Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I thought I told you to get lost."

I didn't look up from the stock pot I was stirring. I didn't have to look to know who was lurking only a few feet away. Lasciel's presence had a certain weight to it, as tangible to me as the slotted spoon in my hand or the apron tied around my front. Her soft, heady scent was as much an illusion as everything else about her. She existed only in my mind. Of course, one could argue that I only existed in my mind too, so reality could arguably be a relative term.

I shook my head to clear it. Now was not the time to get philosophical. I had lunch to make and I was already behind. Dad would be here in an hour, and I wanted to prepare at least an entree. The side dishes were probably a lost cause at this point. He wouldn't come here expecting a four-course meal. He knew that the six-burner stove in my new apartment was wasted on me. I was generally a culinary disaster in progress. He'd know something was up when I offered him a real meal. Maybe I should have ordered Chinese instead.

"By the time Etri's security personnel vet the delivery person, the food will be cold," she said, reading the direction of my thoughts easily.

I scowled down at the boiling water in the pot. She was right. I'd come to the same conclusion an hour ago, which was when I'd started preparing homemade noodles for lasagna. The apartment had come equipped with a host of nifty gadgets that I'd never used until now, like a pasta maker and a food processor that didn't immediately spark and die in my presence. Lasagna made from scratch wouldn't erase the heaping helping of bad news I had to deliver, but hopefully, it would make it go down a little easier.

"I'm busy," I said, ignoring her attempts at genial conversation. "Go away. You're distracting me. If I get into it with you, this pot is going to boil over and it's not going to help your cause."

"Add oil," Lasciel said.

"What?" I asked, in spite of myself.

"Add some cooking oil. It will interrupt the surface tension of the water and keep the pot from boiling over."

I pursed my lips, debating whether or not to follow instructions. After everything she'd done, I was loathe to take her advice. It felt too much like giving ground. I was already treading on thin ice with this dinner. I hadn't asked for the recipe that had popped into my head. Lash slid it under my mental door with an innocent smile and let me decide whether or not I wanted to use it. She'd been doing a lot of that lately and I couldn't decide whether she was trying to tempt me or if she was thrilled enough by my current predicament to drop breadcrumbs for the hell of it. She was right where she wanted to be after all.

I crossed over to a cabinet and fished out a bottle of vegetable oil, splashing a little into the water. No sense in scorching the noodles to spite the fallen angel. The only one who suffered from that outcome was Dad, who'd manfully choke down whatever monstrosity I'd whipped up on principle.

Lasciel was perched on one of the granite countertops, legs swinging in a cheerful rhythm, looking for all the world like an eager schoolgirl. She'd gone for a distinctly bohemian look today. She'd swept her red curls off her neck and into some curly updo dotted with flowers. The white knit top teased an edge of cleavage, and the fringe drew the eye to the toned planes of her stomach. The red paisley wrap skirt began at her waist and ended at mid-calf. She'd left her feet bare, and the toe rings on each one caught the midday light and sent it skittering around the room, making it almost impossible not to look at her.

Which was the point, damn it. She wanted to engage with me whenever possible. I'd been trying not to indulge her.

"You look festive," I said, moving to the cutting board. The onions, red pepper, and ground beef had to be cooked separately, apparently.

"I have much to celebrate," she replied sweetly.

"Do you? Because it's been four months, and you still haven't made any headway."

She didn't look put out. On the contrary, the words made a coy smile curve her lips. Then she was gone. I only had time to blink once in confusion before she was back, a line of heat and quivering tension along my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled when her breath fanned over my nape. Her breath wasn't actually there. Her hands weren't actually snaking around me. Her fingers weren't a gentle pressure on my wrist. Yeah, tell that to my brain. It was the most intimate touch I'd had in months after my relationship with Chicago's robber baron had come to a messy conclusion at the end of February.

"Every good seduction requires foreplay, Molly," she whispered into my ear.

I shivered as a frisson of desire swept over my skin. My hands shook a little when I lifted the steel chef's knife from the counter. If I wasn't careful I'd mince some part of my finger while I was at it. The blades were Svartalf make and could have been used as throwing knives in a pinch. There was a reason that I tried to block her out most days. It felt too good, too right, which meant it was a trap.

It hadn't been like this between us last time. Oh sure, she'd been suggestive on occasion, but her more vampy tendencies were directed outward toward others. She'd taught me to act like a sex kitten, instead of being one herself. I didn't think that it was a sense of morality that kept her from seducing my fourteen-year-old self. She was a demon, after all, a being with centuries of dark deeds behind her. She wouldn't have balked at a little statutory seduction if she thought it would sucker me into taking up her coin. Back then I'd been too traumatized, too focused on vengeance to jump into bed with anyone. I'd needed a friend, so that's what she'd been.

Things had changed in the intervening years. I'd grown up, made new friends, and had a few adult relationships. The nightmares were easier to bear when you had someone to smooth your hair back and whisper assurances to you in the wee hours. Which was why she was doing this, of course. Marcone's betrayal and our subsequent breakup left an aching hole where solace used to live. I was heartbroken, lonely, and yeah, a little horny. You try having great sex for over a year and then going without. It's not as easy as it sounds.

"Go away," I repeated without conviction.

"It is your mind, my host. I wouldn't be able to appear to you if you didn't want me here."

Which was probably true. That was the problem with Lasciel. She existed in a state of constant flux in my thoughts. An intense longing for who she was, and the utter revulsion of the things she wanted me to do. I couldn't have one without the other, so I'd said no to the coin. Again. It was why I'd scheduled the bad-news dinner with Dad. I needed a sponsor to keep me honest. I'd tried to schedule it a dozen times over the last four months, but things kept coming up. Grandpa's health scare, Butters' training, Alicia's softball team going to state, and on and on. The timing never seemed right, and this wasn't the sort of news one delivered over the phone.

Lash placed a soft kiss just below my ear. "You're hurting. Let me help you."

An image popped unbidden into my head. A tangle of sheets, lush, creamy curves, and long legs tangled with mine. My hand fisted around copper curls. The honeysuckle taste of her skin. Low, pleased exhalations. Want clenched hard in my belly and I screwed my eyes shut, trying to blot the vision out.

"Quit that. I don't need sex therapy. Besides, I've barely tiptoed on that side of the street."

I had no doubt she'd be a masterful teacher if I let her. A thought that I wasn't going to dwell on. At all.

"Perhaps this is more to your liking?" she asked.

Or rather, he asked. I turned before I could think better of it and found myself caged in by a very handsome man. The red curls were gone, replaced with sleek black hair with a few silver streaks at the temple. The eyes were similar but with a dark ring of cobalt around the iris, and a starburst of hazel near the center. He was a well-preserved forty-something, at least five inches taller than me, and well-built. He gripped my chin in warm, calloused fingers and tilted my face up to his.

He was going to kiss me and I wasn't sure there was anything I could do to stop him. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, too stunned by the sudden development and my raging hormones to protest. He leaned toward me, eyes bright and...

The phone rang.

"Oh thank God," I muttered, ducking out of his arms. "Saved by the bell."

I beelined for the landline in the living room. Lasciel followed behind me, female and sullen once more. My pulse was still hammering when I lifted the phone to my ear and gave a breathless, "Hello?"

A bright, chipper voice on the other end asked, "Hello, is this Makayla Nixon?"

It took me a befuddled second to recognize my alias. So far as the state of Illinois was concerned, Molly Carpenter died when she was fourteen years old. Hard to set up ID and bank accounts as a dead girl.

"Yes, this is she."

"Good," the woman said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "My name is Selena, and I'm calling on behalf of my employer, John Marcone..."

Chapter Text

I hung up before Selena could get in another word, slamming the phone back into its cradle with a satisfying thwack. That might have destroyed a regular phone, but this one was of Svartalf make. I could have run over it with a truck and it would remain intact. The phone rang again and I contemplated doing just that.

"You should answer," Lasciel said appearing at my elbow.

"Like hell I should," I seethed. "The bastard doesn't even have the stones to call me directly."

And that stung more than I wanted to admit. Things were over between us, but I hadn't expected him to take it lying down. It wasn't in his nature. If Marcone wanted something, he strategized, executed a plan, and took it. So it followed that I simply wasn't worth the effort. Maybe Thomas' demon was faulty because the stony silence of the last four months wasn't loving. It didn't even qualify as friendly.

