked me up to a setup right out of the fifties.

"Do you have names picked out?" he asked.

I smiled faintly. "They'd already named themselves by the time I could communicate with them. The boy calls himself Pax. The girl decided she liked Fortnea. Like the name suggests, Pax is chill. Fortnea is going to be trouble. She's a little too much like her mom."

"Which one?" Marcone asked.

My grin stretched. "Both."

"Now that's a frightening prospect," he muttered. "But you clearly didn't barge into my office to announce your happy news. What were you coming to tell me?"

I sobered at once. There'd been a reason for my rudeness that I'd forgotten after everything went to hell. Now it came flooding back to me, and I realized some of the pressure that had been trying to crush me flat had nothing to do with the buns in my Easy Bake brain.

"Do you remember the island?"

His eyes went flat. "Hard to forget. Polonius Lartessa and her lackeys made it a memorable few days."

I winced. If I'd been assigned to capture him instead of lead my father in circles, would I have stood by and watched while he was tortured? Probably. I wouldn't have joined in, but inaction would have made me just as guilty.

"I went out to visit it recently. Energy has been building there over the last week or two. Slowly at first, but now it's impossible for me to miss. It's like steam in a boiler. I think in a few days it's going to explode. And when it does, it's going to take most of the Midwest with it."

Chapter Text

Marcone stood abruptly and left the room. I thought I'd managed to offend him somehow, but he returned half a minute later, Gard and Hendricks in tow. I relaxed back into my pillows and offered them both a smile. It made sense that Gard would be out in the hall looking for solutions to my pair of problems, not sitting vigil at my bedside. Her phone looked expensive, and it wouldn't survive an ordinary meeting with me, let alone a visit when I was anxious and in pain.

"Thanks for the spell," I said, clutching the tile a little tighter.

Gard didn't return the smile. If anything she just looked more somber. She very pointedly handed her bag to Hendricks, who exited without a word.

"Progress?" Marcone asked.

"I'm putting out feelers. You understand that the sensitive nature of the problem will require some tact. I can't come out and say exactly what I need until a source has been properly vetted. It will take a few days to set up the preliminaries. If you'd just let me work-"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Margret's intrusion this morning did have a point. If she's correct, we don't have a few days." He nodded toward me, brow still furrowed. "Explain. In layman's terms, please."

"The island is going to blow up. Three days tops. But given Murphy's Law is always at play when I'm involved, I'd say sooner."

"Why?" Gard asked, pulling one of the padded chairs near the door to the edge of my bed. She looked a little paler than she’d been a moment before.

I shrugged. "If I knew that, I'd have an idea of what I'd need to fix it. At this point, I'm having trouble even stepping foot on the surface. The island has a genius loci and it doesn't seem to like me much. I think it might remember what I was up to when I visited years ago. Whatever the reason, it won't trust me to take a closer look. Harry would be the guy to ask about it since he claimed sanctum there once, but he's gone. I can try again, but I'd like a little backup, just in case it tries to scramble my brain. I'm still tender after Corpsetaker."

Marcone's face darkened at the reminder. "An altercation that looks all the more reckless in hindsight, given that you're pregnant. You don't trust me, but you'll invite a psychopath to obliterate your mind and your children without a second thought."

"It was different," I said defensively. "I was in danger from the Corpsetaker no matter whose body she stole. When she was on my turf she had to play by my rules, which gave me an advantage. It worked out."

Marcone opened his mouth, prepared to argue with me, but shut it when Gard raised a hand to silence us both. "You can bicker when the danger has passed. You said the island is going to blow up. Do you have anything more specific than that? Images? Premonitions? An educated guess of what the fallout might be? If we start spinning it now, there's a chance we could coordinate an evacuation of the parts of the city affected. The casualty rate won't be zero, but we could minimize the death toll significantly."

I thought about it. "You'd have to do the whole city, then move outward from there. I'd say go as far down as Tulsa. Maybe even the Texas Panhandle to be safe."

Gard's face blanched and she blinked several times before she managed a faint, "What?"

"This thing is the supernatural equivalent of Yellowstone. If I'm right it'll obliterate Illinois and parts of surrounding states. The ash fall from the explosion will carpet the rest of the country and some of Canada. As I said, I'd appreciate a little backup to confirm. For all I know, I'm lowballing the amount of damage this thing could cause."

Gard shut her eyes and mouthed wordlessly. Her hands clenched and unclenched twice and then she squared her shoulders, letting out a breath. Then she turned for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To report to Vadderung. He'll need to be made aware of the situation as soon as possible."

She was out the door before either of us could call her back. My stomach performed a nervous roll. Now that the headache was dying down, I was beginning to feel sick. I was glad I'd skipped breakfast.

"Think he'll pull the einherjar?" I asked.

"Doubtful," Marcone said, scowling at the chair she'd vacated. "It would be in violation of his contract with me, and you know how they hate to lose face. It's all in the framing. She might be calling on him for help, which could be costly. I don't like debts. On the other hand, it's bad optics to knowingly sacrifice so many of the chosen to something this senseless."

"And ultimately it doesn't matter if it costs you. Chicago is your city, and this is bigger than either of us. I can't tackle this thing on my lonesome. We need help."

"Yes."

One word, terse and unhappy. His expression softened a little when I reached out and squeezed his hand. He sighed when he read the expression on my face.

"You want to involve Lasciel."

It was my turn to sound grumpy. "It's not something I bring up lightly. I know I'm playing a dangerous game any time she crops up, but I don't see that I have a lot of choices. The more allies we have on the board, the more likely it is that we can save Chicago."

"I don't like the idea of my knight being in debt either. You know her price."

"I'm not paying it. I won't take up her coin."

He snorted. "Then how do you expect to get her here?"

"Do you play chess?" I asked.

That seemed to catch him off guard. He frowned. "Some. I don't have much time to indulge these days."

"If you play, you know how important it is to control the center of the board. Have you ever heard of the Queen's Gambit?"

His eyes lit with understanding. "An aggressive opening that puts pressure on your opponent, forcing them to respond to threats rather than putting forward a strike of their own. "

My answering smile felt brittle. "Exactly. I won't beg her to come. I'll tell her exactly what's going on and that I'm not leaving Chicago until I've fixed the problem. The risk of failure is high, so she'll show up if only to sucker punch me and drag me to a safe place to wait out the aftermath. She can't convince me to take up her coin if I'm dead. More likely she'll show up, help me, and wait for an opportune moment to stick the knife in. Who knows? She might even play it straight and try to wheedle me into taking it out of a sense of gratitude. I'm hoping to force option two by keeping her wielder, Hannah, distracted and angry. That's where you come in."

Marcone's brow twitched the barest fraction. "Oh?"

I hesitated, feeling an acute sense of shame as I mulled over my plan. No matter what route I chose, she was caught in the crossfire, but this plan was especially cruel to her. I remembered where we'd left things. How Hannah had touched me. Kissed me. Begged me to stay. The depths of her desperation. She'd been pushed into loving me, driven by Lasciel's need to have me again. It had been built on a foundation of actual affection, which just made the love feel more genuine. And I was going to prey on that manipulation. I was a horrible human being for even considering it, but...

"Hannah and I were a thing," I said. Which was fudging the truth a bit, but he didn't need to know the details. "And she's going to be pissed if she thinks I've moved on. Lasciel shares a little better, but only in so much as she's involved. Until she's in me, she'll view you as a threat."

"So you're asking me to become the focus of an unstable warlock and a possessive fallen angel in hopes that they'll divert an explosion that will kill millions. And you think they'll go along with this just to win you back?"

"Pretty much yeah." My nose scrunched up. "I guess that makes you my boyfriend. Weird."

He smiled faintly. "Is this your way of asking me out, Miss Carpenter?"

"Yeah, I guess it is. Though you are an old man. So in that case, I think I'm asking you to go steady." I tapped my chin, pretending to consider it. "Does this mean I get to wear your class ring or your letterman jacket?"

Marcone stole my pillow and whacked me upside the head with it. I deserved it.

"I'll find you a quiet place to contact her," he said. “And I need time to make a few preparations of my own.”

Then he kissed me. Hard. My stomach did another flip, and this time it had nothing to do with anxiety.

"I have one thing in common with your ex," he murmured against my mouth. "I don't share either."

He left, and I raised a trembling hand to my lips. I wasn't sure exactly how much of this would be an act.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Chapter Text

Marcone

"I don't like this," I muttered.

"Agreed," Namshiel said, mirroring my tone. "But there is very little we can do about it."

I'd never felt this level of frustration from him. Even when I'd asked him to retrieve Margaret's soul, he'd been put upon but not overtly irritated. From what I could glean, he'd taken a sort of perverse pleasure in forcing her back into her body, knowing it would act as more of a cage than a refuge until she could adapt. His pragmatism was often useful but I could have done without that level of sadism.

"Meaning?"

"She would have given in to fear at some point. It's human nature, and she relied on Lasciel's strength to take on daunting challenges for years. You know she would have fallen back into old habits with this much at stake. It's better that we control the timing and the circumstances, rather than be caught off guard."

He was right. It didn't mean I hated it any less.

I approached the door with a sense of mounting anxiety. It was unlike me. Then again, I hadn't faced a fallen angel that did not have a vested interest in keeping me alive for many years. If Margaret was right about Lasciel, I was about to play a very dangerous game, and I wouldn't have my usual defenses to fall back on.

It only took a few minutes to access my panic room. I had one built in every one of my businesses, all equipped with enough mundane and magical defenses to cripple an attack from almost any being foolish enough to breach the building. The anti-personnel mines would reduce the body to so much fleshy salsa. The explosion would in turn activate the sprinklers, grounding most forms of mortal magic, rendering a wizard's attack impotent if they happened to make it through the hail of fire and metal. Gard had installed more magical defenses inside the room, in case something strong and suicidally determined tried to enter. Of particular concern were the ones surrounding the safe. The aura of a practitioner would set them off. It had originally been meant to deter Harry Dresden, but the precaution would work just as well against Margaret Carpenter.

And more importantly, it would react with a hair trigger to Hannah Ascher, in the event she came knocking. She was as talented. Perhaps even more talented than Margaret. A more practical soul would have found the trade agreeable. But no one said affection was logical.

I should know.

The safe wasn't complex. It didn't have to be, given all the obstacles in the way. Inside was a stack of files and a lone velvet box. I plucked it from itself reluctantly. The coin would be safe here for the time being, but I was anything but when Lasciel stepped foot in the city. I knew how to summon Namshiel if necessary. The timing would be the key. If I played things right, Hannah Ascher could be killed or captured, leaving Lasciel's coin up for grabs.

"Not Lasciel," Namshiel insisted. "Not yet."

"Fine."

I released the coin, setting it in the velvet box before placing it inside the safe. The impression of his frustration lingered in my mind, even after he'd gone. We both knew I was lying. If the opportunity, I'd take it. Convenience be damned.

Chapter Text

Rituals always require time and focus, both of which were in short supply. It took an hour to prepare for the summoning. Thirty minutes to calm myself long enough to focus, and another thirty to go through the rigmarole of showering, dressing, lighting candles, burning incense, and placing all the props.

I was fairly sure I didn't need the song and dance to bring Lasciel running, but I wasn't about to leave anything to chance. Creatures of spirit had to respond to ritual magic, even if they only stayed long enough to give you the middle finger. If she was feeling persnickety, she could say no or wait until the last possible second to show up. So I transformed myself into Madam Molly, complete with magic wands, crystals, and a funny outfit.

I took one last look around the room, checking to be sure I had everything right. I'd set up shop in the back room of the Pure Harmony Resort, a spa on the Gold Coast Marcone had purchased from a failing businessman the year before. He'd done a complete overhaul on the decor and hired a bevy of very attractive and overly cheerful women to work there. Happy endings came with every spa package. It was probably the brightest, most floral-scented brothel in the history of the U.S.

He'd made this room for me recently so I could cope with the lingering aftereffects of my death. It was essentially a magical isolation room, a place I could go to center myself in peace. No one's emotions touched me here. Nightmares couldn't take root. The first time I'd visited, I'd stayed inside for almost twenty-four hours, getting the best sleep I'd had in years. If I was going to reach Lasciel, this was the best place to do it.

It looked like most of the other spa rooms, with the exception of the wards. The walls were a warm, earthy brown and recessed lighting cast a diffuse glow over the cushy massage table. Marcone had it transformed into a small bed. The pillows were fluffy and the down comforter was heavy enough to smother every horrific flashback. I was tempted to climb under it and squeeze my eyes shut and pray this was all a terrible dream. But this wasn't a nightmare. It was real, it was going to happen soon, and I needed her help.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax little by little, starting at my feet and working my way upward. By the time I'd reached my scalp a deep, abiding calm had settled into my bones. I gathered my will, picturing Lasciel in my mind's eye, both the construct that I'd interacted with for years and the true Lasciel. It was easier than breathing. I'd looked upon her with my Sight, and the image of the beautiful thing she'd once been, and the broken, corrupt thing she'd become was burned indelibly into my brain. I kept it firmly in the front of my mind and spoke her name, every syllable of it rolling and unerringly right. I laced my words with power and cast my voice into the void.

"Lasciel, the Web-weaver! Lasciel, the Seducer! Lasciel the Temptress! Fallen avenger, the corrupted echo of the Almighty's judgment!" I poured more fire, more will into the words. “I am Molly Carpenter, and I needs must speak with thee!"

The room didn't actually explode, but that was the perception I had. The room wasn't really set alight by the fiery shape that entered the circle. The sound that vibrated through me wasn't actually earth-shaking. It was like a magnified version of Amoracchius' tones, though they were jumbled and soured as they hit my ears. For an instant, she was exactly as she appeared in my Sight, a creature of hellish light and devastating potential. And then my mortal perception of her true form slid away, replaced by the construct she'd always used to communicate with me. Springy red curls, freckles, a cute heart-shaped face, and huge blue eyes.

And speaking of eyes, mine were brimming over with tears from the barest glimpse of her. Or maybe it was blood. The human body reacted badly to exposure to beings of her caliber.

Lasciel was smirking at me, though some of the self-satisfaction dimmed when she took stock of me. Her eyes roved over my face, and she reached for me. Her fingers weren't actually warm and soft against my cheek, but it felt that way. I knew better than to lean into her touch, but I did anyway. It'd been a long time since I'd felt her like this. It was the closest we'd ever come to a real meeting of the minds. True communion required both parties to consent and desire contact. Her fingertips trailed down my cheek to my throat, following the claw marks that an assassin had carved into me. They'd faded, but it would take a while before they were just white scar tissue.

"You were hurt," she said, eyes glinting dangerously. "Who did this to you?"

"A ghoul. Sadly, she wasn't the first to make an attempt on my life. You should see the scars on my stomach. Marcone had to hold my guts in." I shrugged. "It's been a rough year. But that's not why I called you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't have been hurt if you'd been in possession of my coin. I presume that's why you called? To tell Hannah to release my coin?"

I shook my head and didn't have to fake anxiety as I stared up at her. My nerves had been stretched to the breaking point for nearly a week, a subconscious reaction to the island's distress, on top of everything else I had to worry about. I could imagine how I looked. Pale, face drawn with pain, and eyes wide with barely suppressed fear. My hair was tangled and in need of a wash. I looked desperate and it was only a slight exaggeration. I was desperate, though not desperate enough to call on her coin. Yet. That was a last resort.

"No," I said, marshaling my expression a moment later. I set my jaw, scrubbed at my streaming eyes, and dropped my gaze from hers. My hands were smeared with crimson. I'd burst blood vessels in both eyes. Fun. "I called because I can't die without saying goodbye. I love you both in my own way. Make sure Hannah knows that."

Lasciel's illusory face paled, her eyes flying open wide. "What?"

I swallowed, glancing over my shoulder as if someone had called my name. I was grateful I'd contacted her this way, instead of calling Hannah. Thanks to the precautions I'd laid out, Lasciel wouldn't be able to see anything past the circle. I could sell the idea there was more than one person in the room.

"It's the island. The one Nicodemus and Tessa used to fuel the greater circle. It's going to blow within the next few days. I'm doing everything in my power to resolve the situation, but if I can't, I needed to clear the air. You both deserve that much. Tell her I love her back, even if you think it's a lie. Please."

"Molly-" she began, voice rising in alarm. "What are you-?"

I swiveled in place, staring at the closed door. I nodded once and pushed to my feet, offering her a sad smile.

"Wish me luck."

"Molly," she began again, louder and more insistent. "Wait-"

I turned my back on her, nudging a candle to one side before smudging the chalk line, letting the air out of my spell, so to speak. The magic wavered for a moment, then she was gone. The backwash breezed through the room, making the candles gutter and then dim to pinpoints of light. A moment later, I stood alone in the dark, sucking in deep lungfuls of perfumed air. With any luck, she'd be in Chicago in the next twenty-four hours.

And that scared the living hell out of me.

It took me a few more minutes to mop up my face and get my racing heart under control. Marcone was waiting outside the room, leaning idly against the wall, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress slacks. He raised an eyebrow.

"How'd it go?"

My mouth was dry and swallowing hurt. Just the potential of Lasciel’s return had literally scared me spitless.

"We'll know in the next eight or nine hours. Can you drop me off at the marina? I’m not sure I’m steady enough to drive.”

"Of course."

He offered me a hand. I eyed it, and my first instinct was to tell him that I wasn't arm candy. But I was, for the next few days at least. His arm candy. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

"I'm not sure if I want her to come or to stay far, far away," I admitted. "I'm scared."

He sighed. "My sentiments exactly. Come on. I'll have Nathan pull the car around."

Chapter Text

I was being followed.

I'd suspected it when we'd left Pure Harmony, and it had been all but confirmed when the presence had stuck to us through Chicago traffic. It was probably a coincidence if a car followed you into one turn. Chicago was a big town, but people went in the same direction you did every day. If they followed you through another, it raised eyebrows, but it didn't have me reaching for a weapon. Three turns or more? That was someone to watch.

Skillful tails didn't tip their hand this soon, which meant that the person behind us was stupid or powerful enough to not sweat a confrontation with the Baron of Chicago and his attack dog. I preferred powerful to stupid. Powerful people usually got there by being semi-intelligent or obscenely rich, and those people could be reasoned with. Stupid people were reckless and self-important, which usually resulted in a lot of collateral damage.

Marcone's hands were balled into fists on his lap, and he flicked his gaze up every few minutes to eye the nondescript SUV that idled three cars back. It would have been suicide to jump us in the middle of the well-policed Gold Coast, but the traffic and police presence thinned the closer we got to the marina.

"Would you like me to send Ms. Gard with you?" he asked in an undertone as we pulled into a parking space outside the marina's gates. It was too cold for most boaters to be out on the water, which meant the man behind us could pull off a hit without leaving many witnesses. If that was their intent. I couldn't catch much from the occupant, other than a sense of...warmth.

I shook my head. "Stay nearby, but don't interfere unless I give you the signal. It doesn't feel like a Fomor servitor or three. This could be benign and I don't want to piss off something I shouldn't have by attacking right away. Worse, it could be Lasciel and Hannah, and I'll turn myself into a crispy KFC value meal by doing something monumentally stupid. I've got this."

Marcone raised an eyebrow. "And what's the signal?"

I smiled tightly. "Help by the Beetles."

His mouth turned up at the corners. "Cute. Do you really think that your old flame and her ride-along can turn up this quickly? We left, what...an hour ago?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. It's possible that Lasciel knows a handful of Ways that could get her here quickly, but you never know what you'll encounter on the other side. It's safest to take a flight to O'Hare and track me down from there. Though she'll probably opt for trains. Planes and wizards don't really mix. That gives us a little wiggle room."

"And what do you intend to do if it is Lasciel?"

I hummed the first bar of Help softly, and Marcone shook his head. I closed my eyes, gathered my will, and formed a picture in my mind, anchoring it on one of the moonstone rings on my fingers. Lasciel had actually inspired that technique with one of her nicknames. Webweaver, a spider twitching the many threads of her web. Then I projected an illusionary Molly onto his lap, reinforcing her image with a weak but still functional shield to make her relatively solid. Marcone jumped at the sudden appearance of my double, hands flying up to brace her, as though she might slip off.

He scowled at me. "What's this for?"

"Bait," I replied, opening my eyes. Then I let out my breath and murmured, "Kakusu," and vanished.

It wasn't true invisibility. Calculating how light should be passing through was a real pain in the ass, and I didn't have time to factor it in on the fly. It was a trick of shadows, paired with a subtle compulsion to find the space I occupied bland and unremarkable. I'd tricked skilled wizards with this veil, so a mortal hitter wouldn't have a prayer of detecting me under it. Though, with my track record, it was likely to be something supernatural that had a bone to pick with me.

Marcone opened the door without having to be asked. He might not have a detailed understanding of what I was trying, but he'd been around enough magical types to know how the game was played. My illusory Molly exited the car, and a moment later, I followed, treading lightly so as not to be heard. Thank God the parking lot was asphalt. I had a hell of a time accounting for shifting rocks in gravel lots.

The fake Molly paused after exiting the car, scanning the lot with all the wariness of a feral cat. Her face was pale, and her eyes were ringed with shadows. An aura of danger perfumed the air around her. She checked that her sword and sidearm were securely strapped to her waist before striding through the open gates to the marina, eyes still roving, searching for threats seen and unseen. The SUV was nowhere in sight and no shifty character was creeping up on my double with a weapon in hand. Which really meant nothing under the circumstances. Seeing was not believing in supernatural circles. The human eye was a fickle thing, easily tricked by veils and glamors. Even something as small and seemingly harmless as one of the Wee Folk could make themselves unseen at will.

The presence hesitated for a minute before taking the bait moving with care, which ruled out the Fomor. The servitors were fast and aggressive, but they were really only a step above humans and completely devoid of any magical talent. The only one who'd truly given me any real trouble was Listen, and I still owed that bastard for the kids he'd killed last Halloween. It could have been a Fomor sorcerer, I supposed, but that didn't feel right either. They were arrogant, flashy, and loud, and like most practitioners, they preferred to do their killing from a distance. They wouldn't risk getting up close and personal with the katana belted at my waist.

Which meant this thing was probably White Council, a warlock, or one of the Sidhe.

The presence didn't hit my radar as malevolent, but I wasn't taking a risk. I followed, grateful for the cold wind that swayed the piers. It drowned out the occasional creak of wood underfoot. I kept on high alert, and couldn't shake the sense that there was something else watching. Something other than the warm presence trailing me. The itch started on the back of my neck and inched down my spine, trying to force me into rigidity. My knee-jerk and very human instinct was to crane my neck and look for the source, and though I couldn't see it, it might very well be able to see me.

I waited until I hit an unoccupied section of the marina to confront my mysterious stalker. I made an educated guess at where they stood and body blocked them, hoping to throw off their balance and send them into the harbor. Magic and water are like vinegar and oil. No matter how hard you tried, the two didn't mix. It sucked at magic, trying to disperse it. Mortal practitioners couldn't cast well over it and lost the ability entirely if kept under a source of running water. Faerie ability varied, but unless the creature was specially suited for the water, like selkies, kelpies, or kappa, the results weren't as impressive as they'd be on dry land.

Unfortunately, the son of a bitch was quick, balancing on the balls of his feet, rather than toppling over the edge and into the drink. All I accomplished was to shake his concentration enough that the veil someone had draped over him flickered and died. I caught a flash of long, white-blonde hair and the green of his shirt, and then he was moving away at speed, out of arm's reach. I gathered my will, ready to open a psychic channel, throw him off balance with every horrible image I could whip up, and stopped dead when I got a good look at the man I was facing.

The green silk t-shirt and jeans he wore showed off his physique. He was lean, built of wiry muscle, and carried himself with an unshakable sense of strength. He wasn't handsome, exactly, but there was a wholesome quality to his features nonetheless. He'd gathered his hair into a tail at the back of his neck. He had his hands up, palms forward in the universal gesture of surrender.

Fix, a former friend, and the current Summer Knight offered me a smile. His eyes were warm and slightly amused at the gobsmacked look on my face.

"I come in peace, Molls, I promise. Mind putting the sword away so we can talk?"

Chapter Text

Several things clicked into place at once, and I relaxed my stance without ever sheathing the sword. The warm presence I'd sensed in the car was the dampened power of Summer. Fix knew me, knew what I could do and how sensitive I was to the magic of others. He'd been attempting to hide from me, afraid that a power as formidable as the Summer Knight would make me shoot and ask questions later. He didn't know that the experiences of the last year and the presence of my twins had given me more awareness than ever before.

I wanted to be happy to see him. I really did. Lily and her coterie had been my friends for the better part of three years while I languished in Summer. I'd learned, art, poetry, and spellcraft just by watching and interacting with some of the Sidhe. I'd posed half-clothed for some of their best artisans. Some of the statues in Lily's courtyard bore my likeness. I'd honed my fighting skills by pitting myself against her Knight and some of the Lords of Summer. When I slept, it was usually on a soft hillock of grass and sweet-smelling flowers, tangled with a half dozen others basking in the ever-present warmth and comfort of each other's company. And I'd lost all of it in an instant, after refusing to leave one of Winter's people to suffer and possibly die in the foyer of the Rothschild Hotel.

The pain of the recollection made my chest ache, and my fingers tightened on the grip of my katana. Fix didn't miss the motion.

"If I come closer, are you going to stab me?" Fix asked pleasantly, seemingly unperturbed by the fact I'd just tried to end his life.

"It depends on what you're here for," I answered carefully. "Sneaking up on me isn't the way to get on my good side."

Fix let his arms fall loosely to his sides. His stance was relaxed, but he kept his hands close to his weapons, just in case he needed to draw down quickly. He didn't want to fight me, but he would if I pushed things. That was Summer for you. They were the living embodiment of 'do no harm but take no shit.'

The mirth drained away from his face and he regarded me with something like concern in his pale eyes. I couldn't meet them. Fix was the mortal champion of the Summer Court, which meant he had a soul. If I glared back, I risked a soulgaze, and I didn't want to see inside his head. More to the point, I didn't want him seeing into mine. He'd report his findings to Lily, and she'd take steps to rectify what she saw as a danger to my mental well-being. With faeries, that could get hairy fast. She could interpret that kidnapping me was in my best interest. Or maybe she'd take an indirect route and decide to remove Marcone, perceiving him as the corrupting influence. I didn't have time for that mess, so I glared off to the side of his face instead.

"You're hurt," he said quietly.

I shrugged. "The scars? Yeah, that comes with the job. The Fomor and their allies don't play fair."

"It's not that."

His pity was cloying, choking off my air as effectively as a painful steel band curling around my ribs. He grew more like Lily with every passing year, the stalwart Knight to her Lady, tending to her, interpreting her moods, and, apparently, picking up on her ability to read people. Fix wasn't talking about my scars, he was talking about my heart and mind, the two things that Lily had been charged with caring for during my stay. Her obligation had been to Wizard Solis, not to me directly, which was why she'd been released from the obligation after my perceived betrayal.

I could have gone back after retrieving Daniel's body from the Amistad Dam. Honestly, it would have been the smart thing to do. Slip quietly into the night and beg Lily or Titania for a safe place to put my hopelessly jumbled jigsaw self back together again. Instead, I'd signed on to work for one of the most dangerous mortal men around. And somewhere along the line, I'd grown to care about him. If that didn't speak to a level of insanity, I wasn't sure what did.

I stuffed the hurt into a box to be dealt with later and shrugged. "It's the price of doing business these days."

His eyes were soft and sad when he said, "Then you're in the wrong line of business."

"Get to the point Fix. I don't have time to play word games with you. I have things to do today."

I started moving, never quite lowering my weapon or turning my back on him. Fix was probably here in good faith, here to ask for a favor on Lily's behalf or warn me away from an action that might conflict with Summer's interests and pit us against each other as adversaries. But until I could be absolutely certain that he wasn't here to do me harm, I wasn't letting my guard down. Better cautious and a little insulting than dead.

"It's about the island, isn't it?"

I stopped a few paces away from Fix and gave him a narrow-eyed look. What were the odds that an agent of Summer turned up just as I was set to investigate the potentially explosive end of the Midwest? That, paired with the presence of a Sidhe of Winter on the island not so long ago, stank of faerie shenanigans. Why hadn't I put that together before now?

Ah yes, the brain-crushing twins had been occupying most of my thoughts of late. If I wasn't flat on my back, seizing, screaming, or crying from the agony of their reflexive movements, I was dealing with business as usual, with a side quest of finding a supernatural midwife that wouldn't abscond with them the moment they were free of my noggin.

"What do you know about it?"

"Enough to be worth a few minutes of your time. We can talk about it over coffee. I know a place nearby that will offer a little privacy. On my honor and the honor of my lady, I promise you safe conduct to and from our meeting. I will act as a host ought to during our talk and side with you against anyone who might come against you. Now for God's sake, sheath your weapon. This is beginning to feel silly."

He was right. This tableau would be bizarre for anyone who came across us and loitering this way was inviting a Fomor ambush. Besides, I knew Fix. He wouldn't tarnish Lily's reputation by going back on his word. As a mortal, he could lie his ass off during our talk, but he'd be sincere about keeping me safe, at least. It was worth a half hour to hear him out. So I sheathed the sword and drew out a wand instead. I tethered an illusion to another of the rings and sent it back the way I'd come. A thumbs up and and 'With Summer Knight, I'm okay' would flash in front of the window of Marcone's car.

Fix eyed my wand and the subtle trail my magic left in its wake. "What's that?"

"A plea for Marcone to stand down. He probably has a gunman positioned to shoot you in the head right now."

Fix's eyes widened a bit and his gaze swept the pier. I couldn't see a troubleshooter but that didn't mean one wasn't there. I was betting Hendricks had found a nice vantage point shortly after Fix flickered into visibility.

"You've found your way into dangerous company, Molls."

I smiled weakly. "Look who's talking. Now, about that coffee..."

Chapter Text

At first, I was afraid that Fix was going to drag me to Thomas' combination salon and coffee boutique, the Coiffure Cup. And while I didn't think that he'd turn me away at the door if I turned up, I knew he wouldn't be happy to see me. Or maybe the truth was that he'd be too happy to see me, and we'd fall into bad habits shortly thereafter, thus jump-starting a vicious cycle of guilt and self-loathing all over again.

Fix actually stopped his SUV in the empty lot of a place called Latteaholic. He walked me to the door and held it open for me like a gentleman. I extended my senses, searching for any traps inside. Aside from some concealment and avoidance wards, the place seemed clean. I also noted with some alarm that there were no humans present. At this hour, there should have been at least one bleary college hipster in residence, desperately tapping out their term paper in the back corner. Nothing. We had the run of the place.

"You were pretty confident could get me to come with you, huh?"

Fix's lips twitched. "I know you, Molly. You're a reasonable woman. You can lower your guard a little you know. There's nothing hiding behind the steam machine waiting to ambush you."

"That you know of," I muttered. "The Wee Folk in the garrison are tricksy little buggers."

"You're going to have to tell me how you managed to recruit so many of them."

I shook my head and made a locking motion over my lips. "Trade secret."

"Fair enough." He thought about it for a moment, and his good humor dimmed. "You still don't trust me, even after I promised you safe conduct."

"To and from the meeting," I said. "Which doesn't preclude the possibility that something nasty could be waiting for me when we get back. Your obligation to me ceases the moment that this meeting is through and I'm back where I should be. I've lived with faeries long enough to know how this works. Maybe you're on the level, but I'll remain cautious if it's all the same to you."

He sighed. "We shouldn't have been so hasty. You're almost as bad as the day you came to us. Hurting, suspicious, jumping at every sound."

I wanted to shake him and ask him what the hell he thought would happen. They knew it wasn't love for Winter that made me defend the Leanansidhe, but concern for my brother. They'd given me an ultimatum anyway. Stay idle and remain in Summer, or leave the court and strike a bargain with the Summer Lady at a later date. Assuming she deigned to appear at all.

I took a seat near the door, took a few deep breaths, and refrained from doing anything impulsive. There was plenty of blame to go around, but now wasn't the time to apportion it. I needed whatever answers he could give me about the island, and confirming his suspicions would only earn me an intervention. So I forced a smile and nodded to the woman behind the counter.

"Mind introducing me to your friend, Fix?" I asked, dodging his concerned stare.

The girl's head twitched toward us, just a fraction, as though just having her existence acknowledged had spooked her. She'd tucked a mane of silken black hair under a wide-brimmed hat and was bustling around the kitchen, trying to whip up a cup of coffee with limited success. She was around the same height as me without heels, which meant she was tall for a woman, but not necessarily for one of the Sidhe. She didn't hit my radar as anything more than human, which meant she was either a changeling or a race of faerie that somehow existed in my magical blind spot.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine for a moment, then she turned to him eyes wide and pleading. "Sir Knight..."

Fix gave her a nod of encouragement. "It's okay. Molly's a friend."

"A friend to whom?" the girl asked, slopping a measure of coffee into a paper cup before chasing it with enough sugar and cream to make a dentist cry. She scrawled Fix's name on it. "She serves the Baron, friend to Mab. She rescued the Leanansidhe from the hands of Lady Summer. She turns the bane upon us."

"Only on those of you who are preying on my town," I cut across her. "Those Kelpies tried to drown tourists. If you don't poison my coffee, I won't have any quarrel with you, Ms..."

"You may call me Wilde," she said brusquely, turning the sugary assault on my cup next.

"As in wild and free?"

"As in Oscar Wilde," she huffed, slapping a lid on the shoddily-constructed travesty she called coffee before scrawling 'Molly' onto my cup. "I'm a literature major at the University of Chicago, and I know better than to hand my name to a warlock. People talk, you know. We know you were on Mab's shortlist."

"Her shortlist for what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at the pair of them.

Fix's lips thinned but he didn't answer. Wilde looked like she wanted to eat her own tongue, which made me think that this was information my former friend wanted to keep from me.

"For what?" I pressed. "What shortlist?"

Fix sighed and accepted the cup Wilde offered him. "To be the Winter Knight. Harry was her first pick, and the rumor was that Thomas Raith was her backup. You were her third choice. Your name wasn't said specifically, but rumor had it that Mab was tempted to buy Marcone's knight for certain favors owed. He wasn't willing to sell, and she never came knocking to make her offer personally, so I can only pray that her interest waned."

I leaned back in my chair, processing that. Mab had wanted me to be her knight. She'd approached Marcone at some point about the possibility. When? Why hadn't he told me? And more importantly, why hadn't he taken her up on it? Having Mab owe you a solid wasn't the sort of thing one turned down lightly. A small, girlish part of me wanted to ascribe that some kind of romantic subtext, but I knew better. If Marcone had turned her down, it hadn't been for saccharine reasons.

"So you had no idea?" Fix asked, sipping the sugary concoction in his cup. "I wasn't sure if your boss told you."

"He did not, and I will be talking to him about that later." I sipped my drink and made a face. It was ninety percent sugar. I could probably have poured it out and used it on pancakes. "And I didn't know she could...ah...do that. I'm missing the equipment that the knights normally come with."

Fix snorted a laugh. "The Knights are mortal champions for Winter and Summer. Mortal being the operative word there. You don't need a dick to serve the Queens, but it's tradition. Aurora placed the Summer Knight's mantle on Lily once upon a time. If the Mantle of the Summer Lady hadn't passed to her after Aurora's death, you might be speaking to her now, not me."

"So Mab thought she could install me as her hatchet woman?"

"Tell me you'd turn her down if the price was right," he said, giving me a level look.

"I turned Lasciel down. Again. She captured me not long after I left Summer."

Fix sat up straighter, choking on a sip of his coffee. I had to thump him on the back a few times before he could speak.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously, and I have a lot more history with Lasciel. If I can tell Lasciel no, I can very well tell her Royal Froyo to take a long, frosty hike if she comes a-knocking. Now, can you please tell me what you know about the island? I don't have a lot of time to waste."

Fix considered me for a moment that seemed longer than it probably was. I might have imagined it, but he seemed to have relaxed a fraction into his seat. Finally, he nodded.

"Alright then. Wilde, sit down with us, and Molly throw up a circle. I don’t want to be overheard.”

Chapter Text

Wilde’s eyes tracked me as I chalked out a circle and her eyes widened a bit when the sound-distorting veil snapped into place. To anyone outside the circle, our table would look empty and a little forlorn. It was more thorough than I used day-to-day. I only used this to speak secretly with friends and allies. Too many variables to keep straight to use on the fly.

“You’re a changeling, aren’t you?” I asked. “A young one. Probably fresh off the puberty train.”

Wilde jerked a little and darted a glance at Fix. I bit my lip to contain a laugh. It would feel good after the last week of tension, but I didn't want to antagonize the changeling girl more than I already had. I got this reaction more often than not, especially from the uninitiated. For some reason, people seemed to think that every observation came from some arcane magic, rather than the above-average ability to read people. I didn't have to reach for my magic to know she was new. I could practically smell the new car scent wafting off her.

I turned a little so I could give Fix a faint smile. "You're following in Reuel's footsteps, taking in Winter kids. Paying it forward. Mind telling me what she is, or is it rude to ask?"

Fix raised an eyebrow. "Wilde?"

She hesitated and then finally let out a breath. She slipped the hat off, exposing a pair of equine ears. Now that I was paying closer attention, I realized her dark eyes were almost inhumanly large and plaintive. "Puca. My father took her on a ride one night, and it ended with some...unfortunate consequences."

I winced. I didn't have to search my imagination to imagine what he'd done. I'd seen the fallout of that sort of thing more than once over the years.

"Sorry."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I don't really remember her. Fix pulled me out of foster care a year ago and put me under Lily's protection. I owe them a debt, and apparently, they're passing it on to you."

It was my turn to jerk in surprise. I turned wide eyes to Fix. "Why?"

Fix's eyes softened, and there was a regretful set to his mouth. "We made a mistake last year. It wasn't fair to strip you of protection like that. If we'd sent someone with you last year, tragedy might have been averted. Lily was distraught when she heard. And now we're going to ask you to aid us. We're giving you backup."

I gave Wilde a once-over. She didn't look like much. She had some definition in her arms and legs, but no more than I had. Appearances could be deceiving, but I was still skeptical. What was a changeling going to do about the impending catastrophe? I wasn't sure that Lasciel could avert it. Throwing Wilde into the mix was a little like throwing a rock at an incoming tsunami. Unlikely do to anything but amuse the powers that be.

"Sorry if I'm being cynical but...what good is this going to do? And what favor are you asking of me exactly?"

"Wilde can transform into juvenile forms of a handful of animals, some common enough to be overlooked. You can never have enough eyes and ears. I have an inkling that this isn't a coincidence. She can scope out likely suspects while you diagnose the problem. And as for the favor..." He paused, grimaced, then sighed. "It could be a targeted attack on Summer. It won't just be America. The explosion may be so catastrophic that parts of the Nevernever that border our lands will be destroyed. Mab is still unstable. I wouldn't put it past her."

Well shit. If Mab was involved, things had just gone from bad to shit-your-pants scary. Crossing her was signing your own death warrant. Probably using your broken teeth as a quill. I wasn't sure that Wilde's involvement would do me any good, but if it got me back in Lily's good graces...well, it never hurt to have a faerie queen on your side.

I nodded slowly. "Alright then. I'd like to check in with her soon if you don't mind. You know, just to get more details."

Because there was something that hadn't escaped my notice. It seemed awfully convenient that she'd sent two mortals to brief me instead of sending a Sidhe or appearing to me herself. They could lie to my face. She couldn't. He felt genuine concern, but it could be about anything. There was an edge to his emotions, something hidden that I couldn't quite grasp. Wilde felt anxious and suspicious as hell. She didn't trust me any further than she could kick me.

I was being made into a cat's paw. The question was why.

I'd keep an eye on Wilde, just in case. Keep your dubious allies close, just in case they were planning to club you over the head later. I nodded to her and jerked a thumb at the door.

"Time's a-wasting. Let's see a little magic."

Wilde looked to Fix for confirmation and then sagged a little. One moment she was sitting across from us, then, in a blink of an eye she was gone. I stood, trying to spot her, and found a black kitten crouched where she'd been only a moment before. I felt the sudden urge to coo at her. It was cute. I picked her up and stowed her in the inner pocket of my surcoat. She let out a frustrated mew, but settled down in the depths of the pocket, petulance rolling off her in waves.

I really hoped this offer was on the level. I'd missed Fix and Lily. But I'd been burned by faeries before. Best not to get my hopes up.

"Thanks for the talk and the sidekick. Send a messenger to give me the location."

He nodded soberly. "I've got to head out now, but I'm wishing you luck."

"Anything I can help you with?" I asked. If I accompanied him, maybe I could get close to Lily that much sooner.

He shook his head. "I don't want to put you on the wrong side of the Winter Knight."

I blinked in surprise. "She found another one already?"

Fix gave me a significant look but said nothing. My heart kicked into a wild gallop as it clicked into place. My eyes pricked, and I had to fight the urge to cry. It didn't seem real, but I didn't think that Fix would lie to me. Not about this.

Harry was alive. God knew how, but he'd done the impossible, rising from the grave like a procrastinating wizardly Jesus. He was out there, and by the sound of it, heading back to Chicago. Maybe I had a snowball's chance in hell of stopping the looming catastrophe if he was there to lend a hand.

I all but sprinted out of the shop, searching for an increasingly rare phone booth. I dialed Thomas' number with shaking fingers. I got his voicemail. He was either out of the house or ignoring my call.

My voice came out breathless when I said, "Harry is alive and he's heading for Chicago. We have to find him. Meet me at the Water Beetle tonight."

Chapter Text

I was halfway to the marina when I felt it. Someone new was following me. My, my. Wasn't I popular today?

I sped a little, waiting until I was concealed under the shadow of an awning before I blipped out of sight, disappearing behind a veil. My go-to defense worked a lot better in crowded places, where the concentration of life left magical contrails that anything with enough talent could follow. In a city, it was akin to trying to determine what jet had left a trail departing an international airport. Even the stronger, more identifiable aura of a wizard was harder to track, worn down as it was by sunlight and the constant buffeting of others' energy.

The marina was a different story. This was the playground of the idle wealthy, not a well-traveled street. Worse, autumn was in full swing, the cold creeping in from the north to chill the waters of Lake Michigan, sending all but the most determined further south to snowbird for the winter. Most people were packing it in. Harder to shake a tail when you're one of only a dozen people in the area. If my pursuer had any talent at all, it was a matter of when they found me, not if. What they couldn't know was that I was never completely alone these days.

"Are you catching this?" I asked, extending my senses to get a feel for what was skulking through the shifting shadows of the marina. I had a vague outline of it, enough to keep it in the periphery, magically speaking, without getting a good picture. It didn't hit my radar as strongly as Fix, which was promising. I hoped. But whatever was out there was magical, I could feel it tingle across my awareness as it drew closer.

"Yes," Fortnea replied immediately.

"Got any guesses? I'll take any theories at this point."

I could take a stab at it, but there really was no telling what could be waiting in the wings. As the Black Knight, I'd racked up too many enemies to count. This didn't feel like the standard Fomor ambush. Their sorcerers' magic had a distinct edge that registered as a taste crept like bile up the back of my throat. Think day-old seafood wafting from a dumpster and you'd have a single note of the flavor. I'd just involved myself in faerie business by meeting with Fix, however briefly, and subtly allied myself with his cause by accepting a transfer of Wilde's favor. And while there was a keen, predatory edge to its emotions, it didn't have that cold, hungry clarity I'd come to associate with Winter either.

She considered it for a moment. "You're correct. It's a faerie. Strong but not in direct service to a monarch of either court."

"Wyldfae?"

"I believe so."

Wyldfae. Great, just great. Just what I needed, another faction butting into an already complex situation. Summer, Winter, the Fallen, my mob boss boyfriend, and an island ready to blow. Might as well throw the partridge and a pear tree into the mix as well.

The last time I'd encountered a Wyldfae, it had been possessing the body of a corrupt, middle-aged crime scene analyst turned serial killer. A wendigo had cleaved to the soul of Wayne Huber after he'd murdered and cannibalized his friend to survive a freak snowstorm in the Huron Mountains. Only hellfire had allowed me to make a clean getaway when he'd tried to add me to an ever-growing list of victims. He'd been exorcized a few years afterward and was rotting in solitary confinement in Stateville Correctional facility for his crimes. Officially, I was considered the sixth victim of the Chicago Butcher, one of Illinois' lesser-known serial killers, overshadowed by the likes of H.H. Holmes or John Wayne Gacy. It went without saying that the incident had soured my impression of the faction of faeries as a whole.

"Most Wyldfae keep to themselves and do their work," Pax said. "Only the drawing of the Wyldfae in preparation to war forces them to pick a side. Perhaps it's just curious."

Ah, Pax, the eternal optimist. One of us had to keep team morale up. At the moment though, I could safely cross off curious observer from the list. Whatever was out there was after me, and gaining, despite my efforts to be discreet. If I could make it to the Water Beetle and get out over the water, things might change. No magic held up well in water, even the inhuman kind. It was like trying to hold liquid in a sieve, your reserves trickling away almost as soon as you'd begun to draw on them.