Stupid. It was so, so stupid to have fallen for him. I felt like a fool for ever believing he cared in the first place. What would a man like Marcone see in me except a pawn to be moved across an ever more violent chessboard? Every kiss, every caress, every sweaty tangle in the sheets had been a means to an end. Worse, Namshiel had to have been privy to some, if not all, of those nights. There'd been a secret voyeur in the room and I'd been blissfully unaware. Yet another Fallen angel knew what I looked like naked.

Lasciel twirled a lock of my hair around her finger before tucking it gently behind my ear. The contact shouldn't have zinged like lightning through my body, but it did. Every part of me was hyperaware of her. It was like I'd been in a sensory deprivation chamber during the intervening years and had only just stepped out into the real world. Every sight, sound, and sensation felt new and intense. I knew that if she kissed me it would sear me right down to the soul.

"You needn't worry about Namshiel. We don't regard intimacy the way humans do."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't, huh? Then what's with your reputation as the Hoe of Babylon?"

Lasciel didn't look offended, if anything, the insult seemed to amuse her. A sly grin tugged at the corners of her full mouth. "Just because a thing isn't a biological necessity doesn't mean that it isn't enjoyable. It was created to be so in order to perpetuate the species and bond humans together. It can also be a useful tool when trying to snare someone who is a slave to their baser urges. I'm certain that was Namshiel's intent, not the satisfaction of the act itself. You probably benefited from his presence more than you know. We have an excellent grasp of your physiology."

It took me a second to grasp what she meant, and when I had, I wanted to melt into the floor in a puddle of 'oh-God-please-no.'

"You're saying that he gave Marcone a Masterclass in how to give me orgasms. Great. That's just great. Now I have to scrub my brain with bleach. Thanks for that."

I contemplated trying to stuff my head into my futuristic blender and dismissed the idea. I couldn't make my entire head fit. I couldn't stop myself from mulling over the mortifying realization as I finished the rest of the prep for the lasagna. Even the shower I took afterward didn't completely erase the crawling sensation. Every time the phone rang outside the door I was hit with the knowledge again, and I cranked the temperature higher, hoping to scald the knowledge away.

Calloused fingers traced the curve of my spine and I arched, letting out a gasp. I usually shielded during my morning routine, certain that Lasciel would attempt a sudsy seduction if I let her. I'd been right. One lapse in attention and she'd seized on the opportunity.

"Don't," I whispered. "Don't do that."

Lips traced the shell of my ear, and a large, sculpted body pressed into mine. My eyes closed briefly and I leaned my forehead against the shower wall. It was gloriously cool against my fevered skin. It took me a few seconds to gather the will to shove the shape behind me backward. It retreated with palpable reluctance.

"Why?" Lasciel asked. The voice was deep, the timbre husky enough to make me shiver. "This doesn't please you?"

"I don't want Great Value Marcone, Lash. There are plenty of sleazy CEOs in Chicago. If I wanted a sugar daddy I could find one. I don't want an older man. I wanted that older man. Sex with a knockoff version is just...cheap. Are you saying you think I'm cheap?"

Within seconds the hands that settled on my waist were slender and soft, tipped with delicate nails. She traced burning patterns on my back, humming in pleasure when I leaned into the touch. I was heading for dangerous territory, letting her stay in the shower with me. A flick of her tongue across my collarbone made me go up on tiptoe. My legs wobbled and I had to sit down on the shower seat. Etri and his people had decided it needed to be made of rose marble. They really hadn't spared any expense while building this place. I had to summon the will to shove her into the recesses of my mind. Failing that, I needed to stall.

"Why do you think that I should answer Marcone? I thought you didn't like him."

"Hannah dislikes him because he has you. Now that I have you, he's less objectionable, though still insufferably arrogant. That can be curbed in time."

By sanding down his free will until Namshiel took over. As if Namshiel was the picture of humility and restraint. Marcone didn't even see it coming. Nicodemus had been like Marcone once. I'd seen the inside of his head, how his mind worked, and knew it bore a resemblance to Marcone's philosophy. He'd refused to see the links in the chain that bound him. Marcone was forging some even as we spoke. It was a sobering reminder of just what Lasciel would do to me if I let her.

"You don't have me, Lash. You're a Shadow, not the real deal. Until I have that coin in my hand, I'm not yours. I'm not going to talk to Marcone just because you want to thank Namshiel for the opportunity."

If I was in the same room as Marcone there'd be no talking. I'd break his nose and get progressively less gentle from there. I'd fantasized about it a million times. Marching into his office, slugging him, and reveling in the feeling of getting a little of my own back. But even in my imagination, he didn't take it lying down. Sometimes he hit back. But most of the time, he seized me by the hair and brought us both to the floor of his office. What happened after that wasn't gentle either.

A weight settled onto my lap. I opened my eyes to find Lasciel straddling my thigh. Her clothes were drenched, but still in place, thank God. A few sodden curls clung to her forehead, and droplets gleamed on her lashes. I was close enough to watch her wet her lips. She cupped my face gingerly.

"Let me help you."

I let out a shuddering breath. "You can't fuck away a broken heart. It would just be sex. Hollow. Meaningless. I only sleep with people I love."

"You love me," she insisted.

"But you don't love me. Not the way you should. You're not capable of that. Not the way you are."

She drew back from me, lips thinning into an angry line. "Not this again."

"Think about it. All you have to do is try."

"No," she said, biting the word off sharply. "Absolutely not."

"Then we don't have anything more to say to each other. You can get the hell out. I need to wash the conditioner from my hair."

She let out a bitter laugh. "You won't entertain the idea unless I attempt a fool's errand?"

"I won't try to change for someone who's not willing to do the same. That's the meaning of a real partnership. Change. Compromise. Mutual caring. You can't even be bothered to interact with your own kids. You haven't said much to Pax or Fortnea since arriving, I think I know why. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Do tell," she spat. Gone was the temptress. When she was like this, it put me in mind of a tantrum-throwing child furious she hadn't gotten her way.

I leaned into her, close enough to kiss. She couldn't help but notice, and quivered slightly when we made contact. Our lips brushed when I spoke.

"I think they make you doubt yourself. We created them. If you're right and you're immutable, we shouldn't have been able to do that. You're only supposed to be capable of temptation and destruction. But we made two lives. I don't think you're as unalterable as you claim. You can change and that scares the shit out of you."

"You're wrong."

"Prove it. We'll towel off and go say hi to the kiddos. I've been meaning to talk to them anyway."

The weight disappeared from my lap. When I blinked, Lasciel was gone, leaving only the honeysuckle scent of her skin behind. I sighed and rinsed my hair before shutting off the water.

"Well, I guess that answers that."

The phone rang outside my door and I scowled. I was going to have to answer it, even if it was to leave a message with Selena where Marcone could shove his correspondence.

And with Namshiel in residence, the maneuver might even be anatomically possible.

Chapter Text

"What do you want?" I snapped.

There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. I could practically see Selena in a prim skirt suit mouthing indignantly at the phone. She worked for John Marcone, a celebrated businessman and philanthropist. Even if, by some miracle, they hadn't heard about the seedy underpinnings that lined his pockets, his position still demanded respect. I doubted anyone had offered her half as much lip as I was prepared to give.

"Is this a bad time?"

Well, crap. The voice didn't belong to one of Marcone's many personal assistants. It didn't even belong to a woman. I ducked my chin and muttered a sheepish, "Whoops. Sorry, Dad."

"Not who you were expecting, I take it?"

"Decidedly not."

"Marcone?" he asked, and he didn't sound happy about it.

For once I was grateful we weren't in the same room. He was too discerning by half, and he'd read the look on my face and know the truth. Part of it, at least. Namshiel's strangler spell cut off my voice every time I tried to let someone in on the secret. But there was a more mundane truth I'd neglected to share. I'd dated John Marcone for most of a year. Oh sure, he had his suspicions, but if he were in the same room as me, he'd know.

I sighed. "Sort of. His office is calling non-stop. I don't know why. He's ceased all hostile action while the peace talks are being held. It's been weird, having idle time. What do people do with themselves when they aren't hopped up on adrenaline and running from something twice their size and weight?"

It hadn't been a good joke, but I'd been hoping for a chuckle. The sober silence that met the remark made me wince. My parents knew that this was necessary work, but it didn't mean that they liked it. If Mom had her way I'd be bundled up in bubble wrap and stuffed into the softest closet she could find. Anything to keep me safe.

"I should have stopped by," I said. "Sorry, I haven't been around. It's just been...a lot."

It had taken me a few weeks to screw my head on straight after a metaphysical cesarian section. Most of my concentration had been devoted to keeping Lasciel's shadow from popping into my conscious mind for a chat. If I allowed it, she'd be my constant mental companion, twining herself around me like an invasive vine, trying to worm into any cracks. I wasn't willing to speak to Marcone directly, so doing my duty as the Black Knight was a delicate dance done through proxies. Now I didn't even have that to occupy myself. It set me on edge. Idle hands and all that.