I was feet away from the dock where the Water Beetle was tied when it materialized. Twelve feet tall, with pointed ears that stuck out noticeably from either side of its head. Its russet skin stretched tight over corded muscle. It was wearing leather armor over its bugling biceps and torso, and a loincloth that draped down to its knees, slit up the sides to allow for free movement, which sort of ruined its usefulness if you asked me. One wrong move and you were flashing the goods to the enemy. Maybe it was hoping to shock and awe me into surrender.

Its features were flat and bestial, more gorilla than humanoid. It bared long, jagged teeth at me in a smile and hefted a club up to shoulder height, advancing on me when it was confident that no one was observing us from the decks of the surrounding ship.

"That is an ogre," Fortnea said in a very small voice. "And it looks angry with you. I suggest we run."

Chapter Text

Running sounded like an excellent idea. Unfortunately, there just wasn't time.

The average person has a one-to-one reach, which usually lent me an advantage in a fight. At just shy of six feet tall, I towered above most women. The katana added another twenty-five inches, which was life-saving in melee...most of the time. Unless, of course, the creature you're facing is twice your height and two or three times your weight. Forget the adage about a good big man and a good little man. This was more like a svelte gymnast trying to throw a punch into the gut of a carnival strongman. No matter how talented I was, this opponent could still snap me like balsa wood over one knee if he managed to get his hands on me.

Which was why it was an excellent idea to stay out of range of those sausage-like fingers, not to mention the club.

I backpedaled, retreating back the way I'd come, just as the ogre swung. The club came down where I'd been standing just a moment before, hitting the dock with a clang that made my ears ring. If the dock had been made of timber, it would have splintered and gone splashing into the harbor. As it was, the metal caved with a squeal, bending inward like a crushed aluminum can.

Pax let out a tiny squeak, ducking behind the metaphorical couch as if it could save me from having my head bashed in. Fortnea stayed where she was, though her anxiety was palpable. The ogre advanced, the club raised, jagged teeth exposed in a snarl. He struck again, and there was no time to get my guard up. I ducked instead, and the swing missed, barely. It ruffled my hair as it passed barely an inch above my head. Gulp. All it would take was slightly better aim, and that club would separate my head from my neck and send it bouncing down the dock like a fleshy bowling ball. A slithery sensation wormed up the back of my neck at just the thought. It was one of the messier deaths I'd ever considered, and that was really saying something.

"You know, the loincloth look is so last epoch," I panted, feinting sideways, acting as if I'd go for the sword.

He adjusted his position accordingly and I used the opening to squeeze past him onto another dock. If I let him keep backing me the way we were going, I'd hit a dead end, and after that, he'd just be playing a rigged game of Whack-a-Molly. I wondered what sort of prize he'd win if he brought my pulped remains back to his boss. I hadn't pissed off any Wyldfae hotshots enough to warrant an attack like this, so it stood to reason that he'd been sent as a hitter by Summer or Winter.

The ogre reoriented on me and kept coming, apparently not the type who appreciated witty banter because he didn't respond to the jab. His eyes narrowed on me in concentration, sizing me up, probably deciding what part of my armor was weakest. Did he bend it inward at the knee, trap my leg in a metal prison so I couldn't limp away? Cave in the breastplate, crushing my ribcage? That could do the job all on its own, sending shards of rib bone into my heart. Even if I'd had an ally on hand to rush me to the hospital, I doubted I'd make it.

Wait a damn minute. I did have an ally tucked into my literal pocket. I backed up another few steps unwinding the chain from my belt with one hand while fishing Wilde from my pocket with the other. She let out a surprised mew and curled up like a fuzzy pom-pom in my hand, digging her nails in deep when she spotted the ogre coming from us. I tossed her none-too-gently onto the dock.

"Help me!" I said, voice coming out on a squeak when the ogre seized a flag from a nearby boat and threw it like a javelin at my head. It went wide, hitting the hull of a yacht, digging a furrow a few inches deep before it sailed past and landed with a splash in the water. My throat went a little dry. My skull was a lot less durable than a yacht.

Wilde took one look at the ogre and took off, streaking like a furry comet toward the marina's entrance. She ran beneath the ogre's outstretched legs, as tiny and insignificant as an ant in comparison. The ogre spared her a curious glance, weighing whether or not to bother, and then promptly wrote her off. She was gone, out of sight in seconds. So much for loyalty.

"Some sidekick you are!" I shouted after her.

But Wilde's panicked flight had done one thing. It'd given me enough time to gather my will for a spell and aim. Not for the ogre's neck, which I generally preferred. If someone had sent an assassin after me, they probably knew enough about my skill set to know how I thought and reacted. Ogres weren't the biggest magical beasties on the block, but they were faeries. Magic was a part of who they were, and aiming the spell directly at him was likely to get me nowhere fast. If I was exceptionally unlucky, he might even use the chain to reel me in like fish on a line, crushing my windpipe in one massive hand when I was within reach.

So I didn't aim for his neck. I aimed for the club.

The links wrapped around the middle of his weapon, snapping together like magnets when they made contact. I summoned up my will and shouted, "Rokku!"

Electricity coursed down the length of the club. The ogre might have had magical countermeasures in place to protect his person, but his weapon was made of mundane wood. It ignited as if lightning struck it, flame licking down to the base and the ogre's meaty fist. He let out a shout of surprise and let go. I used my new leverage to send the club out into the harbor.

Apparently the only thing worse than an angry ogre is a slightly crispy, angry ogre. The aura around him had been one part confidence, one part anticipatory violence when he'd approached me, club hefted onto one shoulder. Now it shifted dramatically from confidence to a blind, almost maddened rage. He came for me again, and I realized with a sinking sensation that he'd been playing with me for the last few minutes, like an adult moving slowly to let a child pull ahead in a race. It was part of a game, to let me think I was winning before he crushed my skull like a rotted egg beneath the club. He was faster than anything that size had a right to be, and only luck kept the sledgehammer blow from splintering the bones on the right side of my face to powder.

Luck, and the arrival of a friend.

The sound of hooves on the metal docks was thunderous, drawing our eyes up to the source. For a second, I struggled to believe what I was seeing. The sight was just too bizarre, even after everything I'd been through this morning. A sleek, black pony was charging toward us, small sparks leaping up every time its hooves made contact with the metal dock, closing the distance fast. There was a man sitting astride its back, comically large in proportion to the pony's side. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel, tall, lean, with luminous skin, and dark hair streaming like a curtain behind him.

Thomas leaped from the pony's back when he was around ten feet back, drawing a blade free from its sheath in the same smooth movement. The falcata came down, faster than either of us could blink, and took the ogre's arm off at the elbow. The pony didn't slow its charge until it was a foot away from the ogre. Then it reared, coming up onto its hind legs, pummelling the ogre's back and neck with swift, brutal kicks that would have felled anything smaller than this behemoth.

"Wilde?" I asked breathlessly.

The horse let out a whinny, which I took to mean something like, "Of course, you idiot."

I cracked a smile. "Okay, fine, I take it back. You're a great sidekick. The best."

"What am I?" Thomas huffed. "Chopped liver?"

"No, you're the yummy, yummy hors d'oeuvre. I could seriously lick you all over right now."

I caught the barest hint of the smile as he reoriented on the ogre. "Watch who you're calling snack food, Molly. You'll make me hungry."

Wilde responded to my compliment by planting one of her hooves in the ogre's back, sending it sprawling. It fouled Thomas' swing, sending the ogre's ear spinning into the harbor. He roared and charged forward, aiming at the one member of the party who wasn't raining punishment on his head. Me. I ducked the swing yet again and shouted a word. The chain lashed forward, wrapping around the ogre's ankle. I tugged, putting my will behind the spell and the ogre went down hard on his ass, unable to catch itself with just one hand. It kicked out at me, using the only free appendage it had left, and clipped me on the shoulder. It sent me spinning but would have only planted me on my generous posterior if not for one thing--The ogre's blood had begun to pool on the dock.

My feet went out from under me and I toppled backward, hitting my head on a railing before my momentum carried me up and over it. Stars burst behind my eyes and I fell, barely registering a thing when I slipped beneath the water.

Chapter Text

I'd only been conscious for a few seconds, and three things seemed to happen simultaneously. An icepick of agony jammed itself into the base of my skull, my ears began to ring, and I turned my head to the side and heaved up the remnants of my coffee. Apparently, someone had anticipated that possibility, because the sick sloshed noisily into a metal bucket. I belatedly realized I'd been laid out on a bed—a familiar one. I'd spent a handful of nights tussling with Thomas in the sheets in this bed. I was on the Water Beetle.

The fight filtered back in bits and pieces. The ogre. Thomas and Wilde had shown up in time to keep it from crushing my head like a gourd, but the kick he'd managed before either fleeing or being cut down had thrown me into the harbor. Thomas must have fished me out and brought me here. The question was, how long had I been out? How much of my dwindling supply of time had I wasted flat on my back? How much of this headache was the ogre's fault, and how much was the twins?

"You have a concussion," Pax said. His mental voice was quiet, but it still made my head ache fiercely. "Fortnea was trying to copy Ms. Gard's Futhark rune before you woke. We're sorry."

I had a feeling he wasn't just talking about the most recent beating I'd taken. They'd caused a grand mal seizure, and only Marcone's intervention had kept me from being seriously hurt. It would be the first of many symptoms as they outgrew my head. I needed to find a magical brain surgeon, and fast.

"It's not your fault. You didn't ask to be conceived and you can't help that you're growing. I'll figure this out. Just...try not to move too much, okay?"

"Fortnea says she's finished. You should be able to sit up now."

I tested my limbs cautiously, raising one hand to wipe my mouth, noting that someone had removed my armor and gambeson. I was wearing a man's dress shirt and it smelled vaguely familiar. The motion sent a ripple of unpleasant sensation through me, but that was the worst of it. My headache had dimmed to something manageable, and the urge to dry heave had subsided. I waited for something more to happen. Blurred vision. Stars. More nausea but...nothing. I felt like one big contusion, but that wasn't anything new.

Now that my ears weren't ringing, I could make out the slosh of water hitting the Water Beetle's sides and the sound of voices above me. I couldn't make out the words, but the tenor of the conversation was clear enough. They were arguing.

I boxed away the remainder of my aches and pains to be dealt with later and padded toward the stairs. It wasn't a good idea to blot out the pain. Ignoring it didn't mean it wasn't there, and I could easily overestimate what my body could handle, but at this point, I didn't see any other choice. I had a few days tops. If I was going to be of any use, I had to be on my feet. I'd deal with the fallout later. Assuming there was a later.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Thomas asked, voice filtering down the stairs to me. "Since politeness and brushoffs don't seem to mean anything to you, I'll spell it out for you. Fuck. Off. I can take care of her."

"Yes, because you've done a stand-up job thus far," Marcone said, tone dry. "That's why she was unconscious and half-drowned when I arrived."

Thomas' fury hit me like a scalding wave. There was a fiercely possessive edge to his emotions. It didn't matter that we'd effectively ended things months ago. The Hunger didn't care about things like restraint and common sense. As far as the demon was concerned, I belonged to it, and it didn't appreciate the challenge Marcone was putting forward. In this instance, Thomas' mind was in lockstep with the demon. He wasn't in love with me, but I was his friend. Possibly even his best friend. Friends didn't let friends be alone with scheming drug lords.

"She isn't yours," Marcone continued, ignoring Thomas' glare. It was probably nothing short of murderous.

"Well she's sure as hell not yours," Thomas shot back.

I crested the stairs, emerging onto the deck. It was nearly sundown. I'd lost hours of precious time, which meant I'd been hurt worse than Pax had let on. Fortnea had been doing more than just bolstering my strength while he watched over me. She'd essentially kept me from developing a brain bleed. The kids were getting stronger by the day, which explained the seizure. They were spirits of intellect. The more they observed, the more they learned. Knowledge added to their metaphysical mass. Soon they'd be capable of a lot more than just healing my body and feeding me information. I just wouldn't be around to see it.

I cleared my throat. Both men turned toward me, bodies tight with barely suppressed violence, trying to intimidate the other. Men. You just couldn't trust them to be civil when there was a girl involved.

"I...uh..." I cleared my throat again and felt a flush creep up my neck. "I sort of am, though."

"Are what?" Thomas asked, tracking me through his periphery, never taking his eyes off Marcone.

"His," I said quietly. "Sort of. Not in the antiquated patriarchal way you're talking about. I'm not property. But we are dating. We have been for a while."

The statement had a depressingly large grain of truth to it. Something had been brewing between Marcone and me from almost the moment we met. It had started off slow, with mutual, though grudging respect. It had morphed slowly into more. A smoldering ember of want that had abruptly combusted when Harry's spirit had returned to Chicago. Marcone could have had me. I'd been willing enough, but he still held something of himself back. It wasn't a lack of desire. He wanted me. He was almost as possessive as Thomas in some respects.

The statement finally tore Thomas' gaze away from Marcone's face, and he stared at me with unflattering shock. The corners of Marcone's lips lifted into a self-satisfied smirk. Arrogant jerk. Unfairly appealing, arrogant jerk.

"Marcone?" Thomas hissed. "You're dating Marcone? Are you insane? He's dangerous!"

"So are you," I said. "And he can't actually orgasm me to death. It might feel like it, but I won't actually die."

Marcone's expression shifted ever so slightly. Thomas wouldn't have caught it, even if he'd been looking. It was familiarity earned over a long period of time that let me read it. I'd surprised him by insinuating we were having sex. Well, it wasn't like I hadn't offered. And I was damn good at it. I'd learned from an incubus after all. I could rock his world, and instinct told me he wouldn't exactly be lacking in that department either. Marcone wasn't the sort of man who was content to be mediocre in any arena.

Thomas' jaw flexed, and he lowered his eyes. Guilt twisted beneath my ribs. It had been a low blow and I knew it, but there hadn't been much choice. We needed to get this show on the road.

Marcone crossed over to me, straightening the collar of the shirt. I finally placed the scent and realized he'd changed me into one of his dress shirts, possibly a spare he kept in one of his many cars. A gust of autumn wind over my bare legs informed me I was also wearing a pair of his boxers and nothing else. No wonder Thomas' demon was going crazy. Marcone had effectively scent-marked me. I shivered when Marcone ran a thumb over my cheek.

"How are you feeling?"

"I have a headache," I admitted. "And I'm a little sore. It could have been a lot worse. Nothing's broken, at least."

"Good," he said.

Then he brushed his lips over mine, a soft, chaste kiss that nonetheless made my skin tingle. I leaned into it, forgetting it was an act. Touch was a powerful thing, the shared warmth of another's presence a buoy in uncertain waters.

"Are you done?" Thomas snapped. "You've made your point."

Marcone smiled into the kiss, held me another few seconds just to make his point, then released me. He had the grace not to look too smug when he faced Thomas.

"As long as we're clear, vampire."

"Don't fight," I said. It came out on a sigh. "I already have a headache without you two adding to it. We're going to put a pin in this, okay? I need to fill you in on what I've learned and I'd rather do it down below. I'm freezing my ass off out here."

Both men paused to take me in. One of them had taken off my bra at some point, and the thin material of the shirt didn't do much to disguise my reaction to the chill. For one moment, they were in total synch, appraising me with undisguised admiration. I had a fleeting, demon-induced urge to throw myself between them and drag whoever won the fight to the cot below.

"Mojo off," I snapped, giving Thomas a pointed look. "Or we're going to end up in a devil's threesome, and neither of you wants that."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and sprinted down the stairs before he could weigh the merits of sharing. We didn't have time for that.

And besides, there were children watching.

Chapter Text

"Stop fussing over me," I said, batting Marcone's hands away from my face. "I'm fine."

"You have a laceration on your forehead," he said, recapturing my chin, using it to guide my face up.

The battery-powered touch lights Thomas installed on the bulkheads and stairwells held up against a wizard's constitution better than most things, but could still get touchy when I was hurt or stressed. Marcone probed the skin around the wound gingerly with his fingers, ignoring my attempts to slap the offending hand away. His face creased in a scowl and he shot Thomas a dirty look over my shoulder.

"You glued it shut? And with superglue no doubt. It increases the likelihood this will scar."

"It was Dermabond, not superglue," Thomas said, tone clipped and unhappy.

"Which is only recommended for use for clean cuts less than three centimeters in length. Your superior immune system might shrug off the microbes present in freshwater, but she's human. The last thing we need is a wizard with necrotizing fasciitis eating half her face because you couldn't be bothered to clean a wound properly."

Thomas' hand strayed nearer to his sword belt with every word, and he considered Marcone with a flat and eerily reflective stare. He reminded me of a snake, the line of tension in his body so tight I feared he'd snap forward and take Marcone's head off.

"I was more concerned with hypothermia at the time," Thomas said. "The water gets cold quickly at this time of year. Molly isn't vain. She can live with another scar. She wouldn't have lived long if I let her stay soaked to the skin and bleeding from a head wound. She must have hit something on her way down."

I leaned around Marcone, putting my body between him and Thomas. The territorial machismo bullshit was starting to chafe on my nerves. I held out my hands as though prepared to push them apart.

"That's enough from both of you. I'm fine for the moment, and Thomas is right. I don't care if it scars. I have an impressive collection of them already. And there probably won't be time for flesh-eating bacteria to do their thing, if the island goes kaboom. We'll worry about it if or when it becomes relevant. Now will you two kindly shut up and listen to what I have to say?"

There was a tense second when I was sure they'd lunge for each other, fists flailing. There was enough room to allow for a fight, but I'd probably catch an elbow or two in the process. I leaned away from Marcone as the tension in the room crested like a wave. I held my breath, waiting for it to hit, and let it out slowly when Thomas blinked, tearing his gaze away first. He still kept Marcone firmly in his periphery, unwilling to dismiss a threat out of hand, but those pale eyes settled on my face, rather than trying to bore a hole through my boyfriend's skull.

"I assume this news has something to do with the voicemail you left me this morning?" he asked.

He didn't let the strain show in his voice, but there was something in his body language that reminded me a lot of Harry's cat, Mister. The sleek, almost feline observation of an intruder, his opaque predator's eyes deciding whether attack or flight was the more prudent option. His other half was close to the surface, dampening the worst of what he was feeling. What seeped through was bad enough. The wound had barely scabbed over since Harry's death. The tenuous hope threatened to rip the wound open again, and every foul feeling would bubble out like pus.

I nodded mutely, unable to breathe around the hard knot that had formed behind my sternum. Thomas' feelings, not mine, but the pain was still raw enough to rob me of my voice for a minute.

"Voicemail?" Marcone echoed.

"Molly called earlier and said we needed to meet. She was under the impression that Harry's not only alive but that he'll be arriving in Chicago this evening."

His eyes never wavered from my face, even as he addressed Marcone. I squirmed under his scrutiny, my skin running hot with the intensity of his gaze. The fight had probably cost him more than he was willing to admit, and his emotions were running high. It was usually a recipe for some naked, sweaty acrobatics, just to take the edge off. Even now, with Marcone beside me, one hand resting lightly on the small of my back, I couldn't help my body's reaction. It was dampened, but still there. I wasn't in love with Marcone. He wasn't in love with me, that was for damn sure. I doubted I'd be immune to Thomas' charms, even if Marcone and I were head over heels for each other. Thomas was my friend. You did what you could to help friends. Even if my misguided attempts to help usually costs me bits of my soul.

What can I say? I've never exactly had a sterling record when it comes to making good life choices.

"He's alive?" he asked quietly. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be. I don't think Fix would lie to me about this. About what his beef with Harry is this time, sure, but not the fact he's still alive. His Lady was tasked with my well-being once, and he takes that sort of thing seriously."

Thomas pushed away from the bulkhead without warning, taking the stairs up to the deck two at a time, disappearing from sight. It wasn't fast enough to keep his emotions from wafting down to me. I clutched at my stomach, pressing my back flush against the wall to stifle the urge to be sick. Marcone kept his hand on the small of my back, rubbing small circles into my skin until the desire to hurl abated. When I glanced up, I found him considering me clinically.

"Dresden is back?" he asked, tone neutral as if it didn't matter one way or the other.

"More or less. There's no telling what shape he'll be in now that Mab's had her hands on him for a while, but yeah. He's coming back. And not a moment too soon. It's his island now, since he invoked Sanctum there. If anyone can tell me what's wrong with it, it's Harry. I don't think the genius loci will let me get close enough to do a thorough exam. How do you feel about the news?"

Marcone withdrew his hand gingerly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I have a depressing premonition that my insurance premiums are going to skyrocket. Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course," I said, wincing when the words spilled out without hesitation. "What's the favor?"

Marcone leaned closer, pressing his mouth to the shell of my ear. His nearness made my skin tingle and my fingers twitch. It would be easy to wind them into the front of his shirt and move the teasing possibility of his lips to more pleasant areas.

"The changeling girl is on deck. Don't turn your back on her. Gifts from faeries are never benign. I want you ready to shoot first when she goes for your throat. Don't trust anyone tonight. Not even Dresden. As you said, we have no idea what Mab's training will have wrought in him."

"Trust no one, huh? Even you?"

He pulled away, his lips quirking into a sly smile. "Especially not me. Now, let's find you a spare earpiece so you're apprised of activity in town. If Dresden is here, something, somewhere is bound to be on fire."

Chapter Text

The quartz earpiece I'd screwed into my ear began squawking the second I was back on solid ground. Large bodies of water weakened the signal so that I could only catch every third word. Or, in this case, numbers. Bob and I had set up a rudimentary channel system, allowing someone with enough know-how to flip through stations. It had taken trial and error to key specific frequencies. Leaving it open to all available transmissions meant I'd eavesdrop on truckers or hobbyists on ham radios. I found most supernatural crimes in progress through police scanners or the local Paranet channels. One of the locals, a podcaster named Heather, had set up a small network for minor practitioners, ostensibly to call for help from the Black Knight, or one of Marcone's nearest troubleshooters. The latter was a crapshoot. Some of Marcone's hired guns were willing to put themselves out there to save a hedge wizard. Most weren't.

I'd become intimately familiar with the codes for the local PD. Murphy and I might have a tense working relationship at the moment, but she wasn't an idiot. Sifting possible supernatural conflicts from your everyday drug busts and homicide investigations could be the difference between life and death. Murphy wasn't about to hang people out to dry because I'd stung her pride. She'd given all of us a rundown on potentially significant codes. Which was why the mention of a 10-80 instantly made my ears prick. A 10-80 meant an explosion of some kind. On this night, of all nights, what were the odds?

Where there's smoke, there's Harry.

I could make out sirens in the distance. Whatever was happening, we didn't have long to address it. The local cops were going to come down on an explosion like the hammer of God, leaving no piece of rubble unturned. If Harry was still on the scene when it happened, he'd end up behind bars, if only for a few hours while he was questioned about the incident. Even with Marcone's considerable resources to spring him faster, it would still waste valuable time we could be using to solve the problem of the island. So, to that end, we took Thomas' Hummer, seeking the source of the ruckus.

"You told your boyfriend to remain behind," Thomas said tersely, cutting off a Toyota Camry at an intersection. It earned him a drawn-out horn and an aggressive middle finger, which he dutifully ignored. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Not really," I said, focusing out the window, instead of looking him in the eye. "Keep your eyes on the road. I don't want to get t-boned before we find him."

I'd been disappointed by Marcone's insistence that he remain behind, but not surprised. There was only so much room in the Hummer, and I doubted the backseat would accommodate Hendricks, let alone Hendricks, Marcone, and Gard. Besides, adding Marcone to any situation involving Harry Dresden was a lot like flicking a match at a firework stand. There would be sparks, at the very least, but more than likely, there'd be a massive, awe-inspiring conflagration that not even my shields could defend against. I didn't want Marcone plugging Harry, and I didn't want Harry to barbeque my boyfriend. So distance it was, until he could have a little forewarning about Marcone's involvement.

I grimaced. Boyfriend. It was still bizarre. It sounded too plebian and juvenile to apply to a man like Marcone. But what else did I call him? My partner? That didn't fit either. He was my boss. He was also more than that, and I knew it. He wasn't my fuck-buddy either. Yet. If there was time, I was hoping I'd convince him to change that. There just wasn't a name for whatever this was, and that bugged me.

"Oh?" Thomas drawled. "Then why were you lying to me back there?"

I glanced sharply at him. He'd faced forward, guiding us through traffic like a trained stunt driver, squeezing into impossible spaces or making dubiously legal turns where appropriate. I thought I could spy the smoke rising from the street a few blocks away. We were close.

"I didn't lie to you."

"You did. You're not fucking him. I'd smell that on you. When you're intimate with another person, it leaves a trace. I'm not even talking about love. Just being with another person would do it. It would mingle your life force with his, but the only traces on your aura are mine. I'm the last person you were with."

Was I imagining it, or was there a subtle undercurrent of his Hunger speaking when he said that? I knew I hadn't imagined the possessive edge to his feelings on the boat. I was food, yes, but frequent and well-liked food. Anyone would take issue with a stranger raiding their cookie jar.

I shrugged. "Fine, you caught me. We haven't gotten that far yet. But we've done...things."

"Well, at least you have the sense not to go all the way."

"Actually, he's the one clinging to a sense of propriety. He could have gotten into my pants months ago if he wasn't being so honorable."

"Honor," Thomas scoffed. "As if he knows the meaning of the word."

I snorted a laugh. "Right? But he's the one stiffing me on sex. Or not stiffing me as it were. It's annoying as hell."

There was a beat of thoughtful silence before Thomas spoke again. "So you like him?"

I dropped my gaze, cheeks warming. "Yeah. I don't know how or why it happened, but I do. It's weird and complicated, and it's not healthy, but I...I think there's something there. I feel it."

I expected a tirade or a lecture, but Thomas just nodded. "I get that. I don't like it, but I get it."

After all, he had complicated, unhealthy entanglements of his own. I'd been privy to his new food regimen, brought about by Justine's workaround. I'd politely declined her invitation twice, even though I had to admit that I was curious as hell. And I missed sex. Sex with Thomas was one of the only simple pleasures I had these days, but it wouldn't be fair to tempt him like that. Well-fed, he probably wasn't a threat to me, even with Lasciel's meddling, but I couldn't be sure. I wouldn't dangle something like that in front of him, just in case I was wrong.

"You're not going to tell me to stay away?"

"Would it make any difference at this point?"

I thought about it. "No, it wouldn't."

"Then I'll save my breath. Just know I reserve the right to bend him into a pretzel if he hurts you."

I smiled faintly. "Yes, Dad."

"Speaking of, how does he feel about this?"

My face felt cold at the thought of broaching the subject with him, let alone my mom. She'd probably have a coronary right there at the kitchen table when she heard. Thomas spied the look on my face and let out a rueful chuckle.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"I'll tell him when there's something to tell," I said a little too quickly.

"And with any luck the Midwest will blow up before you have to have that conversation with him," Thomas said.

"Yeah, something like that."

We rounded a corner and almost rear-ended an oversized Model T. Thomas pumped the brakes hard, throwing me bodily against my seatbelt. My knees flew up to hit the underside of the dash and I hissed a curse. We lurched forward an inch when Thomas threw the Hummer into park, undoing his belt before exiting his side of the car in a blur of silvery limbs. I followed suit a second later and stepped out into a miniature war zone.

Chunks of asphalt turned under my feet as I rounded the Model T and I choked on a lungful of smoke. I caught Thomas before he could go sprinting toward the sounds of Harry's echoing cries. He cursed, hit the ground often, and kept running, sounding clumsy and disoriented, even from a distance.

"Let go," Thomas growled, unholstering his sidearm as he went. "I'm going to help him."

"Just take a second and look at what's happening out there.," I said, jerking a thumb up at the sky.

Thomas stopped mid-step and followed my finger. It had only taken me a second to process what was happening up ahead. I knew the sound the Guard made when they took on tiny foes. Hundreds of tiny spheres of light bobbed and weaved in the air high above the rooftops, moving with the speed and precision that something only that small could manage. It was like watching hummingbirds in flight. If hummingbirds ever engaged in pitched and bloodthirsty battle, that was. Harry made a bid for the car (which looked like nothing less than the infamous Munster Koach) but was hobbled only a second later by a handful of faeries wielding fish hooks. The second the metal made contact with Harry's skin, he collapsed, the spell he'd been gathering petering out to nothing.

"I'm going-" Thomas began.

"Wait," I hissed. "Just wait, before you charge in there and get skewered. I've got this."

I reached into the pocket of my surcoat and produced a sleeping Wilde. The fight at the docks had taken a lot out of her, and she'd curled into a ball seconds after hitting the deck of the Water Beetle. She'd still been sleeping when I stuffed her kitten form into my pocket. She let out a frustrated mew when I prodded her awake and set her gently on the ground. She blinked large, sleepy eyes at me before she snapped back into focus, tracking the tiny faeries with interest.

The nearest faeries let out squeaks of fright as she padded forward, batting the air above her head to catch them by their iridescent wings. Pro tip: If you want to keep a house or lair faerie free, get a housecat. The Wee Folk lived in mortal terror of them. It was one of the few species on Earth that noticed them and took enough interest in their existence to hunt them down. I fixed her image in my brain, using it as scaffolding to create the illusion of more cats, larger and rangier than my changeling sidekick. Feral hisses and snarls joined Wilde's amused mews, and the attacking faeries scattered. Only one remained steadfast. A specimen about the size of Toot, clad in black armor. And even then, it only lingered a second longer than necessary, spiraling into the sky with a frustrated howl before disappearing completely.

It took Harry a couple of seconds to orient himself, and still more to pluck hooks from his skin. When he finally stood, he was shaky, watching the departing faeries through wary eyes before turning to face his rescue. His face split into a cautious but hopeful smile when he spotted us stepping out from behind his ruined car. He took a step toward us, hands half outstretched.

"Molly," he breathed. "Thomas. Boy, am I glad to see you."

I didn't see Thomas move. One second, I had a hold of his shirt, and the next, he'd crossed the feet between Harry's position and ours. His fist was a blur of motion and made a meaty sound of impact when it connected with his brother's jaw. Harry went sprawling, landing hard on his ass, all but swallowed by Thomas' shadow.

"Harry Dresden, you unmitigated asshole!"

Chapter Text

I surrendered my seat in the Hummer to a punch-drunk Harry, leading the way to my apartment in the wrecked Munster Mobile instead. There was no way in hell I wanted to be present for that conversation. If I wanted to go through that much pain tonight, I'd take a potato peeler to my eyeballs and save Harry the trouble. He'd caused me enough indirect agony already.

Security Guy gave the wrecked Munster Mobile a dubious look before checking it over for magical and mundane traps, giving the Hummer the same treatment before we were ultimately waved through. We exited the car, and I led Harry to my building, opening the door with a key. The elevators would have probably withstood both Harry's magic and mine (Svartalf craftsmanship was superb, after all) but I opted for the stairs instead. I didn't want the psychic stench of his guilt and shame filling up a small space, suffocating me, even for the brief time we rode the elevator down toward my apartment. The whiff I caught on the stairs was bad enough, making my stomach churn uneasily.

I unlocked the apartment with my key and waved him and Thomas forward with a begrudging, "Harry, Thomas, come in. The Guard is welcome, too, of course."

It might have come through clenched teeth. It wasn't Thomas or Toot-Toot I had a problem with. Thomas was welcome any time, provided he could keep his pants on during the visit. Toot had already been inside, giving me updates on the Guard's movements while I recovered from my encounter with the maenad a month ago. Still, it was better to extend the invitation to any of the other friendly Little Folk nearby. I had no clue how many were hanging around, just waiting to report for duty.

No, I didn't want Harry in my house. I was having trouble looking at him for very long, let alone occupying the same space he did. I was afraid that if I let myself really examine him, I'd find a box knife and carve new furrows into his skin, staining what had once been a formal tux with blood and viscera. When he'd showed up as a spirit, my rage had been impotent, with nowhere to turn but against me, scalding my insides until I felt hollow. Now he was here, within easy reach and on my turf. He was injured, probably concussed, and slower than he would otherwise be. If I could get in close, get in his head I could-

I squeezed my eyes shut, cutting my chin to one side in denial of the thought before it could bud into something poisonous. That wasn't the real me talking, it was the junkie in me, jonesing for another hit of black magic. I'd indulged the monster on a critical case while Harry had been MIA, but the lapse had cost me ever since. It was harder to ignore the niggling voice that wanted more, wanted to go darker, to bend the entire fucking establishment into a shape of my liking. I knew how to do it. Knew who I needed to do it.

The glimmer of interest in Thomas' eyes died as he scrutinized my expression. He put a hand on Harry's back, ushering him down the last few stairs, escorting his brother and the Major General over my threshold before I could act on any homicidal impulses.

My apartment was large enough to accomodate a few basketball courts, and tastefully furnished by the Svartalves shortly before I moved in. The furniture sets were handmade and clustered around an ornate fireplace. I hadn't availed myself of the European exercise equipment yet. I did enough running around that I didn't care to do more when I got home. I had indulged my interest in the book nook, devouring the magical theory books when I had a moment to spare from world-saving. I waved Thomas forward.

"Kitchen. He'll only bleed on the couch, and I like that one."

"I'm overwhelmed by your sense of hospitality, Molls," Harry drawled.

My spine stiffened, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to round on Harry and start up exactly where Thomas had left off, using Chicago's self-proclaimed professional wizard as my own personal pinata. I took a deep breath in through my nose and reminded myself forcefully that I needed him to stop whatever was about to make the island boil over.

"Put him on the table while I find some peroxide and bandages," I said. It definitely came through clenched teeth this time.

Thomas drew his brother up with more force than was necessary, duck-walking him out of sight into the kitchen. I rummaged through my first aid supplies, taking an extra few seconds to go over all the reasons it would be a terrible idea to stick a needle in Harry's eye. The list was dishearteningly long. I realized, with a sickening lurch, that I was looking for reasons to hurt him, and that just wasn't me. Harry and I had never been bosom friends. The crush I'd harbored for him years ago had withered and died through a combination of his absence and my general apathy toward romance during my recovery. I wondered when I'd begun to hate him instead.

I emerged from the bathroom when I thought I could approach the table without assaulting Harry with a suture kit. Harry had his elbows propped on the table. Thomas had helped him out of his jacket and shirt while I was gathering myself, and it exposed a truly impressive amount of carnage on his back. Something with sharp claws had carved lines from his scapula down to the curve of his back, reducing once smooth skin to so much raw hamburger. I wasn't even sure if there was enough to stitch together. This was going to require a more delicate hand than mine or Thomas'.

"Jesus," I muttered, in spite of myself. "What used you as a scratching post, Harry?"

"Andi," he said, wincing when I unscrewed the cap and dribbled a line of peroxide onto the cuts. "I...uh...needed something from her house, and I couldn't afford to knock and ask for it outright."

Of course he couldn't. The Winter Knight was bound to draw enemies out of the woodwork. He'd broken in out of some backward sense of protectiveness and gotten himself jumped. I knew from experience just how nasty the teeth and claws could be. I'd gotten on the wrong side of Billy Borden once. He hadn't liked the results much.

"Wow," I drawled, mimicking his earlier tone. "Your rigid sense of boundaries and respect for personal property is overwhelming, Harry."

Winter stirred fitfully under the surface of his conscious mind, bristling like a dog that's heard the approach of an intruder. It handled the lack of deference about as well as I'd expected. Violence roared through his thoughts a moment later, so loud that I couldn't help but catch a few of the graphic images that accompanied the fierce territoriality of the Winter Mantle. Grabbing a fistful of my hair near the roots, using it as a lever to control me. A fleeting urge to bring a knee up into my face, shattering the bones of my nose and spraying blood everywhere.

That one was quickly drowned by another, more viceral urge. Use that grip on my hair to jerk my face up. Harry, claiming my mouth in a savage kiss, splitting my lip on his teeth so that the tang of blood would burst over his tongue. Shoving me down onto the table so that my ass was in the air. Under the Winter Knight's strength the denim would split like rice paper, and the cotton underwear beneath would pose even less of a challenge. He imagined, for just a second, shoving himself inside me, reveling in the screams to follow.

"Always better when the prey struggles," an insidious voice whispered to the blackest parts of his soul.

It took effort for him to wrestle Winter away from his thoughts. Shame bubbled up like pus from a wound, souring the images as his conscience reasserted itself with a vengeance. He hated that he enjoyed the fantasy. Heroes didn't get off on the thought of forcing themselves on their allies. But he had, and he did, if only for a second. Oddly enough, it made me feel a little better, knowing he detested himself as much or more than I did. It let me step closer, swabbing the wounds silently as he muttered an apology.

Harry stayed where he was, head bowed, eyes closed in concentration after I bandaged his chest and moved onto the Major General. Something had torn right through the tiny breastplate, leaving a deep, gaping wound beneath. It hadn't cut down to the bone, but it was a near thing.

"What hit you, Toot?" I asked.

"A jerk!" Toot groused. "A big fat jerk! He had real armor too! You've been saying you'd make some for the guard but noooo..."

"I'm working on it, Toot," I said, smiling faintly at the little guy. For someone the size of a Ken Doll he sure did complain a lot. "It's tricky to make sets that small. A full compliment of weapons will come sooner than armor. I told you that already."

Around a dozen of the little people were now sporting cavalry sabers, broadswords, pikes, war hammers, and scimitars courtesy of Charity Carpenter. I hadn't been lying when I said it would take time. As it turned out, creating things to scale with the Wee Folk was tricky, and something best left to the professionals.

"You big people move so slow," Toot said, grimacing when I swabbed antibiotic cream onto the gash. The wound already looked better than it had when I'd seen it last. When you had the appetite and attention span of a hummingbird, I supposed you didn't just languish in your bed looking pretty as you died.

"Sorry about that, Toot."

"Besides," Harry interjected. "I like your armor better, Major General. Much more stylish."

Toot pulsed once, smiling broadly at the praise. "Thank you, My Lord!"

Harry sobered when he glanced up at me. A moment of silent understanding passed between us. I'd seen what Mab's gift had pushed him toward, and he knew it. Nothing he could say was going to make me feel better about what he'd done or what I'd just witnessed. No use trying to hash it out at the moment. If we survived the next few days I could lay into him.

"We need to talk about your island," I said.

He nodded. "Thomas mentioned something about that. He said you noticed energy building up underneath it."

"Like steam in a boiler," I agreed. "And if the pressure doesn't let up soon, it's going to blow and take half the Midwest with it. Marcone's already aware of the problem and working a few other angles to stop it. I haven't been able to speak with the island directly. I think it remembers me from my time with Nicodemus, and it doesn't care for me much. It only let me retrieve Thomas the one time because he was being a nuisance."

"You went out to Demonreach?" Harry said, arching a brow in his brother's direction. Thomas didn't meet his eyes.

"It's a longer story than we have time for," he said, waving the subject away with an airy hand. "The point is, neither of us can communicate with it the way you can. Whatever you're here for can wait until the problem is solved. You can't exactly do Mab's bidding if you're here when Chicago becomes ground zero."

Harry nodded to himself, drumming his fingers on the table, considering that. "Yeah, okay. A few things make sense now. Why Mab closed off faerie, for one. She's giving me a head start. Who else knows about the island?"

"Me," Thomas said. "Molly, her changeling sidekick Wilde, and the Summer Knight. Fix was actually the one who told Molly you were coming. Oh and Marcone. Molly doesn't keep many secrets from her boyfriend these days."

I shot Thomas a dirty look. "I thought we'd settled this in the car."

"I said I understood, not that I condoned. Harry has a right to know, especially if we're going to be working closely to that creep. Marcone's lackeys will know soon if they don't already. Is there anyone else I'm missing?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek. I didn't really want to admit it aloud. I hadn't allowed myself to consider what was heading toward Chicago at speed. The thing I'd invited in a misguided attempt to help, before I'd known Harry would be back. With Dresden in the mix, adding a Knight of the Blackened Denarius to the crew sounded like an especially bad idea. Too little, too late now.

"Lasciel," I said with a sigh. "I invited Hannah and Lasciel to Chicago to help with the island before I knew you were back. They should arrive sometime before sundown tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Harry just stared at me. Thomas mouthed soundlessly, apparently lost for words to adequately describe the depths of my idiocy. Heat crept up my neck, and I tamped down the urge to defend myself. It was stupid, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. Marcone's organization was far-reaching and excellent at what they did, but what we were up against was an order of magnitude bigger than any of us. A nuke was about to go off. I had to respond in kind, going for a nuclear option of my own. Lasciel and her Fallen buddies had some sense of how the island worked, or they wouldn't have been able to tap into the leylines to fuel a greater circle. If anyone could help me diffuse this bomb, it was her.

Of course, I hadn't counted on Harry's return when I'd made the decision to call. Our hopeless situation now had a glimmer of possibility, no matter how faint. The more I looked at it in that light, the more disproportionate the response seemed, like using a mallet to swat a mosquito. Had I made the call out of fear, instead of practicality? Was I falling back into old habits when the going got tough? I could see how it might look that way from the outside.

"Are you insane?" Thomas sputtered for the second time that night. The expression on his face now makes his disapproval of my relationship with Marcone look like a minor difference of opinion. "You called her? Here? Now? Why the fuck would you do that?"

I raised my hands in a defensive gesture. "I didn't feel like I had a lot of choices in the matter. Someone..." I aimed a sour look at Harry out of the corner of one eye. "Didn't bother to communicate his continued existence to the rest of us. If I'd known I'd be working with someone who has direct knowledge of the island, I wouldn't have even considered it."

Harry's expression hardened. "You're going to pin this bad call on me?"

"Tell me you couldn't have gotten a message to the rest of us if you really wanted to. I know you're resourceful and stubborn. If you wanted us to know you were still kicking, you'd have found a way. You ghosted us in pretty much every sense, leaving me to clean up your mess. Forgive me for using the tools I had available. It's not like I can rely on you being here when it counts."

Harry half rose from his seat. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're Mab's bitch, Harry. She can order you to sit on your ass on a glacier in Antarctica and you'll do it, even if you give her lip about it first. You're not Chicago's protector anymore. I am, and I don't have the resources and allies you did. If Lasciel can stop Demonreach from leveling half the country, I will call her in to help."

Again, Winter rose in Harry with such sudden and startling violence that I couldn't breathe for a moment. The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe. Images of dizzying violence flashed through his head too quickly to absorb any single frame. Then it was gone, wrestled away from his thoughts with the determination of a pro fighter. His reasoned mind wasn't happy with me either, but the concerns were rational. Had Lasciel managed to bend my mind? Was I about to turn into Darth Molly and add to his already overburdened workload, yet another enemy to smite? I waited patiently for him to voice them aloud, but the accusations didn't come. Thomas spoke first.

"You know what she's going to ask for in return," he said.

"I know what she's really interested in, yes. But if you'll recall, I told her no last time, and the stakes were more personal then."

Thomas' brows climbed. "I remember walking into the house to find you pinned and about a half hour away from an NC-17 rating."

The heat rode up into my cheeks. "I was not going to fuck Hannah. I know it comes naturally to you, but could we please not turn everything into sex?"

Harry sat up a little straighter, trying and failing not to look interested at that. My hands balled into fists at my sides and I began to pace the floor. I didn't want to be Harry's future fapping material.

Thomas snorted. "It is sex, for her at least. She loves you. Lasciel wants to possess you. It's the ultimate physical manifestation of all those pent-up feelings. You're deluding yourself if you think it isn't on the table. If they're heading here, at least be braced for the possibility."

"I don't think there will be time for a roll in the hay during the impending apocalypse."

Thomas shrugged, his eyes shifting to a subtler shade of silver as he watched me pace. "Don't discount it."

"Can we please change the subject?" I asked. "The point is, she's aware of what's happening and she's heading this way. We need to prepare."

Harry stood, muttering darkly to himself, doing a passable Yosemite Sam impression as he strode toward the bathroom, stripping off layers as he went. I thought I caught a waspish, "As if there isn't enough trouble to deal with already, damn it..."

I watched Harry go until he'd rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. His emotions were a dark, turbulent cloud I could feel, even at a distance, disrupting the calm atmosphere of my home. I'd be happy when we could occupy separate spaces.

"What's he here for, do you know?" I asked. "Who's on Mab's hit list?"

"No clue. We didn't get that far. He'll tell us when he's ready. I think it's safe to say it's not you or me, or we'd be in worse shape." Thomas stood and stretched. "I'm going to fuel up the boat and get her ready to set sail. He said we need to be done before dawn."

I opened my mouth to offer my assistance, but the ring of my cordless phone cut me off. The sharp, unexpected sound made me jump. I wasn't used to phones working in my general vicinity, even the comparatively simple landlines. The Svartalves had assured me it would be in good working condition for as long as I lived here, but until now, no one but Etri called.

"Answer it," Thomas said, giving me a significant look as he crossed to the exit. "It could be your girlfriend."

I pursed my lips. "That's the last lesbian jab you get to make tonight. Any more and I'm going to hit you."

"Don't forget the safe word," he drawled, leaning into the apartment so he could leer at me around the open door.

"Oh, fuck off," I muttered, stalking to the phone. Thomas' chuckle was decadent and sent a shiver down my spine as the door clicked shut behind him. I yanked it from its cradle with enough force to make the casing creek, punched the answer button, and barked a terse, "What do you want?"

"A massage, a good meal, and eight hours of sleep," John Marcone's smooth, cultured voice answered, a note of amusement in his tone. "But I have a feeling that's off the table. I was calling to give you an update."

I let out a shaking breath. The caller wasn't who I'd feared and expected. Lasciel had her means of finding me, regardless of any safeguards I put up. It wouldn't have shocked me to realize she'd managed to dig up my number, even if I wasn't listed in the Yellow Pages.

"Sorry, for snapping. It's been a tough few hours."

"Dresden is being obstreperous, I take it?"

I laughed. "Exceedingly so, but that's nothing new. What's the update? Any good news?"

"It depends on your definition of 'good.' My contacts in Central America tell me that one of Hannah Ascher's aliases has booked a flight to Chicago O'Hare. If all goes well, she should be landing sometime in the afternoon."

My stomach did a nervous flip-flop. Afternoon. She was taking a flight, not one of the Ways, probably using a suppression spell to keep the plane from taking a nosedive over the Southern U.S. More predictable that way, and less likely to sap all her strength battling something nasty from the Nevernever. It gave me a little padding before the real fight began, but even that felt pathetically short.

It really struck me then, what I'd done. Lasciel was coming to Chicago, dragging one of my best friends and her emotional hostage along with her. I'd been deluding myself again. The stakes were still personal, with a friend's life on the line instead of my brother's. I'd already lost one. Could I really stand losing another? I leaned my forehead against the cool wall, trying to ease a budding headache.

"Are you still there?" Marcone asked.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I'm here."

"Welcome news or no?"

I swallowed thickly and told the truth for once.

"I don't know, anymore, John. I just don't freaking know."

Chapter Text

"So you finally seduced the mob boss?" Bob said, giving my attire an appreciative once-over. He somehow managed to convey the sense he was smirking at me, even with a woeful lack of lip action. I'd never understand how he managed that.

The jeans were leftover from a previous tangle with Thomas and stored in one of the overhead compartments in case of emergency. And a good thing too, or I'd have been walking the streets of Chicago in a loose-fitting men's dress shirt and boxer shorts. I was just grateful for the opportunity to stop at my apartment. Lord only knew what enthusiastically lewd adjectives Bob would have lobbed at me if I'd strutted around the deck without a bra. I crossed my arms over my chest and shot the skull a poisonous look.

"Sorry to disappoint, Bob, but I'm not sleeping with him. I fell into the lake and needed new clothes. This was what was on hand. Besides, how the hell would you know it's his shirt, not Thomas'?"

"Raith has a longer inseam," Bob said without missing a beat. "And he buys local. That's Italian-made. Slim cut, a sharper angle to the collar, and higher armhole and back darts for a cleaner fit. For someone who has oodles of cash, the vampire shops like one of the nouveau riche."

I heard that!" Thomas called from his position at the bow.

"So if you're not doing the mob boss, did you at least take that scrumptious little thing up on her offer of a threesome? She came over to Harry's once, dressed in only a bow. It was covering all the good bits though. Did you get full frontal? I need details, Hot Stuff."

Harry leaned away from the railing, giving his brother a dirty look. They'd been deep in conversation about Maggie a moment ago. I'd tried not to listen in. It wasn't really my business, and the less I knew about Harry's daughter the better. It wasn't that I resented her. I didn't go in for that 'sins of the father' thing. She was innocent. It was for her safety. I couldn't divulge details I wasn't privy to if I was captured by the Fomor or strongarmed into taking Lasciel's coin again. Bob's comment successfully diverted his attention away from the intense, stomach-knotting conversation.

"With Molly? Again? Seriously, man. Charity is going to kill you. Aren't Justine and her playmate enough for any one man?"

"Playmates, plural," Thomas corrected mildly, eyebrows lifting. "And how do you know about that, exactly?"

Harry shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Ghost me dropped in to check on you before I decided to cross over. Or at least, that's what I thought I was doing. In reality, I just woke up."

Thomas' lips pursed. "And how long were you 'dropping in' for?"

"I left before it went from racy to XXX."

Thomas shook his head, smiling faintly. "Justine has dubbed herself my dietician. You are what you eat, so she brings someone over to balance what I'm feeling. If I'm stressed, she brings over someone laidback. If I'm depressed, she finds someone happy. It's been nice. And I get to have Justine again." His eyes flashed reflective silver for a moment. "Even if it weren't working, I'd still do it, if only to touch her."

Harry glanced back at me once. "And what dietary need does Molly fill?"

"She doesn't," I said, raising my voice to be heard over their conversation and the sound of the engine. "Justine extended an invitation and I turned her down. Thomas and I aren't sleeping together."

"Anymore," Bob added helpfully. "Though there was this one time they fell in a circle, Boss. I can do movies now if you want a replay. One of the better pornos I've ever seen and it was live."

I grinned tightly at the skull and reached for the pack I'd brought for the journey. He made an audible gulping sound when I pulled out a hammer.

"Do it, Bob," I said in a quiet, deadly voice. "I dare you."

"I...ah...on second thought, that one should stay in my private stash, Boss, sorry."

"Good answer," I said, tucking the hammer into a belt loop, rather than returning it to the bag. It wasn't a bad idea to keep the lecherous little creep on his toes. "Besides, I'm like diet soda. Not as tasty as I could be and filled with chemicals that will give you cancer. I don't think I offer much in the way of nutrition."

"Compassion," Thomas said quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Compassion," Thomas repeated. "You bleed with it. All the pain, it comes from too much empathy. It's not a toxic trait."

"So no threesome?" Bob asked, sounding a little despondent. He probably hoped I'd pity him enough to go Girls Gone Wild and give him a peek under Marcone's dress shirt. Tough luck. He'd had the only free show he was going to get.

"Not with me," I said and thought wistfully of the hammer. Harry needed Bob tonight, or he'd be down below, hidden away from a sleeping Wilde until this entire debacle was over.

"I had one last night," Thomas said. He sounded smug about it, jerk.

"Single guys everywhere hate you," Harry said. "Including me."

"I hate it too," I chimed in. "Those present who are sex rich shouldn't flaunt it in front of the sex poor. Or in Harry's case, the sex destitute."

"Ouch," Harry said, hand flying to his heart in mock pain. "It's the accuracy that really hurts. So you and Marcone aren't...ah...?"

"Not yet. Sometime. When this is all over, maybe. If Dad doesn't find out and ship me to a convent first. Don't tell him. The last thing we need is a former Knight of the Cross storming Castle Marcone. Lasciel and Hannah will be gunning for him hard enough without Dad in the mix."

"So that's what you're doing?" Thomas asked, the realization beginning to dawn. "Baiting Lasciel?"

"Baiting Hannah, actually. Lasciel can poke, prod, and tempt Hannah into giving up enough of her will to become a puppet, but she can't outright force action without inviting severe backlash. An archangel stepped in the last time she tried completely subverting free will. Besides, Lasciel doesn't operate that way. She'd much rather have Hannah in the driver's seat with most of her faculties intact. The Fallen can exert more influence over the world when they have a willing mortal partner. I was close to Hannah, which means I unfortunately know how to manipulate her. She's only human."

"So are you," Harry pointed out. "And you have too much magical empathy. This will hurt Hannah. Can you handle that?"

I turned away from him, pacing to the other side of the deck. I didn't have a good answer to the question. The God's honest truth was that I just didn't know. With this much at stake, I wanted to believe I could commit to the bit, even if it hurt Hannah. She was one person in the face of millions. Of course, she'd been my person for years, a constant friendly presence during one of the worst times of my life.

"Or maybe Lasciel finds a workaround. You said she had an extra coin. She tells Hannah to take that one and aims for her own threesome. She could tempt Marcone. Get into him, and use that relationship to seduce you."

That thought hadn't occurred to me, but it made a sick amount of sense. Marcone was exactly the sort of person Lasciel would appreciate if he weren't an obstacle standing in her way. If she didn't have to remove him, she wouldn't. Why not turn him? Sneak quietly into his head while I was none the wiser and wind herself inexorably into my life again until I no longer felt like I could live without her. I'd meant what I said. She could share, insomuch as she was involved. I'd been coming at the problem assuming she wanted to be in me if that happened. I hadn't thought of it from the other perspective. Put that way it was kind of scary. Marcone was smart, charismatic, and ruthless without a coin. With Lasciel in his back pocket augmenting every trait he would be...unstoppable wasn't quite right, but it was damn close.

And, though I was ashamed to admit it, the idea was appealing for just a second. Being able to touch and interact with Lasciel without actually sullying my hands with her coin sounded like an incredible loophole. The sex would probably be extraordinary too. God, I missed sex. But it wouldn't end there. She wouldn't stop. Someday, somehow, I'd end up playing into her hands. She'd have me, and I couldn't let her.

I glanced at Thomas. His expression was pensive and a little sad. He knew, or at least suspected what I'd been considering. I ducked my chin, shamefaced.

"I'll burn that bridge when I come to it," I muttered.

A half-hour later, the Water Beetle drifted slowly into the dock, tapping the side gently. Harry and Thomas had lined the outer boards with phosphorescent paint, saving me from a second dip in Lake Michigan as I clambered out. Harry came next, and Thomas brought up the rear, strapping on weapons as he went. He'd hung a disproportionally large Desert Eagle on his gun belt alongside a bolo-style machete. Harry eyed the gun wistfully.

"Need a piece? I've got more," Thomas offered.

"If you're feeling generous."

Thomas nodded, slipped back aboard, and came back with a Winchester repeating rifle. It was heavy, with wood fixtures and shiny brass housing. Harry took it cautiously.

"What is this, a Western? Am I Clint Eastwood now? I didn't volunteer to play the lead in a Spaghetti Western."

"Well we know for damn sure Molly isn't ugly, and we all know I'm too pretty to fit that role in the title. Which means Molly and I have to argue over who's the good and the bad of our little trio. We don't have time for that kind of debate. Do you want it or not?"

"I think I should be insulted. My brother just called me homely." Harry took the rifle. "Rounds?"

"Traditional, forty-five Colt." Thomas tossed Harry the ammo belt that went with the rifle. Harry caught it and put it on, relaxing a little as he did.

"Cool."

"I originally got it for Molly. Lever action. Less likely to foul up around a wizard."

I snorted. "That thing would break my shoulder if I tried to use it. I prefer blades. Those don't jam ever."

Thomas shrugged. "I'm mostly giving it to him so he'll feel better. He was looking a little pathetic."

"Oh fuck you," Harry said, hoisting the rifle up onto one shoulder, slinging the messenger bag containing Bob the skull up on the other.

Harry stepped off the dock a minute later and paused, drinking in the ominous aura of the island. It flowed right around him, not touching his mind. The pressure was already pounding in my temples, sending little panicked jolts to the primitive lizard brain to get out. I ignored it. After Corpsetaker had tried to split my mind like balsa wood, the island's subliminal keep-out sign wasn't as impressive.

"The island is clear, but I'll stay on alert. I'll fire off a round if something leaps out at me."

"Should you really be going out there alone?" Thomas asked.

"I think he has to," I said, crouching to touch the seam where the dock met the island proper. The feedback was instantaneous and vile. I felt every writhing worm in the soil, every swarm of fire ants, the strike of snakes, and stinging insects all in one blast of hostile sensation. I yanked my fingers back with a hiss. "Yes, it definitely wants him alone. We won't like what happens if we step off the dock."

Me especially. The island remembered and didn't like me. If I trespassed tonight, I'd get what I deserved.

"I'll be careful," Harry promised before striding onto the island.

He moved swiftly through the undergrowth, disappearing from sight a moment later. We watched him go in uneasy silence. Thomas broke it first.

"Now what?"

"Now," I said, plopping down onto the dock, watching the swaying treeline for signs of his return. "We wait."

Chapter Text

Harry didn't emerge again until the sun threatened to crest over the horizon. When we finally spotted him he was moving down the hill at a run. Thomas rose to his feet in one fluid motion, hand coming to rest on the grip of his Desert Eagle, scanning the treeline for threats. I couldn't sense anything but the keen, almost violent edge of the island's awareness nearby, but that wasn't to say there wasn't anything loping after Harry. The blanket of unease the island projected could be shielding something subtle from me and I'd be none the wiser until it climbed over the boat's railing to bite me on the ass.

The boards of the Whatsup Dock rattled as Harry pounded down them, never breaking stride. He made a shoving-off motion and shouted, "Let's get this thing moving!"

"What did you find out?" Thomas called.

Harry reached the Water Beetle in seconds and vaulted the railing in one swift motion. It was admittedly impressive, given how gangly he was. Powerful he might be, but grace was never a word I would have applied to Harry before now. I had just a brief sense of him at that moment, something cold, slithering, and serpentine moving in a glide of liquid muscle beneath his own power. The mantle of Winter, I suppose. It made me recoil, rubbing absently at my arms as he landed with a thunk. Just brushing across the well of power Mab had bestowed on him made painful prickles run over the tips of my fingers as if they'd frozen and were only just getting feeling back. I edged away from him a few steps, and he didn't miss the movement. Thankfully, neither he nor Thomas commented.

"Something is going to hit the island soon and that will trigger the explosion Molly has felt building. I need to find whoever is planning to lob the strike and stop them before they can do it. Oh, and I have to pencil in whacking the Winter Lady into my plans at some point. That's who Mab sent me after. And there's whoever sent Captain Hook and his buddies to deal with, so there's that."

I tried to swallow and suck in air at the same time and ended up choking on my own spit. Maeve? Mab wanted to off Maeve? Why? And for that matter, how? I'd lived with faeries long enough to learn certain things about them. They could be killed but the figureheads of both Courts would manifest again after a while. Trying to end them was an exercise in futility. Harry could blast Maeve into chunks, but she'd be back eventually and pissed off to boot. What did Mab aim to accomplish by setting her new dog on her own daughter? I'd never pegged her as the maternal type, but this was so nonsensical and counterproductive that it boggled the mind.

"Say that again?" Thomas said, thumping me hard on the back. I managed to suck in a deep breath, wincing at the burn in the back of my throat.

"Captain Hook and his buddies had my freaking number back there. I need to find who sent them before they strike again. The Mantle doesn't do so well with metal and I can't afford to be defenseless at a time like this."

Thomas lean forward and casually swatted the back of his brother's head. Even the lightest of his attentions made a satisfying 'thwack' when skin met skin. Harry rocked forward a step and tensed, holding himself in check before turning a dirty look on his brother.

"What was that for?"

"Stop being a smartass. Back up to the part about Maeve. Mab wants you to kill her?"

"Yep."

"Why? And how? Is it even possible?" Thomas asked.

"Apparently tonight is the only shot I'll get to make it stick. It also is the time frame I have to keep the island from going boom."

Thomas thought about that for a second. "So, same old, same old?"

Harry's lips curled into a wry grin. "Pretty much. It's nice that some things remain consistent."

The conversation devolved into gentle ribbing after that, the tension of Winter's mantle easing when they fell into the familiar pattern. I caught him casting glances in my direction every so often, trying to be covert about it. He shouldn't have bothered. Even if I hadn't seen him do it, I would have felt his attention shift. Guilt and shame warred with the more primal desires of Winter every time he laid eyes on me. I leaned against the railing, watching the sun rise over the horizon, rippling gold light cresting every wave that slapped against the Water Beetle's hull as we sped back toward Chicago.

I tensed when he took up a position on the railing beside me. He wasn't looking at me. Words queued up behind his teeth, but his tongue tangled every time he tried to speak. Eventually, I took pity on him and muttered; "We don't have to do this now."

Harry's breath came out on a sigh. "Maybe, but if we fail to stop the island from popping off, we might never get the opportunity. There's no time like the present. I saw things when I was ghostly. Things no one bothered to tell me. I know what happened at the dam."

My back stiffened and it took real effort not to let images of that day roll through my mind, shattering my concentration. I relieved it enough in nightmares. I didn't need to suffer flashbacks of it while I was awake. Even knowing Daniel was in the Between, existing in some form or the other, didn't ease the guilt. I'd killed my brother. I'd stolen him from my family. We'd never see him again on this side of forever. And it had been Harry's fault as much as mine.

"And I saw what you did before Chichen Itza," I said coolly. "So I guess we're even on the spying front."

Harry waffled for a moment before scooting closer, raising an arm as though he'd wrap it around my waist. The look I gave him froze him mid-motion and he let it fall after a second, tearing his gaze away from mine.

"If I'd known what would happen I wouldn't have..."

"You would have," I said, cutting the feeble lie off mid-sentence. "Let's not kid ourselves. You would have done pretty much anything for Maggie. I get that. You were damn near suicidal and out of options. I get that too. I've been there. I've done bad things. You did a terrible thing, Harry. Just leave it at that."

"But it should have been me who dealt with it."

I snorted, a sound too dry to really convey laughter. "You mean pull an Ol' Yeller on my brother? He's my dog, I'll do it?"

Harry flinched away from the scorn in my voice. His hands had formed white-knuckled claws on the railing. It was beginning to dent under his grip. If he wasn't careful, he'd rip through and go toppling into Lake Michigan. At the moment, that sounded like the least he deserved. But things were dire enough without adding a rift between my so-called allies.

I held up a hand before he could open his mouth and say something tart in reply. He gave me a nasty look but let me speak.

"Truce."

"Truce?" he echoed.

"We'll bury the hatchet for twenty-four hours. Neither of us brings up Daniel. We act like civilized people who can work together to avert disaster. With the odds we're up against, we don't need to be fighting amongst ourselves. If we live to see tomorrow we can unbury it and swing at each other. Until then, we just drop it. Sound good?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. We'll do that."

A second later, his head whipped around, staring at a point far behind us. What I'd mistaken for a chill rising off the waves was coming closer, solidifying into something more ominous, like the silent glide of an iceberg through the water. Faerie magic. A burst of concentrated malice drew my attention to the northeast and I lunged for Harry. After fighting the Fomor for over a year, it was practically muscle memory to flatten him to the deck shouting a hurried, "Down!"

Something that sounded like a hornet zipped over our heads a split-second later, skimming the rail in a shower of sparks. It ricocheted, flitting harmlessly out over the water, instead of impacting any of us. It was followed by several more, which cleared the railing and lodged into the walls near us. I flattened myself further to the ground, heart hammering.

Someone was shooting at us.

Chapter Text

The door to the cabin swung open and Wilde army-crawled onto the deck. Her clothes were rumpled from sleep and she'd lost her hat sometime between the fight on the docks and now. The blowback from our speedy passage threw her hair away from her face, revealing ears that came to a rather horse-like point. I supposed that made sense, given what her father had been. Changelings tended to take after their fae parent in at least one respect. It looked like she had a few equine features she wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"Who's shooting at us?" she asked, eyes showing white. It only added to the horse-like impression.

"I don't know," I said, glancing over at Harry. He was rubbing his nose but looked otherwise unharmed. "Any guesses?"

Thomas reached down to a compartment below the controls and came out with a brass telescope. It looked like a genuine article, not one of the cheap plastic toys that you found in gift shops. He tossed it toward us. Harry caught it before it could tumble to the deck and examined it with a frown.

"Seriously?"

"Just try to find the damn shooter before they plug one of us."

Harry rose onto his knees, propping the telescope on one of the rails, squinting at something in the distance. Bullets continued to whiz past, most of them going wide. Occasionally our pursuer would get lucky and a slug would hit the side of the Water Beetle with a sound like a major league pitch cracking against a bat. The shots were getting closer, and if I strained to hear over the wind, waves, and Wilde's panicked breathing, I could make out the mechanical whir of an engine approaching fast. Maybe more than one of them.

"We've got a problem," Harry said, lowering the telescope. His mouth had mashed into a thin, determined line.

"Friends of yours?" Thomas quipped.

"It's the Redcap and some of his Sidhe buddies on jet skis. He's a pretty famous figure in Winter. Ambushes travelers and dyes his cap in their blood. He got the drop on me at my birthday party and tried to punch my ticket. I guess he's back for round two."

"Oh God," Wilde whispered. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

Wilde's fingers were digging into the deck as though she was contemplating digging straight through the deck and into the quarters below. She was definitely regretting her choice to investigate what was going on. Claws kept sheathing and unsheathing themselves from her nail beds as she contemplated shifting down into her kitten form. I had to wonder why Fix and Lily had sent her if she was this unreliable in a crisis.

Harry measured the distance between the Water Beetle and the oncoming Sidhe, chewing his lower lip absently as he thought. Finally, he called to Thomas, who was giving the engine all it had. The faeries were still gaining.

"Do you think you could switch with me and pick them off from here?"

"If we continue going straight, maybe," Thomas shouted back.

Another round came in at an angle, punching a hole through a wall near us. The Redcap's aim was improving as he got closer. I heard Harry's dry swallow, even over the roar of the oncoming engines. He eyed the hole and said, "Uh...let me think of a Plan B."

"I could veil the boat," I suggested.

"Kind of pointless if you can't cover the wake too."

He was right, of course. It would be a huge pain to veil an object the size of the Water Beetle for long, even on land. With the waters of Lake Michigan sucking away the power I could feed to any given spell, I only gave it a few minutes before the effort sapped my reserves. After that was done, I was a sitting duck unless the Sidhe decided to get up close and personal with their vengeance. Melee works best when your opponent is within arm's reach. And none of those calculations took the wake into account. All the faeries would have to do is follow the churning water and use their best judgment on when and where to shoot. We needed a better plan, and I was fresh out of ideas.

"Okay, what's your suggestion then?"

"Mist," he said. "A lot of it. Give me everything you can. We need to get them in range."

It took me a second to get it. Mist. We needed them in magical or weapons range, and they weren't stupid enough to oblige us. If we wanted them closer, we'd have to make damn sure they couldn't judge the distance. I gave him a tight nod and closed my eyes, fixing the spell in my mind, drawing up my will as Harry gave Thomas and Wilde instructions. My hands moved in a weaving gesture, as I took in what ambient magic I could and formed thick knots of opaque vapor. It wasn't exactly pretty or complex, but it did the job, pouring over the sides of the Water Beetle to settle over the waters of Lake Michigan. It wasn't a lot at first. I'd done a lot of heavy lifting today and was physically and mentally wiped out by Pax and Fortnea's growth spurt. The confines of my head felt like one throbbing contusion, but I didn't have a choice. It was fight or die and more than just my life was at stake.

Eventually, there was a wall of white mist blanketing the area for almost a mile around. I was huffing like a steam engine at the effort it took to keep the spell in place. It was a lot like trying to hold an ice cube in one hand in the middle of a blistering Chicago summer. Every time I tried to grasp it the power leaked between my fingers, dripping impotently back into the air around us. It seemed to be working, though. After a minute, the shots slowed and then stopped altogether.

Harry glanced over at me, giving me a once-over. I must have looked worse than I felt because he winced and called to Thomas, rather than asking me for anything more. Good. If he'd tried to ask me for more mist, I probably would have told him exactly where he could shove it.

"Throttle down. Let them get close and then gun it. Molly, drop the mist at my signal. Wilde, you're with me. Do what you can."

Wilde whimpered in reply and I grunted something unintelligible. I hoped it was something that conveyed my assent, not an insult about his late mother's character but I couldn't have guaranteed anything. Every muscle in my body was quivering like a plucked harpstring as the roar of the jet skis grew closer. By the time they'd almost come level with us, sweat was pouring in rivulets down my back and my ears were beginning to ring faintly.

"Now!" Harry called.

I released the illusion with a groan and the mist disappeared as though it had never been. Harry rose to his feet in the same instant, gathering his will before lobbing magic out over the railing with a roar of, "Hexus!"

Technology doesn't get along with wizards at the best of times. Marcone had a special medical setup for me at one of his mob-owned clinics specifically for that reason. I'd still managed to foul the old-school medical equipment twice in the last year, much to his annoyance. It was probably a pain to order supplies from museums or collectors in order to replace what I busted. When wizards are trying to wreck tech, anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Explosively.

I rose onto my knees just in time to watch the Redcap's jet ski suffer catastrophic engine failure. There was a sound of twisting metal and the controls jerked out of the Redcap's hands. The next wave to hit the jet ski's front tugged the nose down, flinging him off at speed. He skimmed over the waves for just a second, like a badly cast stone, and then disappeared under the water. The rest of the Sidhe were swerving wildly to avoid crunching like bugs against the Water Beetle's hull. I aimed a shaking hand and the nearest and hissed, "Hexus!" as well.

It wasn't as impressive as Harry's spell. I'd never had the raw firepower Harry possessed, and I was running on fumes at the moment. Still, a female Sidhe's jet ski made a horrible grinding sound and a cloud of black smoke began rising from its engine. The roar cut off to a labored rattle and it coasted to a stop behind us, shrinking in size rapidly as Thomas gunned the engine toward shore. Another fishtailed and began going in small circles, trapping the Sidhe in one spot.

At the same time, Wilde climbed to her feet, took a few running steps, and then threw herself over the railing. Black specs were floating in my line of vision, so I wasn't sure I'd seen right. But when I blinked, she was plunging toward shore. Halfway down her body twisted, shrinking down into something smaller. Feathers extruded from her skin and in moments she'd transformed from a young woman into a bird of prey. The remaining Sidhe had decided that caution was the better part of valor and were moving away from us, lest their engines be hexed into uselessness.

It wasn't enough for Wilde, apparently. She dove for the closest, talons extended. I couldn't see exactly what happened next, but the burst of scarlet and a shriek with the same ear-rending quality as a bandsaw convinced me it hadn't been good. I wanted to pull myself up, knuckle the growing black spots from my eyes, and help her, but I couldn't force my legs to move. My willpower turned to mush every time I tried to force myself to move, and I slumped to the deck instead. It felt deceptively soft at that moment.

My eyes slid closed without my permission. The last thing I heard before I passed out was another faerie scream and a raptor's brassy, triumphant cry.

Chapter Text

The sudden halt of an engine jarred me awake. The aroma of the seats was familiar, a combination of Thomas' scent, professional cleaning chemicals, and an undercurrent of sex that no professional could ever hope to scrub out completely. There was a hint of it on almost everything Thomas owned, the lusts of every victim he'd taken seeping into walls, clothing, and upholstery like cigarette smoke. I doubted there was a surface in his home he hadn't christened at some point. I hadn't stuck around long enough to do a thorough inspection, though. Anytime we tangled I skulked away, performing the standard walk of shame.

When I lifted my head I found Wilde curled in my arms, her velvet soft fur tickling the skin of my throat. Patches of it were missing after her fight with the Sidhe on Lake Michigan. I had to assume she'd won against her opponent, or she wouldn't be here. She stirred fitfully when I rose onto my elbows and peered over the center console of the Hummer. Thomas had come to a stop in a parking space across from an apartment building in the Loop and was glancing in his rearview mirror, expression solemn. Harry mirrored his posture, at attention but not coiled to spring at anything just yet.

"Harry," Thomas said, never tearing his gaze away from the mirror.

"It's Fix," Harry responded, voice low.

"Who do you think he's here for? You or Molly? He had a chat with her earlier."

"Me," Harry said. "As far as I know, she doesn't have any direct quarrel with Summer. Fix is my opposite number. Odds are good he has a bone to pick with me."

That clinched things. They both rolled out of the Hummer in military synchronization, getting clear of the car as quickly as they could. The consideration was for me. Fix was a mortal underneath the power of his mantle. He'd probably be wielding at least one gun. I was an easy target in the back of the Hummer. It would have been touching if I weren't so damn annoyed. The more I learned, the less sense things made. If he'd been on the level in the coffee shop, why throw down with Harry now? We had bigger things to worry about than a tiff between Winter and Summer. Hell, Harry's target wasn't even in Summer. The best thing he could do was kick back and watch Harry take a swing at an immortal and get his ass kicked as a result.

I drew up a veil, unbelting myself before I crawled into the front seat, waiting for the opportunity to step in if needed. As far as I knew, Fix remained ignorant to my presence here. I was armed, and his attention was on Harry. I didn't relish the thought of popping him in the back, but I'd do it if he hurt Thomas or tried to kill Harry. I doubted the shot would do him in immediately anyway.

Fix looked much the same as he had earlier, if not a little more rumpled. He hadn't had an opportunity to change his clothes. He stood casually, arms at his side, hands near his weapons, ready to fight if Harry made a move toward him. Thomas and Harry had spread out, forming a loose triangle with Fix at the tip.

"So it's true," Fix said quietly. "You really are the Winter Knight. We'd hoped it was a deception on Winter's part. The man we knew wouldn't serve a creature like Mab."

"I had my reasons," Harry said.

Fix gave Harry a clinical once over and nodded as if just the sight of him had confirmed something. "You're here under orders."

"Could be," Harry said.

"She's sent you to kill someone."

Harry's gaze hardened. "That isn't really your business."

"Like hell it isn't," Fix shot back. "The entire purpose of your role is to kill people Mab can't or doesn't want to kill directly."

"I think your house is a little too fragile to be chucking stones in, Fix. Your job is the same as mine."

"Hardly," Fix said, his expression screwing up in disgust. "The Summer Knight's job isn't to do Titania's killing."

"Oh yeah? What is it then?"

"To stop you," Fix said, and the words sounded weary. Beneath the calm he'd gathered for battle was flickering uncertainty. He wasn't sure if he could beat Harry. "Not even Mab should get to play God, Harry. So when she sends you out to hurt people, someone gets in the way. That's me."

Harry fell silent, expression troubled. Thomas shifted one step closer to Fix. Fix tracked the movement in his periphery, angling himself ever-so-slightly against Thomas.

"Want me to run him off?" Thomas asked.

"Try it, vampire," Fix said coolly.

Harry scrubbed his face in exhaustion. "Oh for the love of...Fix, can we stop the posturing? I'm not going to fight you."

He frowned. "I think that remains to be seen."

"Thomas, get back in the truck."

Thomas' gaze flicked back to Harry's face, startled. "What?"

"I want to talk to Fix and it'll go better if he has one less gun in the fight to worry about."

Thomas grunted. "He could shoot you when I'm clear. Hard to protect you when there's steel and safety glass in the way."

"If he does, you can jump out and kick his ass six ways to Sunday." Harry paused, giving Fix a level look. "But he won't."

"Harry," Thomas said warningly.

"I know him. He's not going to shoot me the second you turn around."

Thomas grumbled something unintelligible. I wasn't entirely sure it was English. He jerked the door to the Hummer open, and I seized on my opportunity. Thomas stiffened for a fraction of a second when I brushed past him, but otherwise didn't indicate anything was wrong. He gave me an extra second to get clear before slamming the door behind him.

Fix checked his surroundings quickly, expecting some sort of ambush. He was right to scan the lot. The open space left a lot of avenues for attack. I took up a position behind Fix, peering out from behind a Volvo to watch the confrontation play out. It felt better to have a hunk of metal between my body and Fix if magic started flying. Harry leaned his weight into the Hummer.

"Fix. Look, I've been doing this job for less than a day now. I don't have an insidious plot, and my maniacal laugh still needs work. I'm not a card-carrying member of the Legion of Doom. Yet."

Fix crossed his arms. "I can't be too careful, Harry. You saw Lloyd Slate. He was a real monster, man."

"I know."

"No, you don't," Fix said, putting a lot of emphasis on the last word. "Because you've never been helpless. You've always had power. You didn't have to go through what we went through."

"I've been helpless against things before. I get it."

Fix gave Harry a small, humorless smile. "You were dangerous enough without the mantle. With it, you can make Slate look like a pushover. And Mab has had you for what? A year now? More? Forgive me if I don't want to take chances."

"So what then? We throw down here? Get innocent people hurt? Look around. There are a lot of mortals nearby."

Fix cast a guilty glance at the apartments. He'd seen Harry fight and could probably guess that an application of force could send him hurtling through one of the walls. Toss someone into enough supporting walls, and the whole building might collapse. Again, there was the soft flicker of doubt, banished soon after by steely resolve. Fix would fight if it came down to it. The question was, why? Why waste time on this when there was a real problem looming like a huge mushroom cloud on the horizon? Were Court politics really so petty that Titania would have sent him here? Now?

Fix looked away after a moment. Then he said, "I hate this kind of crap."

Harry's chuckle was bleak. "Me too."

Fix's lips twitched, but he didn't exactly smile.

"I want to believe you," he said. Then he took a steadying breath and faced Harry. "But there are people depending on me to keep them safe. I can't afford to let you wander loose."

Harry stood, hand resting lightly on the grip of the rifle. "Fix, I don't want this fight."

"And you'll get a chance to avoid it," he said. "I'm going to give you until noon to get out of town, Harry. If I see you after that, I'm not going to spend any more time talking, and I'm not going to challenge you to a fair fight. If you're really serious about being your own man, if you really want to keep the peace between us-you'll go."

"I don't think I can," Harry said.

"Yeah, I didn't think you could."

Then they exchanged a nod. Fix moved back to his SUV, never taking his eyes off Harry. A minute later he'd backed out of the lot and pulled onto the street, disappearing into Chicago traffic. I flickered into visibility when I was sure he was gone and there were no more eyes on us. Harry jumped.

"How long have you been crouching there?"

"Since Thomas climbed back into the Hummer. I woke up when you stopped. I thought you might need extra help. What was that about?"

"No clue," he muttered.

"Thanks," I said.

He eyed me. "For what?"

"Not escalating things. I stayed with him and Lily for years. He protected me. I learned a lot from him and he was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend in Summer. Feeling him get hurt or killed would have been..." I swallowed thickly. "Hard. Not as hard as some of the things I've done since, but still something I wanted to avoid. I was glad I didn't have to jump in and stab him in the back, metaphorically."

Harry's expression softened with pity. I cut my gaze away. I hadn't said Daniel's name directly, but we both knew what I'd been talking about. I hadn't violated our truce, technically. I'd made a lot of difficult decisions in his absence. He couldn't be sure exactly which one I was referring to.

"Thomas said you talked to him earlier. What did he say, exactly?"

"I'll tell you when we get inside. This place is too open. All I can tell you now is that there's something hinky about this. I'm not sure if he was trying to get me out of the way for my safety or if one of the Queens really doesn't want me pairing up with you. Either way, it's suspicious as hell."

He nodded. "Right. Inside then. I've got some calls to make."

Chapter Text

Shape changes take it out of you. I'd done some fairly complex magical maneuvers in my day, but I'd never shifted shape without help from Lasciel. The energy it took to open a small way into the Nevernever, scoop out or extrude enough mass to get to the desired shape, and actually fight in it was enormous. It wasn't shocking that Wilde had spent almost equal time on her back, snoring, as she had helped me. She wasn't a full faerie, so her sources of magical energy were roughly the same as any practitioner.

So while Harry was growling orders into Thomas' landline, I sat at his kitchen table, watching in amusement as Wilde slurped up the remnants of Thomas' lo mein. The contents of Thomas' fridge were about to take heavy casualties. Thankfully, none of it took much time to prepare, so I could heat up another container of leftovers when she finished with the two-day-old Chinese food. My own stomach was putting up an audible protest, but I decided her need was greater than mine. I had a feeling she'd be doing more shifting before this mission was over. It had been that kind of a day.

Thomas was lounging on a chair that looked more fashionable than it was comfortable. I didn't have cause to know. I'd only ever made use of the bed. And the shower once, I amended with a shiver. I'd made it a point to avoid my friends' homes as much as possible while I was on the streets. The enemies I'd made would relish the chance to hurt them, just to get at me. He was watching Wilde as well, his gaze flat and assessing. He didn't trust her. Neither did I, but I'd take her help until she gave me a reason not to.

"Don't give me excuses," Harry barked into the phone. "He can get here if he damned well wants to and we both know it. Call me back at this number."

Harry slammed the phone back into the receiver, scowling ferociously. I understood the impatience but felt a moment of disquiet nonetheless. Harry had never exactly been zen, but his emotions were cycling faster and more unpredictably than I was used to. Winter hadn't twisted him into something I didn't recognize but it did make his thoughts and emotions louder, as if he was feeding them to me over a megaphone. If I didn't keep a mental barrier up between us, it actually hurt to stand too near him.

"Tact might get you farther," Thomas noted. He pulled one of the throw pillows from behind his back thoughtfully, balanced it in one hand, and then tossed it at his brother. Harry batted it away absently, still frowning.

"Politeness will get you nowhere with these people," Harry insisted. "Now, how many bugs does Lara have on this place?"

"Harry," Thomas said, hand flying to his chest in mock outrage. "We're blood. My own dear sister would never stoop to such a thing."

Harry's brow lifted and his expression remained unamused. "How many?"

Thomas shrugged, lowering his voice. "It depends. Sometimes new ones get placed when I'm not home."

Harry nodded to himself, then reached past Wilde's shoulder to seize the pepper shaker off the table. She barely reacted, except to shift the food away from his grasp, as though she were expecting him to lick the remains of the sauce from the plate. Harry paced back to the phone, unplugged it, and then made a rough circle around the landline.

"Are you set for cash?" he asked Thomas.

Thomas nodded. "Lara takes care of the members of the house."

"Good," Harry said. Then he made a gesture and let out a measure of will muttering, "Hexus."

Every piece of technology within fifty feet winked out in the same instant. Lightbulbs popped, their filaments pulsing like the last beat of a heart before dwindling to nothing. The flatscreen TV on Thomas' wall started smoking, and sparks leaped from a few other appliances around the apartment. Thomas groaned but didn't complain. I was on my feet before Harry could ask.

"I know where the candles are. Give me a second. Then I can walk the apartment looking for anything subtler than the bugs."

Candles weren't technically allowed in the apartments unless you were using a warmer instead of the wick. Most people I knew kept candles anyway, in case of storms. Thomas kept them around for romantic evenings with Justine and sordid romps with Chicago's only warlock. I walked through the apartment, setting out fat, white department store candles at regular intervals, extending my awareness to sweep for any listening spells. If there was anything, it was too subtle for me to find. Which was to say that there was virtually no chance it actually existed. When I rejoined the others, Harry and Thomas were mid-argument.

"...red flag that Lara's team will be listening for?"

Harry flicked a glance at me. "Anything?"

"Not that I can find."

Harry turned back to Thomas. "I needed to be sure the bugs were gone and there were no listening spells. Intruders couldn't make one of those stick, and I'm fairly sure Molly hasn't laid anything down in here."

"I haven't."

"So Lara's team heard exactly what I wanted them to hear," Harry concluded. "When they try to follow up on it, my contact will twig to how they operate."

"So it was a payment," Thomas said. "At Lara's expense."

Harry waved a hand. "It's business. She'll understand."

Thomas grumbled something unintelligible but his slight nod conceded the point.

Harry paused for a second. "No one make any sudden moves. Something might happen and I don't want to provoke the new arrival." Then he raised his voice and called, "Cat Sith!"

Wilde reacted like someone had pressed a cattle prod against her spine and turned up the voltage. Her entire body jerked in about a dozen different directions independently trying to decide where was the best place to hide. The sudden violent shift toppled her chair, spilling her ass-first onto the kitchen floor. She scuttled backward until her back hit the cabinets. Her eyes looked whiter than usual in the dimness of the apartment.

"You're bringing that thing here?" she hissed. "Do you have any idea how vicious it is?"

There was a whisper of sound and a new presence entered my awareness. It was...well, it was like a razor blade if the inanimate steel could somehow convey that it was hungry and wanted to slice open your flesh to get at the blood beneath. My mouth suddenly tasted like copper and meat. The thing's aura touched me like fur brushed the wrong way. I performed my own little spasm as my skin tried to escape without the rest of me, prickling with gooseflesh in instinctive revulsion. I did not want to go near whatever had just slipped into the apartment. The conviction became even more solid when the thing spoke from the shadows. It sounded like buckshot and gravel in a blender.

"I am here, Sir Knight. How may I assist you?

"Son of a bitch!" Thomas hissed. "It talks!"

"Ease down. This is Cat Sith. He's been ordered to help."

The speaker slunk toward us, vaguely feline in shape, keeping most of its body in shadows. Only the lamplike eyes were visible from a corner of the room. They were fixed on Harry, full of the contempt and wary amusement of a predator. Wilde let out a whimper that was all but muffled by one of the shirts Thomas had loaned her. The cashmere bagged in places. She didn't have the same lush proportions as Justine and I. She'd stuffed the fabric into her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She cringed away from the feline creature when it spared her a glance.

"How did it cross the threshold like that?" I asked.

"A threshold will only keep the faeries out if they're looking to harm you. If their intentions are benign, they can pretty much come and go. Think of house spirits like brownies in Europe."

Cat Sith made a contemptuous sound in the back of his throat. Being compared to anything as inoffensive as a brownie seemed to piss him off.

"In a few minutes we're going to be leaving," Harry said, ignoring Sith's displeasure. "And I have a feeling we're being tailed. I'd like you to distract anyone who is trying to follow us and report our whereabouts to an outside party."

Sith's tail flicked once and his teeth actually showed. "It would be my pleasure."

"No killing or serious maiming," Harry warned. "For all I know, they're mortal. I don't want you to do anything that could hurt someone permanently."

The glimmer in Sith's eyes dimmed and he made another sound in the back of his throat. Maybe he was about to spit up a hairball on the pristine carpet.

"Think of it as a compliment. Anyone could kill them. What I'm asking is more difficult."

Silence. No hairballs. That was progress at least.

"And then I'd like you to get a message to the Summer Lady," Harry said, ignoring the pointed silence. "Tell her I'd like to meet. Before noon if possible."

"Um, is that wise?" I asked. "The Winter Knight meeting with the Summer Lady? You remember what the last one did to her, right?"

"Correct," Sith said. "You will not be well-received. It would be more prudent to refrain from this foolishness."

"Before noon. Can you do it?"

"Of course. I will do as you've asked. When will you be departing?"

The phone rang. Harry must have broken the circle and plugged it in when I was sweeping the apartment for spells. He strode over to the phone and picked it up.

"Go for Doughnut Boy." He listened for a moment before a grin broke across his face. "Cool. I haven't had a beer in forever."

The person on the other end of the line hung up. Harry replaced the phone in its cradle and said, "Let's go. Sith-"

But that was as far as he got. Cat Sith's aura simply vanished. The air felt cleaner and I could finally swallow without tasting blood. Thomas climbed to his feet, adjusting his weapons. Wilde uncurled from her ball and gave Harry a scathing look that he ignored.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Accorded neutral ground," Harry said.

"Awesome," I said with the first true smile I'd had since this whole mess started. "Wilde ate all of Thomas' leftovers. I'm starving."

Chapter Text

MacAnally's Pub was all but deserted when we descended the stairs to the ground floor. I'd never been inside the pub when it wasn't packed with people. I preferred it that way. Establishments like Mac's had an instinctive feeling of safety and insulation most days. It catered to a small group, almost all of whom were familiar and friendly with each other. The place moved at a languid pace, none of the outside hustle and bustle seeping in to trouble the occupants. I was usually the exception, raising tension when I stepped onto the accorded ground in my full armor. I'd cultivated the reputation of the Black Knight as someone unpredictable and possibly violent.

Thirteen tables of different sizes were spaced around the floor, staggered to provide better feng shui, directing the random outbursts of energy toward places they'd do the least harm. The thirteen columns and ceiling fans served a similar purpose. The place smelled like it had been recently cleaned and I could have probably picked my teeth using my reflection in the gleaming hardwood. I stopped on the last stair, and Wilde crowded into my back, nearly knocking me into the room proper.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I feel..." I paused, frowned, and tried to convey exactly what it was.

The presence waiting for us was simply enormous and thrummed with its own well of power. It was self-contained and exuded an air of comfort and confidence. It wasn't hostile, as far as I could tell, but it was strong like an ancient oak, firmly rooted. I had a sense it was probably even larger and more powerful than I was being allowed to perceive, which was a scary thought all on its own. Creatures that could cut off parts of themselves and present only what they wanted others to see weren't ones I wanted to grapple with. Whatever was down there could turn me inside out, remove my innards, and then hang me like a stocking on the mantle. And it was somehow familiar. I knew I'd encountered something like it before. Or at least a creature that was somehow related.

"Feel what?" she asked.

"It's something...big. And old. I think I've felt it at Castle Marcone once but I couldn't tell you who it belongs to, though. I'd remember meeting something like that face to face."

Thomas glowered at Harry. "Empty Night! You're pitting Lara against his people?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I said, it's business. Lara will understand."