"We understand that. I was actually calling to reschedule our visit. Something has come up."

I sighed. Of course it had. The Universe seemed determined to keep me from sharing my secret.

"What's up?"

"Sanya is in town. He was supposed to have a layover at O'Hare before flying to New York. His flight has been delayed five times. I think it's safe to assume he's needed here. I'm heading to the airport now, so I won't be by in time for lunch."

My stomach performed a slow-motion somersault. Sanya was here on the eve of my confession. that probably wasn't a coincidence. The skin at the back of my neck itched, anticipating something cold and shining with holy light snugged against it. I rubbed the sensation away and tried to school my heaving stomach. The fear wasn't mine. Probably. Avoiding Knights of the Cross when I was in trouble had gotten me into this mess. Time to try for a little faith.

"That's okay. I can wrap up what I'm doing and meet you at the house. I was finishing a lasagna when you called."

Another loaded pause. "I see...is your apartment on fire, by any chance?"

A hysterical little giggle burst from me. It didn't sound exactly sane, even to my own ears. The tension was killing me. I had to get this over with before I lost my nerve.

"Of course not. I can cook."

"Molly," he said in the chiding tone he used when he caught one of us fibbing.

"Okay, I can't, but I know someone who can. I've got help, and I didn't burn the house down. Happy?"

"Terrified and intrigued. It's been a while since I've seen the aftermath of a culinary disaster."

"Dad!"

He laughed. "Sorry. I mean to say that we'd be happy to have you for a late lunch or early supper. I'm sure Sanya will be pleased to see you."

Doubtful. My happy family reunion would sour when I spilled the ugly truth. Happiness would fade to horror when they realized what I was facing once again. There would be fights, tears, well-intentioned but unhelpful advice.

"Can't wait," I said, forcing cheer into my voice. "I hope he likes..."

I paused, words trailing off as an acrid smell hit my nose. Smoke. Something was on fire. I dropped the phone on reflex and dashed for the kitchen, expecting to see the black stuff curling out of the oven. But it wasn't the stove. The smell of cooking onions and peppers was a mouth-watering contrast to the scent of ash. But if my dish wasn't on fire, where was the smell coming from?

I didn't have long to contemplate it. A pair of grey hands burst through the tile, seized me by the ankles, and dragged me through my kitchen floor before I had time to scream.

Chapter Text

The tile slid through my body atom by atom. I felt like taffy on a puller, my body more liquid and permeable than it had any right to be. The sensation was distressingly alien, and I might have opened my mouth to scream if I weren't concerned about what might happen. I could taste the dirt without rolling it over my tongue. I was being dragged through layers of dirt and stone, feeling the grains scrape like sandpaper over my body.

Which, I realized belatedly, was only clad in a fluffy white towel. Whoever had a grip on my ankles was certainly getting an eyeful. I tried to close my knees, knowing it wasn't going to do me much good. Hey, it's the principle of the thing. I wasn't going to make it easy on the perv.

"Hey, Lash, um...come back a second," I thought in a very small voice.

Lasciel didn't pop into existence at my elbow as I expected, but I did feel her hovering nearby, just out of sight. I guess adding one more stimulus to this already surreal scenario might drive me bug nuts, and I'd end up gibbering in a corner. Her voice was close and intimate, with an almost tactile sensation to it.

"I am here, my host."

"What the hell is going on? What has me?"

"One of the Svartalves, I suspect. They have the ability to earthwalk, which is exactly what it sounds like. Magic can be used to phase through solid matter, but it takes power and concentration that most mortal practitioners don't possess. The Svartalves are particularly adept at this art."

"Great. How do I escape?"

"You don't," she said patiently. "Not this instant."

"Why not?"

"Your captor's magic is the only thing that keeps your body out of phase. If you disentangle yourself, you will materialize encased in solid stone. I imagine your death would be a terrible one."

My body tried to cringe in several directions at once and I felt the insane urge to giggle. Instant Molly pancake, just add water.

"If you are looking for options on how to proceed when we are no longer buried under layers of earth, I am open to discussion. You know my feelings on the matter."

Of course I did. She'd push taking up the coin as a solution for everything, but when it came down to the wire, she'd help me. Unlike the whole she came from, Lasciel's shadow was thoroughly married to the concept of keeping me safe. If I died, she died with me. She wouldn't petulantly withhold aid in a situation as dire as this one.

"Why are they attacking me? I'm a tenant. It's practically the same thing as a guest right!"

"And you have done nothing to violate their terms," she mused, finishing the thought in my head. It really should have been disturbing, but after years of Lasciel riding shotgun, it was almost reassuring to have someone who was in lockstep with me.

We dropped out of phase with a suddenness that shocked me. Gravity seized me firmly in its grip once more and I fell in a sprawled heap on the floor of the residential corridor below my apartment. My ass came into contact with the cold stone and I yelped, scrambling on my hands and feet to keep that tender bit of me off the frigid surface. The ungainly flurry of movement didn't preserve the integrity of my ass or my dignity. My towel slipped, fluttering like a used handkerchief to the floor. I snatched it back, draping it around myself as best I could, but the damage was already done. I could feel a half dozen eyes on me.

When I looked up, I found myself face-to-face with Etri's sister, Evana, and one of her guards. Frode, probably, but it was hard to tell without the flesh masks they put on for the public. In their natural state, the Svartalves looked like the Roswell Grays. Five feet tall max, with bulbous heads, gray skin, and huge, black eyes. They were tiny to be so deadly. There were six of them in the hall, and all but one of them was armed.

Evana was shorter and more delicate than most. I could probably have deadlifted her without effort. Her pale hair needed a wash. I supposed someone could have found her pretty, but I just couldn't see it. It wasn't that she was female, though I had to admit I was uncomfortable with that side of myself. It was the alienness of her. Every woman I'd found attractive was either human, like Justine and Hannah, or human-presenting, like Lara and Freydis. And Lasciel of course. Always Lasciel, though I wasn't certain it counted. Angels were complicated when it came to gender. I supposed how they identified was beyond the ken of mere mortals.

The focused attention of the Svartalves was so intense it came with an edge of pain. To say that the Svartalves were suckers for a pretty face would be an understatement. They sought out beauty in the same fashion a dragon pursued gold. It was an urge so primal that it was practically bound up with their souls. It burned hot, hitting my brain like the backwash from a blast furnace. I clenched my thighs, aching from just the echo of their lust. And it was all of their lusts. Even Evana was staring, though she recovered the fastest. In a bygone era when the faeries and their allies had more leeway to kidnap mortals they liked, I probably would have been her pet human.

"What's going on here?" I finally managed.

"I was kind of hoping to know that myself," a familiar voice said.

I glanced behind me and almost melted into the floor in sheer mortification. There weren't seven people in the corridor as I'd first thought. There were eight. Harry Dresden stood a little way back, eyes determinedly fixed on the ceiling instead of my half-naked body. The attempt at chivalry wasn't working. He was practically screaming sexual fantasies at me, courtesy of the Winter Mantle.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"I was coming to ask a favor. Hope and Maggie wanted to have a sleepover at your house and I told them I had to clear it with you first. I tried to call, but no one was picking up. I arrived here and then..." He gestured down at himself. "Poof. Down here. It was pretty nasty."

Well, crap. I hadn't just been ignoring my Dad. Harry had been trying to contact me too. If I'd picked up, he could have asked me the question without using a half-truth. Harry and Maggie had been living on my parent's property for the last four months. Dad had a small studio-style home built in a matter of weeks, insisting that, while Harry was welcome in their guest room, he'd feel more comfortable in his own space. Harry brought Maggie to my place when he felt she needed more protection than even my Dad's bodyguards could offer. Angels were great at nuking supernatural threats, and absolutely lousy against mortal ones. That oversight had almost gotten my family killed in February. Svartalfheim was proof against supernatural and physical threats. I couldn't play babysitter often, but I was happy to let Hope do it in my apartment while I was out crime fighting.

"Sorry, I was in the shower."

"For a forty minutes?"

"It was a long shower."

His lips pursed, but he still didn't look at me. "Right."

I drew the towel closer to my body and stood, retreating to Harry's side. I wasn't happy about it, but if the shit hit the fan, Harry was a good person to have at your side. Especially if you're unarmed and wearing only your birthday suit.

"What's going on here?" I asked again.

"You tell us," she said coolly.