Thomas looked unconvinced. I took the last step and entered the pub. Mac was in his usual position, lean and seemingly ageless as ever. His apron was spotless, despite the food he already had cooking on the grill. He was leaning across the bar, deep in conversation with a man who would have dwarfed everyone but Harry in height if he'd been standing. Six feet and change of solid muscle that strained his charcoal gray suit. It looked expensive and bespoke, like many of Marcone's suits. I wondered if affluent men shopped at the same European stores to be trendy. His hair was the gray of an old battleship, and his beard was trending toward snowy white. An eyepatch covered one of his eyes.

I cursed when the truth really hit home. "Vadderung? Seriously?"

No wonder the presence felt familiar. I'd been sparring with some of his underlings for over a year now. The tenor of the power was similar if greatly diminished from the original. The man leaned away from Mac, head thrown back in a genial laugh at whatever he'd said. He didn't immediately turn to face us. Harry crossed over to him after a moment, sinking down into the chair beside Vadderung while Thomas, Wilde, and I took up a position on the far wall. Thomas was watching the exchange. Wilde kept a careful watch on the door, ready to make a hasty exit and regroup if things went sour. She probably shouldn't have bothered. Throwing down with something in Vadderung's league went a stone's throw beyond suicidal. The consequences would probably follow you into the afterlife if he was pissed enough.

I sat down, pondering the road so far. We still didn't have a clue how to keep the island from going kaboom. Fix had been lying to me or at least not giving me the whole truth. It followed that Wilde was probably a fairweather friend at best. I wasn't sure what Marcone was up to at the moment, but it was probably something underhanded and necessary that would piss me off. And Lasciel was on her way. I couldn't forget that part. From Marcone's estimate, she could be in Chicago soon, if she wasn't already. From there, it was just a matter of time before she tracked me down. Was it sick that I was almost looking forward to seeing her?

Mac brought over three steak sandwiches and glasses of water. Wilde had hers in hand before the plate even touched the table and had taken a large bite before any of us had time to comment on it. Soon she'd be finished and eyeing my plate wistfully. I ate my sandwich slower, not really tasting it. Mac's cooking was excellent, as usual, but I couldn't give the meal the attention and appreciation it deserved. My mind was far away. A headache loomed on the horizon, though the twins were doing their best to behave.

So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that it was hard to keep track of all the relevant facts. I was missing something and I knew it. But the harder I tried to cudgel my brain into supplying answers, the more ardently it resisted. It was almost a relief when Harry raises his head from the quiet conversation with Vaderrung and called over to us.

"Thomas, I need a nickel!"

Thomas straightened with a frown. He'd eaten half his sandwich and handed the rest off to Wilde. "In cash?"

"Yes."

Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets and produced a bundle of credit cards. He fanned them out for Harry's inspection. "Will one of these work?"

"Not plastic. I need a real nickel."

I sighed and reached into the pocket of my armored coat. It wasn't as distinctive as my usual getup and didn't offer as much protection, but it was what I was comfortable wearing in public. The coin purse jingled when I drew it out. I kept the baggie for the rare occasions I needed to use a pay phone to contact others. The need had all but evaporated when I'd gotten my own place, but I kept the coin purse handy anyway. I fished out a nickel and tossed it underhand to Harry. He caught it with a brief smile.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

I returned to my meal, trying to stay in the present, but my mind kept slipping back to the most pressing issue. Lasciel was coming and I still didn't know what approach she'd decide to take. I had to be ready to fight if she decided grabbing me and running was the best course of action. Even with food and a power nap on the way over I wasn't convinced I could put up more than feeble resistance. At least I wasn't alone and half-dead this time around. Maybe she'd think twice before trying to sucker punch me.

Right. And maybe we'd move in together and start a kitten rescue.

A motion in my periphery caught my attention. When I turned toward it I found Vaderrung looking at me, his blue eye intent on my face. He crooked a finger at me, beckoning me forward. A prickle of unease raised the hairs on the back of my neck but I slid off my chair anyway. When a man like Vadderung wanted to talk to you, you went. Sacrificing five minutes of our time was a small price to pay in light of what he might do if he felt insulted. Harry had moved away by the time I reached the bar and I sank into the empty seat, not quite looking at him.

"I thought you were only here to talk with Harry," I said.

Vadderung's lips twitched once. "I've been looking for an opportunity to speak to you for a while. There's no time like the present, especially in the face of what you're set to do."

Mac slid a brown bottle toward me and I twisted the cap off, taking a glug of beer to disguise my unease. "Oh?"

"You are a unique case. I take an interest in rarities. I thought it only fair to offer you a warning. She will not leave Chicago without you."

There was only one 'she' that mattered now. I sipped the beer some more and nodded. "I accepted that as a possibility. How do you know about that? Did Sigrun tell you? Or are you keeping tabs on me?"

"Both," he said simply. "Though it's hardly necessary. An intelligent man could guess what you were going to do based on a pattern of past behavior. Our files say you have a colorful history."

Vadderung had files on me? That was sort of scary. How long had I been on his radar without knowing it? Were the valkyries I associated with feeding personal information back to their boss? I expected that from Sigrun, but it hurt to think Freydis might be informing on me.

"Warning extended. I know she's going to do her level best to catch me. It's a matter of when not if. You're not telling me anything I hadn't already considered."

Vadderung's eye gleamed over the rim of his cup when he sipped the contents. It was eerie, like he could see more of me than I could of him. "It's not yourself you should be concerned about. If you fall back into her control, it is dangerous. It will be catastrophic if she takes your children as well."

I froze in place. My body felt like it had been doused in ice water and my next swallow hurt. He knew. How the hell could he know?

"Did she tell you that too?"

Vaderrung shook his head. "No need. Anyone with enough power and insight will see the creatures for what they are if they are looking hard enough. Most will not be bothered to act on it until they are born. But they are of her essence. She will feel a claim to them. Perhaps even more strongly than she wishes to claim you. It amounts to the same thing at this point."

I sank down in my chair. I felt a little stupid for not considering it. Of course Lasciel would find out about the twins. She was obsessed with me. It was a matter of time before she added two more tallies in the 'kidnap Molly' column of her plans. She might be willing to risk me but there was no way she'd put the lives of two valuable resources on the line.

"And there's nothing I can do to shield them?"

"Nothing you can do, no."

I eyed him. "But there's something you can do?"

He waved his hand airily. "It depends. I don't work for free."

"Want another nickel?" I asked wryly. "I've got about a dozen."

He smiled. "No, child. I already have a nickel."

"Then what do you want?"

He took another sip of his drink. I smelled whiskey in the cup. "I'm always looking for new talent."

I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to work for you?"

He inclined his head. "As your employer, it would behoove me to protect your interests."

"And you'd have a shot at the kids when they're born. Your people have already gone against the Denarians once and almost lost a client. You don't want to give them extra firepower if you can help it. Not when you could take them for yourself."

"True."

"I'm not handing my kids over," I said, folding my arms over my chest.

"For now, I'd simply hire you on as a sub-contractor. You work for Marcone at present, but I can fairly compensate him for the loss. I could even renegotiate terms with him. You could remain in your role. I'd just be charging him for the privilege."

I winced. That wouldn't go over well. But...the offer was tempting. A steady paycheck. Backup when I needed it. The protection of something as big and bad as Vadderung.

"I hear good things about you from Freydis. Remarks on your bravery and resourcefulness. It's the sort of thing I look for in a recruit. She's been looking for an excuse to snatch you away and bring you to my hall during your close calls. I'm not nearly so stringent as the White God. Your afterlife would undoubtedly be better with me when the time came."

A slow grin spread over my face at that. Vadderung looked puzzled. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

"You overplayed your hand, you know. You could have just left it at the benefits on this side of the divide. It might have played out the way you predicted."

"I don't know what you mean," he said smoothly.

"Liar. We both know exactly what you're doing. This is a test. You're trying to see what kind of person I am. If I'm the person who will trade independence for safety. If I was someone who'd stab her employer in the back the second a better opportunity presented itself. If I was willing to do that, that contract would never materialize, let alone some kind of shield for my kids. I know who you are and what your reputation is like. Taking your offer would be cowardly. And cowards don't make it into Valhalla."

Approval glimmered in his eye for a second before he tipped the mug in my direction. "Touche."

"I'm not running," I said in a softer voice. "They're my kids. My responsibility. It was my actions that led them to be here in the first place. I'll deal with their other mom. I might even get lucky and win. And if I don't...well, at least I tried. I'm going out on my terms, not yours or anyone else's. I've earned whatever comes next, good or bad. I'll face up to that too."

His very blue eye actually shone for a second and the fierce joy in his smile almost knocked me backward. He raised a hand and placed it gently on one of my cheeks. Something warm and bracing dropped into my stomach, stronger and more intoxicating than the beer in my hand. My entire body flashed hot before coming down from the extraordinary high.

"Good girl," he said, patting my cheek before letting the hand fall.

"What was that?" I asked, breathless.

"A boon. I gave you a day or two of concealment at most. I can respect the kind of courage it takes to face the Fallen, knowing the fight is hopelessly weighed in your opponent's favor. For your sake and Dresden's, I'll remove one complication from the board. But the next time you face her, you're on your own."

"Uh...thanks."

He laughed. "You may have a place in my hall yet. Gods go with you, Molly Carpenter."

And with that he stood, slid a Benjamin across the table to Mac, and strode toward the door, disappearing from sight a moment later. I watched him go, still buzzing from the spell he'd put in place. My headache was all but gone and the twins were silent. I'd somehow managed to impress Odin.

Hell's freaking bells.

Chapter Text

Wilde was peering quizzically up the stairs toward the door when I returned to our table. Thomas and Harry were deep in conversation, but Mac's gaze was pointed in the same general direction as Wilde's. He'd bunched a dish towel into a ball in one fist. Alarm bells started going off in my head and I took a few steps forward, squinting to make out what might be lurking outside the door. Fog plumed against the glass, too thick to give me even the general shape of the street beyond, much less an enemy lurking nearby.

"Uh, Harry," I began. "You might want to take a look at this."

Harry and Thomas leaned around the corner of the stairwell, looking as bemused as I felt. They exchanged a glance before Thomas said, "That wasn't there this morning, was it? It would have been colder if we'd had fog."

"No," Harry agreed. "There wasn't."

Thomas drew his Desert Eagle from beneath his coat, holding it loosely, ready to raise it and fire if necessary. We'd all performed similar gestures without really thinking about it. Wilde's hands curled into literal claws at her side and she moved to one side of the stairwell, positioned ideally to leap on an intruder's back. I had shimmied the rune-laden strap I used to shield onto one hand and had my wands out before consciously deciding to draw down. I had a piece on me too but didn't relish the thought of firing in this enclosed space. Richochets happened, and one of us could get hurt. Worse, a rogue shot could hit an innocent bystander. Even Mac had tensed up, drawing a pistol-grip shotgun from beneath the bar, setting it within easy reach.

"This is neutral ground," Thomas muttered. "Someone would have to be crazy to storm this place. Mab would rip the ballsack from anyone who tried and hang them next to the fuzzy dice in her car just for trying it."

That colorful visual almost made me giggle. Mab didn't strike me as the fuzzy pink dice type. The scrotum ripping? Well, that was more in character. She'd probably have a necklace of excised teeth to go right along with the dangly bits.

"Fomor?" Harry guessed.

I shook my head. "No. Not even they are suicidal enough to try it."

"Faeries?" Thomas offered.

"They know better than anyone what going against Mab's edict would mean. Besides, Summer shouldn't be pulling a stunt like this. There are still a few hours left before noon."

"It's definitely magic," I said, extending my senses up the stairs. The fog was cloying and made things fuzzy around the edges, a lot like the conscious sedation you got at the dentist's office. Everything around Mac's place was muffled as if the whole world had donned sound-canceling headphones. I drew back quickly before it could scramble my thoughts completely. "Whatever is out there is a practitioner of some sort."

"Lasiel and Ascher?" Thomas asked.

I shrugged. "Could be, but that's a huge working. I think it spans a couple of blocks. Hannah couldn't manage something this subtle on her own. She'd need hellfire to back it up. I don't smell sulfur, do you?"

A sharp crack made all of us wince. One of the faceted planes on Mac's door fractured, sending glass tinkling onto the stairwell. Something smooth and rounded sailed through the gap, landing with a dull thud in our midst. Thomas' gun swiveled toward the sound, and Mac raised his shotgun, squaring the stock against one shoulder. The shape resolved itself a moment later. It was a hunk of polished obsidian around the size of a chicken egg. It began to buzz, rattling along the floor as tendrils of mist seeped through the opening in the glass.

Sound issued from the stone seconds later, popping and scratching like a bad phone connection. It lent a certain serpentine quality to the speaker's voice, which didn't alleviate the creep factor one iota.

"Sssssend out the wizzzzard. Sssssend him to ussssss and all othersssss may ssssstay."

"Like hell!" Thomas snarled. "You can take your mist and your rock back and shove them right up your-"

Harry held up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. Thomas fell silent, though he still looked furious.

"You could come in," Harry suggested, raising his voice to carry up the stairs. "This is neutral territory. No one is going to throw punches here."

"Sssssend him to usssss."

"I've got a packed schedule today. How's next Thursday for you?"

"Thrice we asssssk and done," hissed the voice. "Sssssend him to usssss. Now!"

Harry looked at Mac. "This is your place. I can take this outside if you want."

Mac bared his teeth in response, pumping the action on the shotgun with a distinctive click-clack that made Harry grin. Mac produced another gun from under the counter, a large-caliber pistol, and set it within easy reach.

"Well, the vote's unanimous," Harry called. "You're SOL you SOB. Why don't you GL before things go completely FUBAR."

Wilde made a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. I couldn't help a small smile. I had learned from one of the best when it came to giving the enemy flack. The speaker paused, tried to puzzle out the meaning of the words, and didn't seem to get it. Not that it would stop them for long. The context clues were clear enough.

"Ssssso be it."

The stone exploded. I'd been prepared for something like that and the volume and violence of it still caught me off guard. A shimmering blue-white dome ballooned outward to cover my body and Wilde's. She was already shrinking into something small and muscular. A wolverine, maybe. My shield butted up against Harry's. In comparison, it was weaker, but it still kept the worst of the debris off us. The shards of stone broke beer bottles, upended tables, chewed through the wooden columns, and scored lines in the floors. One of the ceiling fans let out a groan and came loose, blades still spinning. If not for the shield, it would probably have clipped me. As it was, I staggered, knocking into the jagged edge of a broken pillar, cursing when a splinter the size of a thumb broke off in my back.

Harry was bowled backward by still more debris, eyes sliding out of focus when he hit the ground. For a moment I thought he'd pass out, leaving us short a critical player when the real fight began. He recovered somewhat, propping himself up on one elbow as a...thing came through the door. It looked like a sackcloth sphere with wildly flailing flagella. It hit the ground and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blast of Mac's shotgun. It veered toward Harry, unfolding itself as it went, more bits of sackcloth whipping out to slow itself.

I slashed a wand through the air with a shout of, "Tsuchi!"

The bits of stone and nearby debris lifted from the ground and were tossed in the thing's general direction by an application of will. At precisely the same moment Thomas loosed a volley of shots from his Desert Eagle with one hand and seized an oak table with the other. He lifted it in a deadly arc, preparing to bring the table down on our attacker's head. Strips of cloth came free of the creature and seized the edge of the table, hurling it into the path of my attack. The earth and debris I'd flung at it hit the table's surface like well-placed darts on a board, peppering it with marks before falling harmlessly to the floor. I had to fling myself to one side as the table rolled toward me, still carried by its momentum. It hit the wall hard and came apart in a shower of splinters. I raised my hands to shield my face from the barrage and felt like I'd been hit by an angry porcupine for my trouble.

Mac vaulted the bar with the agility of a man half his age and landed solidly on his feet, already shooting. The sound was simply enormous in this enclosed area. And it did jack all, in the grand scheme of things. When I dared to peek through a gap in my upraised arms, the thing was still standing, parrying almost every shot Thomas and Harry were throwing at it. Wilde tried to dart in and go for its ankles twice and was slapped violently away each time. And it was laughing the entire time, as though this was nothing more than a game.

The thing was tall and ungainly. It had to stoop in order to keep its head from being sliced by the whirling ceiling fans overhead. The sackcloth formed to its body like a second skin and responded to its will like dozens of extra limbs. The skin had the color and texture of shark skin. For all its seeming smoothness, I was betting your hand would come away bloody if you tried to touch it. There were only smooth, white scars where its eye sockets should have been, but that didn't stop it from orienting on each of us in turn. Its mouth stretched into a wide grin as it surveyed the scene, inky black lips pulling back to reveal a ridge of sharp teeth.

"Wizard," it said. "Your life need not end this day. Surrender and I will spare your companions."

Yeah right. This thing exuded malice like a particularly bad case of body odor. The only thing he'd spare us from was a protracted death. He'd probably do something sudden and violent like snapping our necks instead, leaving us in a pile for CPD to find in the next twenty minutes.

"Ah, no," Harry drawled. "Look, I'd just love to throw you out the saloon doors and put a few rounds in your ass to make the point stick, but I'm a little busy. Let's reschedule this showdown for another day. How's Tuesday?"

"Can't," Thomas said, regaining his feet, circling so he was on the other side of the creature. "You've got that smartass anonymous meeting. You promised to bring the donuts."

I stood as well, every part of me aching. If we survived this thing I was sending the invoice for the deep tissue massage to this guy's boss. Harry smirked and snapped his fingers in mock regret.

"How about next week?"

"House hunting."

"Damn. Well, at least we gave it a shot. See you later, Sharkface. No hard feelings."

"Harry," Mac said in a warning tone. It was odd to hear him speak aloud. I'd only heard him string together sentences when there was something important to say. "Don't talk. Just kill it."

The thing's amusement evaporated like a dewdrop on a hot skillet. It rounded on Mac, the strips of cloth shooting out in every direction, seizing what they found in the way before flinging the whole mess at the bartender. He was quick, disappearing behind the bar before anything could land, but over a dozen impacts against his barricade caused part of it to collapse. Another barrage like that, and it would probably collapse on top of him.

"You!" Sharkface snarled. "You have no place in this, watcher. Do you think this gesture has meaning? It is every bit as empty as you. You chose your road long ago. Have the grace to lie down and die beside it."

We all just stared for a minute. My brain started to churn into motion, translating what exactly the thing meant. But before I could open my mouth to ask questions, Mac spoke up again.

"Kill it. It's one of many."

"Yes," Sharkface said. "Kill it. And more will come. Destroy me and they will know. Leave me and they will know. Your breaths are numbered, wizard."

A wave of despair rose and crashed over me before I could do anything to stop it. My vision hazed, and I was no longer standing in the wreckage of MacAnally's pub. I was sitting at a wire breakfast table, reclining with a roll in my hand. The kitchen around me was at least forty feet wide, with brick floors. The cabinets were painted olive green and contrasted with more brick in the backsplash. The counters were marble, and the appliances scattered all around were very sleek and modern. It was very cozy and...familiar.

I turned my head slowly to consider my breakfast companions, a thrill of pure terror racing from the crown of my head to the base of my spine when I spied Nicodemus on my left, slathering jam on toast. Deirdre was idly sucking sugar from the end of a strawberry, her silk robe gaping open to show a suggestive amount of smooth, young flesh. We were in the New York house, plotting over breakfast, as usual.

"No!" my mind shrieked. "No, this is a memory. It's not real. I escaped!"

Slender arms snaked around my throat and a lithe, feminine body molded itself against my back. Springy red curls tickled my cheeks, and full, decadently soft lips brushed the shell of one ear. Her voice was a low, throaty contralto that poured like honey into my ear.

"Are you sure about that, my dear, sweet host?" Lasciel murmured.

Yes. I'd escaped. I'd spent years recovering from everything she'd done to me. Lily and Fix had to pull me back from the brink, nurturing my mind until I could bear to hope or to feel joy. To allow myself to feel the conflicting emotions surrounding Lasciel without indulging her.

"I buried you," she continued, breath fanning across my face. She smelled like sunshine and clovers. "On the island. When you tried to surrender my coin, I tore your mind asunder. You're my puppet. This fantasy is all you have left, Molly. It's cute. I check in on you from time to time, just to see what you've come up with."

Hopelessness tightened like a garrote around my throat, cutting off my air. I remembered the weight of her, the wrath, the certainty that she'd scrape me along the bedrock of my own mind until there was nothing left of me but a smear of blood and gristle. Had I really imagined the archangel's arrival? Had it been my last Hail Mary? Just a way to white-knuckle the sliver of sanity I had left?

I jerked when her teeth closed around my earlobe, tugging with just the right amount of pleasure. The room and its occupants faded, leaving me on my back, Lasciel's inhumanly beautiful body pinning me to the ground, backed by the fullness of her will. I couldn't move. Not that I wanted to. Her lips continued a delicious trail down my throat, and my body rose to meet hers, twining desperately around any part of her I could find. It was pure torment. Wanting her. Being terrified of what that meant. The impulses scrambled my thoughts, as distracting as the hands she trailed slowly, luxuriously down my body.

"You're mine," she purred. "You always have been, and you always will be mine. We will have an eternity together, my lover."

An eternity trapped. An eternity a slave. An eternity of loving the creature that had trapped me this way. I let out a quiet sob. I cried until I was up to my eyeballs in the salt water, a poor pathetic Alice expy in my own hellish Wonderland. She didn't try to fish me out. I drowned, choking on lungfuls of the tepid stuff, her mocking laugh echoing, even in the deep.

Tears were still streaming down my face when the attack lifted. It took me crucial seconds to make sense of where I was and why I was leaning against a broken pillar with my wands rolling across the floor at my feet. Ice coated everything in the bar that wasn't fleshy. Thomas, Wilde, and Mac were hunched over, eyes unfocused, coming out of it more slowly than I had. When I found Harry, he was still on his feet, still fighting. Sharkface was backing toward the door, a snarl of defiance on its eerie face.

And from one blink to the next, the thing caught fire.

I didn't mean that one of Harry's spells hit home and set one of the strips of sackcloth alight. The creature's entire body caught fire in the same instant, blooming outward in a wave of heat so intense it threatened to dry out my eyeballs. It let out an ear-piercing caterwaul and its cloth appendages went wild, propelling it up the stairs and past the caster in the second it took for me to suck in air. When I did, a familiar smell and taste coated the inside of my mouth. Another thrill of fear, mixed with anticipation, went through me when I worked out what it meant.

Thomas sat up straighter, eyes focusing at last. "What...what was that?"

"A psychic assault. A really bad one. How are you feeling?"

"Confused and a little pissed," he admitted. "What was that thing?"

Harry sighed. "An outsider."

"Nice shot with the fire," Thomas said.

Harry's mouth thinned and he turned to face the stairwell once more. "That wasn't me."

A figure stepped out of the pall of smoke that the outsider had trailed in its wake. I'd known who I'd see the moment I recognized the scent of brimstone, but I soaked in her features nonetheless. Movie-star good looks, a body built long and leggy, with curves that would make lesser men weep. Her curly hair had been pulled into a tail at the base of her neck, leaving her features in stark relief. Sharp chin, intense dark eyes, and a full mouth that curved into a smile when she saw me.

"Hello again, Molly," she said, taking a swaggering step forward. It was impossible not to pay attention to the exaggerated feminine swing of her hips.

"Hello, Hannah," I said, voice rough. The tears were still wet on my cheeks. I swiped at them before I met the second set of eyes fixed on my face. Horribly compelling violet eyes. "And hello to you too, Lasciel."

Chapter Text

"Hold still," Hannah said. "I need to get the splinters out of this wound."

I grit my teeth around a curse. After the shock wore off, every part of me started reporting injuries. I felt like a pincushion that had been hurled through a shop class. After the largest shards had been removed, I looked more like a pox survivor than a ruthless knight.

"Or here's an idea, you could, you know, wait until we're somewhere stationary to do this? I don't think doing meatball surgery in the back of a Hummer is the best idea you've ever come up with."

“Stop whining,” she replied, plucking splinter the size of my thumbnail out of a scrape on my arm. Thomas thankfully had latex gloves in the first aid kit, so my blood wasn’t smeared on her skin or caked under her nails to be used later. “Thing One and Thing Two haven’t decided where we’re landing yet, and I’m not going to just leave you like this. Now hold still. "

Harry steered the Hummer through Chicago traffic, going a few miles under the speed limit to avoid the attention of Chicago's finest as they rushed toward MacAnally's. Thomas and Harry had reached some silent consensus before we'd even reached the car. They weren't going to leave me with Lasciel and Hannah in their rental, so Thomas had taken the passenger's seat, in an ideal position to leap at Hannah if she made any hostile move in my direction. He'd only have a split-second, but for someone like Thomas, that was all the time needed.

"I think we were just insulted," Harry said offhandedly. "Which one of us is which, do you think?"

"I'm older," Thomas said. "I think that makes me Thing One."

"Who says age should be the metric?" Harry asked.

Thomas snorted. "You really want to go down that road? I think I outstrip you in just about every category. Money, good looks, better car, I get laid more..."

"Hey!"

"And I have a hell of a lot more common sense when it comes down to it," Thomas finished smugly. "So yeah, you're Thing Two."

I let out a small yelp when Hannah removed the last large shard from my arm. It was the length and width of a matchstick with considerably sharper edges. It joined a steadily growing pile of medical waste in a plastic baggie on the seat between us. She swabbed the wounds with something that stung.

"Don't be a baby. We've been through worse than this."

"I also got painkillers when we were getting stitched up," I ground out. "That ibuprofen isn't going to cut it."

"No, it won't," she agreed. "That's why I plan to do reiki after enough of the debris is out. I don't want to trap anything inside. The small ones will push their way out of your skin eventually, but the big chunks could pose a problem."

"Healing magic?" I asked.

"Yeah. I've been practicing."

"I actually thought about learning, but there hasn't been time."

Hannah shrugged. "Lasciel says you'd be a hell of a lot better at it than I am. It's more your skill set than mine. I can shave a little time off your healing and make the pain manageable. You'd probably be able to erase it completely. She'd do it herself, but she thinks the vampire will react badly if she does magic right now."

Her voice grew a touch colder on the word 'vampire.' I couldn't blame her. The last time she'd come face to face with Thomas, he'd hit her upside the head with a door and spirited me away to parts unknown.

"Well...um...thanks."

"I'd feel better if I could heal these entirely," she said with a sigh. "I'm not good at this sort of stuff. That was always your area. I can see why she wants you back. I'm sort of a one-trick pony. It's a good trick, but still..."

There was a note of resignation in her voice that made me wince. How awful must it be to know that you were the consolation prize to the creature in your own head? The one that had been doing damn near everything with you for years? Lasciel and I had many issues with each other, but that had never been one of them. She'd been perfectly thrilled to be in my head, prodding me toward the outcomes she wanted. Hannah was a means to an end. A powerful one to be sure, but still second place.

Of course, that hurt could be carefully performed theatre on her part. Lasciel might be shielding her emotions from me, allowing her to skillfully manipulate me at her leisure. It wasn't as if I didn't have that coming. I'd been manipulative as hell trying to get her here. Turnabout was fair play, after all. But something told me the sentiment was genuine. That my friend was hurting. I half turned in my seat and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I'd have preferred to hold her hand but was loathe to get even more blood on myself. It wouldn't show against the black but there were a lot of supernatural things out there that could track the smell of blood.

"You're good at a lot of things, Hannah. Way better in a fight, that's for damn sure. You saved our bacon back there with that outsider."

Hannah's smile was tremulous as she stripped off the gloves. She shoved them in the little plastic baggie and then lifted a hand to cup my cheek. The tears had tried in salty tracks on my cheeks, but I hadn't had time to scrub my face before we'd taken off. We barely had time to load Wilde into the front seat. She was curled at Thomas' feet like a muscular and deadly house pet, too dazed to shift back to a human immediately. Hannah's thumb skimmed my cheek, her eyes soft.

"You were crying. What did you see during the psychic attack?"

The truth would probably only encourage Lasciel. If she knew just how much desire tempered my revulsion she'd jump on it, worming her way back into my good graces by inches. I wasn't sure I could resist her at the top of her game. So I gave her something that sounded plausible.

"Daniel," I said, voice strangling on the name. "We were too late at the Amistad Dam. He..."

My vision hazed and I blinked hard before more tears could fall. The last thing I needed was to look like easy prey in front of a scheming fallen angel. Hannah's thumbs caught one traitorous tear when it escaped my control. She leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss over one cheek and then, cautiously, another at the edge of my mouth. I turned my head before she could do more and she pulled away, a rueful twist to her lips.

"I'm so, so sorry, Molly."

And she was. I thought I could sense that much, even past the barriers Lasciel had erected between us. Hannah knew better than anyone just how much I'd lost over the years. I tore my gaze away from hers before we could enter a soulgaze and found Thomas giving me a pointed stare over his headrest. The look was a clear 'I told you so.' I discreetly gave him the finger.

Hannah smoothed her hands over my skin, moving them in abstract patterns. Energy moved beneath, rippling outward from the point of contact in gentle pulses as if someone had just dipped a toe past the surface. Every brush of her fingertips dulled the pain and pushed it to the edges of my periphery with delicious tingles until I felt almost dizzy. She had to help me out of the coat and my shirt to get to my back. I almost moaned when she set to work there. It was almost as good as a massage. I'd definitely have to learn this technique if we survived the next day or two.

The brush of her lips against the nape of my neck could have been an accident, but I knew better. Things would get out of hand quickly if I didn't shut her down. It was what I'd brought her here for, right? To piss her off, make her lose objectivity, and fail to stay on mission? Easy in theory but painful in practice. My guts performed a slithery little motion as the guilt settled over me. But I opened my mouth anyway.

"I don't think you should be doing that," I said quietly. "My boyfriend would probably object."

Her hands stilled, curling into fists on my back. I felt the edge of her nails scrape against my sensitized skin before she could rein in her annoyance. It made my back arch, in spite of myself. She scooted away from me, finally putting a little distance between us since the first moment we'd settled into the backseat. When I dared a peek, her eyes were guarded, the set of her mouth hard. Probably trying to conceal another flash of hurt. She was still giving me that look when I pulled my clothes back on.

"Boyfriend?" she repeated frostily. "The vampire, I presume?"

Thomas snorted again. "Hardly. I share just fine, thank you. The show you put on would be intriguing if it wouldn't make Harry crash my car. He's sexually constipated. I think he'd just explode if there was girl on girl playing out right behind him."

"Make more sex jokes," Harry said. "See what happens."

Thomas smirked. "See? He's sensitive. Overcompensating with his fists. All that repressed tension has to go somewhere I suppose."

"One of these days," Harry warned. He mimed a right hook. "Pow. Right to the kisser."

Hannah's cold demeanor didn't melt under the banter. She turned another accusatory look in my direction. "Who are you dating now?"

"You don't know him. Of him, maybe. He's...uh...he's got a lot of contacts, including in the Fellowship. Does the name John Marcone mean anything to you?"

Betrayal spasmed across her face before she could conceal it. One minute I tell her I love her, the next, I drop that I have a boyfriend. Talk about an emotional gut punch. It wasn't exactly a lie. I loved Hannah. She was probably one of my oldest and truest friends now that Rosie was gone. I wanted her safe and happy. I wanted her to have the very best. I never wanted pain to touch her life ever again. It was a type of love. just not the one she wanted. Thank God Lasciel was shielding her from me, or the intensity of her hurt would probably have made me double over in agony. Her eyes slid out of focus, listening to something I couldn't hear.

"Marcone," she said, enunciating the word crisply like she could cut it in half with her teeth. "The same rat bastard who blackmailed you into running drugs across state lines? That Marcone?"

"Actually, Torelli was running a scam on both of us. He had no idea about Torelli's side hustle. It's why he came after me so hard. He thought if I ever figured it out, I'd rat him out to his boss and..." I shrugged, drawing my finger across my throat. "Off with his head."

"Even if that's true, he's still a mafia kingpin," she said.

"And you and I are warlocks. You're hosting one of the freaking Fallen. Thomas is a vampire, and Harry is the Winter Knight and kind of a prick. None of us are innocent here. I never claimed to be on the side of angels, Hannah. Just trying to do what I can for the people I can. And right now, a lot of people are going to die if we don't stop an attack on the island. We don't have time to squabble about my love life, Hannah. Do you want to help me or not?"

Hannah fumed in silence for a few seconds before inclining her head. "Fine. We'll put a pin in that. Tell me what's happening and how you think Lash can help."

"You'd have to have that chat with Harry. He's got those details."

Hannah's mouth twisted in distaste and I caught a brief glimpse into her thoughts. If I disliked Harry, Hannah actively loathed him. She'd blamed him for my death for years. Even when she learned I was alive, she still couldn't swallow the hate. He was a warden of the White Council. In her mind, that was reason enough to want him dead.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you know, Warden?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance. Abruptly I tasted copper pennies in my mouth, and there was a weight on my lap that hadn't been there a second before. It took all my willpower not to push the malk off my lap onto the floorboards. I was sure that would have potentially deadly repercussions.

"The Summer Lady has granted your request for an audience," it purred. As much as something with a voice like crushed glass can purr.

"Fuck!" Harry said, pressing the brakes down instinctively. He shot a glare over his shoulder at the malk on my lap. Cat Sith looked inordinately pleased with himself. He took in a steadying breath and then asked, "What did Lily say?"

"That she would guarantee your safety from harm wrought by herself, her Court, and any in her employ or influence," the malk said, "provided that you came only with the Baron's knight and the vassal of Summer that she sent to assist his champion."

"It's a bad idea," Hannah said, crossing her arms over her chest. "The faeries can't be trusted, even the ones that play nice occasionally, like Summer. She could be looking to hurt you."

"It is foolish to meet her at all," Sith muttered.

I ignored him, speaking to Hannah instead.

"If she is, she'll have a hard time weaseling around the pledge she's made to Harry. Since I'm going with him, it's as good as promising to host me too. She'd be obligated to protect me from anything else that came gunning for me as well. Faeries are lawyers about things like that. We're as safe as we can be for now. Where does she want to meet?"

"Chicago Botanic Gardens," Sith said before he disappeared once more.

"That's too public for either of us to lay a smackdown on the other," Harry pointed out. "It's a viable location for a meeting."

"I'm staying close," Thomas said.

"Seconded," Hannah said. She still sounded pissed. Lovely. "And if that bitch tries anything, I'm taking it out of her ass."

"Let's not and say we did. A fight between Lasciel and Lily would probably level city blocks. Just standby. If I need you, I'll signal."

"What's the signal?"

"I'll be screaming like a little girl." I lifted the baggie from the seat and waggled it in front of her. "Could you burn this, please? I don't want bits of me available for any faerie to find. I don't think Lily has it in for me but there's no reason to tempt fate."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Bull. You're more afraid I'll do something with those. You don't have any faith in us at all."

"Just call me cynical. I don't trust anyone. It's not personal."

Hannah took the bag from me, weighing it in her hand. A moment later, it began to blacken and curl. The flames didn't seem to touch her skin, let alone do any damage. Damn. That was impressive. She turned her palm down, sprinkling the ash on the floor of the Hummer when she was through.

"Hey!" Thomas protested. "I just had this cleaned!"

Hannah gave him an arch look. "You hit me with a door. We're nowhere near even, vampire. Now both of you just shut up and drive."

Chapter Text

The Botanical Gardens were largely empty when Thomas pulled into the lot. A light drizzle had started on our way over, driving the temperature down from sixty degrees to a wet and somewhat nippy fifty-two. It was the second time in a day that I'd found a normally bustling space empty. It gave me the unsettling feeling that someone was paving the way for us, making things just a little too easy. The other shoe had to drop soon.

Hannah pulled me to a stop a few feet shy of the entrance, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind. She held me gingerly so she wouldn't rub my fresh wounds against her front. Her magic could only do so much to aid the healing process, so I was covered in gauze and bandaids. She didn't want to risk a flare-up in the light of what we were walking into, unlikely as it might be.

A flicker of want traveled up my spine, courtesy of Lasciel, before fizzling out pleasantly, like carbonation in a can. I'd known what I was signing myself up for when I contacted her, but it still made me shiver. She'd never aimed this particular aspect of herself at me. Of course, I'd been a frightened, overwhelmed fourteen-year-old when we'd first met. Sex wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind. Hannah's mouth moved, tracing my ear in a manner eerily reminiscent of her phantom self in the outsider's attack. It was Lasciel's voice that spoke, not Hannah's.

"When you are free of this place, the three of us will talk," she said in a tone that brokered no argument. "Don't think me a fool, my sweet. I mastered the art of manipulation long before the earth cooled and the first microbes began to form in its waters. I know what you're doing and there will be a discussion when we are safely behind a threshold."

I pulled myself free of her arms. She didn't fight to hold me. I strode forward without looking back at her, tossing the words carelessly over one shoulder in a way I knew that Hannah hated.

"Yeah, we do need to talk. But save it for later, Lash. I don't have time for you right now."

Stab. Twist. Even Lasciel couldn't completely conceal Hannah's reaction to what I'd said. The tone was bad enough, but I hadn't even addressed her personally, putting her on a level below Lasciel in importance. And my tone had made it pretty damn clear where Lasciel ranked at the moment. It took every ounce of willpower I had to stride into the Botanic Gardens after Harry. All I really wanted to do was throw my arms around Hannah and apologize. It was my fault she'd been hooked up to Lasciel's puppet strings in the first place. If I'd been able to chuck her into Lake Michigan as intended or, failing that, returned her to the Church, she wouldn't have been free to wreak havoc with my friend's insides. She deserved better than to be a piece in the game Lasciel and I were playing.

But that was exactly what I'd reduced her to when I decided to play out the queen's gambit. If I didn't commit to the bit, this whole plan would crumble around our ears. So I didn't turn. I jogged to catch up with Harry on one of the many stone footpaths. He'd slowed halfway down the second, scanning the Halloween decorations strung along the path as though he was expecting something to leap out at him. Wilde shifted restlessly in my pocket. When I stopped, I felt it too.

"Someone's watching?" I guessed.

"Probably a good bet. The last Winter Knight wasn't a stellar character. Can't blame them for being wary."

A moment later I realized that Lily wasn't just being wary of Harry. If he sensed everything I did, he'd know she was approaching conspiracy theorist levels of paranoia and preparation. There were dozens of guardians lurking nearby, some of whom I recognized from my time in her court, and others who were utterly foreign to me. And I was certain that, for every guardian I recognized, there were two lurking nearby that could remain completely under my radar. Lily knew me too and understood my capabilities in ways few others could. I didn't think that she bore me any particular animosity but my mere presence around the Winter Knight would make me suspect to the young queen.

We found her waiting in the Japanese garden overlooking a nearby lake. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. Silver-white hair that flowed to her lower back, a slender but well-shaped body, and fine features that looked exquisite, even while she stared pensively into the rippling surface of the water. She clutched a sweater for appearance's sake, but she'd never need it. Rain simply ceased to be before it could touch her green sundress or pool around her brown sandals. I took a few steps forward before I could stop myself. The warmth of her presence drew me like an unwary insect to a bonfire. The light and peace she exuded made tight bands around my chest loosen, just a little.

Harry's thoughts doused that feeling a moment later. Again, images flashed through his mind, so violent and carnal that it made my stomach clench in instinctive revulsion. His hand in Lily's hair, tugging until she cried out. Her mouth under his, the way she'd feel against his body when she thrashed, trying to buck him off. The softness of her thighs. The delicious sensation of sheathing himself in what lay just between.

I must have made some sound of protest because he twitched and the images abruptly vanished. He forced the howling Winter away from his thoughts and forced them into a semblance of rational order before he crossed the bridge that spanned the gap between our garden and hers. I kept my distance from him, still chilled by the images he'd shoved into my head. I'd seen people's fantasies before. I enjoyed most of the ones Thomas had about me. The difference was, I wanted Thomas. I could even stand to have Harry have an idle thought here and there. It was the pleasure derived from the mere fact that I didn't want him and that he could take something from me anyway that made me shy away.

Lily didn't look up or tense as we approached. Harry stopped at the end of the bridge watching her, waiting to be acknowledged. Wilde wriggled her way free from my pocket and padded across the gap, rubbing her furry flank around Lily's ankles. A small smile graced the edges of her mouth, and she leaned down to scoop Wilde into her arms. But still, she didn't turn to us. I cleared my throat. If someone had to kick off this party, it might as well be me.

"Lily?"

She turned ever-so-slightly in my direction. I felt warmer when her gaze landed on me as if I'd been standing in the dark and someone had cast flickering lamplight onto my path. I took another step forward, then stopped, remembering where I was and what we were here to do. Lily inclined her head to me very slightly and made a beckoning motion.

"Would you mind waiting on the other side of the bridge for the time being, Sir Knight? I would like a word with Molly first."

Harry nodded. "As long as we can have our talk before noon."

"Of course," Lily replied. "I did promise you as much."

Harry backtracked, taking up a position further away from us. When he was at a comfortable distance Lily gave me her full attention. She was stroking Wilde's fur idly, like a cat you'd all but forgotten you were holding. The changeling girl had actually flopped onto her belly, letting Lily at her vulnerable underside. Changelings liked belly rubs. Who knew?

"Molly," she said with a smile, infusing my name with genuine warmth.

It felt like sipping hot chocolate or chewing fresh brownies just to hear her voice again. Something sweet that slipped into your stomach and heated you from the inside. I had the fleeting urge to throw my arms around her, bury my face in her hair, and sob. I missed the simplicity of Summer. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly safe. I blinked hard a few times before I could return the expression, and even then the smile felt wobbly.

"Hey," I said. It came out as more of a croak. My throat was too tight to allow for normal speech. "Long time, no see."

Her eyes softened. "It has been a while. I'm sorry about that. There have been things to attend to. Conflicts to be resolved. Tempus Fugit. It comes for all of us, I'm afraid."

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" She waved a hand through the air a few feet away from me, sighing when she came in contact with my aura. "You're hurting. I expected that, but not injury this grievous. You're barely together."

"The ectomancer I talked to said it was a misalignment between body and soul. I died a while back. I don't think I was supposed to come back."

For the first time since I'd known her Lily paled, looking startled and pained. "You died?"

"There was an angel waiting to carry me away so yeah, I think so. It could have been my imagination but..." I shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. I'm still here. Still me, mostly. I was kind of hoping I could get your help on this problem we're having."

Lily shook her head, gentle pain in her eyes. "I cannot."

"But why?"

"To answer that question would put you in even graver danger than you currently face."

"That'll be difficult to manage, given what I'm up against. I've heard some pretty nasty truths in the past and I've faced them. Just tell me. I can take it."

Lily regarded me thoughtfully for a moment before extending a hand toward me, palm out. "I must know before I divulge anything, Molly."

"Know what?"

"If I can trust you. May I place my hand on you? It won't take long to ascertain the truth."

I considered it. Touch could be dicey for me. When someone was upset, it felt like touching a livewire. On the other hand, I didn't think that Lily meant me any harm. I couldn't imagine the Summer Lady hurting me, even by accident. We'd had close contact before and it had never been anything but cathartic before.

"Okay," I said at last. "Let's do it."

She raised her outstretched hand, skimming her fingers over my forehead. Her eyes slid out of focus, and I felt her probing along the corners of my mind. It was odd, rather than uncomfortable. At least, until she stiffened and her metaphorical nails formed into claws, as though she wanted to rake thoughts from my head. When she drew away from me, her expression shuttered, concealing whatever emotion she felt before I could read it. She shifted into a more ready position and then cut her chin sharply to one side.

"No, I'm afraid I can't reveal anything to you. I think it's time you leave. I'll send Wilde with you, of course. If you'll excuse me, I have pressing business with the Winter Knight."

I took a step back from her, bewildered. What the hell had that been about? There had been a brief flash of...something, and then she'd completely shut down. I replayed the instant in my mind, trying to sort out the melange of feelings. Despair. Weariness. Anger. Resignation. She'd cycled through most of the stages of grief in a single second. I just didn't understand the reason. Why the hell would Lily be grieving me?

I crossed the bridge, Wilde trailing in my wake, feeling like someone had dropped a lead weight into my stomach. I had the horrible feeling she'd just written me off as a lost cause. Too far gone for even her power to rehabilitate me. Maybe she was right. It didn't make the thought easier to bear.

We'd made it halfway back to the entrance when the tenor of Wilde's emotions changed. She'd been keyed up and nervous the entire time she'd been with me thus far. Now they took on a harder edge, resolution sliding along the surface of her mind like a whetstone over a sword. And the split-second warning saved my life.

I turned, narrowly avoiding Wilde's hooves. A second later and they would have come down on my head, knocking me senseless. Another kick aimed at my neck would probably have snapped my neck at an impossible angle. The hooves instead came down on the stone path, a sound so sharp that it made my ears ring. I had my sword in hand before I could fully process what was happening. I wasn't sure how much good it would do me against three hundred pounds of pissed-off pony, but it was better than waiting for her to charge me again.

"Wilde, what the hell?" I snapped. "Lily promised us safe passage! What do you think you're doing?"

"Your safe passage ended when the Elder One entered the grounds. You were ordered to come alone but for the Knight."