Cryptic much? I would have thrown my hands up in frustration if it wouldn't send the towel to the floor. I settled for folding my arms over my chest. It hiked the towel an inch higher, giving everyone a glimpse of pale, glistening thigh. I hadn't had time to do more than a cursory pat down before I was dragged through the floor. As a result, there was a small but growing puddle beneath my feet.

"I seriously don't know what's going on. I was making lasagna and I cleaned up while it was in the oven."

"Oh, so it was your apartment on fire."

I turned my glower on Harry. "Okay, that's it. I'm not that bad at it. I've learned a few things over the years."

Evana was watching the exchange with opaque eyes. She waved a hand through the air between us like someone testing the temperature of bath water.

"You are lying about something. I sense it."

I blew out a breath. Of course the Svartalves would have lie detection in their magical repertoire. The guards subtly reoriented on me, training their strangely crafted weapons on me. I didn't know what those guns used as ammo, and I wasn't eager to find out.

"Fine, I am that bad at cooking. But I was in the shower and I did talk to my dad. He wants me to come over to visit."

Evana's head tilted to the side. "That is truth. You...you lied to me about your culinary skills? Why?"

"Because it's embarrassing. My mom can whip up a four-course meal with only a handful of ingredients. I need adult supervision to boil an egg. It's not the sort of thing one wants to advertise, especially when they're single and looking for a date."

Evana considered that before nodding once. It must have been a signal, because the guards relaxed, letting their weapons fall to their sides, though there was still visible tension in the set of their shoulders.

"So you truly are ignorant."

"Generally. I'm usually the last to know. But what exactly was I supposed to be in on in this case?"

"An assassin entered our stronghold shortly before Mr. Dresden arrived and attempted to end my brother's life. Austri gave his life in service to my family." Her eyes closed briefly. Their features were hard to read on the best of days, but I could interpret that one without the aid of my hypersensitive powers. Grief. "Seven hundred years of service cut down in an instant. Austri was a good man."

I only knew Austri in passing, but I liked his wife and kids. They'd sometimes come over for playdates with Hope and Maggie when they were staying over. I was usually gone most hours of the day, so I appreciated Igna's willingness to step in.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I said quietly. "I know how it feels to lose someone dear to your heart."

Evana nodded but didn't say anything in reply. Her attention shifted further down the hall. I turned in time to see Etri moving toward us flanked by still more guards. There was a shallow cut above his right eye and a ring of bruises on one arm, but he looked otherwise unharmed. He gave me a cold glance as he passed and took up a position near Evana. She lifted her left hand and he took it with his right. They exchanged a loaded glance.

"My lord brother."

"Sister. I trust you learned something?"

"They did not know. As unlikely as it seems, they do not seem to be involved in this treachery. Both are ignorant of his intentions."

Etri scowled. It should have looked comical on that bulbous face, but it didn't. "You are sure?"

"As sure as I may be."

I hated to draw attention to myself, but I was getting really tired of the runaround. I stepped forward, putting myself in Etri's line of sight. My near-nudity finally registered, and a fire kindled to life inside him, deep and enduring. It was bound up with his anger and grief. Etri wanted me and he resented the hell out of it. That burning emotion was seeking a target, and he'd decided I'd do.

"Your people dragged me through the floor of my home, Etri, and none of you are telling us anything. Is it too much to ask what we're being accused of?"

"Treason," he said crisply. "One of your well-known associates and former lovers breached our defenses in an attempt to kill me. He was allowed here with more freedom than usual because he is on your list of permissible visitors."

My world did a sickening twirl as that little nugget of information sank home. My list of allies was small, and my list of lovers was even smaller. There were only two men whom I'd regularly bedded who had access to my apartment, and I was pretty sure Marcone wasn't foolhardy enough to off the head of state of a sovereign supernatural nation for funsies. Add in the scrutiny of Harry as a possible suspect in conjunction with the assassin, and I could only think of one viable answer.

"Oh God," I whispered. "It was Thomas."

Chapter Text

Thomas looked like a possum that had been caught on a truck's undercarriage and dragged down twenty miles of bad road before someone thought to peel him off.

He lay on the floor of a cell shuddering from cold or shock, eyes unfocused. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't broken, bruised, cut, or crushed. One of his feet looked like a tube of hamburger bulging from its too-small packaging. His shoe hung off it loosely, shredded and unable to contain the dimensions of the foot. Dark rings of bruises stood out against the pale skin of his throat, the varying hues showing exactly how often one of the Svartavles had strangled him. The lacerations on his chest looked like a map of downtown Chicago complete with potholes.

The sight of it made me want to throw up, and the psychic stench was worse. Thomas was my lover and my friend. It didn't matter that our last contact had been months ago. That mingling of life forces left its mark on you. To someone as sensitive as I was, it was a lot like getting input from an amputated limb. Sure, the part wasn't mine, but tell that to my overactive magic. When people hurt, I felt. When it was someone I cared about, it was that much worse.

I was only dimly aware of the towel puddling at my feet. My hands flew up as if to block a blow, and I backpedaled hard, not stopping until my back hit the far wall. When I could finally blink tears from my eyes, I found those space-age guns pointing in my direction again. Harry crossed the room in two strides and shoved his body between me and the Svartalves.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Protecting our Lady," Frode said. "She was drawing in power. Step aside, Sir Knight, or I will be forced to slay you."

"She wasn't ready to sling spells, you moron," Harry said hotly.

"Prevarication," Frode said, moving to one side to try to get me in his sights. Harry stepped with him, interposing himself once again.

"Truth," he insisted. "Hell's Bells, do you really think she'd try something like that, here of all places? She's magically sensitive, and you'd know that if you weren't so myopically focused on us for something we didn't do. You shoved her in close proximity to him with no warning and expected her to be the picture of calm? You might as well have given her a bamboo manicure. At least she'd have time to brace for it."

Evana leaned around Harry to peer at me. The shakes were lessening now, but it had nothing to do with me. I felt, rather than saw, Lasciel's Shadow move around me, the presence of her shielding me from the worst of it. She was an oak, and I was desperately sheltering behind her to keep myself from being flattened by a hailstorm. It was unthinking. That was what was so damn scary about my current predicament. Humans sought solace from suffering, and I was particularly prone to picking it up. Lasciel had a sure route to victory. She just had to wait.

"Is that true?"

I nodded tightly, still too scrambled to speak. Lasciel was patiently putting my house in order, boxing the pain into units that were easier to manage. It took me a minute to find my voice, and when I did, it came out hoarse, as though I'd been screaming.

"Yes. It started at fourteen and got worse from there."

She tilted her head and regarded me with those large, unfathomable eyes. "In that case, your task for the Baron must be painful indeed."

A hysterical giggle bubbled out of me and I curled in on myself, trying to hide my bits from sight. Now that I had sought cover, as it were, I was aware of my nudity once more.

"It's fucking excruciating, but I can shield and there are foci in my apartment that help. You dragged me naked through the floor. I didn't exactly have time to grab anything."

Evana bent and retrieved my towel, shuffling forward to offer it to me. Harry let her do it, but I could tell that it cost him. The Winter Mantle was snarling, urging him to drop-kick every single one of the little grey men into Lake Michigan, and it was nearly as painful to listen to as Thomas' tortured body. To say nothing of the Mantle's excitement at seeing a naked woman.

"We did not know. I apologize. It was not our intent to frighten or harm you. You may ask for a commensurate service from me sometime in order to redress this grievance. I will have Frode escort you back to your home."

I wanted to scream at her to release Thomas. That was the only thing that was going to make this okay. Instead, I nodded and was pleased when my neck didn't snap under the strain of performing such an unnatural gesture. Frode came forward and offered me his hand with paramount reluctance. I stared at it for a second, weighing how badly I wanted out of here. If I went through the earth at the same speed in my current state, I'd probably throw up when we reached the other side. I wouldn't cut an impressive figure if I kept having my rep dinged by things like this.

I took his hand. The earthwalk back to the surface was exactly as revolting as I feared. I didn't throw up, which was a minor miracle. Or maybe an infernal one. Lasciel could probably control my gag reflex in more than one context. I dressed hastily and packed a few bags with things I thought I might need and waited for Harry to reemerge. My apartment didn't seem as secure as it had only an hour ago. I wasn't coming back here until I could install protections of my own.

The last order of business before I stalked out was to toss my blackened and smoking lasagna into the trash. I'd managed to burn it after all.

Chapter Text

Harry guided the Munster Mobile to a stop in front of a meter several miles away from the Svartalf embassy. I got out and fed the meter the correct amount of change and then slid back into the front seat. For a while, the only sound in the interior of the car was the whir of the air conditioner. Say what you will about Mab, but her company car was great for technically challenged wizards. The sweat that had beaded on my forehead while I waited for him cooled into a sticky film on my skin.

Neither one of us spoke. It wasn't the usual tense silence that fell between us when we were in proximity to each other. We'd had some pretty serious disagreements in the past, starting with my collaboration with Nicodemus and getting more serious from there. He didn't completely trust me. The feeling was mutual. In my mind, he'd gotten my brother killed when he threw down with the Lords of Outer Night. His body had lingered on afterward, wreaking havoc, but it wasn't him. Not really. And I told myself that every time the nightmares tried to smother me with guilt and despair. The usual silence was a void, as cold and unforgiving as the bottom of the sea, at least on my half of things. This silence was pregnant with words unsaid.

I broke the silence first, willing a veil into place that would dampen sound as well. I wouldn't put it past Etri to extend his security measures a few blocks outside of the embassy, just to be safe. This was skirting the bounds of what the Accords would permit, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. What I was about to say could put me at odds with my angry and well-armed allies.

"We're not leaving him there," I said.

"Damn right we aren't," Harry said. "We're going in after him. The problem is figuring out how. Charging in without a plan is just an elaborate and extremely boneheaded form of suicide."

"Can Lara do anything about this? If there's political haggling to be done she'd be my go-to."

"From the sounds of it, no. Thomas' timing was perfect, or awful depending on how you look at it. He attacked seven minutes after the official armistice went into effect. That means Etri and his people have to abide by the Accords when they dispense justice, instead of taking it into their own hands. An hour earlier and they could have done whatever they wanted and there wouldn't have been a damn thing Lara could do about it. It puts her in an awkward spot, politically speaking, but..."

"But he timed it so that his failure would only get one person killed, instead of dragging his whole court down with him. The idiot."

Harry's laugh was bleak. We traded an eloquent look. Though we might not agree on much, we both loved Thomas. That alone would allow us to bury the hatchet. Preferably in the head of whoever had blackmailed him into this. There was no way this clusterfuck had been his idea. He liked the Svartalves. He'd bedded half their women, for Pete's sake.

"I am here to assist you, if you require it, my host," Lasciel crooned from her unseen vantage point.

I made a mental shooing motion and she fell silent, getting the message. I knew the spiel by heart. A little assistance here would morph into a lot of assistance there until I found myself in possession of her coin once more. If I wanted to avoid my past mistakes, I needed to avoid temptation altogether. I knew what Thomas would have to say about my own personal nuclear option and that he wouldn't want me to take it on his behalf.

"We have friends and we've earned favors," I said quietly. "I'm willing to call them in if you are."

Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully. "I need to touch base with Lara. She may disavow his actions and kiss major Svartalf ass to save face. I'm not sure how far her cutthroat pragmatism extends."

"Better you than me. The last time I was in Chateau Raith I...uh..."

I trailed off, recalling some of that time in blurry detail. My mindscape was easy to picture. What had happened between Lara and I only came back in warm, sweat-slicked dreams. I hadn't seen Lara in person since that day. I was kind of glad that I hadn't. With my bisexual awakening confirmed, being in close proximity to a gorgeous succubus was a bad idea. The sex would be incredible, but so not worth it in the end. I'd had someone fetter my mind before and wasn't eager to repeat the experience. I'd resist Lara for the same reason I resisted Lasciel. It would feel phenomenal, but it came with a price tag I didn't want to glance at, let alone consider paying. If I was going to lose my girl-on-girl virginity, I'd invite Freydis over for drinks and a roll in the hay. At least then I knew I was safe with the person I'd chosen.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You what, exactly?"

"Nothing," I said a shade too quickly.

Harry got it a second later. Eddies of cold swirled through the car, raising goosebumps on every inch of exposed skin. His mental shields slammed closed in almost the same instant, giving me only the briefest insight into his thoughts on the revelation. I had the sense of something large and predatory hurling itself against those defenses, but it didn't show on his face. Harry just white-knuckled the steering wheel and muttered under his breath.

"Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five..."

"What are you doing?"

"Multiplication tables," Harry said, not looking at me. Frost spread over the windshield by inches, twining intricate patterns on the glass. It would have been pretty if I didn't know what it meant. "The Mantle doesn't engage well with the more analytical parts of the brain."

Harry was at two hundred and five before the cold abated, leaving the interior merely nippy, instead of arctic. He still wouldn't meet my eyes when he spoke.

"Like I said, I'll handle Lara. Who are you going to see tonight?"

"I might summon Lily. I have a boon from Summer, and it's a doozy. I could ask for the moon and she'd try to get it for me."

Harry shook his head. "I've taken more faerie deals than you, kid. Trust me when I say this isn't something you can apply Summer's resources to. Lily has to put the interests of Summer first. It's hardwired into her mantle. By helping you she'd be dragging her entire Court into conflict with the Svartalves. It's not something she can risk, even for you."

I'd been afraid of that. There'd been a little time to plan while Harry was occupied on the lower levels. Enough time to hash out a plan or two with Lasciel chiming in every now and then to offer her preferred solution. She'd mentioned the limits of my boon, but I'd decided to float the idea to Harry anyway. It was the only way to tell if the Fallen was right. She'd lied to me before and she had a vested interest in narrowing my options.

"I won't discount it just yet. She could still help in indirect ways. They can't fault her if she's not taking a straightforward shot at them. If she gave me a weapon or information, she's just honoring a debt, not robbing them of their justice."

Harry's head bobbed in acknowledgment of the point. "True. It's definitely something to think about. I'll parley with Lara and see what she's going to do. I'd like to see what pieces we have on the board before we start setting anything in stone. There's a party going on at Castle Marcone tomorrow. People rubbing elbows before the peace talks start, you know. A lot of eyes will be turned elsewhere if you get what I'm saying."

Translation, people would be too busy hobnobbing to pay attention to one prisoner. If I could get the lay of the land, we could use it to construct a plan before the peace talks ended there was a good chance we could pull it off. Good or not, it was probably our only chance to spring him. If he was still in Svartalfheim when the peace talks concluded, he was a dead man.

"Got it."

"So what are you planning to do for the rest of the evening?"

"First I have to call Dad and cancel dinner plans."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You didn't blow my night all to hell. That was Thomas, and he probably did my parents a favor. They narrowly avoided the lasagna of mass destruction. With my luck, I'd have given them food poisoning or something."

Harry smiled, but there wasn't much humor in it. "And after that phone call?"

"I start naming names and seeing who will show up and what they have to offer. Like you said, we have to know what pieces we have on the board."

"There's one piece I don't want on the board," Harry said. "Whatever you do, don't reach for your queen, Molly. Thomas wouldn't want that."

My lips twisted. I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I'd had the same thought not so long ago. Little did he know just how close at hand the queen was. I hadn't told my parents yet, I sure as hell wasn't outing myself to Harry. Not when he was in this frame of mind.

"I know that. I'm not going to call her up, Harry. Nothing shy of an apocalypse is going to convince me to invite her back in. Even then, it would have to be a pretty damn big apocalypse. I don't whip out a fallen angel for some measly junior apocalypse, you know."

"Just so we're clear."

"Crystal. I have other people I can go to. Now drop me at the nearest payphone. I need to make some calls."

One to the Carpenter house. Several to friends both local and not. And a final call to the last person on earth I wanted to see at the moment. I wouldn't take up the queen, but I'd parley with the king.

I was going to request a meeting with John Fucking Marcone.

Chapter Text

"Be careful," was all Dad said when I called to cancel our dinner plans. He'd been a Knight. He knew a thing or two about duty. Neither one of us addressed the point explicitly, but he could guess I was galavanting off to be a big damn hero again. It was the only thing that could keep me from going to my family. Be careful, he said. I told him I would.

I lied. What I was about to attempt was one of the more dangerous avenues I could tread, but it was necessary. For Thomas. For Justine. For their baby.

Marcone replied to my voicemail within ten minutes of the call. Selena phoned my answering service with the date and time of the meeting. Which made my setup sound a lot more sophisticated than it actually was. In reality, if someone didn't have an earpiece to contact me directly, they left a message with Abby. She and the Ordo Lebes did what they could, even if it wasn't much. The bullet that Abby took last year had severed her spinal cord at L1, leaving her with limited mobility. She'd be an easy target for any Fomor servitors, so she remained home and directed communications for this sector of the Paranet. That included calls to the Black Knight. Marcone must have guessed the meeting would involve sensitive topics and acted accordingly. He had no problem contacting me on my home phone for everyday conversations.