Lasciel. She and Hannah must have snuck in under a veil not long after we'd come in. Hannah's veils were shoddy before Lasciel's instruction, and I was betting they still weren't on par with mine now. I wouldn't trust my veil against one of the Sidhe for long. They lived and breathed magic and most of Lily's coterie were familiar enough with my magic to spot it. Hannah might as well have been wearing an orange vest in the middle of the woods. Damn it. What had she been thinking?

"Why?" I asked, voice cracking. "Why would you do this?"

"Because I can't allow the contagion to spread to my Lady. I'm truly sorry, Carpenter."

And then she leaped, form twisting in mid-air as she went, and a serpent the size of my forearm sailed toward my face, fangs bared.

Chapter Text

I get really tired of cheap tricks. I've had a department store's worth of rugs pulled out from under me over the years, and there would be more in my future if I managed to survive everything pitted against me. I was even used to the people I was meant to trust turning against me. All of that was old hat. But being betrayed by the hands of the very person who'd glued my mind back together after Lasciel turned it into a half-functional Etch-a-Sketch? That was a new and uniquely painful experience. That wound would fester for a while. It might never close completely.

Thankfully, I didn't have nearly the same attachment to Wilde. I didn't think I could have cut my friend down, murderous intent or no. This girl was a different story. I didn't know her. It made it easier not to pull punches. So, as she arced through the air, preparing to sink her fangs into my face, I shifted my sword into one hand and drew one of my wands with the other. She'd expected a swing and a miss from my right hand. She was already inside my guard, too close to score a meaningful hit. The ivory tip of the wand barely skimmed her side as she blew past, but it was enough.

"Ideru!" I snapped.

Wilde spasmed in mid-air as the spell took effect. Ideru-to leave. An evocation that would expel a foreign spiritual being from a body. I'd created and perfected the spell for the spooks that hung around Chicago buildings terrorizing the citizenry. It was also good for demon possession, though those were a lot rarer. It was best used against a non-corporeal being, but I'd recently learned it could have brief but satisfying results aimed at the living. The slit-pupiled eyes of the snake slid out of focus as Wilde's soul and reasoned mind briefly left her body. The slack jaws didn't have the control to bite and I only had to twist slightly at the waist to allow the flailing creature to sail harmlessly over one shoulder. Wilde hit the slender trunk of a sapling and slid gracelessly to the ground, coiling like limp rope at the tree's base.

I could have killed her then. One good stroke of the katana would separate the serpent's head from the rest of the body. Poof. No more assassin out for blood. Going purely by the numbers, it was the best course of action. But...there hadn't been any malice to this. Just a misguided sense that she was trying to protect Lily by doing me in. I wasn't even sure if this had been done under Lily's orders. Fix was the one who'd promised her to me, after all. He was Lily's mortal champion, able to lie and backstab on her behalf if necessary. Maybe he'd seen joining forces with Harry as an act of betrayal and this was a result. Whatever the reason, I didn't think Wilde deserved to die simply for trying to follow orders.

So, instead of advancing on the downed changeling, I ran. Getting within shouting distance of my friends was my best bet for survival. While Lily's guardians would focus most of their attention on Harry, there had been more than enough present to dispatch a few to deal with me. I had the unpleasant images of gnomes leaping out of the bushes, sending me sprawling with a trip wire while a centaur waited in the wings to trample me while I was down. There were a dozen other, equally nasty ways it could be done and I tried not to dwell on them.

I stuck to the footpath. Yes, it was more open, but that provided a greater chance that a mortal might catch sight of anything pursuing me. The world at large employs a metric ton of denial where the supernatural was concerned, but I didn't think even Lily would risk sending anything that looked blatantly supernatural against me in public. Moreover, she wouldn't like a vanilla human getting caught in the crossfire if a dozen little archers were aiming down at me from the trees. That just left Wilde and her many juvenile animal forms to deal with little old me.

The next attack came from above. The air displacement gave me a moment's warning before talons raked at the side of my face. The clumsy swing I took at Wilde only managed to deprive her of a few feathers. She banked away from me regardless, coming in for a second pass before I could try the same spell on her twice. The hunting cry of a raptor sent my heart skittering against my ribs and I ducked my chin before she could use her talons to rake at my eyes. They grazed the top of my head instead, carving furrows into my scalp. The flash of resulting agony made my vision flash white for a split second, and when it finally returned, things had changed.

A heat haze warped the air in front of me and I was just in time to watch something that looked like a cross between a feather duster and a rotisserie chicken plummet into the bushes that lined the path. Hannah stood a little to my left one finger crooked in the direction of the fallen changeling. The burst had been precise and brutal, knocking Wilde out of the air before she even knew there was another threat to contend with. Her lips had pulled back from her teeth in a snarl and the fury blazing in her eyes wasn't quite sane. I shoved myself into her path when the bushes rustled weakly, and she took a threatening step forward.

"Move," Hannah said, shoving against my shoulder. "It's still alive."

"And she is going to stay that way," I said.

"That backstabbing bitch tried to kill you, Molly!"

I shoved Hannah back. She looked startled and it actually knocked her off balance. Despite everything that had happened, she didn't seem to believe I'd fight her.

"And she only had the means to do so because you came inside after I explicitly told you not to! Did you really think you were going to beat the Summer Lady's best spells, let alone her coterie? They saw you coming from a mile away, even with Lasciel helping you."

"Fine," she said, shoving her face close to mine. I could smell the mint on her breath and count every lash that fringed her dark eyes. She'd put on makeup, subtle and high-quality stuff that didn't clump. "Next time I'll just let you get scalped again. Does that sound good?"

I reached up and touched the top of my head. Even brushing the wounds made them throb painfully. When I pulled my fingers away they were slick with blood. Contrasted with the near whiteness of my hair, it probably looked like an eccentric scene-style dye job to the casual onlooker. If anyone asked I could tell them it was dyed corn syrup. This was Halloween, after all.

"Thank you," I said grudgingly. "I needed the help. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you kill her. She was doing it to protect Lily. For some reason, she seems to think I'm a threat to her Lady. She said something about a contagion."

Hannah went very still, eyes shifting out of focus as she listened to Lasciel's intonations. Whatever she said made Hannah pale, and her head bobbed once in agreement.

"Fine. Bring the girl. We'll shake the answers out of her later."

It wasn't much of a concession, but I'd take it. I crossed over to the bushes and peered down. Wilde was curled on her side, burns covering most of the skin I could see. Whatever Lasciel had done couldn't just be reset or made less harmful by a rapid shape change. Parts of her skin were blackened, some of it peeling, revealing layers of too-red meat beneath. Blisters popped along every joint, and most of her hair had been singed off on the right side. She cringed away from me as I approached and let out a piteous whimper when I lifted her from the brush. Parts of her skin sloughed off on my armor when I hoisted her over one shoulder. If I had more time I could have blocked the pain from her thoughts, put her into a deep enough sleep to ignore it, or tried some amateur healing. But time wasn't guaranteed, and the longer I let Hannah stew the more likely she was to deep fry Wilde in a fit of pure pique.

I threw a veil over the three of us as we made our egress. By some miracle, we managed to make it to the exit unmolested. Either Lily's guardians had witnessed the fire show, or she'd drawn them back to focus on hemming Harry in. The third and unlikely possibility is that Wilde had been acting as a free agent and against Lily's wishes, which I seriously doubted. Wilde was a Winter Court changeling living on the largess of the Lady and her Knight. Turning on Lily and slaughtering another of her friendly associates would probably guarantee her the boot. It wasn't something I'd risk in her place. So this had been a premeditated plan by someone. They just hadn't counted on Lasciel's involvement.

Thomas cursed when I materialized by the Hummer, prying open the door before he could protest placing the barbequed girl on his expensive upholstery.

"You've got to give me a heads up before you do that," Thomas said irritably, rounding the door so he could peer in at Wilde. His eyes widened when he saw what state she was in. "Empty night! What happened in there?"

"Hannah happened," I said. Yes, I sounded snippy about it.

"She was trying to kill you," Hannah snapped. "You seem to conveniently forget that part. I don't care what her reasons were, I'm not letting you die because you decided to be a bleeding heart."

This had the feel of an argument that could go on for a while. Yeah, I was being churlish, but we both knew that wasn't the reason she was angry. I shifted my gaze to Thomas' face and jerked a thumb at the gardens.

"Because they trespassed, the guarantee of safety is void. You should probably get closer just in case someone jumps Harry."

Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He was off before I finished the sentence, loping into the foliage with the feral grace of a jaguar. I reached into the pocket of my coat and drew out a quartz earpiece, jamming it in and waiting impatiently for the focus to key into the correct frequency. I was prepared to send bursts along the line all night until someone picked up. Thankfully, it only took two tries. My heartbeat didn't slow until I heard Gard's voice, smooth and unhurried on the other end.

"Keep your pants on, Carpenter," she said, the amused lilt to her voice taking the bite out of her words. "We're here."

"I need an immediate pickup for a friend." I ignored the sound that Hannah made at the word. "Is there anyone close enough to take us to a clinic?"

"We're three miles away from your location," she said.

I blinked. "You are?"

"We've had eyes on you all day, Molly. Mr. Marcone doubled the troubleshooters in your area when Ms. Ascher arrived. Any threatening action toward you would result in immediate termination. Give us five minutes."

Then the connection went dead. She must have removed the earpiece to speak privately with Hendricks or Marcone. I just stood there, lips slightly parted. My back felt a little itchy at the thought of all the crosshairs that had been near it today. Damn, but my boyfriend could be a scary son of a bitch sometimes. I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered or completely creeped out by the gesture.

"So," I said after a moment of silence. "What is this contagion she was talking about? You seemed to understand exactly what she meant by that."

"She says we're not talking about it here. Too many ears."

I was going to argue. I wasn't sure we'd get another chance at a talk. Everyone was going to be running interference between us, making sure that the big bad fallen angel didn't manipulate the mentally scarred and morally questionable wizard. But before I could come up with a rebuttal, someone began screaming.

"Well, fuck," I hissed. "That's Harry. Let's go."

Chapter Text

Harry had fallen ass-first in the dirt and was at the mercy of a twenty or thirty-something wearing biker leathers when we finally caught up with him. He'd raised both arms to shield his head, getting the meat of his forearms in between an aluminum baseball bat and his skull. The man didn't look much more than human, but he didn't have to be supernaturally strong to crack bones, just angry and determined enough to give it a try. Harry's attacker had that in spades.

In fact, I wasn't quite sure that the guy was even sane. And I didn't just ascribe that theory to him because he'd decided to try his luck against the Winter Knight and one of the most powerful wizards in the Midwest. The heat haze of his fury was blistering, threatening to choke me even at a distance. It was the sort of thing I associated with overturned tanker trucks that jackknifed and caught fire. Something so caustic and potentially devastating that one approached with care if they dared to do it at all.

I held out an arm, stopping Hannah dead in her tracks. She gave me a hard look and then reached down to take my hand. Magic traveled like a frisson over my skin before gathering around my temples, furling and unfurling in a staccato pattern. It took me a few seconds to realize that Hannah wasn't prodding me in the forehead with her magic. She was knocking, asking me without words to allow her in enough to speak mind-to-mind.

Normally the answer wouldn't have just been no, but a vehement hell no. I'd suffered one mental invasion from Lasciel already and I wasn't keen on experiencing another. But we weren't in private, shielded by Lasciel's carefully crafted wards. We were in a public place surrounded by potentially hostile faeries, all of whom had superb hearing. I allowed them an inch and shivered when it wasn't Hannah's voice speaking, as I'd expected. Lasciel's drugging contralto whispered through my mind, a disturbing echo of days past. I couldn't completely conceal a shudder at the reminder.

"The boy is easily dealt with, even at this distance. Allow me."

"Not a chance," I hissed back. "You might hit Harry."

"A prospect that does not seem to concern you overmuch," she remarked and didn't bother to conceal the delight in her tone. "I could arrange for his burns to be superficial. They don't have to be deep to hurt."

Shame pulled at my guts like a riptide. I hated that the thought brought me an ounce of pleasure, but I was only human. I was hurt. I wanted others to feel pain like mine, especially the man who had helped forge my most hideous memories. It would be gratifying for one heart-stoppingly intense moment. And then his agony would hit me, echoing in my skin like a branding iron, really driving home what I'd tacitly agreed to let her do. If I indulged that impulse, I'd deserve it too.

"No, I don't want you to hurt him. Besides, it isn't just the crazy bat guy we have to worry about. There are about a hundred of the Little Folk buzzing around. Can't you see them? They almost punched Harry's ticket last time. If we don't take them seriously, they could drive letter openers through our eye sockets and into our brains. We do this slow and we do it right."

"A pity," Lasciel sighed.

Hannah's hand squeezed mine, a touch so swift and soft that I almost believed I'd imagined it. Lasciel's consciousness retreated and we both straightened when one of my patented veils fell into place around us. The world grew a little dimmer and sound was distorted hitting our ears as if coming through a badly tuned radio. Harry's screams were weirdly modulated and pitched too high to be entirely genuine. He'd made a racket on purpose to draw us in.

It drew others to his side as well. A pair of light, running footsteps neared our position and then Karrin Murphy, of former Chicago PD fame, burst into the clearing. The man rounded on her, swinging the bat wildly on impulse. She ducked the arc and came up close to him, getting behind his guard before he even had time to process what she'd done. I didn't see what part of the man she'd grabbed, but a few seconds later, he was on the ground, gasping for air when his back hit the hard-packed earth with all the force Murphy could put behind the throw. The bat clattered out of his fingers and rolled into the bushes, lost from sight. Murphy's boot slammed down on his chest a moment later.

"Stay down," she warned. "You won't like where I stick that bat if you try anything."

Harry made a garbled sound of pain, flailing his bruised arms at the sky. It wasn't much in the way of warnings, but it got the point across. Murphy's gaze shifted up, just in time to see a horde of the Little Folk bearing down on her. I readied my hair dryer spell, prepared to hold them at bay for the time it took to drag Harry's battered ass out to the Hummer. I'd done it before when the Guard had gone on a worker's strike and had creative ways of protesting their perceived mistreatment.

But in the end, Hannah beat me to it. She made a complicated gesture and murmured a word I couldn't understand. A moment later, invisible force lashed out at the Little Folk, bowling into them at speed, and sending them flying like ninepins. They let out shrill, panicked cries as they rocketed in every direction. Most of them hit something and winked out, falling to the ground, stunned but alive. It was an unexpected mercy on Hannah and Lasciel's part. I'd honestly thought that Hannah would go her more traditional route and turn them into briquettes. She must have taken my suggestion seriously. A jet of flame emerging from nowhere was a dead giveaway. An application of force was all but invisible and harder to track.

Murphy scanned the trees, eyes narrowing. She suspected I was lurking nearby, but she didn't call me out. Instead, she knelt by Harry's head, looking him over. Parts of him were already deepening to the darker hues of a bruise. Blood ran from dozens of cuts and punctures.

"Nails," he grunted. "Out. Get them out."

"Give me a second, Harry. I'm trying to figure out where to start. I don't want to pull out something I shouldn't. If one of these hit an artery..."

She let that unpleasant thought trail off, bringing her hands to hover over Harry's left pec. I recognized the type of nail jutting out from his shirt. Box nails were slimmer than common nails and galvanized to prevent corrosion. At least Harry wouldn't need to have a tetanus shot once it was free. Though in his position, I'd probably get one just for my own peace of mind. She tugged it loose and Harry sucked air through his teeth as he attempted to cage a fresh howl, this one a lot more genuine than the one he'd projected for his attacker's benefit.

Thomas bounded through the foliage a second later and came to a stuttering halt when he spotted Murphy crouching over his brother. "Oh...uh...hi Karrin. When did you get here?"

"We need to get out," Harry wheezed before she could answer. "Trouble's coming."

"Trouble is already here," a baritone voice said.

I flinched, even under the cover of my veil. I hadn't heard anyone approach. When I glanced over my shoulder I found a group of armored Sidhe standing only a few yards away, emerging from their own veils one by one, milking it for theatricality. The Redcap in his beret was at the center of the formation, who'd spread out to form a semi-circle around the foes they could see.

The fallen man laughed. The sound was thicker than it should have been. I was betting he'd bitten his tongue when he fell and was swallowing mouthfuls of his own blood. He gave the Redcap a triumphant look.

"See? You did need my help after all."

Harry struggled onto his knees and Karrin straightened, scanning the line of Sidhe with grim determination.

"Thomas, who are these guys?"

"The Redcap and his posse. They ambushed us on jet skis this morning, and they tried to jump Harry at his own birthday party. Guess they didn't like being on the receiving end of a beatdown."

"Jet skis? Seriously?"

"Be silent, mortal cow," one of the Sidhe snarled.

Karrin oriented on the speaker. He was about as athletic looking as your average gym rat, with twice the style and much better hair. She nodded slowly to herself, deciding something. "You."

Harry struggled to his feet. It took effort and not even my best mental shields could block out how much pain he was in. He faced the Redcap squarely, planting his feet so he wouldn't sway.

"Look, the last time we threw down it didn't go so well for you, Red. What makes you think round two will play out any better?"

"I like my chances," said the Redcap. His smile reminded me of a wolverine's. Sharp, anticipatory, and utterly unconcerned with things like restraint.

"Turn around and walk away. We'll do the same. We'll let Ace here go free as soon as we get to our cars."

"Oh, kill him if you wish to," the Redcap said absently. "The halfblood is nothing to me."

Ace just stared at the Redcap, a strangled sound of protest escaping him.

"You aren't," the Redcap said calmly. "I have made that clear several times."

"But I . . . I snared him for you," Ace said. "I slowed him down. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have caught up to him."

The Redcap shrugged. "And I find that extremely convenient. But I never asked you to help. And I certainly never asked you to be so incompetent as to be captured by the prey."

Hannah or Lasciel anticipated Ace's reaction and slapped a hand over my mouth, silencing what would have been a groan of pain. Ace's hate was so close, so visceral, that it felt like swallowing a fireplace full of embers. It burned on the way down, settling like a scalding weight in my stomach. I wanted to throw up. Only Hannah's hands on me kept me upright and grounded enough to hold the veil.

"Ah. There. You may not have talent, but at least you have spirit. Perhaps if you survive the night, we can discuss your future."

Ace just lay on the ground, staring up at his father, silently seething. No one noticed when the situation shifted subtly in our favor. No one but Harry and I. Harry tracked something I couldn't see but could taste. Copper and fetid meat. Sith was nearby.

"Weren't there seven of you a minute ago?" Harry asked.

A moment of stunned silence followed as the Sidhe looked around and found the gap in their ranks. Then screams rang out, accompanied but a brief but razor-tipped burst of pain that scrambled my guts. I dug my teeth into Hannah's palm as the sensation of my spine sliding free of my skin washed over me. Then the bloody missile was visible, landing in a heap not far from the tips of my shoes.

"Huh," Harry said, scanning their line again. "Weren't there six of you a minute ago?"

More screams. The sickening sensation of my guts slithering out of my abdomen to pool on the grass. I was intimately familiar with that one. A ghoul had eviscerated me the year before, which only made the secondhand experience worse. I'd died that night, and I was pretty sure that the creature inside my friend was responsible for keeping me grounded on this plane, despite my best efforts to vacate.

"Sith!" a female Sidhe hissed.

Several things happened at once. Harry raised a hand and unleashed a bolt of force, aiming for the Sidhe who'd spoken, taking her off her feet and slamming her bodily into an oak. Thomas turned on the Redcap and opened fire on him with the Desert Eagle, peppering the murderous faerie with .50 caliber Action Express ammunition.

Hannah burst out of my veil seconds later and engaged the athletic male Sidhe, reaching up to seize his chin, tugging him forward as though she intended to kiss him. Hellfire bloomed at the tips of her fingers, turning each into a miniature arc-welder. Maybe if he'd been yards away from her, he could have avoided most of the damage. This close, this sudden? He was doomed. The fire ate down to his bones, revealing a startlingly white mandible before that, too, began to blacken under her incendiary assault. His skin ran like candle wax, and more hellfire followed it, licking eager trails down his sculpted body until every part of him was alight. His screams weren't just hideous to listen to, they were downright inhuman.

I had to do something before his death hit me, made me resonate with the agony he was in. So I threw myself at a faerie woman trying to disappear behind a veil, unwinding a steel chain from around my waist as I went. She made an unattractive choking sound when I looped it around her throat with one hand. The iron smoked and sizzled against her skin, eating through layers of flesh on contact. She tried to throw herself back against a tree to dislodge me but only made it a few steps before I opened her throat with my blade. She went down, knees folding after a moment of stunned stillness. Her last breath came out on a gurgle.

"Fall back!" Harry shouted as the rest of the Sidhe disappeared behind their veils. "Let's go, people!"

I sheathed my blade, swallowing back bile as the aftershocks hit me. I turned tail and ran after Harry and Murphy as if I could outrun what I'd done and what had been done around me. Ace rose onto his knees and drew a pistol, aiming it at Murphy's back. Thomas stepped into the path of the bullet, grunting with pain when it lodged in his stomach, but he kept moving, clubbing Ace over the head as he went. Murphy didn't seem to notice she was in any danger.

We made it to the parking lot in one piece for the most part. Murphy and Thomas supported Harry's weight, half-carrying him to the Hummer. An unmarked sports car was parked nearby, Marcone, Gard, and Hendricks leaning against its side. Gard was standing at attention, an ax ready in her hand. Hendrick's hand was near his piece, but he hadn't drawn down. Yet. Marcone waited by the open backseat door, watching over Wilde, who was sprawled unconscious in his backseat, already transferred from the Hummer.

Marcone came to his feet when he spotted me sprinting out of the building. I was breathless by the time I reached his side. His hands flew to my waist and began patting me down in a perfunctory manner, checking for injuries. There was apprehension in his eyes as he examined the bloodstains on my front, and I didn't think it was put on entirely for Hannah and Lasciel's benefit. He really was concerned.

"It's not my blood," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist, being careful not to press my stained front against his dress shirt. "We were attacked. They came away worse off."

His gaze shifted over my shoulder and he inclined his head stiffly toward Hannah."You must be Miss Ascher. Molly has told me a lot about you."

The sound of my nickname was odd in his genial tone. He almost always called me Margaret or Carpenter. He'd meant what he said. He wasn't calling me Molly until I called him John. I just couldn't bring myself to do it often. It sounded unnatural, like calling a teacher or grandparent by their first name.

"Funny," Hannah said, swinging an accusatory stare my way. "Until a few hours ago, I hadn't heard a thing about you."

Marcone gave her a supercilious smile and said nothing. His hands did tighten around my waist, drawing me a little closer, risking the integrity of his shirt. That's amore right there. Hannah didn't miss the motion. I didn't miss it when her hands curled into fists at her side, nails biting into her palms.

"Wilde needs a doctor," I said, taking a step away from him. "I'm not sure how much longer she'll survive without treatment. I'm going with Harry back to the apartment. Can we rendevous later? You're the only one in present company I trust to take care of her."

"Of course."

Marcone kissed me before he left. I didn't have to fake enthusiasm. After the bloodbath in the gardens, anything that didn't hurt felt like a massage, mani-pedi, and an orgasm rolled into one. He was breathing hard when I pulled back.

"Be safe," I whispered.

I wasn't sure what possessed me to say it. No one in the state was safe, let alone the city. I'd put him in the crosshairs of a fallen angel for God's sake. But, to my surprise, I meant the words.

"I'll do my best," he said, tone wry. "But only if you keep yourself in one piece until I get there."

"Deal," I said, stepping away from him. "Call the home phone with updates."

He nodded. Hannah made a sound in the back of her throat and frog marched me to the waiting Hummer. Harry was already slumped unconscious in the backseat, so at least his aches and pains weren't battering me. Hannah's impotent fury was enough, hanging heavy in the air like a pall of cigarette smoke.

I sighed. It was going to be a long drive back to my apartment.

Chapter Text

It took forty-eight stitches total to close the gashes in my scalp. Hannah held my hand as Butters transformed me from Carrie on prom night to something more akin to Boris Karloff, though I could tell she was bursting at the seams to deliver a smug, "I told you so." The fight with the Sidhe would have been a hell of a lot more one-sided if she hadn't been present. She probably thought that justified sneaking in under a veil, completely scuppering the deal struck with Lily for safe passage.

I used to think like that, too, when I'd been under Lasciel's sway. Part of it had been my youth and the arrogant disregard for things outside of myself that came with it. No one ever claimed that teenagers were bastions of forethought and compassion. But when I looked back on it during quiet moments of introspection, I thought that was only half the puzzle. A good chunk of it had been Lasciel's influence. Anna had seen it long before I had. How callous it made me. How close to the edge she kept me until every decision had seemed more significant than it was. It made me prone to overreacting and lashing out at people who were trying to help. Made them seem unreasonable. Seeing Hannah again only reinforced my theory.

"Try to keep the area dry," Waldo instructed, setting the suture kit aside to peer owlishly at me. "Ideally for at least forty-eight hours, but I doubt you'll be capable. You're nearly as bad as Harry when it comes to busting yourself up. These cuts are deep and could get infected easily. Can you at least shoot for twelve hours before you do something to rip them wide open?"

"I can try but..." I shrugged. "We're going up against something big and it seems to want me out of the way. No promises."

"Of course not," he muttered. "Well, you're free to go. Try not to open them in the next fifteen minutes, at least."

I stood and glanced in Hannah's direction once, smiled half-heartedly, and repeated, "No promises."

Butters eyed us both. From the tension in the room, he could tell something was off about my visitor, but I don't think anyone had told him exactly who or what she was. Murphy would take that responsibility out of my hands, I was sure. This entire thing pretty much vindicated every sour thought she'd ever had about me. It was her regard for my dad that kept her from turning on me outright. That, and fear for Harry's life. Like it or not, he needed me on this one. And I needed Lasciel's help, so it all amounted to the same thing for the time being.

He finally shook his head, pointed an imperious finger at Thomas, and motioned toward the chair I'd just vacated. "You've been gutshot. Sit down and take your shirt off or so help me. You really should have gone first."

"I heal faster than Molly."

"And you're sweet on her," Butters said. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Sweet isn't really in my nature," he said, eyes flickering through several shades of silver before returning to normal. "But she's my friend. That's reason enough."

Butters grunted, jerked a finger at the chair, and ordered, "Sit."

Thomas stripped the shirt off in one fluid motion. Everyone in the room with two X chromosomes stared. I mean, come on. It was like watching gorgeous Belgian chocolates shuck their wrappers. He looked delicious, something you'd want to lick clean and roll around in your mouth for a while. Even Hannah wasn't immune, infatuated with me as she was. She jerked her eyes away first, though. She reached down, hand forming a manacle around one wrist, tugging me away from the man-candy parade in progress.

"We need to talk," she muttered.

I sighed. "Of course we do. The bedroom is that way."

Thomas turned his head very slightly in my direction and raised an eyebrow. I scowled at him and gave him the finger behind my back. Damn the vampire for stirring up my hormones. He was the one plotting the script for The Seduction of Molly Carpenter starring Hannah Ascher and Lasciel. He just smirked at me until the door clicked shut behind us. Hannah activated the soundproofing wards that had come with the apartment. It still made my cheeks warm to think of why the Svartalves thought I'd need that particular feature. How much loud, wild monkey sex did they think I'd be having?

Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Butter's disapproving expression. "Sit on the bed."

"Why can't we do this standing?"

"Just sit."

I sat. There wasn't time to be obstreperous at this juncture. Later, if we survived and they came to collect their due, I'd be as obstreperous as I damn well pleased. Hannah nodded gratefully and her eyes fluttered closed. When she opened them again, it was in tandem with another set. Lasciel's violet eyes flickered with some alien thought I couldn't interpret before she opened Hannah's mouth and began to speak.

"What did the changeling child say? Be precise."

I leaned back against the pillows, racking my brain for the exact wording. I'd been more concerned about the fangs flying toward my face at the time than I had about committing everything to memory.

"I think the exact words were, "I can't allow the contagion to spread to my Lady. I'm truly sorry, Carpenter.' She meant it. She didn't relish what she was doing. And Lily seemed broken up about it too. She sort of..." I frowned and mimed the action she'd done, skimming my hand over my forehead to demonstrate. "Probed me for a few seconds and then got really upset. She sent me away, and that's when Wilde attacked me."

Hannah's mouth screwed up in disgust, but it was Lasciel's voice that came out layered in scorn. "That poor, deluded little fool. She has no idea what she's doing. And to drag something as ineffectual as that changeling into it is suicidal. Someone in her camp is deceiving her."

"Isn't that...uh...sort of impossible? Faeries can twist the truth, put it under all sorts of lights to confuse the shape, and even make it dance naked in front of you, but the one thing they can't do is outright lie. It's one of the comforting things about them. Reliable, you know, like Old Faithful. The sky is blue and faeries don't lie."

"Unless their essential nature is corrupted by an outside force," she said.

"What do you mean?"

Lasciel frowned at me. "Do you recall anything about our time together at all? Or do you insist on boxing it away and pretending it never happened?"

"I can't pretend it didn't," I muttered darkly. "God knows I wish I could."

Hannah's mouth thinned. "You truly detest me that much?"

"No, and that's the problem. I really should. You turned me into something I didn't recognize." I held up a hand before she could interject. "Yeah, some of that was my choice too. I know what I did and I'm dealing with the consequences. The thing is, I shouldn't feel anything for you but disdain. I should just be grateful I struggled free of you, and there are days when I'm not. I wish I didn't remember what it was like."

Hannah's face softened, Lasciel's pride soothed for now. "Do you remember the evening in the treehouse?"

"Vividly. It was the night before the attack at Shedd Aquarium."

"Do you remember what Anduriel showed you?"

I swallowed. Boy howdy did I. That ranked in the top ten most surreal moments of my life. Lasciel had blocked my sight while Anduriel kissed me. It was the only word I had for it then and it was the only thing that fit now. There weren't human words for what he'd done to me or an equation complex enough to encapsulate the working of magic that had come after. I remembered the bright lights of distant angels, so numerous that they outnumbered the stars. And then there was the black sea that heaved beyond our reality, smashing against the edge of our universe with the crushing weight of a thousand tides. Anduriel hadn't said a name, but I'd felt the seething hate he held for the things inside that sea.

"Yeah," I said, voice strained. "I remember. I had nightmares about it for a few years."

"As well you should. They are creatures worthy of fear."

"Outsiders," I guessed. "I remember how you reacted to the one supercharging that ghost we faced. You hate them, possibly even more than you hate the Knights of the Cross. Why?"

Lasciel's eyes glowed with a feverish light. "For there to be a battle between dark and light, there must be a universe in which to play out the game. The Outsiders are the antithesis of life. They seek to destroy all that exists. They throw themselves against the Outer Gates in a mad frenzy, intent on unmaking everything. The battle has played out since the universe spun itself into existence billions of years ago."

"I'd say you've won the battle since we're all still here."

"The battle never ends. It will rage for eternity unless they find their way in. Sometimes a foolhardy practitioner will allow them through with a summoning, but the contagion the Lady fears is something else entirely. A malady that jumps from mind to mind, changing things that ought not to change, corrupting the host in which it lives, erasing its norms entirely."

I felt a little colder as the implications of that. "So you're saying...there's an enemy spy. An Outsider out there can slip inside you and make you act the way it wants you to. And that's what she was searching for when she probed me? Evidence that it was inside me. And she found it."

"She has been deceived into believing so," Lasciel said, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. "It is not as simple as she's been led to believe. She would not find evidence of the Adversary so easily. Even those of us with experience cannot always be entirely certain. A budding queen only discovering the breadth of her powers would be helpless to identify it."

"How can you be sure that I don't have it?" I asked. "I mean, if it's that good then how could you tell?"

"Practice, and a knowledge of you in particular. The Adversary changes the nature of the thing it inhabits. You've stayed very true to who I know you to be." She smiled indulgently at me before continuing, "You are stubborn, willful, and always casting never-ending insouciance into the face of things that frighten you. If you'd approached me suddenly and without persuasion and asked for my coin, that would be cause for alarm."

"Because it's out of character. Would this...thing jump to you?"

"Doubtful. But it would trap me, and thus keep me out of the fight. By my nature, I am bound to a coin. If my wielder were to become tainted, I would become a prisoner in their mind until such time as the host was killed or I could be freed by one of my fellows. If they realized it had happened at all. As I said, it's hard to detect."

I shuddered. God, that sounded bleak. Lasciel was due all kinds of payback, but that wasn't a fate I'd wish on anyone.

"So if it's not in me..."

"It is in one of the faeries present at the Botanical Gardens," she finished. "Precisely. The Summer Lady is in grave danger if she is not already tainted herself. The changeling child should have never been made aware of it. Acknowledging it is a danger all its own. Spreading word of its existence makes it more powerful."

I wrapped my arms around myself. The air felt colder, all of a sudden. Just knowing this secret was dangerous. Something else that people would kill me for. No wonder Lasciel and Anduriel hadn't elaborated. It wasn't something I was ready to know. I was barely mature enough to handle the resulting paranoia now.

There was a knock on the door and Thomas' voice wafted through the crack under the door.

"You two should probably put some pants on. Harry is ready to interrogate Hook."

I growled softly under my breath. Stupid vampire. Stupid Hannah, who was smirking at the look on my face. Stupid me for going off with her and giving everyone ideas. I undid the wards with a gesture and stalked out, but not before Hannah pinched my ass playfully before God and everyone, playing into the running joke. And probably getting a little of her own back after the show Marcone had put on.

"I am going to end you all," I said primly.

Hannah just laughed at me.

Chapter Text

We exited the room in time to hear Harry say, "I'm marking all the nodes I remember."

When I rounded the corner I found that Butter had cleared away all the medical detritus and wiped down my kitchen table, allowing Harry to roll out a map of Lake Michigan. He was marking it clumsily with a pen. What I could see of his hands looked swollen, and I knew from experience they'd get worse before they looked or felt any better.

"Nodes?" Butters asked.

"A confluence of ley lines," Harry clarified.

"Those are like rivers of magic, right?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, more or less. You can tap into them to supercharge a spell. There are a lot of them in the Great Lakes region. I'm drawing them from memory, but I think these are right."

"They are," Hannah said. "But Lash says you're missing one or two. May I?"

Harry eyed her warily for a moment before handing over the pen. She took it from him, marking the nodes quickly and efficiently, turning the layout into something infinitely more legible than Harry could have managed on his own.

"When it all comes down to it, this is about the Outsiders. The attack on the island is going to come sometime tonight, and whoever is behind it has to do it near the shore on top of one of these nodes. The closer, the better. I'm going to ask Molly and Toot to rustle up the Gaurd and send them to these six," he gestured to the spots on the map, "to check for signs of ritual magic. You can't pull something like this off without a lot of prep work, so it'll be pretty obvious."

"Can those little guys really move that fast?" Karrin asked.

"Yeah, and be back before sundown," I said. "They're hell on wheels for stuff like this. Trust me, I've worked with them long enough. The real question is if we can get to the ritual sites before then. There are only a few of us."

"I'll call Lara and get some of her people on it," Thomas said.

Karrin nodded. "Ditto on the einherjaren. I know these guys. They'll be willing to help. If not for their boss then for their own enjoyment. They're up for pretty much anything that ends in a brawl."

The hint of a smile curled her mouth. It was torn between amusement and frustration and reminded me oddly of the smiles Lasciel aimed my way. As if the frustrations that came from dealing with me were as ridiculous as they were endearing. Somehow, that didn't make me feel much better about the situation. Murphy wasn't the most stable cookie in the box these days.

"Good. When the Guard can tell us more, we'll head out."

"According to what you told me earlier, the Outsiders can't come here on their own," Thomas said. "So someone has rustled them up to set up a hit on the island. Do we have any idea who that might be?"

Harry tapped the side of his nose. "Exactly right. Which brings me to the next kink in the line. I had a talk with Lily and Maeve before things went pear-shaped. They tell me Mab is the one planning to futz with the island."

Thomas and Karrin fell into a shocked silence. Butters adjusted his glasses and swallowed so hard I was sure he'd hurt himself. I might have said something that sounded very much like 'glerk.' Hannah and Lasciel looked nonplussed but otherwise didn't show much.

"That has to be a lie...right?" Butters asked.

"They can't lie," Harry said. "Physically can't. And I got them both to give me straight answers. No room for confusion or word tricks."

Unless of course one of them could lie. Lily's actions made more sense if I assumed she'd been taken and forced into action by an outside entity. Her haste to throw me out of Summer. Sending Fix to tail me and ultimately stop me from visiting the island before Harry's arrival. Sending in a spy to report back to her with everything I'd said or done in the last twenty-four hours. If she was corrupted by the Adversary, she'd be in a prime position to give the order to cut me down if I strayed too close to the truth. Fix and Wilde wouldn't understand why, but they'd follow her orders. It was pretty much the only way to deal with a nosy wizard. Kill them or force them to join up.

I rubbed at my temples. God, I couldn't think like this. I was going to drive myself up the wall trying to puzzle out who might be poised to stab me in the back.

"So we're up against Mab?" Thomas asked.

"Not necessarily," Hannah said. "They can be truthful and wrong. Someone could have misled them."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. Or maybe they haven't been duped and they're right. That would mean that Mab either wants her daughter out of the way, or she's trying to take her Knight off the board."

"In a way, that's good," Karrin said thoughtfully. "It means she thinks that there's someone out there who can put a stop to the ritual."

"So in the end it doesn't matter who's really behind the strike on the island," I said. "We just have to keep their hands away from the doomsday button."

"Pretty much. I have a few people I want to consult before we crash the party, starting with Hook. When I'm through, Molly can call Pizza 'Spress and put in double or triple the usual order."

"That's going to be steep," I pointed out. "I don't really have a lot in my bank account right now, Harry. Vigilante work doesn't pay well and I'd rather not tip Marcone off to what we're doing with the Little Folk."

"Your boyfriend doesn't pay your bills?" Thomas asked.

I gave him a gimlet glare, which he shrugged off. Jerk. "No, I usually pocket the change I find on the bodies of the Servitors I deal with. Besides, I haven't needed to steal for a while. Dad usually takes care of the pizzas and all my amenities are taken care of here. I just don't want to dump a hefty bill on Dad's lap after everything he's done for me lately."

"Your father entered into a compact with faeries?" Lasciel said, and I could hear the laughter in her voice. The new voice made everyone but Harry jump. He'd been through this song and dance more than once. "That's a new one for an upstanding Knight of the Cross."

"Ex-Knight," I said, and the words sounded grumpy even to me. "And it's not really a compact. It's more like a big game of pass-the-obligation stick. Harry's obligation passed onto me, I passed it on to Dad. So on and so forth. There's nothing binding there. He's just doing me a favor."

The smirk remained firmly etched at the corners of her mouth and I turned away from her. If I didn't I would probably slug Hannah in the arm, and she didn't deserve to take the brunt of my frustration with Lasciel, even if that was exactly what I'd set her up for. Even I could be gracious once in a while.

Thomas reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew his wallet. After a moment he offered me a white plastic card. It was unmarked, except for the strip on the back. I eyed it suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"A Raith contingency card. Lara hands them out to members of the House. Have them charge that. It's good for twenty-four hours after activation. I guess it's my turn to hold the obligation stick."

I took it gingerly from his outstretched hand. "What's the limit?"

"Lara doesn't believe in petty things like limits. Charge as much as you like to it."

I pocketed the card with a nod of thanks. He turned to peer back into the kitchen. Captain Hook was sitting on a coated cookie sheet, backlit by the oven light. He looked desolate. Harry approached the stove, crouching so he could be on the level with Hook. The little faerie glanced up when he rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

"I want to talk. You're my prisoner, so I don't want you trying to make a break for it. If you try, we'll have to stop you. Do you understand me?"

Hook didn't move or say anything, but Harry must have taken the sullen silence as a yes. He cracked the door open and began to lower it slowly, so as not to loom over the minuscule faerie.

"Now, stay right there and we'll-"

But that was as far as he got. When the opening was sufficiently wide, Hook took to the air, vanishing from the oven's interior as if by magic. I only made out the sound of furiously beating insect wings as Hook passed. I made a grab for the faerie and missed. So did Harry and Thomas. Hook streaked toward the vents and none of us were fast enough to stop him.

Chapter Text

Everyone has heard the phrase 'faster than a speeding bullet.' Very few people see it in action or can conceptualize what it means. And even to those of us who have, it's still a novel experience every time.

The stock, somewhat cheesy line was precisely what sprang to mind as I watched Major General Toot-Toot Minimus in action. Toot appeared from nowhere and dove for Hook in a move so swift I was surprised that it didn't breach the sound barrier, letting off a tiny firecracker in the middle of my living room. He tackled the enemy faerie to the floor, using the high-pile carpet as a fuzzy morass to trap Hook. The jutting metal didn't deter the comparatively lightly-armored Toot but acted like a net for Hook, tangling the jutting metal welded to the tiny suit of armor in the floor. They rolled a few times, letting out high-pitched shrieks, insults, and creative curses as they continued to tussle.

Iridescent wings blurred into motion every few seconds, leapfrogging the intertwined pair across the room until Took finally got a good grip on the back of Hook's armor and tossed him bodily into the wall. The hooks on the armor dug into the freshly painted drywall, and I tried not to wince. The holes weren't much bigger than the puncture made by a thumbtack, even if there were a lot of them. A dab of spackle should do the trick. Assuming Toot didn't kick Hook straight through the wall, which he seemed intent on doing. He advanced on Hook, his blade raised for a final blow.

But before Toot could drive the strike home, Hook raised a mailed fist and piped, "Invocation! I am a prisoner! I invoke Winter Law!"

Toot came to a quivering halt, sword still upraised, but frozen in mid-swing. His entire body was a rigid line of muscle, and frustration radiated off him in small but potent waves. He actually stamped a foot before buzzing back to Harry's side, sheathing the sword with a growl.

"Um..." Harry began. "What just happened?"

Toot spiraled past Harry's shoulder and came to rest on my table, marching this way and that. I half-expected him to kick something over onto the map in a fit of pique, ruining the fine etching Hannah had done a few minutes before. He marched in a few tight circles, hands clenched at his sides before he rounded on Harry, petulance and fury vying to be the dominant expression on his face.

"You offered to make him your prisoner! "

Harry's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

Hannah laughed. Okay, no, Lasciel laughed, the sound pouring from Hannah's lips like the aural equivalent to chocolate, so sweet and decadent you wanted to listen to it exclusively for about a week or two. My body reacted oddly to the sound, nostalgia, and a fierce wave of sadness making my eyes prick. I'd heard that laugh often in the private confines of my head. It wasn't always mocking. Often Lasciel had just found my thoughts or observations amusing and reacted like an indulgent parent. Hearing it out loud and at someone else's expense caught me off guard. There was definitely more ridicule in the tone than she'd ever aimed at me, but still. I scrubbed at my eyes and faked a yawn to cover the slip. I was not going to start getting wistful now. If I let myself linger fondly over those memories I might as well summon her coin and save everyone a little trouble.

I wasn't the only one who reacted badly to the sound. Karrin's hand flinched at her side as if she was contemplating going for her gun. Thomas' eyes slid closed and he shivered, turning away from her slightly. His demon had been in close proximity to her once and seemed to have a Pavlovian response to her voice. Butters jerked in surprise and muttered, "Holy crap!" under his breath. He didn't scream or run, which probably meant that Murphy had filled him in when I was having my heart-to-heart with Lash. It didn't make it any less creepy for a newbie to hear. I'd lived with Lasciel for years and the body-swap phenomenon was still slightly disconcerting when viewed from the other side. She'd put extra whammy into the vocalization this time, probably aiming it at me, but not minding if the effects spilled over onto anyone else.

Harry turned, eyes narrowing on Lasciel. "Something funny?"

"It's quite simple, Dresden. If you bothered to familiarize yourself with the customs of the Court you owe allegiance to instead of charging headlong into matters blindly, you'd know what you offered Hook only moments ago."

"Let's assume I'm ignorant."

"No assumption needed," Lasciel said, cutting across Harry before he could even finish his sentence. "You are profoundly unlettered. Dresden. If you want to survive to cross swords with another power vastly beyond your comprehension, you ought to try to do your research, for once."

Harry's teeth ground together audibly. "Just tell me why this is a problem."

"You can't make him betray his previous covenants," Toot grumbled. "Or question him or anything!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You mean...he's a guest?"

"Precisely," Lasciel said. "This faerie is now your vassal. As long as you see to your prisoner's needs and do not force them to break oaths or covenants sworn to their former master, you are essentially in charge of them. If their master wants them back, they must pay you for the privilege."

"Ransom, huh?"

"He did," Toot interjected. "But I stopped him, my lord."