And that was how I came to be striding down the halls of the Ambassador Hotel, following a very nervous waiter to the Pump Room. It was technically after hours, but Marcone had an in with the owner. It granted him special treatment. There were very few places that wouldn't open their doors or extend their hours for the Robber Baron of Chicago. He hadn't taken me out often, but when he had, he'd done it in style. The Pump Room was a favorite of his, so it shouldn't come as a shock that he'd choose it for our little tete-a-tete.

The waiter gave me a once-over before opening the door with a deferential flourish. He was trying to be subtle about it--declasse to ogle a patron, you know. If it had been anyone else he might have gotten away with it, but I was the master of subtlety. Magically, anyway. In my real life, I was a walking disaster in progress.

The dress hugged every curve I had and gave my boobs help they honestly didn't need. The line of cleavage was so deep you could have gone spelunking in it. The emerald dress complimented the illusory copper curls of my usual disguise.

It had tickled the hell out of Lasciel to learn I'd modeled the long-lasting illusion on her until I had the idle thought that it made us look like sisters. She hadn't liked that at all. She'd blipped out of my awareness for a few minutes, and when she reappeared she had a runner's build and sported the toga she'd once favored. Her black hair fell in ringlets down to her waist, and her eyes had deepened from baby blue to a mesmerizing green. It wasn't the same faded dollar bill shade of Marcone's eyes, thank God. It had been disturbing enough to see them in Fortnea's face. They were the deep shade of an evergreen, vital and pulsing with quiet strength. There were bits of the people I loved (or at least lusted after) in her aspect. Lara's hair and build, Thomas' full, sensuous mouth, the shape of Freydis' eyes, Hannah's hair texture. The line of Marcone's jaw. She was wearing a dress similar to mine now, swapping linen for royal blue satin.

"Mr. Marcone and his date arrived twenty minutes before you did, Miss," he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic about it. "Have a seat and I'll be back momentarily with a menu and a selection of wine to try."

"Thank you," I said automatically.

Inside, I was trying not to freak out. Marcone hadn't moved on, so far as I knew. He wouldn't have been calling my apartment just to give me the memo. He was more the 'figure out the consequences for yourself' type. He'd time the revelation to give exactly the message he wanted to send, and no one on earth would be able to shift his timetable on that. So if it wasn't a new girlfriend, who was waiting inside? Gard? Did he really think he'd need a bodyguard for this discussion?

Okay, so maybe that wouldn't have been the worst precaution in the world. If I didn't need his help so badly I wouldn't be on my best behavior, and he knew that. My inability to behave with the kind of decorum he expected seemed to both vex and amuse him. If I hadn't known him, the latter would probably have seemed patronizing, like a father smiling at the childish antics of his daughter. But no, he truly did find it as endearing as it was frustrating. He knew me. Loved me, despite my faults. I'd seen the proof of that burned into Thomas' skin.

I hiked my clutch purse up, letting the cool metal links of the strap brush the bare skin of my shoulder. I normally wore my lariat as a choker when I was out in public, but it would take too long to unwind in this scenario. Marcone would have me pinned before I had it in my hand. The strap was infinitely easier to unlatch and once the chain was free, the situation changed. Not much, but it gave me a shot at leaving the room unharmed. The other goodies in the purse would help skew the fight in that direction too.

The waiter gave me one last look, taking a mental snapshot for later use before he slid back into a professional headspace. He left as quickly as he'd come, off to fetch a menu. I wasn't convinced I'd be able to eat anything. My stomach was tied in knots, nerves stealing my appetite. I forced myself to breathe past it and stepped around the corner, finally setting foot in the lion's den.

The Pump Room was gorgeous. The interior was a contrast between an ivory decorating motif and the rich earth tones of the wooden accents. The drop lighting gave the room a soft, ambient feeling. It wasn't the intimate ambiance of a candlelit dinner, but I knew it could be pretty damn romantic if the circumstances were right. The room was large enough to host several dinner parties, but at the moment only one table was occupied. A man and a woman were deep in conversation, sitting hip-to-hip in a familiar fashion that made my heart squeeze tight, despite my better judgment.

I didn't care that Marcone had a new girlfriend. I'd broken it off, so I didn't have the right to care.

Uh-huh. And if I kept telling myself that, maybe I'd convince myself of it sometime in the next ten years. God, I had gotten myself into a mess. Why did I always love all the wrong people?

The woman turned in my direction when she spotted me weaving through the tables toward them. With a start, I realized that I knew her. Sharp chin, intense dark eyes, and a full mouth painted crimson. She'd bound her dark curls into an artful updo and secured them with a pair of ebony chopsticks in her hair. She hadn't chosen the wood at random. Ebony was good at conducting magic of all flavors. Certain types of faeries were actually drawn to ebony trees and made their homes in their boughs, which only strengthened a mystical connection. She'd used them as focuses before, but they'd seen more use as stakes against the Black Court.

The sight of her sitting there drove the breath out of my lungs. I hadn't seen her for four months, and while Lasciel assured me she was alive, I hadn't believed her. Marcone had made his dislike pretty damn obvious. I'd assumed she was rotting away in an unmarked grave somewhere.

"Hannah?" I asked.

She gave me a dazzling smile, a bright, mocking flash of teeth that was so quintessentially Hannah that I choked on an answering laugh. I hadn't seen that look on her face in a while. For a second, it was almost like old times. She stood, moving strategically to keep from flashing her underwear to the room. The black dress she wore was slit all the way to the hip and gave me loving glimpses of long, toned legs as she glided toward me. The strappy heels made her ankles look delicate, though I knew they were anything but. I'd seen her ram the heel of one stiletto into the eye socket of a Red when we'd been working with the Fellowship of Saint Giles.

"Love the look," she said, and there was a knowing twinkle in her eye as she took in the illusion I'd wrapped around myself. Had Lasciel presented herself to Hannah wearing the disguise she'd adopted for me? Or had she told Hannah more about our time together than I'd imagined?

"Thanks," I said.

She came at me, arms open wide for a hug. I hesitated. I really did want to hug her. The relief I felt at seeing her whole and healthy was so profound that I wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. But my paranoia chimed a shrill warning. Hannah had used intimate contact to sucker me into a forty-eight-hour fever dream. On the other hand, starting this meeting off on an unfriendly note didn't bode well for the negotiations ahead.

I stepped into her embrace. Hannah's arms tightened almost painfully, crushing the air out of my lungs with an enthusiastic bear hug. She had her own spelunking site tucked into a tight bodice, and I ended up practically face-to-face with her decolletage as she pulled me in.

"Glerk," was the only response I could manage.

Hannah released me with a laugh and stepped back enough to let me breathe. Her hands came up to cradle my face instead, a fond smile curling her lips. It slipped a moment later. The probe had been almost imperceptible, even to my practiced senses. There and gone, a touch as light as insect wings. It didn't feel like her magic. Samshiel's, I supposed. Lasciel had been keeping that ace in her back pocket for a while now. She must have told Hannah to play it when she was sure that she had me.

Hannah gave me an exasperated look. "Oh, come on! It's been four months! You can't be serious, Molls. Just the Shadow? Really?"

"I resisted the Shadow for the better part of a year the first time and I was only fifteen. I'm a little better equipped now. Besides, I didn't actually get a choice in touching it this time. It pissed me off. You know how powerful a motivator spite can be for me."

"We are well aware," another voice said, a note of dry amusement in his voice.

I turned unwillingly to face the room's only other occupant. He was around average height, and comfortably in his early fifties. Silver streaked his dark hair, lending it a distinguished look. His features belonged to the genial football coach, not a mafia kingpin. Lines etched the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth. His eyes were the color of faded dollar bills and focused squarely on me. I met them without fear. We'd already taken the measure of each other. I knew the sort of man he was. He'd stared back at my soul in kind and found something worthwhile in there.

"Marcone," I said stiffly.

"You used to call me John."

"I'll call you what I like. After what you pulled, I could be calling you something much worse."

He inclined his head. "That's fair, I suppose. Stop looming and have a seat."

I crossed my arms over my chest, hoisting the cavernous cleavage a half-inch. I was gratified when his eyes followed the motion. Beneath all the calculation and cruelty, he was still a straight man. Boobs were their kryptonite.

"Say I don't want to?"

"You can stand, but you'll look odd when the waiter returns with your menu. Don't worry about the cost. I've covered the night's expenses."

"I don't need charity from you."

Marcone gave my dress a pointed glance. "As I recall, I provided the dress and jewelry for a function we attended together."