I bit my lip and turned away, choking on a giggle. Karrin and Thomas made gagging sounds that told me they were endeavoring to do the same. Laughing would just crush the Major General, and he had done us a favor. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Hannah's full lips tilt up into the ghost of a smile. She caught my gaze for a second, and there was a speculative look in them that I didn't like. Maybe I hadn't been as subtle about my reaction to her laugh as I'd hoped. If she thought she'd found a chink in my armor, she'd go after it relentlessly.

"Come on, Toot," Harry sighed. "Let's see who we have here."

Toot fluttered down to the ground, stopping a few feet away from Hook. He was all but swallowed by Harry's shadow and stayed in the posture he'd adopted after extracting himself from my wall. Slumped over, head bowed in defeat. Toot puffed his chest out and made a grand gesture toward Harry's looming form.

"The prisoner will stand and face the Za Lord!"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Toot and the others didn't have even half the respect for the 'Za Lady' as they did for their Lord. I supposed they'd met Harry first, so maybe I was being a little unfair to them. He was also the Winter Knight, which had to come with its own fear factor, thus earning him more respect. Then again, I'd taken over Harry's obligation while he was gone and expanded their horizons with other fast food selections. Would it kill Toot to be half as excited to report back to me? All I'd gotten was a sprained ankle, backtalk, and a worker's strike for my trouble.

Hook climbed to his feet and turned to face Harry.

"I need something to call you. Not your name, just a title better than Hook."

"Some call me Lacuna."

"Alright, please remove your helmet, Lacuna. I'd like a better look at my...uh...vassal."

Lacuna reached up and removed the helmet and I blinked in surprise. Hook wasn't a he, as I'd first assumed. Hook was a she, and she was undeniably beautiful. She'd bound her sable hair into a braid that tumbled halfway to her back when the helmet was removed. Her eyes were inky dark and she had the lean features and demeanor of a wary cat. Tattoos were etched in deep purple on her skin, but I didn't recognize the design. It could have been some kind of tribal marking or simply there for direction. Either way, it enhanced her features, rather than detracting from them.

Toot stared at Lacuna in starry-eyed wonder. "Wow!"

He stretched the word out to three syllables in his amazement. I agreed silently with the assessment. Whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't that.

"Huh," was all Harry said. He composed his thoughts and then continued, "I am not going to ask you to break your word, and I will see to your needs in exchange for your compliance. Do you understand?"

Lacuna nodded once, somehow injecting a note of sullen disapproval into the gesture. It was only a tiny grain of defiance but I liked her immensely for showing it.

"Without breaking any oaths, what can you tell me about the person you were serving?"

Lacuna considered it for a second. "He...does not like you very much."

Again, I had to contain the urge to laugh. Hannah didn't even try, and the pealing sound made Harry's back tense. I moved a little closer to her, tugging her out of his line of sight. Having them here was tenuous already and outright denigration would probably lead to a fight we couldn't afford right now. Not to mention that I liked my new apartment, and didn't want it to become ground zero in a fight between fire-happy wizards.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about your boss?"

"He owes me for services rendered."

"Is there anything more useful you can add?" he asked, voice strained. Lacuna stared at him, eloquent in her silence. He sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. "Fine. Are you hungry?

"Yes."

"Want some pizza? We're ordering soon."

Lacuna's face screwed up in disgust. "Of course not. It's horrible for you."

"Uh," Harry said, as caught off guard by the disdain as I was. "What do you want instead?"

"Celery, green tea, and cheese. But mostly celery."

"I have those in the fridge," I said. "Give me a second."

I bustled back toward the kitchen and Harry continued to address the room.

"We've got a bunch of business to take care of. You need to eat and rest, but I don't want you leaving this apartment without permission, okay?"

Lacuna inclined her head again. Then she took off, coming to rest on the counter where I'd laid out a plate of her preferred food. The shot glass full of tea must have looked like a barrel of mead to someone her size, but she hefted it to her lips all the same, chugging the stuff with speed and zeal that would have made Freydis and her buddies proud.

Harry continued to talk, but I tuned out, only catching the instructions he gave about calling in for the pizzas. The group dispersed unhappily but for Hannah, Lasciel, and I, with everyone agreeing to meet back at the apartment by five when they'd completed their individual assignments. Harry didn't look happy about leaving me alone in the apartment with the Fallen, but even he left after weighing his options for a few minutes. He couldn't afford to send her on an errand alone. For all he knew, she'd find whoever was attacking the island and throw them support if he let her wander. He also didn't want anyone else going with him on whatever insanely dangerous thing he was about to attempt. The truth was, this was the safest place to keep her. I was her focus, and there was no way in hell she'd be able to snatch me from Svartalfheim without the whole lot of them coming down on her like a truckload of anvils.

I felt rather than saw her approach after I'd put in a call to Pizza 'Spress. Hannah's hands found my hips and she guided me around until my back was pressed against the counter. Her arms shot out to either side of me, caging me against the marble with her body. It reminded me of the last time we'd been alone in a room together when she'd kissed me senseless and plunged me into a world of fever dreams. Once again, Lasciel's eyes were visible, wide and eager. She lifted one of Hannah's hands to brush my cheek before tucking a lock of my hair behind one ear.

She leaned in and nipped my earlobe, just as she had in the Outsider's sending. The reminder sent terror, anticipation, and desire slamming through my veins in equal measure. Hannah pressed nearer as if she could sink into me if she only stood close enough. Since that was physically impossible, there were a lot of other things she wanted to try in the interim. Things Lasciel would endorse with enthusiasm.

"Now," Lasciel cooed, twining Hannah's fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. "It's time we had that talk, my lover."

Chapter Text

Hannah's hands wandered. It wasn't serious, as gropings went. I'd definitely had worse when working with the Fellowship. You have no idea how easy it is to pick a corrupt policeman's pocket when his hands are on your boobs. It was nowhere even close to what I'd done in Zero when I'd finally hit rock bottom and begun to turn away from Lasciel. The partons had been ready and willing to strip me naked on the dance floor. In that state of mind, I would have let them. Hannah's touch was tentative like an infatuated teen on prom night.

It was her touch, even with Lasciel's voice issuing from her mouth. The division of labor used to seem so natural to me. Now it was just creepy. I am legion, for we are many. It was enough to make me shudder. Hannah either didn't notice or interpreted it as something else. Her breath was coming a little faster when she seized the hem of my shirt, guiding it up over my stomach. Thomas was right. Hannah had sex on the brain and Lasciel wasn't averse. Orgasms could be pretty good negotiating tools if you played your hand right. Hannah's fingers skimmed the bare skin of my abdomen and stuttered over what she found there. She pulled the shirt higher, not in lazy seduction, but with genuine concern, bunching the fabric just under my bra.

"Oh God," she breathed, flattening her palm against the lines of whitish scar tissue a ghoulish assassin had carved into me. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

The hand still fisted in my shirt tightened until her knuckles creaked. The heat of her anger was scorching not only in my awareness but in a physical sense too, ambient magic wafting over my skin like a bad sunburn. She didn't seem to notice it until I made a sound in the back of my throat. The power receded but didn't dissipate entirely. It was a lot like being out in a Chicago Summer with an air conditioning unit wheezing nearby. Bearable, but only just.

"I told Lasciel what happened. She didn't fill you in?"

Hannah's expression darkened. "I think we were both preoccupied with the idea that the island was about to go Mount Saint Helen's and take you with it. Forgive us if something you said offhandedly slipped our minds."

I doubted things ever slipped Lasciel's mind, but I didn't see any ulterior motive for keeping Hannah in the dark about my scars. It wasn't like it would have hurt Lash's case in any way to tell her. Maybe she really had put my safety as a top priority and left it at that.

"I was ambushed by a ghoul. It opened my throat and my stomach. Marcone and his people held my guts in and tried to bring me back."

"Well," she sighed. "I guess I have one thing to thank that arrogant asshole for. You're still alive. That's one tally in his favor."

"You don't have anything to thank him for," I said, lifting my gaze to meet Lasciel's violet eyes. They were intent on my face, scrutinizing every microexpression, but she wouldn't need to be an expert in human physiology to see the accusation reflected in mine. "I didn't survive."

Hannah backed up a step, and it was easier to breathe when there was a foot of space between us. I hadn't been in a climate this emotionally humid in a while. She shouldn't have been putting off this strong of a signal. Lasciel's abilities were like a megaphone shoving anything she wanted me to hear into my ears. Lines formed between Hannah's brows.

"Unless you're a corpse doing a very lifelike impression of my friend, I'd say that you did pull through."

I shrugged. "Alright, maybe I'll put it another way. I survived, but I really shouldn't have."

"I don't understand."

"There was an out-of-body experience, an angel of death, the works. They really tried, but it got a main artery. I was losing too much blood and the ambulance was still miles away. I felt it when I died. Everything just sort of...rolled off of me. I took her hand and then..."

I tugged my shirt down and arms folded across my stomach without my conscious permission. Then that thing had grabbed me and held my soul captive, even though I knew damn well I didn't belong there. Needle-tipped talons ripped holes into my soul, tying me with little balloon strings to my body. The world was bright and cold, and pointless. My body was too heavy, impossible to move after the burden of mortality had been lifted momentarily from my shoulders. Depression was too mild a word for what I experienced as I recovered. It wasn't a dark night of the soul, it had been like trying to struggle out of the event horizon of a black hole. If I hadn't been jolted back into my body by a maenad, purely by happenstance, I still wouldn't be myself.

"Something grabbed me," I whispered. "Something bad that smelled like tar, sulfur, or rotted meat. Maybe all of the above. I couldn't stop it. Hell, the angel sent to guard me couldn't stop it. It was that big and that nasty. It held me in limbo until the paramedics arrived and restarted my heart. I didn't have to think long and hard about who had the power and motive to do it."

I'd imagined this confrontation over and over in my head and I'd done better than I'd ever dreamed. I hadn't shouted obscenities in her face or told her that her so-called love was a crock of shit. People who loved each other didn't mutilate each other's souls on purpose. It had been a violation on almost every conceivable level, akin to a kind of spiritual rape. It had made any phobophage that had ever fed on me look like a bad haunted house actor shouting boo. There weren't any words that could encapsulate the damage keeping me past my expiration date had done to my mind, body, and spirit. I'd expected her to smirk and take credit. I thought she might make excuses for it. At the very least, I expected her to calmly and condescendingly tell me what she'd done was in my best interest. But I hadn't ever accounted for what actually happened.

Lasciel blinked. Blank shock crept across Hannah's face and flickered far back in Lasciel's eyes. She didn't even have enough mental presence to shield either of their feelings from me. Hannah was stewing in horror at the mere idea and Lasciel...the gears in Lasciel's head were whirring to life, trying to put together the pieces. It could have been an act, but if so, it was the best damn act I'd ever seen. Lasciel was arrogant and not likely to deny what she'd done, even if the denial came in the form of smug, satisfied silence. But she wasn't satisfied. She seemed almost...scared.

"You didn't know," I said slowly. A prickle of fear made my scalp itch when my mind leaped to the next logical conclusion. "It...it wasn't you that dragged me back, was it?"

"No," she said, and her voice was an almost eerie monotone. Only the subtle undercurrent of anger and a touch of almost imperceptible fear kept it from being lifeless, the sort of thing you'd hear echo out of a tomb. "It was not."

"But...if it wasn't you, then who?"

"There are very few angels with enough power to take a soul from the hands of Azrael or his ilk," she said. I wasn't even sure if she was speaking to me or mulling over the problem aloud for her own benefit. "One of my brethren, maybe. Certainly, no lower fiend could have even attempted it."

My stomach swooped alarmingly as I followed her train of thought. "Are you saying it was another one of the Fallen?"

"Possibly. But to what point or purpose, I don't know. Anduriel would have attempted to drag you to hell, not returned you to your mortal body. I have been vigilant, expending enormous amounts of energy guarding your continued existence from him. He would devise an end so unfathomably agonizing that humans couldn't even begin to conceive of it. I couldn't afford to allow you to be found by any of my kind."

"But one found me anyway," I said. "And they've got plans for me if they wanted to keep me alive so badly. You're not the only person trying to capture me. One of Tessa's crew, maybe? They're constantly trying to screw Nicodemus over."

"Possibly," she said again, shaking her head. "I'd have to look into it further and there isn't time."

"Don't you have intellectus? Can't you just sort of...think about it and know who did it?"

"There are ways to obfuscate such things, much the same way I have been deceiving Anduriel. It's too complex to convey at the moment, but I will find who tried to steal you. You are mine. I have not spent years trying to persuade you to have some usurper come into your life and snatch you away like a common thief."

I probably would have opened my mouth and said something monumentally stupid then. Something about not belonging to anyone and that they couldn't steal what wasn't hers. That would have redirected the conversation right back to the original point, where she tried to seduce concessions out of me. Fortunately for me and my big mouth, there was a knock at the door. When I checked through the peephole, I found Security Guy waiting on the other side wearing his human glamor, looking mildly irritated. I swung the door open after checking to be sure he was who he looked like and leaned my hip against the door frame, offering him what I hoped was a non-antagonistic smile.

"Hey, Guy. What's up?"

"A visitor for you, Miss Carpenter," he said, gesturing the way he'd come.

"Thomas? Murphy? Butters?"

Guy shook his head. "New girl. Pretty, says she knows Harry Dresden. She begged us to call your place before we called the cops. Says she has a warning for him. Says her name is Sarrissa. Ringing any bells?"

None whatsoever, but Guy didn't know that. Anyone who ran in supernatural circles would know how monumentally stupid it was to take on the Svartalfs in general, let alone on their own turf. It stood to reason that if someone was trying to find Harry here, one of three things was true about them. One, they were a vanilla mortal who needed help and had no idea what they were walking into and therefore would need my help while he was absent. Two, they were an enemy who'd come to throw down and were about to have their assess handed to them in a truly spectacular fashion. I wouldn't even have to raise a finger to help. Or three, they were in the know and desperate enough for help that they were willing to risk the ass-kicking anyway. See option one about what my responsibility was in that case.

"Show her in," I said with a sigh. "She can hang out in my apartment until Harry returns."

Guy nodded and strode away, returning a few minutes later with a woman in tow. She checked most of the boxes to be considered conventionally beautiful. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, olive skin, and long, silken hair. She was proportioned well enough. But I couldn't picture anything but a whipped dog as she scurried closer. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, chin tucked in such a way to hide the mark on one cheek. It might have worked on the streets. Here, some trick of the light, magic, or just my own senses let me spy the weal that was growing in size and color. Someone had hit her not so long ago. Hard.

Worse than that were her emotions. She was like a rabbit crossing an open field. Petrified by anyone and everything, but especially of who she'd come to see. She knew who Harry was and what he did, of that I was sure. She was practically screaming her thoughts at me, they were so loud. She didn't look at me, just nodded gratefully when I invited her in and shut the door quietly behind her.

I busied myself making tea while she took a seat at the table. Hannah and Lasciel didn't move to help me, too absorbed in their own scheming to notice, let alone care about our visitor. Sarissa accepted the cup, but she didn't sip it. Too nervous. If she tried to drink, she'd choke on the lump in her throat.

We didn't have long to wait. About ten minutes after Sarrissa arrived, Harry was back, coming through the door smelling faintly of clove cigarettes. Goths, probably. There would be a lot of them out on Halloween. If I remembered, I'd ask him where he went. Right now, we had bigger problems. Sarissa stood when he came into her sightline, trembling from the crown of her head to her bare feet. She was wearing a pale blue t-shirt and pajama pants, as if she'd been run out of her own bed.

"Sarissa," Harry said, approaching her warily. He seemed to sense she was about to bolt and shortened his stride, giving her time to back off if she didn't want to stand too near him. "What are you doing here?"
"I was sent with a message," she whispered. "He gave me directions and told me to give you this."

She held out her hand, and I belatedly realized the Kleenex she'd been clutching in one hand wasn't one of mine. She unfolded it carefully, revealing several locks of hair bound together with string. I drew in a sharp breath, and it was enough to draw Hannah and Lasciel out of their musing. They leaned around the corner, watching us through narrowed eyes.

Harry knew what the hairs meant too. He picked through them. "Justine...Andi...Mac...Butters. Someone was following me everywhere I went today."

"The Redcap," Sarissa said, voice barely audible. "He wanted you to know he's taken your friends and that he'll release them if you surrender to him before sundown."

"What happens if he doesn't?" I asked.

Sarissa swallowed. She looked ready to throw up but forced the words out anyway. "He'll feed their bones to the Rawhead."

Chapter Text

"You're aware this is a trap, right?" Hannah drawled, staring at the decrepit building across from us.

We'd parked on the opposite side of the street, crouching inside the Munstermobile like a group of cops on a stakeout. There were no sentries we could spy, but that didn't mean that they weren't there. I couldn't unravel a veil without alerting the Sidhe to our presence before we were ready. I also wasn't confident that I could have sensed them, even if they were there. I was good with veils and illusion, but the fae were good with veils and illusion. Trying my skills against one of the Sidhe would be a lot like getting into a swimming contest with a dolphin. I could learn but I hadn't been born with the talent or with the instinctive knowledge of how to employ it. On my best day, with Lasciel hiding out in my back pocket I might have been able to pull off something similar to what the Redcap and his buddies could do.

But since I was neither having a great day nor in direct cahoots with Lasciel, I wasn't going to count on it. Harry seemed to have a plan, so I'd follow his lead for now.

Harry shot her an annoyed look. The tension in the car was so thick I was choking on it. I rolled down my window a crack as if the stale air outside was going to do me any good. At least it gave me something to focus on, other than the razor's edge of violence we were perched on.

"Nooo that thought never occurred to me. I figured we were here to have tea and a civil discussion." He rolled his eyes. "Of course it's a trap. I'm genre-savvy, not stupid. This is the most straightforward gambit in the book. The Redcap might be powerful but I don't think he's ever read the Evil Overlord List. Besides, we have an advantage that he doesn't."

"We do?" I asked. That was certainly news to me. I'd been in this neighborhood before, fighting off the occasional troll or Black Court vampire that set up shop and began eating people, but I hadn't been on this block in particular.

"Yeah," Harry said, jerking a thumb at the building in question. "I've been here before on a job. A few years back I was contacted by a woman to find her missing kid. Some half-assed wannabe sorcerer had snatched the girl and was preparing to sacrifice her to God only knows what. It was sort of a disaster. I got beat up, the bad guy skated, and it turned out the kid wasn't even hers. I got stiffed on the contract and a black eye for my trouble. It seems like most of the monsters in town like to gather in repeat locations."

Hannah let out a dry snort. Harry gave her another sharp look and raised a brow. "What?"

"Just something Lasciel said. It's a lot of words that basically boil down to, 'well, duh.'"

"Stop condescending and just explain," I said, butting into the conversation before it could become even more hostile.

The pair were about as bad as a pair of bickering siblings, just with more willingness to smother each other with a pillow. I was pretty sure I understood where Lasciel's anger stemmed from. In her mind, Harry had helped orchestrated the trick that ultimately freed me from her control. If I hadn't dug out a foxhole and conspired with him, there was every chance I'd still be wearing a black hat and twirling my villainous mustache.

Mouse let out a low growl that shook our seat. It wasn't the most ferocious sound the big dog could make, but proximity to it still made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The displeasure was aimed at Hannah and Lasciel, whom he seemed to dislike. Strenuously. He hadn't taken his somber doggie eyes off the pair since we'd swung by the Carpenter house to grab Super Pooch.

I'd taken the backseat with him, afraid he'd be tempted to take a chunk out of them on principle. He was a battering ram of fur and muscle and could do serious damage if determined. Lasciel had seemed more concerned with the angels standing guard over the house and had wisely stayed inside the car while I'd collected the temple dog.

Hannah pursed her lips, eyes distant, listening to the words of the Fallen in her head. I could imagine the patient, almost maternal tone she'd use to break down what was likely a difficult concept into something our puny mortal minds could grasp.

"Everything built by mortals carries with it a grain of that construction. Jewelry, clothing, furniture, buildings, and so on and so forth. The scale doesn't really matter. The act of creation itself is the thing. It gives an energy to the material world that makes it receptive to change. When something good happens in a place, good energy gathers there. You know all that from your instruction on Ways, I assume. What you don't take into account is the location of a particular thing impacts it too, adding to its metaphysical mass."

I thought I got it. I gestured to the building. "So you're saying that it's because this building is in Chicago? We're near a confluence of leylines, which is going to give the location more weight than say, Kansas City or Springfield. That draws in things from the Nevernever to color the tenor of the place. The more that happens, the more likely it becomes that it will happen over and over again. It's got an unconscious pull, like a magnet. Enough creepy shit has gone down in this building to make it the unthinking first locale for the Sidhe of Winter."

Hannah gave me a brief, approving smile and a nod. "Pretty much."

Her (or rather Lasciel's) approval shouldn't have made something inside me warm. It was dangerous to grow too fond of either of them. The closer I allowed her, the more avenues she had to sucker me in. I was already playing with fire, and indulging my fondness for my former friend and brain buddy wouldn't lead anywhere good.

"Maybe we should make some kind of bad mojo census," Harry mused. "That way we know which ones to fumigate on a regular basis."

"Sounds like a good time investment if we survive what's coming," I agreed. "Now, what's the plan?"

Harry launched into his explanation, starting with a description of the building and how the rooms were laid out. I was about to hand him a piece of chalk so he could illustrate, but Lasciel had more initiative than me. The illusion she managed with Hannah's magic was crude but serviceable like a floor plan done up in Sharpie and placed on an old-school overhead projector. I could have probably done a 3-D holographic-style projection complete with cross-sections and revolutions. Come to think of it, that had probably been why Lasciel's attempt to trick me with a fever dream last year hadn't been up to snuff. She'd had to employ a lot of symbolic and ritual magic to support Hannah's talent for as long as she had. The Fallen were incredibly powerful, but they were bound by certain limits. Hannah's skills didn't lie in that direction, so there was only so far she could take them.

"The rear of the warehouse overlooks the water. I want you two to sneak in the back. Take Mouse with you in case there are any tripwires or pressure sensors set up."

"And where will you be?" I asked.

"Coming in through the front doors all noisy and distracting. I think I can make enough of a spectacle of myself to keep their attention away from you." He paused and gave Hannah a pointed look and a frown. "And yes, I know I set myself up for an insult there."

She smiled faintly. "Too easy. It takes the fun out of things if you just swipe at low-hanging fruit. Knowing you, there will be other openings. You were saying?"

"I'll do the smashing, you do the grabbing. Go in under veils, free our friends, and get out. No heroics. If you try to sling more magic than that, they'll get caught in the crossfire."

"Got it," I said.

We exited the car. I muttered a word and disappeared under a veil, vanishing Super Dog right along with me. Hannah examined the spot I'd disappeared, shook her head, and then disappeared as well. The shield wasn't fantastic as things went but with Harry storming the building, I didn't think people were going to pay too much attention to a blurry patch in the air as it streaked around the building toward the back door. Mouse would have outpaced me too, if he weren't relying on my veil to remain hidden. I rounded the last corner about a minute after Hannah had and just in time to hear Harry blow the front doors in with a Latin incantation and a one-liner. The steel loading doors gave out an ominous metallic boom as they fell, which dwarfed the squeaking hinges of the back door by an order of magnitude.

We didn't have far to go. Mouse sussed out their location immediately, leading us to an alcove formed by an array of boxes not far from the door. Butters, Andi, Mac, and Justine were bound and placed in a semi-circle, spaced about a half foot away from each other. The Sidhe hadn't made much of an effort to keep them from trying to flee or free each other. Not necessary after the sleeping enchantment they'd been put under. It was shallow and easy enough to unravel. There wasn't even a guardian nearby, or Mouse would have sent out a warning call. When they blinked awake and we fizzled into the visible spectrum, everyone but Mac jerked in surprise and made small sounds. There was no reaction from any of our enemies. The only presences I sensed were engaging Harry at the other end of the building.

I took Andi and Butters while Hannah freed Mac and Justine and Mouse stood watch. Andi looked concussed and blood ran in fine lines down the sides of her face. Both of them had rubbed their wrists raw in an attempt to be free of the ropes. It made me wish I'd brought a first-aid kit, just so I could truss them up with gauze. Anything with enough magic could do really nasty things to you if it had a fresh sample of blood. All I had to offer was a wadded-up napkin from earlier in the day. Butters took it gratefully and dabbed at the cuts on Andi's face.

When I turned to check Hannah's progress, I found Justine sitting up. She looked ruffled and a little bruised, but not in any real danger. Mac was sitting up too. He wasn't quite looking Hannah in the eye, avoiding a soulgaze, but I had the sense that they were intensely aware of each other. It wasn't the smoldering, almost sexual awareness that Lasciel projected anytime we were in proximity of each other. This was deeper, older, and a hell of a lot warier. Neither was scared of the other, precisely, but they were definitely tense. The silent standoff only lasted a few seconds, and they both turned to me when I cleared my throat.

"Harry's coming. I think we're in the clear, so let's get the hell out of here."

Hannah offered Mac a hand wordlessly. He took it after a moment of hesitation. It took me a second to realize why the scene looked off, and then I finally got it. Mac's wrists were pale and unmarked, despite the ropes that bound him, which shouldn't have been possible. Even if he hadn't fought back, there should still have been pink indentations where they'd been, maybe even some chaffing when he'd been bundled into a car and then pushed into the alcove. His skin was completely unblemished. The Outsider's taunts toward him echoed in my mind and I got a bad feeling I knew exactly why Mac didn't look as hurt as he should have been.

Harry came limping across the floor toward us a moment later, trailing blood. One pant leg was completely soaked in blood from the calf down. Whatever had been done to him hadn't just caused a slow leak. It looked like he'd smeared a dead squirrel across the concrete floor behind him. I helped Justine up while Mac and Butters got their arms under Andi, supporting her weight.

"We're clear," Harry said. "Is everyone okay?"

"Cuts and bruises, mostly, but they'll live." I gave his leg a pointed look. "What happened to you?"

"Poisoned dart or something," he said, waving away the concerned looks the others gave him. "It was a ploy to get me here fast and make me take chances. We should get back to your place before whatever is on this takes me out."

I glanced askance at Hannah. Lasciel would probably know what was on the dart and how to counteract it, but the knowledge wouldn't come without a price. I might have to risk a shaky compromise to keep Harry alive, which rankled. If I was going to bend my rules where she was concerned I would have rather have done it for anyone else on the team. But the fact that Harry was so vital was exactly why it would have to be him.

"Okay," I began. "Let's-"

I didn't have time to finish the thought. There was a deafening crack, and the back half of the building began tilting off its foundations, tipping us all toward the icy waters of Lake Michigan.

Chapter Text

In the intervening years, it was possible that I'd forgotten just how physically formidable the Fallen could be, even without slinging magic around. Some of that was on purpose, an obfuscation that was necessary in the early days to keep myself from ruminating over the memories. I could and would happily torture myself mentally for things that both were and were not my fault. Besides, sheer physicality had never been my strong suit when I'd held Lasciel's coin. It wasn't something I really needed then, just something I whipped out when the occasion called for it, like the first retrieval mission I'd ever gone on for Nicodemus. I'd mockingly dubbed the mission Operation Bathrobe, and it had been one of the most physically taxing things I'd done up to that point. I'd learned to get physical later on when I couldn't rely on hellfire to back my magic.

Hannah and Lasciel made my performance during Operation Bathroom look like a kid's first fumbling gymnastics routine. The back of the building had barely begun to tip toward the water before she lurched into sudden and violent motion. One of Hannah's hands fisted in my shirt and she lifted me from the ground with about as much effort as it took to heft a football. I certainly felt like one when she tucked me under one arm and began to run, her stride eating up yards of concrete at a time, adjusting on the fly as the floor adopted a steep angle. For a few seconds, she looked like a comic book character, scaling the wall at odds with physics. Then the floor began to fall out from beneath our feet. She gave a low grunt of effort, pushing off from the surface like she was spring loaded, and ran along the opposite wall instead as it listed drunkenly toward the lake. For a dizzying second, I had no idea what direction up was, and my stomach made its displeasure at the confusion known. I felt like a load of delicates left free to thrash about in a washing machine.

And then the spin cycle came to an abrupt end. Hannah's feet touched down on the concrete once more, and I slipped out of her grasp, landing on the stone, sucking in wheezing breaths like a landed fish as I tried to sort out what the hell had just happened. My neck and shoulders felt stiff, which probably meant Hannah and Lasciel's hasty actions had given me whiplash to go along with my tidy sum of minor injuries. My guts were still doing barrel rolls as my eyes struggled to focus. My back wasn't happy with me either, throbbing in time with my heartbeat from my impact with the ground.

The sound of something large and heavy breaching the water finally shook me out of my stupor and I flipped onto my belly, crawling forward on my hands and knees. If I tried to stand, my legs would declare a wobbly and pathetic surrender, and drop me into the lake to make up for my shame. I reached the jagged edge of the floor just in time to watch the back of the building disappear under the turbulent waves.

"No!" I croaked, pain and horror stealing the volume from my voice. "Oh God, no, no, no..."

They were all gone. Butters, Andi, Mac, Justine, Harry, and Mouse, all gone in an instant. There was a chance they could be alive in the water, but that wouldn't last. That section of the building was largely steel, and not even the Winter Knight could shoulder it out of the water by main strength. The water would disperse any magic Harry tried to summon. Even if he could somehow find his way out in time, there was no way that all of them could make it. Andi had been concussed. All it would take is one collision with the floor or wall as they fell to knock her out again, effectively drowning her. In the confusion and the dark of the building, would any of them know which way was up? They could swim the wrong way and, again, drown.

Hannah hauled me back from the edge before I could flop over it and into the water. I wasn't sure what I could possibly offer in terms of help, but I had to try, didn't I? My allies were down there, possibly breathing their last.

"No," Lasciel said, moving her hand from my jacket to the back of my neck when I tried to wriggle out of it. "I will not let you waste your life on a fool's errand."

"Let me go!" I said, struggling against her grip. I might as well have been a week-old puppy. Her grip was made of iron, and I could barely move an inch.

"Molly," Hannah said in a much gentler tone. "Don't. You're going to hurt yourself. There's nothing you can do except get yourself killed."

My heartbeat was so loud in my ears that I didn't hear the approaching footsteps at first. I only took note of it when Hannah spun, one hand raised in a defensive gesture, a fireball about the size of a dime pinched between two fingers. It wouldn't look like much to the uninitiated observer, but I'd seen that trick of hers blow holes as destructive as automatic gunfire into Red Court vampires. The last time I'd seen her do it, the sphere had been about the size of her palm. Clearly, someone had been refining their talent in the last few years.

But it wasn't a troll or a bloodthirsty malk rushing our position. Three figures rounded a corner a few seconds later, and I made a strangled sound of warning. I meant to tell Hannah to hold her fire (literally) but it probably worked just as well as a heads-up to the approaching figures. I recognized every one of them. Tall, blocky, and pug-faced Hendricks in the lead, loaded for bear. The tactical vest and additional body armor made him seem even bigger and meaner than he was. Gard looked like a slender willow tree contrasted against him. She was wearing more traditional mail and hefting an ax into a ready position anticipating another attack. Marcone was only a few paces behind them, a mix of mail and tactical gear, blending the new and old into a more foolproof defense than he could have managed with a single style. Modern body armor wasn't in the business of stopping claws and teeth.

The three stopped shy of us. Gard took a nimble step to one side, imposing her body between Marcone and any incoming fire magic. The ax didn't look like much, but I'd seen it in action. The defensive magic on its haft could withstand a small barrage of hellfire and a whole hell of a lot of other, less destructive spells, giving Hendricks enough time to chivvy Marcone somewhere less dangerous. I strained in that direction too, still unable to control my legs well enough to stand. My instinct was to take point right next to Hendricks.

Hannah's gaze flicked down to me briefly, and some look I couldn't read flashed through her eyes. Hurt? Jealousy? Concern? I couldn't get a sense of her emotions well enough to tell. Lasciel's shielding was excellent, even at a time like this. Hannah's fingers trembled, it took her visible effort to banish the sphere of fire. I knew her well enough to guess she'd wanted to throw it. I didn't even want to contemplate how messy a death she'd devise for Marcone if she got him alone.

"You're a little late," Hannah said, voice caustic enough to burn the tips of my ears. I cringed away from the flash of undiluted fury and contempt that accompanied it. "We could have used your help a few minutes ago, Baron."

"They're in the water," I said, climbing onto my knees. I still wasn't sure I could stand, but I didn't want to remain prone on the floor beside Hannah. "Harry and the rest. I think the Redcap fixed demolition charges under the section where they kept the hostages. The back half fell into the lake. We have to help them."

"I believe that Dresden has that well in hand already," Marcone said mildly, nodding toward the open water. "Look."

I did. The disturbance wasn't immediately obvious, but I felt it. An arctic gale whipped off the waters, worming its way through the gaps in my clothes and armor like eager fingers tracing icy lines over my skin. The wind whipped my hair back from my face and stung my eyes. The water began to heave and then, a moment later, the back half of the building bobbed to the surface of Lake Michigan. I couldn't see anyone inside but could feel the weakly pulsing auras of each. They were cold, frightened, and miserable, but still alive. My breath came out on a shuddering gasp, and a tear slipped out of the corner of my eye before I could stop it. Alive. They were all still alive. Thank God.

Hannah made a move to lift me to my feet, but Marcone beat her to it. I wrapped a grateful arm around his waist when he hauled me up and leaned into the warmth of his chest without much thought. He was like a brick wall that had soaked up summer heat, a sturdy, reassuring presence at my side. Some of that warmth leached into me and I sighed, this time in gratitude. Marcone's hand curled absently around the curve of my waist, a small, stirring undercurrent of desire moving across his mind. It was subsumed by possessiveness and a knee-jerk desire to protect me. And...it wasn't an act. His first, unthinking instinct was to wrap me in a coat and carry me somewhere safer than the jagged edge of a half-demolished building. And preferably to a continent that the Fallen wasn't currently occupying.

Hannah was staring at us, her eyes flat and calculating. She looked like she wanted to pry me loose from Marcone's grip. Her lip curled ever-so-slightly when I burrowed further into his side.

Ice crackled into being on the lake's surface, forming a thin bridge from the bobbing iceberg to shore. Figures began to emerge, shaky but alive, supporting each other to the shore. Harry brought up the rear, still limping, blood from his injured leg forming crimson beads on the ice. His entire body was coated in ice crystals, his hair sticking up in every direction, soaked through with a layer of rime. His eyes were as hard as agates and about as merciful. Nebulous violence and lust billowed like a stormcloud around him, driving me back a step before I could stop myself.

Harry's inhuman gaze tracked the motion, a hungry snake who'd spotted a mouse. The calculations ran in his head for an instant. Frightened, squirming prey. He'd have to take me from my protector, a male smaller than he was, but who ran with a pack. Could he snatch me and carry me away before the other male could strike at his back? And if he could, how long would he have with me before the rest of the group caught up?

"The island," I reminded him. "We have to go. It's nearly sundown. The Gard should be back by now with news."

Harry's eyes closed and he wrestled Winter away from his thoughts. It took effort. The image of me naked, writhing underneath him screaming in either terror or ecstasy kept surfacing. He was hard, despite his dunk in the water. Harry, Chicago's only professional wizard had never thought of me in this much detail. Harry, Knight of Winter, wanted me and it would be damn near impossible to dissuade him if he decided that it was worth the risk. I made a resolution never to end up alone in a tense situation with him.

"Right," he gritted out, voice rougher than I'd ever heard of it. It sounded like ice calving before plummeting into deep, black waters. "The island. Let's get back to your apartment. We have a plan to execute."

Chapter Text

I'd barely exited the shower when arms wrapped around me, pushing me back against the glass. My first thought was that Lasciel had snuck into the bathroom after me and was intent on making a more physical case for taking up her coin. I'd been on alert for something since we'd returned. But the lips that crashed down on mine were broader, rougher, and familiar. Marcone.

I melted into the touch, returning the liplock with enthusiasm. I almost dropped my towel during the unexpected onslaught. And wouldn't that have been a spectacle? Naked in a steamy bathroom with John Marcone. My parents would be apoplectic. I was pretty sure it would scandalize everyone in the living room too, which would have been fun, if not for the tension that would come after. The only thing that stopped me from hooking a leg around his face was the smug satisfaction Karrin would get from having all her worst theories about me confirmed. It wasn't her business who I slept with, but for the sake of team unity, I kept the towel in place.

Damn it.

"What was that for?" I asked when he drew back. "It's a little risky sneaking in here, don't you think? After all, there's no one to playact for."

"If you think that I haven't imagined a scenario like this, you're more naive than I thought."

His voice had dropped by an octave, and the words were accompanied by a barrage of images. The night at the gala. Lifting me onto the sink in the bathroom, hiking my dress around my hips, and slinging my legs around his waist. The way the skin of my throat and my freshly washed hair would smell. The silken glide of my skin over his. I was used to men. Until I'd experimented with Freydis, I didn't realize just how soft to the touch women were. How achingly tender it felt under the brush of lips. I caught snippets of backseats, his office, showers, and even the floor. Brief but tangible fantasies that made heat pool deep in my belly.
God, it felt wrong to get all hot and bothered over John Marcone. I didn't completely trust him. He was a criminal, a ruthlessly practical villain, a lot older than I was, and the exact opposite of what I'd been raised to expect in a man. Which, in its own way, made it hotter. Maybe Bob had a point about the danger factor. Or maybe it was just the clear-cut chemistry. I didn't have to worry about how much was mental manipulation and how much had been genuine affection. I also knew I didn't love him. Marcone couldn't break me with just the right word or action. Simple. Everything Lasciel wasn't.

"I don't think now is the time," I pointed out. "Other people are waiting on the shower. You should be out there strategizing. Last I heard, the Gaurd found ritual sites. Might want to get on that."

He made a soft sound of amusement in the back of his throat. "True. It's not why I came to you. I was told to give you a message."

"Oh?" I asked a little breathlessly. "And you had to give it to me in the shower?"

"In private," he said. "From the turncoat faerie."

"Is she...?"

"Alive? Yes, but altered. Hellfire did irreparable damage to her human body. She would have gone septic, despite your best efforts, had she remained the way she was. Gard walked her through her options."

Guilt twisted just beneath my ribs. I could guess what Wilde had done. "She made the choice, didn't she? She chose her fae half."

My throat felt tight. It didn't matter that she'd betrayed me, in the end. I understood the reason, no matter how misguided it was. She'd just been trying to protect Lily, doing exactly what I would have done only a few years ago. Now she was the same sort of creature that had violated her mother. Getting involved with me had robbed her of her mortality and forced her over to the vicious side of Faerie, forever alienated from her friends. I knew how that felt, and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone.

"She owes you a debt," he said. "For sparing her life."

"I didn't save her," I said quietly. "Not really. She won't be exactly the same person."

"But she's alive," he pressed. "I thought you'd want to know."

Yes, she was alive. I'd kept Hannah from ending her over a deception she'd had no part in. But if I hadn't made a bad call, she and Lasciel wouldn't have been here to be hurt in the first place.

"And to address your earlier point, I am doing something about what Dresden's scouts uncovered, " Marcone continued with a frown. His eyes grew a shade darker, the lines around his eyes harder. It wasn't precisely anger in his voice, but it was close. "They've found ritual magic in three locations. I've dispatched men to one of them while the vampire's people target another."

"You sound angry about that."

"It's Dresden," Marcone admitted. "I don't like the way he's looking at you. "Like you're food."

I gestured for Marcone to turn around. He did, grudgingly, allowing me to don fresh clothes. "I am. Winter is about survival. Mating, fighting, feeding, and defending territory. It's what he sees when he looks at me. I'm not the only one, but it seems to be pretty insistent where I'm concerned. It's a little...rapey, honestly. I don't like the idea of being alone in a room with him."

"If he touches you, he's a dead man," Marcone said.

He said it scary, too. Not a growl or a furious threat. Not caveman possessiveness. It was a statement of fact, an item he'd check off a list if it came to it. Manage an empire. Defeat the Fomor. Kill Harry Dresden. I believed he could do it too, despite all the advantages Harry's new position gave him. Harry was dangerous. Marcone was lethal.

"If he touches me, you'll have to get in line to take it out of his ass. I'm pretty sure Murphy would plug him if Lasciel doesn't burn him to a crisp first. She's a twisted sister, but she doesn't condone that kind of crap. He's got a handle on things for now. And speaking of Miss Libertine, where did Lasciel get off to?"

"She's outdoors," he said. "Why?"

"I need to discuss something with her, and I don't think she'll open up if you're around."

He eyed me narrowly. "Are you sure?"

I leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "I am, unfortunately. Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself."

"I know you can," he said. "But I wish you didn't have to. Dresden believes he knows what is going on. I'll let him fill you in on the finer points."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving me in the humid interior of my bathroom, lips tingling, wondering if I'd heard the first half of his speech right. Marcone cared enough to want to spare me pain. That was new, novel, and a little terrifying. It wasn't just lust.

What did it mean if a man like Marcone was actually sweet on you?

God only knew. That's what.

Chapter Text

"He's an angel, isn't he? Mac, I mean. He's like you."

Hannah's weight shifted on the bench, her posture changing ever-so-slightly when Lasciel took the wheel. It was a subtle thing and I was sure an outside observer wouldn't have picked up on the changes. It was the languid movement of muscle beneath the skin, the utterly relaxed posture, the way her eyelids lowered to half-mast, lazy and seductive, even at rest. Any watching Sartalves (of which I was sure there were many) would only see a friend settling more easily onto our perch before wrapping one arm around my shoulders. It had been crowded around the fire, and I'd wanted privacy for this conversation anyway. I sipped the hot chocolate I'd brought, pretending not to give away just how acutely I was attuned to her.

"That," she began slowly. "Is a more complex question than you know."

"Really? Because it seems like a pretty simple question to me. Either he is or he isn't. Which is it? I have my suspicions, after what the Outsider called him. A Watcher. Doesn't that mean that he was one of the angels mentioned in the book of Enoch?"

"I'd expect you, of all people, to appreciate that classification is rarely so black and white. Human beings are multifaceted, and creatures of the higher realms even more so. I am still an angel. My nature did not fundamentally change because I was exiled. You call me a demon, which is also technically true, given the limited definition your folk has assigned the word. An outside force, besides the fae, that is hostile toward humanity."

I considered that for a minute, sipping more hot chocolate. It was good. I'd have to ask Etri where he'd gotten the blend if we came back in one piece from the island. "So...you're saying that he's an angel but also not an angel."

"He is altered," she said quietly. There was a note of intense weariness to her voice that made me feel, just for an instant, the press of eons on her metaphorical shoulders. "The second fall was different than the first. They were offered choices the rest of us were not."

"Genesis 6:2. 'The Sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose,'" I said, quoting the passage from memory. "It wasn't pride that caused the second fall, it was love. It was still a sin, putting the lives of the humans they were supposed to protect above their duty to God, but a less egregious one than trying to become God."

Hannah's lip curled. "That was the thought, yes. They could not return to his side, nor were they damned to join us in Hell. They had to..." she frowned, casting around for the right words to express the concept. "Step down as it were. We are not meant to procreate with mortals. To do so, they performed an act of self-mutilation, cutting themselves off from most of their power and purpose to adopt a human body and live alongside them. He will not age, he has some access to knowledge beyond his station, and he will heal all but a mortal blow. Otherwise, he is as human as you are, subjecting himself to all the indignities that come with the condition. I didn't understand the appeal of it."

My heart beat a little faster. Didn't. Past tense of don't. Was she implying that she understood it better now? Had something changed since the last time we'd spoken? Was she considering, even unconsciously, what I'd said about other paths she could take?

"So he's both," I said. "Best of both worlds."

"The most limited aspects of both worlds. He's still bound by rules. It is an impotent existence, aware of the world and its ills but not completely of it. His wife and children are dust in the land of Cannan. He watches. That is his purpose now. It's the reason he set up that dingy hole in the wall in the first place. It's a sure way to nudge his patrons in ways that do not violate his limitations."

"Bartenders are the world's therapists," I agreed. "Do you know who he was? Before, I mean?"

"I do."

I waited. She said nothing.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No. The name is meaningless now. He is not the same creature."

I finished my hot chocolate, stood, and dumped the container in the trash. I jerked my thumb in the direction of my apartment. "Come on. Marcone should be about done bickering with Dresden. There's probably a plan in motion now. Let's find out what it is."

I'd only made it a few feet before she spoke, her voice still laced with that infinite sense of weariness. There was something else to it too. Something I'd never heard before. A tremulous sliver of doubt.

"Take my coin, Molly. Please."

It was the please that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was so alien and unexpected that it took my mind a few seconds to process that she'd tacked it onto the request without prompting. I tried to sift the word or feelings for any hint of deception and found none. The exhaustion wasn't for my benefit or a way to manipulate me. For just a moment, I was getting something real.

"I'm not letting you back in, Lash."

"Take Samshiel's coin, then. I still have it."