Yeah, he had. The Cartier jewelry latched around my wrists and throat was worth more than some people's annual salaries. I shuddered to think what the dress had cost. The dry cleaning bill to get the blood off the skirts after a Fomor attack had to have been obscene. He'd returned it spotless and let me keep it once I had my own place.

"You're right. Let me fix that for you."

I shrugged and unlatched the bracelets first, tossing them onto the tabletop. The necklace came off next, joining the pile of precious metal and flashing gemstones. I'd unzipped the dress to mid-back before Marcone held up a hand and shot me a reproving look.

"That's enough. I take your point. Keep your clothes on."

I bet he'd never thought he'd say that to me. He liked my clothes off at least once when we were alone together.

"Are you sure?" Hannah said, eyes bright with interest. A satisfied smirk curled the corner of her lip. "Because I kind of want to see the show."

"Don't start," he said coolly. "You and I may be able to put aside our differences for a shared goal, but I will not tolerate poaching."

The sentiment should have bothered me. I wasn't a buck they were going to mount as a trophy. But a part of me was warmed by Marcone's possessiveness. That proved he still cared in some capacity, right?

I zipped the dress back up and sat down across from the pair of them. The waiter returned with the menu and poured me a glass of wine. I ordered and sent him off with a smile. The smile dropped like a stone when I turned back to them.

Marcone steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow. "So, what can we do for you, Miss Carpenter?"

Chapter Text

The waiter arrived with my menu and a sample of wine to try. I wanted to slug the stuff back like a shot but figured it would look a little declasse if I approached the cuisine here with the same technique I'd use at a sports bar. Then again, it would probably offend the sensibilities of both my tablemates and the phantom fiend lurking at my elbow, so displaying a flagrant disregard for the rules of etiquette might have an upside. I ultimately compromised with a too-large slurp of the stuff before handing the glass back to the waiter with a smile. His smile was only a little strained when he promised to come back with a bottle.

"What's with the 'Miss Carpenter' thing?" I asked. "You've seen me naked. I think we're a little past courtesy titles."

I wanted to ask how many times Namshiel had seen me naked but decided I really didn't want to know. Realizing I'd been in an involuntary threesome even once was bad enough. Then another thought occurred to me and I fought not to pull a face. If I bedded Marcone with Lasciel in my head it was a foursome. Add Hannah and it was an orgy.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Lasciel purred. "I think you'd find it quite...entertaining."

A vivid, unbidden image unfurled inside my head. The tablecloth bunched beneath me, my hands grasping for anything I could reach as John drove into me, fingers grasping my hips almost to the point of pain. The tips of Hannah's breasts brushed my back as she pressed herself against me. Her teeth on my throat. Soft, drugging kisses from Hannah. Harsh, demanding liplocks with Marcone. Hannah's hands reaching between my thighs. Pleasure spilling like champagne from a flute down my body until I screamed, not caring who heard.

I batted the air in front of my face with a muttered, "Damn it, Lash! Stop that!"

Marcone arched an eyebrow at the outburst. Hannah just grinned. She'd hosted Lasciel's coin longer than I had and knew her tactics. Hell, Lasciel had probably used the same tactics with Hannah, feeding her perfect daydreams of what our lives might have been like together to keep her feeling lonely and deprived. She'd capitalized on those feelings to get a stronger foothold in Hannah's mind. She'd do the same to me if I wasn't careful.

"Sorry," I said, ducking my head as I sipped my wine. "Continue."

"It's not the first time I've slept with someone one evening and called them by their title the next. I only reserve first-name status for those whom I am serious with." He gave me a steady look. "I was under the impression you'd ended things. Was I wrong?"

If I faked a heart attack would it get me out of this conversation? Probably not. This had been a bad idea from the start. Now it was careening headlong into topics I would have rather have tongued a cheese grater than discuss.

"We're over, John," I whispered. The words were like fingers digging into the surface of a bruise. The pain was fresh all over again. "You knew how I'd react and you did it anyway. I can't forgive that."

Had I imagined a flinching in his eyes? Maybe. His expression was opaque when I considered him, betraying absolutely nothing. He was definitely feeling something behind the expressionless mask. The fact he'd donned a poker face was telling in and of itself.

"I guessed as much," he said, tone utterly neutral. "Call me Marcone and I'll call you Carpenter. It's simplest this way."

"Fine."

"You can call me Hannah and I'll call you Molly," Hannah said cheerfully, finishing the last of her wine with a smile. "Because I didn't trick and use you to further my own ends for years on end. Because I'm your friend and I've almost always been straight with you. And since you're single again, how about coffee? My treat."

I should have said no. Samshiel was an unknown quantity and Hannah hadn't always been the most stable cracker in the box where I was concerned. But she was right. I knew Hannah, had fought beside her, and could have loved her if the circumstances had been right. Even when she took up Lasciel's coin and started pursuing me she'd been straightforward about her motives. Marcone had lied to me from the very beginning.

And no, it wasn't just that Namshiel had seen me naked. He'd also been the unseen voyeur of every private moment I'd shared with Marcone. I'd spent the last four months doing a post-mortem of our relationship, trying to figure out what words had been his, and what phrases Namshiel fed him. He'd been stringing me along and Namshiel had been there the whole time, cackling evilly to himself the whole way. Another fallen angel played a part in breaking my heart, and I'd be damned if I gave him the satisfaction of letting it show.

"Sure," I said, not taking my eyes off Marcone. "I'll call you."

Hannah contented herself with a self-satisfied smirk. Marcone frowned at us both before schooling himself. He waved a hand vaguely in my direction.

"I will repeat myself. What can we do for you, Miss Carpenter?"

I sucked in a breath, steadying my nerves. "You can probably guess."

"Thomas Raith," Marcone said, tone dry. "The would-be assassin. The last report I received said he's being detained for the duration of the peace talks."

"Yes," I said. My voice was barely audible, the memory of Thomas' savaged body flashing through my thoughts. "And if nothing is done before their conclusion he's going to die horribly."

Marcone's fingers traced his cloth napkin idly as though the hemline was more relevant than anything I'd said. His stare was flinty when he said, "And what does that fact have to do with me?"

"You owe me, asshole. He's my friend and I can't watch him die."

"And you'd rather we all die in the attempt? The Svartalves will not part with him willingly. And to rebut the former statement, I don't owe you anything, Carpenter. We are not involved. The photos of your behavior shortly after our disastrous conversation proved that."

I gaped wordlessly for a moment. My behavior? He had the gall to talk about my bad behavior? He wouldn't understand the hypocrisy in that sentence even if I used a blimp to spell it out for him.

"You had me followed?"

"Of course," he said. "Foolish not to after the secret you uncovered. The knights are annoyingly perceptive and you would be well motivated to drop hints about what you'd learned. I had my troubleshooter on the block use a telephoto lens."

It wasn't a shock that Marcone had a troubleshooter near the house but it still made my skin prickle. Marcone was a dangerous man with a flagrant disregard for life. He wouldn't shoot my siblings but any adults in the house were fair game if he decided the deed needed to be done.

"So you won't help me because you're jealous? Of all the immature-"

"I won't help you because it would be political and practical suicide to do so. It just so happens that my personal feelings align with my professional motives."

"Ooh, this is getting juicy," Hannah said, leaning forward, head in her hands like she was watching a spectator sport.

"Get out!" Marcone and I snapped at almost the same moment.

Hannah didn't argue. She smirked at us both and excused herself, brushing past the startled waiter on her way out. The silence in the room was so complete that the wine bottle hitting the table sounded like a small firecracker going off. Neither of us acknowledged the poor kid, and he backed out of the room as quickly as he'd come, muttering an apology.

"You cannot be freaking serious," I said when the door clicked shut. "You're upset that I kissed Thomas? You lied to me from the very beginning. I don't have a single happy memory of our time together. Now I have to examine that time from every angle wondering if any of it was real or if you really are a sociopathic dickhead just stringing me along. I wanted to believe it was the latter. That makes it easier to write you off as a monster."

"That's not what I-"

"Shut up!" I snapped. "Shut up and let me talk for once. I kissed Thomas. Do you know why? Because there were spirits of intellect trying to burst out of my head. He was giving me pain relief, not swooping in to be my rebound." I snorted and dabbed at my eyes. Stupid, traitorous tear ducts. "And it didn't even work."

"Pardon?"

"It didn't work. Thomas can't feed on me. He had a second-degree burn from a short kiss. So no, I'm not auditioning to be Thomas Raith's sidepiece."

Marcone went very still, absorbing that information. I smiled grimly.