I turned to face her, lips parting in surprise. It didn't shock me she'd held onto the coin she'd stolen from the Church. It was intended for Hannah in the event I traded in the rest of my marbles and decided to take up with her again. That was the goal. Sucker Molly back into a partnership. But now she was willing to offer me a different coin, instead of trying to possess me?

"Why?" was all I could think to ask. "That's not what you want."

"But it is almost certain to keep you alive through the coming conflict. That's more important in the short term than stubbornly keeping on a path that leads me nowhere. I can't reason with you if you perish."

"I don't understand."

She barked out a bitter laugh. "Neither do I, lover. It's the height of absurdity. Do you how you appear to us? Miniscule. Small pieces that work together to create the whole. To take interest in only one of you is like paying attention to a single ant on a single leaf on a single tree in a rainforest full of them. The ant is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It is born, serves its purpose, and dies in what feels like mere seconds. You're so ephemeral. There and gone. Fragile."

"But you don't want the ant squished, even if it is going to die someday anyway?"

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she let out a sigh, sinking further on the bench. "I'd like to scoop it up and put it in a farm where its needs will be seen to and its life is comfortable."

"Where it's safe. Or at the very least, where some jerk with a magnifying glass won't fry it on the sidewalk."

"Something like that."

I retreated a few steps. Both sets of eyes opened when I took Hannah's hand in mine. Their breath caught when I pressed a kiss to the pulse point fluttering in her wrist.

"I'm sorry. Really."

Lasciel held my gaze for a long moment. "I am not going to let you go."

"I know that. I'm also not going to make it easy on you."

Her lips quirked for a fraction of a second. "I would have been disappointed if you had."

I let her hand drop when Thomas emerged from my apartment, one arm slung around Justine's waist. He gave us a speculative once-over before nodding in the direction of the marina.

"I need to fuel up the Water Beetle. Want to come with?"

I forced a smile. "Sure. Fill us in on the plan en route, and let's get this show on the road."

Chapter Text

Hannah's expression was remote and thoughtful when Thomas steered the Water Beetle into berth. She'd crossed her arms over her chest, feigning cold. It was probably bullshit. I hadn't paid much attention to things like temperature when I'd been Lasciel's host, only donning extra layers when the alternative was frostbite. Lasciel could easily alter the perception of the physical world around her and the blocks she'd taught me had come in handy over the years. Even now, it was easier to ignore the chill on the streets than it would have been for anyone else. So, if she wasn't cold, she was closed off. Still thinking about my death, maybe, now that there was a quiet moment to do so.

Water slapped against the sides of the hull as we slowed, approaching the docks. Harry, Karrin, Mac, Marcone, Mouse, and Sarissa were waiting for us, the latter looking like a spooked cat looking for a hiding place. She glanced at me once when I came to lean on the railing beside her. I bumped her lightly with my hip and offered her a penny from my coin purse.

"Will this do or has the price for your thoughts gone up due to inflation? I can never keep track of it these days."

That earned me a brief, bleak smile. Then it was gone. She took the penny anyway, turning it over in her fingers. I expected her to fumble it into the bay but her grip was sure and she never missed.

"I didn't have anyone, you know," she said, keeping her voice low, though I doubted Thomas was paying much attention to her with Justine at his side. "Before the Fellowship, I didn't have anyone close. My bio dad was never in the picture. My mom died when I was eight and my stepdad..."

She shuddered, turning the coin over in her hand faster. It was a copper blur between her nimble fingers. It was almost soothing to watch its steady passage. Tears glimmered on her lashes and she swallowed convulsively before she could continue.

"He wasn't a good man. I didn't realize what he was grooming me for. I told you that three men tried to rape me, and that's half-true. I didn't tell anyone that it was Richard and two of his work friends. He charged them for the privilege of forcing themselves on me." She wrapped her arms around herself more tightly, as if she could wring the feeling of their filthy hands off her skin. "If I hadn't had magic...Well, I don't know. I'd probably be a hooker or something, with that creep as my pimp."

"I'm so sorry," I said.

What else was there to say? I'd seen a lot in my life. I knew families weren't always happy and that abuse happened depressingly often, but I hadn't ever heard it laid out in such stark terms. Hannah had been just like me at one point, helpless and scared. The difference was, there hadn't been anyone to run to if she got in over her head. No one had been desperately searching for her. No one had come to save her when she'd broken the laws.

"You have everything," she continued as if plucking the thought straight from my mind. "A home. A family that loves you. Friends. I lost all that when the Fellowship crumbled. You even have her. But you don't want her. How ungrateful can you be?"

I didn't have to be a mind reader to know who she was talking about. Guilt churned in my stomach, a nauseating brew threatening to spill over.

"It's not like that," I said.

She whipped around to face me, anger sparking in her dark eyes. "Oh like hell it isn't! She's in my head remember? I can feel her. You have a freaking biblical angel that wants to take care of you and you say 'no thanks?' Do you know what I would have done for even a scrap of that loyalty?"

"It's not loyalty, it's possession and pride. She can't stand being rejected and she refuses to change in any meaningful way. If I took her coin, I'd be the one changing, not the other way around. I've come too far to backslide like that."

"Backslide," she scoffed. "Nice. Well, I'm glad I finally know what you think of me."

"Hannah, that's not-"

She tossed the penny underhand toward me and I paused, reaching out a hand to catch it on reflex. Then she stalked away, back rigid and hands clenched at her sides. The Water Beetle was parallel to the dock. I slung a leg over the side and dropped down, unable to stand being in proximity to her contempt for long. Beneath the scorn was a hurt so deep that it had claws and a willingness to lash out at anything handy. I didn't wait for her to start metaphorically raking at my guts. I strode over to where Marcone stood and gave him a mock salute.

"Knight reporting for duty, sir." I gave him a deliberate once-over and grinned. "Nice outfit, by the way. The military getup is kind of doing it for me."

His mouth slanted up. "Oh, I don't know, I'm partial to the medieval look myself."

He gave my armor a pointed look. It wasn't a full suit, but the Kevlar-fortified stuff did come in handy most of the time. I felt more secure with it on. I'd added a belt of extra foci and other goodies before leaving for the Water Beetle. I felt like I was loaded for bear. Or whatever bear-like creature was no doubt being used as a guard dog by whatever was after the island.

"I'm sure armor could be arranged, but you'd have to meet my mother first."

I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my mouth. God, had I just invited John Marcone home to meet my parents? We weren't at that point. Not even close. And even if by some miracle he could act like a normal human being for an hour, he still wouldn't earn a stamp of approval. He was firmly in the category of 'bad for our daughter' and I doubted he'd ever budge. Marcone paused as well, then cleared his throat.

"I hear she makes an excellent dinner spread. Hendricks mentioned it more than once."

I bit my lip to contain a hysterical giggle. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but I did vaguely remember my mother ordering Hendricks into the kitchen, standing like a granite-faced statue in his path until he ate supper and left me the hell alone. Apparently, the pot roast and mashed potatoes had been good enough to warrant comment from one of the most hardened criminals in Chicago. It wasn't the sort of rubber stamp of approval she was looking for, but I'd let her know about it if we came back from all this alive.

I felt it when the sun set behind us. It rang in the air like the vibrations traveling long after a bell had been struck. Most human beings didn't have the sensitivity to notice or interpret what it meant if it did. Sunset was just a pretty, everyday phenomenon. But for wizards and other magical ilk, it was a shifting of the tides, a slow turn toward some of the more dangerous things that existed in and outside our world. Harry stood a little straighter too and nodded to himself.

"Sunset," he announced. "Time to go."

"We could already be too late," Sarissa said, her voice shrill. "They could have already started."

"And if that's the case, we're wasting time fretting about it," I said, gesturing for her to move forward. "Get on the boat, please. Ladies first."

Karrin didn't react to the words, staying where she was, speaking in low tones with Harry. Sarissa only began to move forward when Mac put a gentle hand on her back and began guiding her toward the Water Beetle. Mouse took up the rear, nosing Sarissa's calves reassuringly when she slowed. They'd just settled on the deck when I felt it.

The wind picked up, tossing the stray hairs that had escaped my braid into my face. The light drizzle that had been going on most of the day picked up and began to patter down in earnest. Not enough to drench us, but enough to sting a little when it hit bare skin. A little fluttery feeling began around my navel and a portion of my brain began setting off alarm bells long before the sound hit my ears. Nearby a horn sounded.

"Shit," Harry muttered. "Is that...?"

"The Wild Hunt," Thomas confirmed, leaning over the rails. "It's coming."

"How soon?"

"Soon. They're coming through the heart of downtown."

"Fuck," Harry said, putting real feeling behind the word.

"What's happening?" Karrin asked.

"It's the Erlking. He's a lord of faerie I pissed off a while back. He's been waiting for an opportunity to hunt me for a while."

"Someone wants you dead at the most inconvenient of times," Marcone said mildly. "Color me shocked. What did you do to him, exactly?"

"Not important," Harry said too quickly. "That scene in the warehouse was an assassination attempt after all. My blood left a clear trail for them to find. What is important is this--they aren't after you. The rules of the Hunt are pretty clear. You join, you hide, or you die. You all need to leave. Aside from me, Hannah and Lasciel are probably your best bet to scupper what's happening on that island. I'll lead them away."

"No," Karrin said, stepping close to him. "You can't just-"

"I can. I have to. Go, now."

Karrin look stricken as the realization settled over her. She turned away from Harry before the tears could start and strode stiffly for the boat. Harry waved us toward the Beetle after her.

"You too, Molls. They'll need you."

"They need Hannah," I said. "You need me. I'm good at the hiding part. I think I have enough in me to help you evade them till dawn."

Harry looked like he might argue. His obstinate expression wavered when the horn sounded again, closer this time.

"No time to debate it," he said, taking off in the opposite direction, leading the Hunt away from the marina. "If you're coming, we need to go now."

I broke into a jog, pounding down the dock after him. Another set of footfalls joined mine and when I glanced over my shoulder, I found Marcone not far behind.

"You should go with them."

"I'm fine where I am," he said. "And if you argue with me, I'll throw you over my shoulder and keep running. That will only slow me down. Are you willing to do that?"

I gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Sometimes I want to punch you in your smug face, you know that, right?"

"And this isn't one of those times," he said, flashing me a brief smile. "I can tell."

"Jerk," I grumbled. But he was right. I was glad to have him at my back.

Now, how messed up was that?

Chapter Text

Now...

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," I muttered under my breath.

The litany had started about a minute ago, when the mount beneath us had abruptly shifted, skin sliding like candle wax as Wilde rearranged her shape, larger and sturdier than ever before. Gone was the juvenile shape limitation she'd had as a changeling. She'd eaten her magical Wheaties and it showed. The glossy black coat had become feathers so dark that they shone with blue highlights when there was enough light from below to illuminate them, which was seldom. The crow form was an order of magnitude bigger than the California Condor. She kept high above the flow of traffic, cheating gravity like the Hunt not far behind us. I'd been forced to wrap my steel chain link lasso in my surcoat to keep it from burning Wilde's skin. The improvised lasso wasn't pretty, but it was functional enough to keep me on her back, which I counted as a win.

Marcone wasn't having nearly as much trouble, his balance uncanny even as we soared over downtown Chicago. I had a feeling he'd been on higher and more unsteady perches. As a military sniper, maybe, but now wasn't the time to ask. He actually had the gall to shush me as he adjusted his perch, sighting down the length of his barrel. He'd pulled the carbine from God only knew where and began taking potshots at our pursuers as we closed the gap to Harry and Murphy's location.

"Don't shush me!"

"Adjusting for wind speed is difficult enough without someone panicking near my ear," he said. "Try to keep the gibbering panic to a minimum, please."

As if it was that easy. Even he was having trouble keeping a handle on the fear pulsing through his body. Only years of training and iron control let him stay in position instead of flattening himself against Wilde's back. Arrows and spears were almost within range, and it wouldn't be difficult to kebab one mere mortal mobster. He picked off the hounds with ruthless efficiency, much to the alarm of people below. When the shadows fell away from the canine forms, they turned out to be nothing but people. Sometimes creatures, but most often, just ordinary humans. It hurt when they died, but not as much as it ordinarily might. The psychic scramble of the horns kept my brain too busy with impending doom to pay much attention to the mortality of others.

I wondered exactly what people would see when they stared up into the darkening sky. The glamor would have to be huge to cover the horde. A swarm of carrion crows maybe? Geese migrating south? Just an indistinct smudge against the oncoming storm clouds? Whatever they saw wouldn't explain the bodies falling from the sky. The lucky ones would be hit with a deluge of ectoplasm and crash their cars. The really unlucky ones would be met with human bodies traveling at terminal velocities. If there was a tomorrow, the headlines would rush to come up with a reasonable explanation. A mass suicide or a cult would be the likely culprit.

I grumbled under my breath and held on tightly as Wilde banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the shaft of an arrow. It hit the side of a brick building instead, chipping off a chunk the size of a fist before dissolving into lifeless gelatin. A car alarm went off below, adding to the din. I checked over my shoulder to make sure Marcone hadn't come unseated. He'd dug his heels into Wilde's side crouching low to avoid another volley. He responded in kind, putting two bullets into one of the riders to one side of the leader, ripping away chunks of his nebulous black armor, revealing the fine features of a Winter Sidhe beneath. Not one I recognized, but had probably seen in passing sometime over the years. It let out a wild, ululating cry that raised every hair on my body.

"It looks like they're heading for the mills," I said, following Harry and Murphy's progress from above. "The steel content in the ground should keep them from following them on solid ground."

"A sound tactical decision," Marcone said. "Perhaps Dresden can be taught after all. I wasn't sure the reactionary man would ever learn to think even two steps ahead."

His voice came out strained and when I risked another glance back, I saw blood running in a sheet down one side of his face from a cut below his eye. A cut almost an inch deep was pumping the crimson stuff at an alarming rate. Only a fraction of an inch upward and it would have taken his eye. The arrow that had caused it had gotten caught in one sleeve of the tactical gear as it sailed down at an angle. The fletching was still quivering. My heart rode up into my throat at the sight of it. Next time, they weren't as likely to miss.

"Trade me," I snapped. "I can shield us from the back. It's not as good as Harry's defense but it should skew their shots, at least."

"I'm not going to-"

"Damn it, John!" I snapped. "Now is not the time to take up the mantle of big bloody hero. I can do this. You keep this bird steady, got it?"

Wilde made a sound that vibrated through her entire body. It managed to convey annoyance without words, and I couldn't help a small smile. She deserved a little annoyance after jumping me in the Botanical Gardens. She might have been sorry and owed me a debt but it didn't mean we were ever going to be bosom pals. Marcone took a few more potshots at the Hunt as we swooped low, leaving only about a foot of space between us and Murphy's head. A fall from this height would hurt, but it wouldn't kill either of us.

He inched backward, helping me sling a leg over him to reach the back half of Wilde's body. I desperately missed the relative stability of the reins when I assumed a position near the rear. I was wobbly, swaying like a reed in the wind, and a hell of a lot more unsteady than Marcone had been a minute ago. If we got out of this alive, I was going to ask him for lessons. I had to get my sky legs if we were going to continue to pull this kind of stunt. I slipped the rune-carved leather strap over my palm and sucked in a breath. My hand was shaking when I extended it toward our pursuers. I summoned up my will and the shield sprang into place, larger than I'd ever tried to make it. I wasn't taking the chance that the Hunt would try to stick an arrow in Marcone's neck. It cost me to do it, and my breath was coming in pants after the third volley. The spear chucked by one of the riders made it past my defenses and missed us by a hair, thrown off balance by the force applied against it.

Wilde's wingtips nearly brushed the sides of the narrow corridor as we continued to speed forward. I had the uncomfortable sensation I was a cow being pushed through the chute toward the slaughter. The report of Harry's Winchester was like a roll of thunder in the enclosed space. It tore away a chunk of shadow mask from the lead rider, revealing a goblin beneath. The Erlking. Another shot revealed--I swear to God--freaking Santa Claus.

"This is so damn strange," I muttered, more to myself than the others.

The horses wheeled away from the sound of gunfire and the touch of steel, spooked, but not enough to actually turn and run. Murphy shouted instructions over the wind, trying to force the riders toward the wall, where the steel would burn their flanks. Then, to my surprise, Harry simply flung himself off the back of the bike at the bowl full of jelly and seized him by the coat, dragging him sideways off the saddle. Whatever Chris Kringle was, he seemed stronger than your average mortal, but he didn't have physics on his side. He came free of the stirrups with a grunt and went tumbling end over end on the pavement.

I swung a leg over Wilde's side and flung myself groundward as well, ignoring Marcone's protest. The landing jarred my bones, but I remembered to relax enough to keep the impact from snapping my ankles. Then I was running, shoving the pain away to be dealt with later. Overhead, Marcone and Wilde swung around, meeting the rest of the Hunt before they could come at our exposed backs. Her talons plucked one rider off his saddle entirely. There was a hideous sound of tearing flesh, and then a scream and a plop as the thing's entrails met the ground.

Santa advanced on Harry, drawing a sword as he went. I surged forward, interposing myself between Harry and the hulking form of Saint Nick, infusing the sword with as much magic as I could muster. The clash of metal was simply enormous so close. The impact was so great that everything went numb from my wrists to my elbows and sent alarming tingles through the rest of me. He was freaking strong. I couldn't beat Father Christmas, but I might be able to distract him. I danced a step back, arranging myself at an angle so that he'd have to expose his flank or back to me in order to take Harry's head off. I thought I caught a flash of teeth as I did it.

The son of a bitch was actually enjoying this. Psychotic, all of them.

Harry brandished the Winchester again, and Santa twisted out of the way of the bullet he thought was coming. But instead of putting a slug into the big guy, Harry thrust out a hand and summoned his will, shouting "Forzare!"

I'll give Santa credit. He moves a lot faster than you'd think a man that size could manage. He was probably the only sizable thing that I'd encountered that cornered well. He dodged the strike. He didn't dodge the avalanche of debris that shook loose from the wall behind him as the strike hit home. He avoided most of the big pieces, but several chunks of stone clipped his neck and temple, sending him spinning.

Before he could recover Harry regained his feet and charged, letting out a shrill, wordless war cry as he flung himself bodily onto Santa Claus. He overbore the man, knocking him on his well-padded ass. I ran at him too, reaching him at about the same time Harry did. Before Kringle could right himself, we were on him, Harry's gun between his eyes, and my blade scraping his bobbing Adam's apple. He froze. The rest of the Hunt did too, watching in eerie silence as one of their leaders fell.

"Join, hide, or die," Harry said. "Those are your options when the Wild Hunt comes for you."

Kringle eyed him warily. "Aye, that's true."

"Not tonight it isn't," Harry snarled. "Tonight, the Hunt joins me." He eyed every one of the shadowy riders and hounds with defiance in his gaze. He drew Winter around him like a cloak, infusing his voice with power when he continued. "I just put a bullet into the Erlking and smacked around freaking Santa Claus. Any of you jokers want to try your hand against Mab's knight? How many more of you want to test your strength against us?

There was a beat of utter silence, and then Santa began to laugh. The sound was bright and joyful as if Harry was a cute kid who'd clambered into his lap, not the man who'd tried to bury him in a pile of rubble only a few seconds before. Harry offered him a hand up, which he took with a nod of gratitude. Murphy came around and brought the Harley to a stop, staring at the waiting Hunt with wide eyes. Marcone and Wilde joined her a moment later, touching down but not dismounting.

"What just happened?"

"The Hunt has had a change in leadership," Harry said calmly.

As soon as he said it, there was an odd slithery feeling around my feet. I glanced down and almost cried out in alarm. More of the shadows were congealing around me, spreading like ooze up my body. It didn't hurt exactly, but it was damn disconcerting. When I glanced over at the others, the murk was rising up around them too, transforming their shapes into things out of a child's nightmare. Wilde resumed her old shape, albeit more skeletal than before, with eyes like burning embers. Murphy sat astride a snarling jaguar and jumped a little when she noticed the state of her ride and her own hands. Harry's mask slid on last, a pool of inky dark with only his eyes peering out, hard and hungry.

Santa's mask crept across his features, obscuring them once more. He mounted his horse and gave Harry a nod. His voice was still jovial when he spoke. "What game amuses you tonight, Sir Harry? What quarry do we seek?"

Harry bared his teeth. The concealing mask transformed them into something sharp that put me in mind of sharks or piranhas. "Tonight, we hunt Outsiders."

Chapter Text

We wouldn't have been much good fighting the Outsiders head-on. Skilled as he could be, Marcone was just a mortal man with mortal weaponry and no one but me to back him up while we rode into battle. My skills didn't lie in the vein of magical combat. The best I could do was obfuscate, create illusions, and misdirect our enemy. An enemy who had a lot more experience manipulating illusion and misdirection than I did. But being sent to find the Water Beetle still pissed me off. I wanted to be in the thick of things, working with the Wild Hunt to destroy the Outsiders who were hellbent on blowing the island to Kingdom Come. Harry was probably right to do it. That didn't mean it didn't chafe.

I found the Water Beetle several miles out from the battle, close enough to watch the commotion but far enough away not to be immediately spotted by our attackers. Staying out of the fight was probably smart for them too. If they could sneak onto the island undisturbed, Hannah and Lasciel could stop this whole thing. The problem was the rocks. You had to be careful in this part of Lake Michigan, or jutting stones would tear out the bottom of a boat, leaving you stranded at best and at the bottom of the lake rotting at worst. The barges had swung around to approach from the opposite side. At least one was on fire and another was listing badly to one side. Marcone had picked off at least a handful of sharpshooters on our way past, but it didn't feel like enough. I wanted to do something.

Everyone flinched toward their weapons or cringed away from us when we approached but stood down when the shadows melted off us as we dropped out of the Hunt. Marcone looked mussed, bloodied, and tired, but otherwise unhurt. No one had clipped us with bullets as we sped past, nor had anyone followed us after we rippled out of sight under one of my veils. I felt as tired as he looked but forced myself to stand up straighter when my feet hit the deck. Wilde didn't even bother. She shrank into her human shape, shedding ectoplasmic goo onto the floor beneath her. She was naked and had a few cuts and bruises to show for the chase. Her eyes were at half-mast and I wouldn't have been shocked if she dropped off to sleep in a puddle of her own making. Shape changing that often and that rapidly had to take it out of a girl.

Hannah hit me broadside, wrapping her arms around my waist before crushing me to her chest. I ended up smashed against her cleavage struggling to breathe as she smothered me with affection. She was still angry with me, but it had a different flavor than before. Concern. Outrage that I'd put my well-being on the line without inviting her along to have my back. A sliver of jealousy that Marcone had been my choice instead. But overall, there was profound relief as she patted me down, assuring herself that I was whole.

"Damn it, Molly!" she snapped when she pulled away from me. "You can't just run off like that!"

"I can, and I did."

"I could have helped you."

"You are. Like I told the others, without Harry, you're our best shot at throwing a wrench into the plans they have in place. Someone with enough mojo had to make it to the island. That's not me."

"It could be," she said. "If you'd just-"

"No."

"But-"

"I'm not taking her coin or Samshiel's, Hannah. Not now, probably not ever. We don't have time to fight about this. They've disabled the barges and the tugs. Let's get onto the island and end this."

"Um..." Sarissa began, raising a trembling finger to point in the direction we'd come. "Not all of the barges are down. Look."

I turned, following the line of her finger and my heart sank. She was right. One of the barges was moving, despite the utter annihilation of the tug boat that had been hauling it slowly toward shore. The water around it fairly boiled with shapes we couldn't see, but that had to be more Outsiders. They pushed the barge forward inch by torturous inch, moving it slowly, inevitably toward the ley line that connected with the shore. If they touched down on it, it would close the ritual circuit, and we were all fucked.

"We have to stop it," I said.

"How?" Thomas asked, leaning away from the wheel. Far-off magic and the bright flashes of explosions reflected in the chrome-like surface of his eyes. "It's not like we have any heavy-duty artillery on this thing. The largest rounds I have are in the Desert Eagle, and those just pissed it off."

"My kingdom for a cannon," I agreed. "Or a rocket launcher. I could really go for something like a bazooka right now."

"What happens if it touches the ley line?" Sarissa asked.

I mimed an explosion, spreading my fingers wide. "Most likely? Boom."

Sarissa flinched. Mac looked grim and said nothing, as usual. Did the ex-angel feel helpless now? Were there times like this when he regretted his decision? Or would he have been just as helpless to interfere, bound by all the rules and cosmic red tape that kept angels from intruding on our lives? Justine clung to Thomas' side, not reacting to the conflict, as resolute as one could be in this situation. Mouse looked ready to launch himself off the side of the boat and swim to the shore to face whatever was coming.

I turned to the only other person on the deck who had a shot at doing something. Hannah stared back.

"Hellfire worked last time, didn't it?"

"Lash said it could work if we were close enough, but a shot from here isn't going to disable the barge."

"A veil?" Marcone suggested.

I blew out a breath. "I don't know if I can. I used a lot of juice fending off the Hunt and my arms are still tingly from where Santa Claus hit me."

Hannah spluttered. "After who hit you?"

"Santa," I repeated impatiently. "Santa was doing a ride-along with the Erlking and his buddies. Apparently, he likes to hunt for more than milk and cookies. I sort of got in his way when he was trying to decapitate Harry. It hurt a lot and my arms went numb for a while. Between that and the exertion of shielding for so long..." I shrugged. "I'm not sure if I can hold a veil for that long. I have to hide the wake too, and that means spreading out the illusion over water, which would take even more of the energy I don't have."

Hannah paused and then a second set of eyes opened over the first. Lasciel extended a hand to me, palm up.

"I can help you."

"For the last time, I'm not taking the coin."

She blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm not talking about taking my coin. Give me your hand. You know how the flow of magic works. From this side to draw in, and the other to expel it. I can feed you the energy required for a brief time. It would only be a few minutes, but it might be enough. I don't dare attempt more. It would damage you."

I understood what she was offering and my insides did an eager little flip. Hellfire. She was offering me hellfire, free of charge for a one-time shot attack. How many times had I longed for that needed boost? How many more people could I have saved if I had access to something that turbo-charged my magic like Lasciel's power? Some nights, it was all I could do to keep myself from begging for her help. And now I had it. A moral part of me wondered if I should refuse. It was promptly crushed by the practical side of me.

The choice was simple, really. Bend my rules a bit or let the entire Midwest explode. Refusal wasn't even an option. I took her hand.

Strength flooded into my limbs instantly and I straightened, moving to the front of the ship, shoulder-to-shoulder with Thomas. Hannah came with me, fingers laced with mine. The world got a little darker and a little quieter as the veil mushroomed outward, covering the Water Beetle and its wake with ease. A laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down. God, but I'd missed this. It was probably the point. The sweet, narcotic taste of power was my drug of choice and she'd just given me a hit. How much harder would it be to refuse the next time she asked?

We weren't far away when I got a good look at the creature at the head of the barge. Sharkface perched on the railing, baring its teeth at the ice that crackled into being all around the barge, stopping it in its tracks. He leaped off, landing on the ice. Correction, dozens of him landed on the ice and began shredding it into manageable pieces, clearing the path for the ritual-laden boat to move forward. Harry was crouched on the ground, face wan and tired. I doubted he had a lot more in him either. I wasn't sure I could defeat Sharkface, but I could distract him.

DJ Molly C considered her options, well aware she was speaking in the third person as she selected the right tune. It was the sort of thing one did when contemplating thematic appropriateness.

"AC/DC," I decided.

"What?" Sarissa asked.

"We're going in with Thunder, baby," I said and drew a wand, raising it to the sky. Hannah let the same low, excited laugh she'd uttered every time we were going against an insanely dangerous Red Court target. I took requests back then, rotating whose turn it was to pick the music. I wondered if she was remembering the time we'd killed a Count while playing Rednex. Believe me, there is nothing more humiliating for a badass monster than to get their butt kicked while Cotton Eye Joe blared in the background.

Sharkface's head whipped around when the opening notes of Thunderstruck echoed out over the water. He and his copies spun in time to catch sight of us when the veil dropped, but not fast enough. My remixed version of the song had just hit the first bellow of "Thunder!" when the Water Beetle crashed into the side of the barge at top speed. The impact was enough to throw me backward and only Marcone's arms kept me from hitting the deck headfirst. My grip on Hannah's hand slipped, but it didn't matter. I still had enough to keep the spell going long enough to keep the Outsiders blind and deaf. The blow shifted the barge's nose away from the leyline. It listed badly to one side and began taking on water.

At the same time, shots rang out from the barge's deck. Thomas bounded up onto the barge with one leap and there were a few screams, quickly silenced by his Desert Eagle and Falcata combination attack. Harry aimed his Winchester in Sharkface's direction and shouted something I couldn't hear. Moments later the thing's head exploded into black ichor. Some of it splattered onto my cheek, but I didn't care. My entire concentration was on the sound and light show. I couldn't look outside of that. Not if I wanted to do my part.

Which was why it came as a shock when Mac slapped me hard on one cheek. The lights and music cut off abruptly, leaving my ears ringing. Mac pointed soundlessly to the shore. Harry was motioning frantically for us to come ashore.

"Onto the island!" he said, voice sounding tinny to my ears. "Now! They're just trying to distract us!"

He was pointing toward the crown of the hill and the jutting lighthouse. It took me a second to comprehend what he meant. Then it clicked. I shouldn't have been able to see the lighthouse in the dark. Something was up there working power. Our real enemy.

Marcone steadied me when I lurched drunkenly forward. He studied my face for a second and nodded to himself before slinging me over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Then he was on his feet and moving, jumping down into the water like a Navy SEAL on a mission.

"Were you a part of a SEAL team?" I wondered aloud. I couldn't seem to keep my lips from flapping, uttering the first thoughts that came to mind. "Is that why you turned out to be such a badass?"

His weary laugh shook my body. Cold water splashed against my feet and I shivered.

"You're not getting the answers out of me that easily, Margaret."

"Molly. You really should call me Molly. I called you John."

"So you did. You'll have to survive to get the answer to that question Molly."

"Promise I'll get the tell-all?"

"I promise you one answer," he said. I could almost picture the tight smile on his face. "Don't get too greedy now."

"Whatever you say, multi-millionaire mafia kingpin. God forbid I be nosy at a time like this."

"Two then."

"So generous of you Scrooge. I'll reform you yet."

He climbed onto shore and deposited me back on my feet. Harry was waiting for us.

"Stay right behind me. We're going to stop whoever is at the top of the hill working magic."

"Oh, goodie," I said. "Round two."

Chapter Text

"Who's up there?" I asked Wilde as she came level with my elbow. She was moving slowly, lagging behind me most of the way. She looked like she'd drop at any second. She could barely focus her eyes, and her shoulders slumped forward under the weight of my stare.

"My Lady," she said quietly. "And Lady Winter. They said that Mab and the Winter Knight had summoned forces to defend it. Lady Summer didn't know why you'd defend this wellspring of dark magic, but she concluded you would. I wasn't a part of the approach, but I can tell you what they planned. They came via boat or chopper, parachuting into the heart of the defenses."

Harry flicked a finger in the direction of the bushes, and something let out a yowl. Wilde winced. Whatever it had been was probably a creature of Simmer and now her enemy, but it wasn't easy to shift gears in a day. I knew how bad Hannah and Lasciel were for me and had years to come to grips with it. I still got my signals muddled when they acted like the people I used to know and love.

We started our slow trek up the hill, Harry and Murphy in the lead, Thomas and Hannah bringing up the rear, sandwiching the rest of us in the middle. As strategies went, it was sound. Let the most capable offensive players go first to keep an enemy busy on the most likely areas of attack. It would give me time to veil the most vulnerable members of the group and help them escape.

"Do you know what that light is?" Justine asked.

Wilde shook her head. "I don't know anything about this island, except that it is a source of dark magic. It does not want me here."

Yeah, no kidding. The effect was somewhat lessened due to our proximity to Harry and the knowledge we were here to help, but the island wasn't a happy camper. It felt like I was slowly being pressed flat in a trash compactor, the impending sense of doom crushing me flat inch by bloody inch. Other than Harry, Hannah was faring the best. With Lasciel to cushion her mind, the island couldn't put out a psychic whammy that would make her turn tail and run.

"Harry?" I asked.

He squinted at the crown of the hill. "I think...I think it's a circle of some kind. I can't feel anything inside it."

Well, that didn't sound ominous or anything. Harry came to an abrupt halt when we finally reached the source of the light. It was...well, it didn't have a human translation. There were no words that could adequately describe what it was. Rapture. Transcendence. The sense of all-encompassing love, the stirring in your soul that came from good music, the tender moments after sex as you settled back into your skin. I took an involuntary step toward it, wanting to be closer to the feeling. The psychic stench of so much death and destruction was momentarily forgotten in light of this thing.

Harry shot out an arm, stopping me in my tracks. "I don't think you should touch it."

"But it's so beautiful," Sarissa said, staring at it in wonder. "I've seen beautiful things all my life, but they don't compare to this."

"It's Merlin's work. And had to be beautiful," Harry said. "Because what's inside was so ugly."

"Care to elaborate?" Karrin asked.

"Later. We need to find a way in. Give me something that isn't of the island."

He didn't direct the comment at anyone in particular, so I stepped forward, drawing a handful of change from a pouch at my waist. Harry tossed them lightly at the barrier and they simply...fizzled out of existence. One minute they were there, the next minute there were tiny gaps in the shape of coins. The barrier repaired itself quickly. Harry nodded as if that was what he was expecting.

"How do we get through?" Marcone asked.

"We don't," Harry said. "I do. I'm the only thing this island will let through since I'm tethered to it."

"Bad plan," Thomas said. "You know those two won't be alone. There was no point in bringing us if we can't you know, back you up."

"It can't be helped. You can't get through and someone has to go. Me. Once I'm inside, I'll try to find a way to bring it down. Sit tight until then."

Harry began shucking off his clothes. I turned away quickly before I could get a good look.

"What are you doing?"

"These aren't of the island and I really don't want to ruin the only clothes I've got."

Marcone looked amused at my embarrassment or maybe at the fact Harry would be fighting faeries in the buff. Hannah didn't turn away, regarding Harry with frank appraisal. She might have been fixated on me but that didn't mean she was dead. Harry was attractive if you liked the tall, wiry, and dangerous type. Apparently, I liked the lethal, hard-edged, silver fox type.

I turned in time to watch Harry disappear through the shimmering barrier. I lost all sense of him when he was gone but didn't feel the burst of agony that would indicate he'd been fried. I inclined my head in Karrin's direction when she shot a glance back at me.

"He made it."

She let out a shaky breath. "Good. That's good."

She didn't sound like she believed it. Mouse paced in front of the barrier, wearing a line in the dirt in his worry. Hannah bristled, ready to burst into motion the second the barrier came down.

Except...it didn't. Sounds filtered out to us, oddly distorted and barely intelligible. It was enough to let us know that Harry was still alive and fighting, but that was about the extent of it.

"We need to do something," Thomas said. "We can't just let him go up against those freaks alone."

"You heard him. We're not a part of the island," Murphy said.

A thought struck me. "Unless we were. I don't think this thing is super complex. I say we pull a page from all those cheesy zombie movies."

"Start gnawing our way through moaning 'braiiiins?" Wilde asked. "I don't think we should try it."

"No, I'm talking about those scenes where they drape themselves in zombie guts to fool the undead into thinking they're also zombies."

Hannah's eyes lit in understanding. "Oh! You mean cover ourselves in bits of the island. This defense isn't self-aware and able to discriminate. If it feels parts of the island, they can pass through."

"Exactly. We take a mud bath and we cheat our way through."

"And if we're wrong, it won't take long for us to die," Thomas said, tone deadpan. "That's something at least."

"Are you going to help or are you just going to shit all over my idea?"

The ghost of a smile alighted on his lips. "I've always wondered what you'd look like after a mud wrestling fight. Preferably with Justine."

"Pervert."

"Every damn day," he said with a leer. "Want me to get your back?"

"I think I'll manage."

It took us a few minutes to hike down far enough to find mud, and more than that to slather every inch of skin and clothing with enough muck to trick the circle. We looked like a group of bad Scooby Doo villains trooping up to the summit. Karrin dove through first, disappearing from my awareness. Hannah strolled through next, swaggering, as usual. She'd been confident before Lasciel. She was probably unbearable now. I took a deep breath and stepped through.

Right into a war zone. Half the hill was burned black and the smell of char almost choked me. I covered my mouth before I could cough, alerting every faerie in the vicinity where I was. Demonreach stood in the doorway of the lighthouse, stalwart in the face of two faerie queens and their coteries. Bits of it broke off and flowed backward. It was losing mass slowly, eroded by the magic of the Ladies of Summer and Winter. At the moment, only one of them was turning their full attention to the thing. Lily was naked and luminous, pouring out Summer power against the island's spirit on a level I could barely conceive. Maeve stood a little ways back, bobbing and weaving, evading Harry's attacks.

She let out a delighted laugh when he collapsed to the ground, spent. She flicked a negligent hand toward the fallen Harry and said, "Tear him to pieces."

One of the vilest creatures I'd had the misfortune to see or smell lumbered out of the tree line. I only knew what it was due to Lasciel's illusion, and even that hadn't done the thing justice. This one was huge, made of the dripping remnants of a butcher's shop. It smelled like a week's old corpse and the suffering exuding from every scavenged piece of it made me want to puke.

Mouse hit it at the knees, staggering it before it could reach Harry's side. Blue light gathered in a nimbus around its head, and it let out a snarl that sent the Rawhead back a few more steps. Karrin stooped and got an arm under Harry, lifting him to his feet, using her grip to half-drag him toward the cottage not far off. He slurred something at her, and she answered. Sarissa came up to his other side and helped steady him as well.

I slipped under a veil, pulling Marcone along with me as the faeries became aware of our sudden incursion. They spread out, coming at Thomas, Mac, Justine, Wilde, and Mouse from all sides. Even Hannah and Fix went down under the dogpile of Winter Sidhe. Several of them died before they could subdue her, but it wasn't enough. There were just too many. The whole thing was sort of terrifying, like watching lionesses on cooperative hunts. Not a single one of them was out of sync with the others.

"Oh, my Knight," Maeve singsonged, swinging her hips in almost sexual glee as she approached the mouth of the cottage. The sigils glowing on its roof and sides kept her at bay, but only just. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. I think you'll simply hate what I'll do to your friends if I get bored."

"Why don't you come in here, Maeve?" Harry called back.

The Redcap, who'd seized Justine dug claws into her flank, just under the ribs. She went up on her toes, biting her lip to contain a scream. Thomas thrashed wildly, trying to escape the Rawhead, even as bands of ice began to form on his arms and legs. Maeve trilled a laugh and swiped her fingers through the blood that oozed from Justine's wounds. She licked her fingers clean, savoring the taste like it was ice cream.

"Fine!" Harry called. "We're coming out, Maeve!"

They re-emerged, moving slowly, still supporting most of his weight. Sarissa's face was bloodless, and her mind was putting out a shriek that even nulls would be able to pick up on. She already considered herself a dead woman, it was just a matter of how bloody her end would be. There were only two people in the world left who could save her. Could save any of them.

And it just happened to be me and Marcone. The two of us against over a dozen faeries and two of the Queens.

We were so screwed.

Chapter Text

Maeve approached her captives with enough bounce in her step to qualify as a gymnastics routine. With another negligent flick of her fingers, the filth slid off the others to the shoulders, revealing their pale, strained faces. She scanned each of them in turn, her smile growing by a few molars with every new victim she surveyed. There was an eager, carnivorous flavor to her thoughts like a bored cat who'd finally found something interesting to pounce on. She stopped in front of Mac first, giving him an amused once-over.

"The ever-watching bartender," she said with a light, bubbling laugh that was totally at odds with the situation at hand. "Getting a good view, hm? The irony is just delicious. Why don't I give you something to mull over in the meantime?"

Maeve produced a pistol from God only knew where and shot Mac in the stomach. I couldn't see any place for her to conceal the small-caliber weapon. The bikini top was barely there, and the short shorts clung to her backside and thighs like spandex, leaving very little to the imagination. And it was a lot easier to focus on the trampy outfit than the flare of pain that lit up my brain like a Christmas tree. The suffering of others was bad, always, but exhausted and battered as I was, it was even harder to bear than usual. It took every ounce of control I had to stay stock still and lock a groan behind my teeth. Mac let out a pained sound and sank to the ground, holding himself up by will alone.

Justine made a soft sound of protest at his side. Maeve turned toward her with another provocative wiggle. There was significantly more hunger and excitement when she took in Justine's lithe body and pale, frightened face. She tipped Justine's chin up and leaned in like she might plant a wet one right on the other woman's mouth, laughing when Justine tried to bite her.

"Lovely," she sighed. "I just love a girl with a little spirit. You look positively scrumptious my dear. I can see why the vampire likes you. And you're so close to Lady Raith, too. We're going to have to have a chat, darling, girl-to-girl. I just know you'll be seeing my way soon."

Maeve's demeanor became positively leonine when she rounded on Sarissa. The manic gleam in her eyes put me in mind of religious zealots or recently escaped mental patients. Sarissa shivered but stayed very still as Maeve circled her. "And dear Sarissa. I should have known you'd thrust yourself into this. There's nothing I have that you don't want to ruin, is there?"

Sarissa let out a long-suffering sound, shoulders curling forward a fraction of an inch. "God, Maeve, how often do we have to have this fight?"

"Until you keep your thieving hands off my things!" Maeve said, and she actually stamped her foot like a petulant child. No, scratch that. I'd seen more calm and restraint from my youngest siblings. Whatever Maeve was upset about, it was beyond petty.

"Maeve, what could I possibly have ruined for you? Did finally moving out of that studio apartment destroy your life? Did getting my nursing degree somehow diminish your power? Did I steal some boyfriend of yours that you accidentally left breathing after the first night?"

"It's always about the men," Maeve said, lips drawing away from her teeth in genuine outrage. "How important you think they are. It's why you've been bedding that one."

She jabbed a finger at Harry, who was still leaning heavily on Murphy. He was watching the conversation like a sports fan watching a fast volley. I wondered if he was having the same thoughts I was. Maybe, maybe not. Harry had discovered his sibling late in life, whereas I'd been having conversations like this one all my life. Albeit, not about stolen boyfriends. I hadn't been at home during that phase of my life and I didn't think that any of my sisters would have been interested in that sort of competition even if I had been. Whatever else they were to each other, I recognized a bitter family squabble when I saw it.

"It was work, Maeve. He needed physical therapy."

"Oh yes," Maeve said, rolling her eyes in a wide arc that threatened to send them back into her skull. "That dress you were wearing was so therapeutic. You just couldn't wait to throw yourself under him, could you?"

"Me?" Sarissa fired back. "You were only wearing rhinestones!"

"Diamonds!" Maeve shrieked. "They were diamonds you empty-headed little twit!"

"Oh my God," Karrin breathed, looking between the pair with mounting disbelief.

"Yeah," Harry drawled. He shot Sarissa a narrow-eyed look. "Mab's BFF, huh?"

"You said it, not me," she said a little too quickly.

"Right," I said. "You're just a young, single rehabilitative health professional."

"This decade," Maeve sneered. "What was it last time? Mathematics? You were going to describe the universe or some such? And before that, what was it? Environmental science? Did you save the Earth, Sarissa? And before that, an actress? You thought you could create art. Which soap opera was it again?"

"It doesn't matter," she said. She gave Harry an apologetic shrug. "It was before your time."

"What?"

"I told you I was older than I looked."

"I didn't put it together at first. Maeve's always been..." Harry waved a hand vaguely in Maeve's direction, indicating all of her. "Like this, with the piercings, crazy hair, and psychotic baby-doll thing. That must have been what threw me off. I see it now. You're identical twins."

"Not identical!" Sarissa and Maeve chorused at the same time. They turned to glare at each other.

"You two were changelings. Maeve chose to be Sidhe at some point and you...you chose humanity?"

"She didn't choose at all," Maeve said, lip curling. "Pretty, empty Sarissa, just sitting on her comfortable little fence doing nothing while the rest of us did all the real work."

"Maeve," Lily said, voice strained. Her face was dripping sweat and she was being pushed back from the lighthouse, despite her best efforts to keep Demonreach contained. The Sidhe at her back wore almost identical looks, white-knuckling the shoulder of the faerie in front of them as if it was the only thing that kept their line from toppling like dominoes.

It struck me finally, that I was just standing here while Maeve put on a very loud and distracting show, and I wasn't taking advantage of the chaos properly. I must have been more tired than I thought if the idea of interfering hadn't crossed my mind in the past few minutes. If I could get to Lily without Maeve noticing, I could divert her attention. She was the only thing keeping Demonreach pinned down at the moment and none of the other Sidhe would stand a chance against it when the strongest member of the line went down. I wouldn't last long against Lily. My death would be quick and possibly spectacularly messy, but it was a risk I was going to have to take. Sundown was only in a few hours and at this rate, the island would go kaboom long before we made it. I needed a little help. Help bigger than Marcone.

I took his hand in mine and traced the word 'Fix' onto his palm, praying he'd get it. With so many keen ears around, I didn't think I could disguise a conversation. I wasn't even sure that a communion spell would go unnoticed if I tried to weave a new spell into being, so old-school would have to do. If Lily was going to listen to anyone, it would be her Knight. Maybe we could talk her down, make her turn on Maeve. And if not...well, it would give the island time to act.

Marcone moved away from me, toward the group of Witer Sidhe and their captors. I kept the veil over us both, stretching it as far as I could on my limited reserves. It took concentration to disguise our shadows in the shifting light and muffle any slight sounds we made. I moved slowly, walking heel-to-toe to avoid disturbing the grass too much. Maeve was still talking, still diverting every eye away from what we were doing. Perfect.

I was about a foot away from Lily's elbow when Maeve shouted something and turned her pistol on Harry, aiming for his head. The surge of pure malice that came from her made my steps stutter and I could only watch in horror as her finger tightened on the trigger. I was too far away to do anything to stop it. If Marcone had gone where I'd told him to, he couldn't do anything about it either.

Harry's face blanched and he shouted, voice higher and more panicked than usual, "Mab, Mab, Mab! I summon thee!"

The hush that fell over the hilltop was absolute. Snow and ice crackled into being over every surface. I shuddered in the sudden cold as a layer of rime formed on my armor. No one was looking at me and didn't notice the veil waver ever-so-slightly. I had the briefest glimpse of Marcone using a lighter he'd pulled from somewhere to melt the black ice bonds that Maeve had used to bind our allies. Fix stayed very still, not daring to draw attention to himself or his rescuer. No one noticed. No one, except Mab, who floated in the air like the shadow of death itself, a dark specter here to hand down judgment and cut down the unworthy. Her coal-dark eyes didn't betray anything, but I knew she'd seen. She had to.

Those eyes swiveled to Lily, who dropped her hand and took a step back from the island's protector like a child caught doing something wrong. The island didn't lunge toward her. It stood stock still in the entrance to the lighthouse and waited. Mab inclined her head respectfully toward it.

"I thank you for your patience and your assistance in this matter. You could have reacted differently but chose not to. I am aware of the decision. It will not be forgotten."

Demonreach barely acknowledged the thanks, bowing its head by a matter of only a few degrees before squaring its shoulders again. Mab didn't touch down until she'd gotten Harry's permission. Most of her attention was focused on Maeve, who stood in the center of the debacle, unrepentant. Comteptous, even. I crept a little closer to Lily, who'd recovered some of her earlier confidence.

Maeve's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "So, Mother. You come in black. You come as a judge, here to cut me down because your executioner has proved so woefully underprepared to do it for you."

"You have duties," Mab said patiently. "You neglected them. What did you expect me to do?"

"Nothing," Maeve seethed. "Just like usual. You give me nothing."

"Nothing is what I have done for too long. This should have been dealt with long ago, but losing you presents a challenge of its own. I'd prefer it if you would allow me to assist you."

Maeve snorted. "Torture me into compliance like the Leanansidhe? I think not, Mother. I'm through being your little helper. No one controls Maeve."

Mab's expression didn't soften. She still looked as sharp-edged and deadly as a dagger, but there was something weary in her tone when she said, "Oh, Child."

"I'm never going to bend the knee to you again, you hateful old cow," Maeve continued. "You're a washed-up, jealous old hag who envies everything she sees in me."

"Envy?"

"Because I have something you'll never have. A choice."

The congealed hatred in the word choked me and the image that accompanied it was so vivid that it rocked my head back. If I'd stayed put, I wouldn't have been close enough to shout a warning, let alone move forward. But I was here, not far away and Marcone had finally done what I'd asked. Fix bounded forward, startling his captors with his speed and agility. He cleared the swipe of the Redcap's arm like it was a beginner's hurtle in a track meet, and ate up the ground between himself and Maeve as she raised the gun, pointing it at Lily's temple.

I hit Lily broadside at the same time Fix overbore Maeve, using his superior bulk to pin her to the ground for a crucial second. The shot meant for Lily hit me instead, punching through the layer of plate armor to be caught in the kevlar beneath. The sound and impact were still enough to ring my bell. I'd taken the hit where my sternum would have been, and I fell gracelessly on top of Lily, sucking air like a landed fish. The veil flickered and died. The touch of steel made Lily scream and her attendants scramble away from her, letting out shouts of alarm when I simply appeared in their midst. I ignored them, ignored Lily, and placed myself more firmly on top of her turning to absorb the shock of two more shots on my back. It hurt. A lot. I was going to have bruises the size of baseballs when this was all over.

I could only watch the struggle in my periphery, most of my attention focused on keeping Lily down and her thugs from jumping me. Maeve and Fix rolled in the dirt once, twice, three times. Fix was fast and strong, but he wasn't thinking clearly, too concerned with Lily's safety to employ any real strategy. I wasn't even sure if he knew she was (relatively) safe, pinned under my bulk. The steel was hurting her, but unless I plunged it into her heart or skull, she'd heal from contact with it. She'd stopped struggling, watching the fight with wide, horrified eyes.

Maeve came out on top, pinning Fix with her hips in a move that was too sexual to belong in battle. She licked her lips, eyes wide and filled with almost orgasmic glee. Mab didn't have time to shout a denial. Harry couldn't lunge forward to stop her. Fix couldn't get up a hand to defend himself either. Icy talons formed on Maeve's fingers and she brought them down with a howl of ecstasy, opening Fix's throat down to the bone.

"Fix!" Lily screamed.

I might have echoed the scream. I think I made a sound, at least. My body sagged forward with the weight of her grief and the searing agony of his passing as his blood pumped onto the earth at Maeve's feet. His last rattling breath rang in my ears like the sounding of a requiem bell and then...he was gone. Water splashed onto Lily's hair and for a second I thought it had begun to rain. But no. There was only one sound aside from Lily's continued screams. A girl's soft weeping.

Oh. It was me. I was weeping. For Fix. For my friend. My dead friend.

Light gathered around Fix like a dozen dazzling constellations and flew in our direction. At first, I thought they'd latch onto me, but a second later they flowed into Lily, infusing her chest with light. In a flash of insight, I understood what had happened. It was Fix's mantle of power returning to the nearest Summer Queen until it could be bestowed on someone new. Lily would have to choose quickly if she wanted to keep the balance of power intact.

Maeve screamed too, firing in our direction until her gun clicked empty. She was too angry to aim well, and most of them went wide. Two more smacked into my side, driving the breath from me again. Mom was going to have a fit when she saw exactly how many holes were in the breastplate. If I made it home to have her repair it, that was. It seemed like a big if at the moment.

Lily's screams tapered off to sobs and she kept repeating Fix's name over and over like a prayer, as if it might somehow bring him back. Maeve turned on her heel, shouting at her mother. Mab replied in kind, but I couldn't hear the words said. My ears were still ringing and my body was shaking so hard my teeth rattled. Another friend, gone. Dead like Nixon, like Thorn, like Salem. Dead like Anna, who I failed to save. Dead like Daniel, who I'd murdered. More tears soaked into Lily's hair. I couldn't stop them. All I could do was keep my weight on Lily and keep her safe. I had to keep at least one person safe, damn it.

Motion out of the corner of my eye drew my attention back to the drama unfolding before the lighthouse. Maeve was still gloating, still facing her mother. She didn't notice when Karrin's bonds crumbled. She didn't turn to defend herself when Karrin rose into a crouch, clutching the spare gun she kept in her ankle holster. She barely reacted when the bullet entered her brain and tore out the front of her skull. I was the only one who uttered a strangled scream as Maeve slumped to the ground, dead.

I didn't want to feel for her, but I had no choice. The instant of agony was brief but potent. I rolled off Lily, curling on my side, sore, miserable, and feeling Maeve's death like a shard of ice in my heart. I had a brief glimpse of more light coalescing over Maeve's prone body. It formed the shape of a viper and struck directly at Sarissa, who shrieked when it plunged into her chest. She sank down onto the ground beside her sister a moment later, twitching and moaning as the new mantle settled onto her.

"It's over," Mab said. She didn't sound happy about it. She turned on the cluster of Winter Sidhe, raising one brow in an infinitesimal gesture of displeasure. "Release them. Now."

They scrambled away from the group like they'd been faced with the bane. I guess they weren't willing to try their luck against Mab in this frame of mind. I didn't blame them. She'd had her own daughter killed. How much easier would it be to turn Harry or the others on them too? She was slowly returning to normal, the black bleeding from her countenance like a stain being scrubbed out. It didn't make her an ounce less frightening. Her eyes passed over me once in what might have been approval before she strode toward her fallen daughters, kneeling over Sarissa, speaking a quiet word.

I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. Voices surrounded me, but I didn't pay them much mind. At some point, someone guided me into the cottage and set me in front of the fire, shoving something warm into my hands. I sipped it without tasting anything. The only thing that seemed real was the hands touching me. One calloused and covered in dried earth. Marcone. The other was soft, supple, and felt like Summer sunshine bathing the right side of my body with warmth.

"She's in shock," Lily said.

"I know that," Marcone answered. "I've seen this before. It will pass. Don't you have things to be doing, your highness?"

"I do, but I must speak with her before I depart. Can I trust that you'll alert me when she's ready?"

Marcone paused. I had the sense he wanted to say something sharp, but his practicality won out in the end.

"Of course. It might take time."

Lily's hand brushed over my hair and heat soaked into my scalp. I leaned into the touch without thinking about it. She sighed.

"She may take all the time she needs. I'll be waiting just outside."

She left me in Marcone's tender care. He spooned soup into my mouth at some point. I swallowed mechanically. The drink turned out to be coffee, bitter and bracing. People around me were talking, but I couldn't pay attention to the specific words.

"You're going to be fine," Marcone said.

"I'm so tired," I whispered. "So tired of the death. Just tired in general."

"Then sleep. I'm here."

I didn't argue. I leaned my head against his shoulder, closed my eyes, and drifted off into dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Lily reminded me of her namesake. In the aftermath of the battle, she'd slumped over, pale and fragile with the gloomy air of a centerpiece at a funeral. She didn't say anything to me for a long while, preferring to stare up at the sky. We sat in companionable silence watching the others trail down toward the shore.

“It seems I owe you my life,” she said, voice barely rising above a whisper. If I weren't standing beside her, I could have mistaken it as a whisper of wind through the trees. The island was winding down now that the threat to its inhabitants was over, but you didn't go from DEFCON 1 to utter relaxation instantly. The oppressive atmosphere would take time to return to its usual unfriendly self.

“Seems like,” I agreed.

More silence. I wasn't sure what to say to her remark, and she looked exhausted. Losing Fix had sapped something vital from her. She seemed to glow less brightly now, her natural aura of infectious joy tempered by sorrow. There weren't any tears glimmering on her flawless cheeks or clinging to her lashes, but I could hear them in her voice. She'd shed the rest of them later, when she'd returned to Summer, her figurative tail tucked between her legs.

Lily had lost more than one person tonight. False as Maeve's friendship had been, it was something to cling to in one of the darkest and most vulnerable times in her life. The deception would hurt all the more now that she was dead, leaving Lily to wonder if there had even been one ounce of truth or genuine spark of affection between them over the years. It was easier to hate someone when they were alive. A lot harder to square away what they may or may not have done when they were dead and rotting in the ground.

Lily leaned back on her perch, still examining the sky. It was lightening to gray, the stars winking out of sight one by one with the approach of dawn.

"You did a great service to me," she continued without prompting, picking up the thought as if the stretch of pensive silence hadn't existed. "And to my Court, despite how deeply we have wronged you. Thank you, Molly. This is a debt I'm not sure that I will ever be able to repay."

"Don't thank me. I didn't save Fix. I don't deserve gratitude."

Lily shook her head, sending magnificent white-blonde waves of hair rippling down her back. The scent of her was sunshine and spring flowers. It was a jarring juxtaposition with the smells of char and blood still fresh on the ground. Her gaze was glued to the spot where Fix had died. It was bare now. One of the others had picked him up and removed him from his prone position on the ground, giving him a little more dignity than he'd had at the moment of his death.

"You did exactly what he would have done. Against all reason, you risked your own life to spare mine. I know you, and I know it was done out of genuine affection for me, not to reap any favors from Summer. But you've earned those nonetheless. Ask a proportional favor from me and you'll have it."

A boon from Summer. A really substantial boon, too. It was something you definitely wanted to keep tucked away in your back pocket. There were a million things I wanted from life, but the real trick was to figure out one that was actually feasible. I couldn't turn back time and stop myself from touching Lasciel's coin. Tonight was an excellent example of why messing with time was a terrible idea. Lily couldn't raise Daniel from the dead and give him back to our parents whole and healthy. She could keep Lasciel away from me, with enough effort, but I didn't want to draw her into a conflict with the Denarians.

"I'll have to think about it," I said. "I don't have much that's doable on my wish list at the moment. Rain check?"

"There is another option you could consider," Lily said, still not looking at me. "You could return to us as a hero of Summer. Take up a permanent position in the Court. Live alongside us."

"A permanent position, huh? I've never thought of myself as the court jester before. There has to be some way to make the cockscomb work, right?"

Lily let out a watery snort of laughter at the image I'd painted for her and discreetly dabbed at one eye. "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh? Then what were you getting at?"

Lily reached down and took my hand in hers. It was as warm and reassuring as a full-body hug. Her fingers twined with mine and scooted closer to me. When I glanced in her direction, I found myself almost nose-to-nose with her. Lily's eyes were wide and earnest.

"You could make the role you played tonight permanent. Become my shield and sword in times of strife. There is a mantle that needs to be filled, and I think you'd perform ably."

I think my jaw might have defied physics and dropped into my lap like a Saturday morning cartoon. She'd danced around the subject in the way only the Sidhe could, but it sounded like...But she couldn't mean that, right?

"You want me to be the new Summer Knight?"

"Yes, I do."

"Don't you...ah...have to confer with Titania about something like that?"

"I was the closest vessel of faerie that Fix's mantle could flow back to, which means it is mine to give. I'd like to bestow it on you."

I drew my hand back, massaging the feeling back into my fingertips. Her grip had grown tighter with every imploring word she'd spoken until my fingers had started to purple.

"You do know Mab was considering me as a potential candidate for Winter, right? I don't think I have the right temperament, even if I were to say yes. Because I'm not saying that, just so you know. I don't want any confusion or word games."

"You're only in this condition because I allowed fear to cloud my judgment. You were getting better. You could come back and recover somewhere peaceful."

I didn't want to let my mind wander into the landscape she'd painted for me, but it frolicked there anyway. I could picture it. A return to Summer, to the peaceful days full of laughter, beauty, and good company. The sun-kissed warmth of a perfect May day, before the Midwest heat and humidity swept in and brought broiling July afternoons.

Lily sat there, face pale and contrite, the very picture of innocence. But she might as well have been Eve, offering me a taste of the apple. She was offering me the forbidden fruit, and by God, did I want to snatch it out of her hand.

Peace. Stability. Safety. Warmth. Love.

It would be easy, and I could twist myself into believing it was actually the prudent way out. Lasciel might be desperate to have me, but she wasn't a fool. If I were the Summer Knight, a strike against me would be a strike against Summer itself. Not even one of the Fallen would want to pick that kind of fight. Lily would have the skill necessary to remove the twins. Every one of my problems could be solved in one fell swoop, and all I had to do was say yes.

My aching muscles screamed at me, and pain drummed a staccato beat against my temples. Do it. Just go.

Hadn't I done enough? Suffered enough? How many times would I insist on mortification of the flesh, and indeed, my very soul, before I considered what I'd done worthy of penance? Did I really have to guide my battered psyche through the treacherous, hideously violent rapids, trying fruitlessly to turn the tide, only to bruise and break myself anytime I was dashed against the metaphorical rocks? My boat was only holding together through the liberal application of duct tape, divine intervention, and sheer force of will. One of these days I'd hit something stronger, faster, smarter, and more nightmarish than I was, and I'd break. Would my allies begrudge me even that much?

No, I thought they'd understand. Hell, some of them might even approve of a stint in Summer rehab. No one had said anything to my face yet, but I knew everyone was waiting for the inevitable snap, the reboot of the role I'd played years before. And I couldn't even blame them. I didn't like playacting as Marcone's monster any more than they did and didn't relish the idea that the 'act' bit might be slowly eroding from the equation.

But this wasn't about what I wanted. It was about what Chicago needed. Harry was in town at the moment, yes, but that would inevitably change. He was Mab's creature now, an extension of her will. He'd fight her for every inch, but he was a piece on her board, hers to move when and where she saw fit. I welcomed his help while he was here...but he wouldn't stay long-term. I would put money on it.

Which meant that someone needed to stand as a deterrent to the fish-faced fuckers who continued to move against Chicago. Someone had to track down the renegade ghosts, ghouls, and goblins who capitalized on the chaos to get their jollies and teach them an object lesson in pain.

No. Chicago needed me more than I needed a little peace and quiet. I could sleep when I was dead.

"No," I said at last, and I could hear the regret in my voice. The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I said them anyway. They were necessary. "I don't think I can take the mantle, Lily. I'm sorry."

Her eyes closed briefly, expression pained. "I...understand. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

There was one thing, but I wasn't sure I trusted her enough to do it. Pax sensed the direction of my thoughts, and I could almost feel the little guy's head tilt quizzically.

"You're not going to ask her to deliver us as your boon? Why not?"

"The same reason I haven't approached any of the other sovereign powers. The extraction process will require me to remain...unaware. I'm not taking the chance that any of them are going to snatch my kids and run the second the opportunity presents itself. Besides, I don't know if I can trust her. She could be tainted by the contagion."

"So could you," Fortnea pointed out.

A sluice of sweat ran down my spine, gathering at the small of my back. My gambeson clung unpleasantly, and I couldn't meet Lily's eyes. Thanks to years of mental tampering, I could be as much a risk to her as she was to me. It was a chilling thought.

Lily remained silent, staring placidly at her hands while she waited for my answer.

"There's nothing I can think of at the moment," I said at last. "I don't think I can return, even as a vanilla mortal. Not now, at any rate. There are still enemies to defeat and obligations that must be met. I will keep Summer's offer in mind."

Lily nodded, as though she'd anticipated my answer. "You may call upon Summer's aid whenever you have need of it, Molly Carpenter. So mote it be."

She pushed off the fallen log and straightened her borrowed shirt. It must have been Harry's at some point, scrounged from somewhere in the cottage. It barely reached her thighs, leaving most of her distractingly bare. She turned to go, then hesitated, spinning on her heel at the last moment so she faced me dead-on. Then she placed two fingers gently beneath my chin, tilted my head up a fraction, and kissed me.

It was a mere brush of lips, feather-light, almost chaste, and still somehow incredibly tender. Even without teeth and tongue involved I could taste the honeyed sweetness of her, like clover in spring. The scent of honeysuckle rolled off of her skin, saturated her hair, and teased every sense I had. My aching body became a little easier to bear, and the drumbeat against my temples dulled to a distant prickling sensation.

Lily drew back from me a fraction of an inch and whispered a word against my mouth. One word, but it was all I needed.

"Heal."

The sense of relief was immediate. Every cut and bruise on my body stopped sending out pulses of unpleasant sensation. All my injuries just melted away, like March snow after a good rain. More than that, the close contact with the undiluted power of Summer had eased some of my other burdens. The anger, anxiety, and grief weren't gone, but they felt distant and a lot easier to bear.

She pulled away from me, eyes soft and a little sad.

I felt like a swimmer who'd finally surfaced for air. I almost tugged her back. The thought of losing the peace she'd offered was almost intolerable. I almost begged her to ignore what I'd said and to give me the mantle anyway. Maybe that had been the point. Give me a hit of morphine, dull the pain for a little while, and remind me that she had the cure I so desperately needed.

A cure that meant slow oblivion, I reminded myself. The mantles of power changed those that held them. Harry's mantle was more violent and coercive than the one I was being offered, which had the potential to change him faster. Put like that, it was just a matter of choosing the material that bound your hands. Silk bonds might be more comfortable but in the end, they were just as restrictive as steel bands. It might take ten or twenty years, but the parts of me that made me fundamentally me would disappear, bleached out of me like a book left too long in the sun.

Lily turned away from me again, hiding a sniffle behind one hand. "I...I must see to my former knight. Please excuse me."

"Can I ask where he'll be?"

The request came out in a smaller voice than I expected. I'd seen Fix go down and felt him pass, here one second and then gone the next, departing to whatever waited for him on the other side. Accepting it was another thing entirely. It seemed surreal. He was too good, too vital to just die like that.

Lily had almost reached a break in the trees when she paused. Another, more distinctive sniffle carried on the air. It took her a minute to gather enough control to reply.

"He didn't have a family to speak of. Most of us didn't. Ronald was our refuge, the closest thing we had to kin, and he's been gone a while now. I'll consult with Titania, but I expect he'd like to be laid to rest next to Reuel's plot. I think I knew the last Summer Knight well enough to guess that he wouldn't find it insulting. Now, I really must go. Be well, Molly."

Lily disappeared into the treeline and then the presence of her blipped out of existence as she stepped from the island into the Nevernever. A fresh gale howled through the trees, tearing leaves from their branches. The air felt colder without her sitting nearby.

"Be well, Lily," I whispered to the empty air.

Something told me that she'd still hear it. I stood and began the slow journey to the shore where Wilde and Marcone would be waiting. If I hung around here, I'd end up eavesdropping on a tender moment between Murphy and Harry, and she'd never forgive me for that. It was bound to be emotional. After all, he was going to depart with the new Winter Lady, leaving her alone in Chicago, as usual.

I'd just made it to the makeshift stairs and started to descend when a figure darted from the dark, seizing me around the waist. A dainty, feminine hand clamped over my mouth as she dragged me flush against her, my back to her front. She was made of defined curves and supple muscle, and I knew the embrace intimately. I tried to say her name but only managed a muffled grunt against her palm.

"Alone at last," Lasciel purred. "Come with me, lover. We're going to find a nice, quiet place to negotiate terms."

Chapter Text

"I don't think so."

The familiar voice startled us both, which said something about just how damn shocking the development was. I wasn't easy to spook after so many years as a terrorist-turned-Denarian-turned-Chicago-crime-fighter. Usually, if something managed that feat it was because I hadn't prepared well enough and walked straight into an ambush. Failing that, it was because whatever I was facing was terrifying in a way not-quite-of-this -world and any reasonably sane person would have reacted the same way in my position. Lasciel was much older and more liberally seasoned in the art of expecting attacks, and she'd been caught off guard too. That had to happen, what? Every millennium or so? A red letter day to be sure.

Neither one of us had expected John Marcone to do it. His significance to me couldn't be overstated, but in the lineup of characters on the island, he shrank in importance from larger than life to just a useful piece on the board. The Winter Knight, a member of the royalty of the White Court, a former angel, two Winter Queens, a departing Summer Lady, a former Knight of the Sword, and a Foo dog. The only person who she'd discounted less was probably the non-combatants like Justine.

But she couldn't overlook him now. He stepped out of a nearby copse of trees, slipping out of the shadows like they were a silken dinner jacket. He moved with the measured, predatory stride of a big cat, coming to stand just a few steps above us, taking advantage of the high ground. He held his carbine parallel with one leg, armed but not ready to fire. It would be the last option if negotiation failed. I had no illusions where he was concerned. He was perfectly capable of putting me down if the need arose. He wouldn't like doing it, but pragmatism would win out in the end. In truth, that was one of the things I liked about him. If I did go bad in the end, it was a comfort to know there'd be someone who'd put me out of everyone's misery.

Lasciel curled me closer to Hannah's front. I could picture her baring her teeth at Marcone in a frustrated snarl. He was everywhere, constantly in the way. I half-expected her to drop him with a complex spell, but she didn't. Her chin dipped, giving the earth at our feet a nervous look as if she was afraid it would open up and swallow her at a moment's notice. Unlikely, since I was shit at most elemental magic and a complete and utter failure at earth magic in particular.

"Walk away, Baron," she said, voice dropping into a lower, more persuasive octave. She'd infused her voice with magic, a compulsion that slid like syrup over my skin and pooled in my ears like liquid candy. I only just got my shields up in time to keep the mind-bending suggestion from worming its way into my brain. "I'll let you live this time around."

Marcone was a mere mortal, someone without magic or a real chance against her. He should have swayed in place like a drunk or dropped to his knees in compliance under the onslaught of her psychic assault. He didn't. He gave her a rather contemptuous look and then laughed in her face. It was so brazenly unafraid that it sanded off several layers of minor compulsion I hadn't even noticed her weaving over my skin. The shock, the fear for him, and the incredulity at his victory helped me shake her control and pay closer attention.

"You're going to have to try harder than that, Fallen. I'm not a simple-minded fool you can bend to your will. Now, release Margaret and I'll allow you to leave this island alive. Chicago is my territory and you have violated it repeatedly. I could tell you that your refusal to leave violates the Unseelie Accords and invoke the Defense of Self and Property clause. I could tell you that I'd be taking action to dissuade others from doing the same in the future. I could tell you that you are holding my vassal hostage and that I am duty-bound to protect her."

His eyes narrowed and he took another step closer to us. "But the truth is simpler than that. I don't like you and I want you gone. Drop her and leave in peace. It's the last chance you'll get. Force my hand and you won't like the result."

"Counteroffer," Hannah said, moving us backward a step, keeping the distance between our bodies and Marcone's equal. "Let us leave and I won't come back, charbroil you, scatter your allies to the wind, and level every business you own."

It was a good threat, as those things went. Marcone just smiled, closing the distance again. He drew something out of a pouch at his waist. I hadn't noticed it in the clamor to get away from the Hunt, but it was pretty damn obvious to me now. He must have a few of Gard's tiles inside to be so confident that Hannah wasn't about to turn him into a human torch. There'd probably been a rune of routine in there too, which was why we hadn't spotted him as we passed his position in the trees. Hannah raised her hand in a defensive gesture, a shield shimmering into place, anticipating a stunner or the less friendly frag grenade.

Marcone drew out a doll. It looked like a dollar-store knockoff Barbie with dark hair. Her clothes were woefully out of date, probably drawn from a 1980s carpet catalog. But in the end, the clothes and the fakey plastic face didn't matter much. Thaumaturgy didn't have to have an exact one-to-one correlation with the object it was connected to in order to be effective. It just needed pieces of a person to build that bridge.

And Marcone had it. The dark curls wrapped around the doll's arms, legs, waist, and neck were as good as a lightning rod, directing the magic someone had laid on the doll back toward the source. Someone had made a cheap but brutally effective voodoo doll for Marcone. Anything done to the doll would translate to Hannah and, by extension, Lasciel. Both went very still behind me, hands forming furious claws around my waist and jaw, squeezing me to the point of pain.

"I have connections all over the world, Miss Ascher," Marcone said, speaking in a level undertone as he sidled closer. "You really should cut your hair at home, instead of going to a salon. They never get it all."

"That was weeks ago," Hannah said, more to herself than to Marcone. "How could you have...?"

"You have been a potential problem for a while now," Marcone said. "You and the Fallen you host. I keep track of threats to my people and I always have a contingency. Release her now, or..."

Marcone reached casually toward the doll's leg, bending its ankle at an alarming angle. It wasn't enough pressure to snap the brittle plastic, but Hannah gave a panicked shout anyway. Her ankle wobbled and went out from under her, knocking her off balance. I squirmed out of her grasp and climbed the stairs, putting room between myself and my would-be kidnappers. Marcone motioned me to stand behind him, and I didn't argue. Lasciel and Hannah would have to risk hitting me if they were willing to throw a blast of fire at Marcone.

"Molly!" Hannah said, turning toward me. "Don't! You can't let him do this!"

"He won't," I said. "Not if you leave. I'll safely destroy the doll when I'm sure you're gone and you aren't coming back for me. I swear it on my magic."

Furious tears glinted in her eyes and she staggered to one side, moaning in pain as Marcone kept up the constant pressure. One wrong move and her ankle would shatter. Marcone could just as easily snap the doll's neck, and she knew it. There were endless possibilities for horrible deaths on the menu, and Marcone was the sort to carry each and every one of them out with ruthless efficiency if she forced his hand. She was obsessed with me, not suicidal. The first tear slid down her cheek before she turned away, making a slashing motion with one hand. A gash appeared in the fabric of reality and she stepped through the opening, one leg in the Nevernever, the other still planted in the mortal world.

Lasciel's voice issued from her mouth when she turned to us. "This isn't over."

I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, or to Marcone, so I answered.

"I know. I'm sorry.'

She let out a bitter laugh. "No, you are not, but you will be. The next time you need aid, call for my coin directly. Trick me again, and you will regret you ever invoked my name."

With that ominous pronouncement, she stepped through, and the rift sealed behind her. I shuddered to think what was on the other side, but I knew she'd survive it. That's what Hannah did. She survived and she came back for more punishment. Marcone watched her go with a frown.

"You shouldn't have promised on your magic."

"You would have killed Hannah if I hadn't. You can't afford to have me weakened. I was counting on that."

Marcone inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "It would have been smarter to take her out of the equation."

"Smarter but not right. She's confused, she's hurt, and she's been alone for a long time."

Marcone's lips pursed. I could tell he didn't agree. He also wasn't going to argue with me. I wrapped one of his arms around my waist and leaned into his mud-slicked side with a sigh.

"I'm done with being Danger-Prone Daphne," I said. "Please take me home."

Chapter Text

Marcone

Running water from the shower was the only real sound in the dimness of Margret's apartment. She hadn't said much since we'd arrived, only bothering to mutter a half-hearted greeting to Security Guy before we were waved through. She'd pulled off various portions of her armor, letting them drop to the carpet with muffled clangs. She took a brief detour to stir the embers in her grate back into a real flame and then marched to the shower to scrub off the night's filth.

I'd done the same in her kitchen sink, flicking on the overhead light to watch the mud circle the drain. And, if I was honest with myself, the fluorescence was a small comfort after so many hours on the island. I'd thought I'd seen the last of the damnable place years ago when I'd been airlifted away from Nicodemus and his lickspittles. But places like that didn't let you go. I'd had nightmares about the island for months, feeling the place press down like a lead blanket, smothering me. It grated like sandpaper over fresh wounds, a sensation so raw, so visceral that you'd do damn near anything to be free of it. And if the island had woken me in a cold sweat, it was nothing to what it must have done to her. For Margret, who felt everything so acutely, it must have been like the purest form of torture. And she'd still done it to protect my city. You couldn't buy loyalty like that. I only wished I deserved it.

Sentimentality, Namshiel would have called it. What was the point of twisting myself into knots when I'd accomplished what I set out to do? She was alive, mostly intact, and still firmly under my aegis. By all metrics, it was a successful venture. He didn't account for things like her pain. What did it matter that she suffered in the short term when she was performing at or above the standard expected of her? The agony was advantageous in some respects, pushing her closer to the edge of desperation where the coin we chose seemed like a reasonable compromise, just to stop the pain. It made sense if you looked at it purely as a numbers game. I ran my city in the same fashion, causing only the suffering needed to achieve my aims. No more, no less.

I gripped the sink's edge until it creaked. There was a reason I hadn't summoned Namshiel in private, though I had ample opportunity since our return from the island. The truth was, I didn't want him here. Not tonight. Not after everything we'd been through. I didn't relish the debate that would surely follow, in which I failed to articulate the nebulous reasons why this was different. Why her pain mattered more than anyone else's because it simply shouldn't.

But it did, and that was the problem.

Slender arms curled around my waist and a soft, feminine shape molded itself to my back. The skin-to-skin contact startled me. I hadn't heard her approach, too absorbed in my own muddled feelings to pay much attention to my surroundings. It was a dangerous habit to get into, but the danger was next to nonexistent in Svartalfheim. We'd hear an attack coming long before it arrived at her doorstep.

"You should have put the clothes in the hamper," she said quietly, her lips brushing my back as she spoke. It was a thoroughly pleasant sensation that sent a brief frisson of desire over my skin. I wasn't a celibate man, but it had been a while since I'd had a woman in my bed. "They'll wrinkle on the floor like that."

I snorted. "I think my clothes are a lost cause. It would take a dedicated team of dry cleaners to even attempt to purge the stains. You should probably lean back. I'm getting mud on your clothes. I'm afraid I couldn't reach my back."

The sleep shirt she wore was form-fitting, pressed tight to the contours of her body. She radiated gentle warmth from the shower and perfumed the air around us with something soft and subtle. Vanilla, perhaps. I wanted to bury my face in the smooth fall of her hair and breathe it in. She'd taken time to dry it, and the fine strands tickled my shoulder. The point of her chin was a welcome weight as she settled into the hollow of my throat.

"Give me the sponge and a dishtowel and I'll take care of it."

She leaned away from me for a moment, giving me a chance to retrieve the dish sponge and towel from the sink. She plucked them from my hands in a businesslike fashion, running the sponge over my skin in broad strokes, following it with the towel before rivulets could run down my spine and soak into the waistband of the boxers. Her fingers lingered on the small of my back, her touch achingly soft as if assuring herself that I was still there. She'd pressed close enough that I could feel the occasional tremor run through her.

My instinct was to turn and pull her into my arms. Friendly touch was a remedy for most ills, and it was an absolute necessity for Margaret. I quashed the impulse. If I touched her, it wouldn't stop. I didn't have to be an empath or a medium to know where things would go if I allowed it.

"There," she said a minute later, tossing the sponge and towel back into the sink. "All clean. I don't suppose you have an extra pair of pants lying around somewhere? Could get a little awkward if you go strolling into headquarters wearing nothing but Hanes and a smile."

"Hamilton and Hare," I corrected mildly. "And I'm sure I could send for something before I go."

"Unless..." she began, voice trailing off uncertainly.

I turned to face her. I'd been right about the shirt. The black tank top left little to the imagination, riding up ever-so-slightly to reveal the firm contours of her stomach and the piercing she sometimes wore in her navel. The neckline plunged, offering up a very appealing view of her decolletage. She'd neglected to don a bra, which was more intriguing still. The sleep shorts barely touched her thighs, giving me a glimpse of her long, shapely legs.

"Unless?" I echoed.

She chewed her lower lip. Freshly scrubbed, she looked younger. Or maybe that was the absence of armor that made her look smaller and more vulnerable than she really was.

"You could stay here for the night. We're hurt, tired, and it's a hassle to come and go. I can make a nest on the couch for you. If you want to stay, that is."

It was a bad idea. It was also tempting. Exhaustion ate at the edges of my thoughts. It would be a relief to stay in one place for a while.

"Do you need me to stay?"

She jerked her gaze away from mine and muttered 'no' a little too quickly to sound credible. Something in my chest twinged. Fragile. For something so dangerous, she was incredibly fragile. Hit her defenses just right, and she'd crumble. We couldn't afford that. So I wrapped an arm around her waist, led her to the couch, and tucked her beneath one arm, holding her close. Some of the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders dribbled away when she was seated beside me, assured that I wasn't planning to leave immediately. I stroked her shoulder absently.

"You spoke at length with the Summer Lady," I said, deciding a change in topic would be best. Whatever would take her mind off of what was plaguing her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Faeries are big into obligation. She incurred a hefty one when I saved her life. She was trying to figure out a way to repay me."

"And that took a while?" I said with a hint of amusement. "You didn't strike me as the type to haggle for so long. Did you come away with something good?"

Her shoulders twitched. "It's more of a blank check and a welcome back into Summer if I wanted it. She spent most of the time trying to convince me to become the new Summer Knight."

I paused mid-motion. I'd only met the Summer Knight a handful of times during my tenure as Baron of Chicago. You met all sorts when you were a Freeholding Lord under the Unseelie Accords. I tried to picture it. Margret in faerie mail, standing stalwart at her friend's side. Shining with confidence, warm and vital, her troubles sponged away by the light of Summer. It would round off some of the jagged edges, leaving her closer to whole, and far, far out of my reach.

Warring desires kindled to life in my chest. Keep her here, by any means necessary. Force her to remain as she was. Mine.

Let her go. Catch glimpses of her every few years. Let her be happy and whole. There wasn't a way to have both. If I kept her, I destroyed her. But I wasn't sure I could let her go either.

"You said no. Why?"

Her brow puckered and she stared pensively at the fire in her grate. It had burned low in our absence, though it had only taken a few prods of a poker to stir the flame back into existence. Her eyes were pale and opaque for a second before she turned her gaze back to me.

"I want to be me. I may not always like the person I turned out to be, but I don't want to give it up either. The mantles of Summer and Winter change people. You've seen that with Harry. How he's acting. I don't want that to be me. Yeah, you could argue that Summer mantles shape the wearer for the better, but at the end of the day, it still wouldn't be me. I've fought too hard to figure out who I am without influence to surrender who I am to an outside force, even if it would make me feel better. I'm me. I'm staying that way."

She looked like she might say more, but didn't have a chance to articulate it. I turned her face up to mine and captured her full mouth, pulling her half onto my lap as I did. I wasn't completely sure what possessed me to do it. Fierce pride. Possession. Relief. Some mixture of the three, perhaps. All I knew at that moment was that I wanted her. All of her. Everything she was. Everything she'd refused to surrender.

Margret melted under my hands with a soft sigh, arms winding around my neck, erasing the remaining space between us. She clambered onto my lap, rising above me so that her hair fell around my face in sweetly-scented waves. Her mouth tasted like bubble gum, the lingering flavor of her toothpaste. It was oddly endearing. She wound her legs around my waist, pressing herself as close as she could get. Her warmth, her nearness was maddening. I had to stop this.

When I pulled back, I expected her to struggle, to fight to stay attached to me. What happened instead was arguably worse. She sniffled, and a fat teardrop splattered onto my collarbone. Tears streaked silently down her face, amber in the firelight. Her mouth was set in a hard line, as though a wail might escape if she opened it. The hands curled around the nape of my neck trembled.

"Please," she whispered after a moment. "Please, John."

There were a million excuses I could give myself. That it was too delicate a situation to back out of gracefully. She'd lost a friend and undergone a psychic attack. That indulging her would keep a dedicated ally in line. That pulling away now would jeopardize everything I'd worked to accomplish up to this point. But they were all pretty lies. The truth was much simpler.

I didn't want the tears on her lashes to fall.

She let out a hiccuping sob when I kissed her again and lifted her from the couch, legs still wrapped firmly around my waist. She held me tighter, scrambled to get me closer. I couldn't have pulled away from her if I tried.

"I'm going to hell," I murmured against the heat of her mouth.

And then I backed her slowly into the bedroom, closing the door sharply behind us.

Chapter Text

Marcone's proximity made me shiver, even in the most innocent of circumstances. It didn't matter if he was sitting across the room from me or pressed in a solid line against my back. It was like standing near a thunderstorm when the wind picked up, sending the scent of ozone and rain to your nose and the quiver of tension in the air made your heart beat a little bit faster. I hadn't expected that. Thomas was the only person I'd tangled with that intimately (that wasn't due to a supernatural clusterfuck and that I could remember afterward). That had been intense. But mingling my life force with Marcone's was honestly more potent. Human connection, instead of being held at a distance by a demon that loathed that kind of closeness.

I'd felt him coming long before he reached me. I could have sped through my shower and dressed before he made it to the locker room. It was all but deserted at this time of night. The einherjar were at their posts or training in the dojo. The working families were squared away in a series of rooms on the upper floors and sound asleep in their beds. I had my run of the place. So, instead of speed-dressing, I sat on one of the long wooden benches in front of the lockers and towel-dried my hair.

That was how he found me. Spandex shorts riding low over my hips, wearing just a black sports bra up top. I'd lost my appetite for a few weeks after Fix's death, so the cups weren't as full as they used to be. It didn't stop the appreciative perusal from the doorway, or the warm shot of desire that pulsed through his veins at the sight of me. I lifted my head, giving him a slow, appraising look as well. He'd traded in a silk suit and tie for something more casual. Well, as casual as he ever got. A pale blue button-down shirt and tailored slacks. He had appearances to maintain after all, even when he was dressing down.

"I take it you're finished for the night?" he asked.

"I kicked Skaldi's ass, but Freydis paid me back with interest. I think I'm going to have bruises on top of my bruises."

His eyes sparkled with good humor. "You poor baby. How will you cope?"

I stretched, enjoying the way his eyes followed the line of my body as I did. I offered him a lazy smile. "You could give me a massage. Dad swears by Tiger's Balm. It might not smell pleasant, but it'll keep me from getting too stiff."

"If you like."

I did like, very much. The problem was with frequency, not with passion. He said he was busy when I brought sex up, but I sensed some reserve. At first, I thought he regretted what we'd been doing. But it wasn't second-guessing or a sense of revulsion that kept him away. It was a completely alien sense of guilt.

"Are you finished for the night?" I asked hopefully.

"For now. I have a problem that can't be addressed directly by you or any of my usual sub-contractors. I'd contact Dresden and try to broker some kind of exchange, but he's currently in Iceland."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's he doing there?"

"Mab's bidding, I suspect. In his own inept way. I'll shelve the issue until I can find someone suitable to handle it."

"Any word on Hannah's location?" I asked, lowering my gaze to the tiled floor.

It wasn't the first time I'd asked the question in recent weeks, and it wouldn't be the last. After the fiasco on the island, she had to be in bad shape. It was my own damn fault, so it was probably unfair to hound him with questions about her welfare. But the longer I went without hearing anything, the more anxious I felt. What if I'd driven her to her breaking point? What would I be facing next time if she decided to come back? Would she come back?

"None. Gard believes she escaped into some sector of the Nevernever to lick her wounds. I'll keep you apprised of the situation as it develops. In happier news, I have something for you."

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. My heart thumped unevenly for a second before I leaned across the space to take it.

"This better not be a promise ring. I don't go in for that sort of thing. Besides, the virginity ship sailed years ago."

He laughed. "Nothing so trite. Open it."

I flipped the lid open with my thumb. Two emerald studs twinkled back at me. I reached for one and pulled my hand back when subtle power brushed across my fingertips. It felt familiar in a way I couldn't quite place.

"They're foci of some kind," I murmured. "What do they do, exactly?"

"It's a suppression spell. It should prevent your migraines and any further seizures. It doesn't solve the problem of removing them when the time comes, but it will allow you to function. I had these commissioned after I learned of your little...problems. Call it a stopgap measure. It's the best I can do for now."

I plucked one of the studs from the silk padding inside and weighed it in my palm. Almost immediately the headache budding around my temples began to recede. And that was only by touching it. Put in close contact with the actual source of the pain, it would be even more effective. I screwed it into one ear and secured it with the backing, letting out an almost indecent sound of pleasure when the pressure on that side of my head disappeared. The second stud followed quickly after, and I just sat there for a few minutes, soaking in the heady feeling. I wasn't pain-free, but the aches of my body felt like small change in comparison to the constant brewing storm in my head.

"How do you feel?" he asked, an amused uptilt to his mouth. Lines fanned out around his eyes. It made him look like a younger, more carefree man than the one I'd come to know.

I crossed over to him, throwing my arms around his neck. His hands found my waist, putting just a little space between us, preventing me from putting a little body language into the hug. I guess it would be embarrassing to walk the halls making eye contact with your staff while sporting a raging boner.

"Let's just say I won't be saying no on account of a headache," I whispered. "Come over tonight? I'd like to give you a proper thank you."

Desire ran hot under his skin. His hands flexed around my waist and drew me in just a little closer. I caught the brief mental image of Marcone hiking me up against the wall, shoving the spandex down to pool around my ankles. The idea we could get caught made it hotter, in my opinion. And then the image was gone, replaced by an inkling of guilt, and, finally, his usual neutrality.

"I'd like that," he said, brushing a kiss across my temple.

"Would you really? Because you don't seem to want me all that much. Every time I bring it up you lock down."

"If it were just a matter of desire, you wouldn't leave the apartment for a week," he said, his voice dropping into a huskier octave.

"Then what is it?"

"The shriveled remains of my conscience," he muttered.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

I doubted that, but I wasn't going to press. My instincts told me it wasn't a battle I would win, and I was in the mood to celebrate.

"So...are you coming over so I can use you shamelessly or not?"

"Let's start with a massage and see where things go from there. Your bruises do have bruises, after all. I wouldn't want to crush such a delicate flower."

"You're such an asshole, Marcone."

"And you picked me. Never forget that."

Like I could ever let it slip my mind. There were definite drawbacks to dating a mob boss. New enemies I hadn't encountered before. Increased scrutiny from the other half of the BFS. A sense of overwhelming guilt any time I visited Dad and failed to divulge what I was doing. But there were definitely perks too. Stolen kisses in his office. A sense of security when his arms were around me. Sleep that was free of nightmares when he and I shared the bed.

"You'll come over tonight?"

"I'll be there."

I caught a fleeting thought before he retreated, so full of self-recrimination it made me cringe.

I am a monster.

I slipped my shirt on with a grim smile.

Well, I thought. That makes two of us.