"I'm curious, though. At what point did you start to love me back?"

Chapter Text

Marcone didn't say anything. I wondered if the four-letter word made him feel as hideously vulnerable as I did. I hadn't set out to love him. He'd never meant to love me. And by some accident of fate, we'd managed to stagger our way into it anyway. I couldn't jab a finger at a timeline and tell you at what point it happened. I hadn't fallen in love. It had been more of a toboggan ride down the side of an active volcano. So much shit had been going on around me that I'd been too distracted to notice that I was clutching the only person with me for dear life.

"Interesting comparison," Lasciel said. "Though I'd be remiss not to mention that in your scenario the pyroclastic flow would kill you long before you reached the bottom."

"I don't need you critiquing my metaphors, Lash."

"Ah, I apologize. Please resume staring at each other in uncomfortable silence. Far be it from me to interrupt."

The supercilious sentiment was all the more annoying for the truth of it. Surprise showed on his face, but he'd carefully concealed whatever else he was feeling. I mean what had I expected? A heartfelt confession, sweeping music, and the happily-ever title credits rolling over it all? A kiss trembling with passion? Simple reciprocation?

I sighed and broke the silence first, waving a hand dismissively. "Never mind. Forget I asked. You probably couldn't tell me even if you wanted to. I'm sure as hell confused about when I fell for you."

"It was when you turned down the Summer Lady's offer," he said, the words so quiet I had to strain to hear them. "The moment you refused to trade your independence for the succor of the Summer Court. Refused to be shaped by the mantle, though it would offer you relief. That's when it happened."

"And yet you gave me a coin. You're still exposing me to an external force that wants to change me."

"I want a partner who understands. And I know you too well. You wouldn't sway to every one of Lasciel's whims. And she makes you happy, no matter how often you protest it."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I'd been about to do exactly that.

"Heroin makes people happy too. It doesn't mean a drug habit is healthy. Besides, you have Hannah now. So you do have a partner who understands."

"But I don't love Hannah," he said. "Frankly, I find her grating and her propensity to stab me in the back at the earliest convenience makes our partnership grudging at best. I want you at my side. What will it take to keep you there?"

"Thomas Raith," I said, the words flying past my lips without consulting my brain. "Make sure he gets out of Svartalfhiem safe and whole and I'll...consider it."

"Not good enough," Marcone said. "An agreement isn't worth the paper it's printed on until there's a binding signature. I'd want your solemn word that you'd take up the coin and keep it. I suspect you'd surrender Lasciel's coin after you achieved your goal."

I closed my mouth. Once again, he'd predicted my thought process to a T. His lips curled up faintly, amused at my chagrin.

"Join or he dies?" I asked. "I'll admit, that's a new one for me. Usually, it's my life being threatened. This is a novel change. And either way I choose, you get what you want."

"I prefer to arrange things that way, yes."

"Jerk."

Marcone waited, watching my face intently. My brain was working hard enough he could probably hear the gears grinding. Would it really be so bad? He hadn't specified a time frame. Six months with Lasciel's coin. Six months didn't qualify as right after, did it? I could still go back. Could still be me after I dropped the coin.

Only...I could feel the lie, even as I thought it. If I took up Lasciel's coin again, it would be for keeps. She'd learned her lesson last time. If I let her in, she'd never leave again. I'd look back at this moment centuries from now and find myself unrecognizable. Because I wouldn't be me. I'd be something else. Something wrong.

"No," I said eventually. "I can't take that deal."

Marcone didn't look surprised or disappointed just...resigned. "I didn't think you would."

"Then why meet me at all?"

"Because I wanted to see you again. I've missed you."

Did I tell him that I missed him too? That the empty space where he used to lie kept me up at night? That the emptiness yawned so wide sometimes that I thought it would swallow me whole? No. Admitting it aloud only made it hurt more.

"Goodbye, John," I said.

Then I slipped under a veil and retreated, waiting until I'd reached the parking lot to finally let the tears fall.

Chapter Text

"For the Dark Knight of Chicago, you're not very suave. It's a good thing the exterior cameras glitch around you, or someone would notice how long you held the door open."

I scowled at the passenger seat. The voice had issued from apparent nothingness, muffled slightly by the confines of the veil. This one was better than most of the ones I'd seen Hannah pull thus far.

"Don't call me the Dark Knight. DC gets all twitchy about their intellectual properties. I don't want to face a lawsuit on top of everything else. Besides, I only kept the door open long enough for you to climb in. So that's on you when you really think about it."

Hannah let out a bubbling laugh so infectious I had to fight off a smile. It reminded me of the days when we'd worked together with the Fellowship. She seemed more like herself than she had since we'd met in Mexico almost two years ago. The carefree attitude came at a cost. When she'd fallen into invisible lockstep with me, she told me she'd be willing to help me, for a price. Leave Chicago with her and travel the world together. Get back what we used to do and take the fight to the enemy.

And with Harry in town ready and willing to take on Chicago's usual supernatural badness, I was considering it. I knew what she wanted from me. Samshiel wasn't as insidious and deceptive as Lasciel was, but what he lacked in seductive skill was made up by pure charisma. Just being near him at his full potency snared the minds of those who heard him speak. I'd only heard his voice once, but the timbre of it would haunt my dreams for weeks to come. It was the aural equivalent of molten chocolate, something that dripped into your ear and made you hunger.

"He was an orator," Lasciel sighed. "Human vocal cords can't convey his true voice. Once he spoke words handed down directly from the Almighty."

I caught fleeting images before she could close herself off. They'd been created within moments of each other, shaped directly by God's hand. Newly hewn from the universe, they gravitated toward each other like celestial bodies, always in each other's orbits. They'd loved each other, though it wasn't love as I understood it. I wasn't capable of conceptualizing the love of God or the regard of an angel for another angel.

The fall came a few billion years later. It seemed much shorter in hindsight. In some ways, the fall was just as fresh as the day it happened. She was a being with intellectus after all. Reality existed in one piece for her. Being cast down left her falling for nine days, and when she punched through the crust, she lay in agony without the capacity to understand it. Up to that point, she had no conception of pain. No conception of deceit, death, or sin. She lay in torment for an inconceivably long time, and her only anchor was one of Samshiel's hands. They'd landed feet from each other, and only their fingertips touched, but it was an ounce of comfort in the confusion.

A loud, metallic screech jerked me back to reality. Dad's battle-worn pickup was sliding along a guard rail, sending sparks flying in every direction. Hannah reappeared, pulling the car back onto the road. I sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. I parked in a very illegal fashion, deciding it was better to get a ticket and a fine than run us off the road. Tears were already spilling down my cheeks, a mix of pain at seeing what I shouldn't, and pity.

"What's wrong?" Hannah asked.

"I'm sorry, Samshiel," I whispered.

For what, I wasn't sure. It wasn't my fault that he'd fallen. He'd done some truly terrible things in the meantime, but...I couldn't shake the image of their fingers intertwined, the only shed of compassion or mercy in hell.

It felt inevitable when Hannah's lips touched mine. Though the shape of Hannah's lips was the same, I could feel the difference. It was amazing how much the guiding consciousness changed the way a person looked and moved. It wasn't Hannah kissing Molly. It was Samshiel trying to kiss Lasciel. The frustration from both was palpable. Humans had such a crude and primitive way of sharing intimacy. What they really craved was the wholeness they'd once had.

"We should go," I whispered against their mouth. "The cops will be on us in a New York minute if we stay here. At least half of them are on Marcone's payroll. If we want to pull this off, he can't know you're getting involved."

"True," Samshiel said. Then Hannah shook herself, gave me an odd look, and added, "Not that I mind, but what the hell was the kiss for?"

I checked my mirrors and carefully merged back into traffic. "It would take too long to explain and I don't want to see any more memories while I'm driving. Rain check."

"Fine, but you're talking to me about it when we reach Belize. If you're accepting my terms, that is."

"I am and I will. Since you were the one who approached me I assume you have a plan in mind already?"

Hannah's smirk was...well...devilish. "You won't like it and Dresden will simply hate it."

My eyes narrowed. "Okay, I'll bite. What are you proposing?"

Hannah told me. She was right, I didn't like it and Harry would have a conniption but her points were solid, given the resources we had to work with at the moment.

"Okay," I said at last. "I'll talk to Harry about it. You give Binder a call and see if he's free. If not, we're going to have to rework your plan a bit."

"He's free," Hannah said confidently. "I called him the minute I heard you were talking to Marcone. We both knew he wouldn't give you what you want, so I made sure I could."

"You're a devious woman, you know that?"

"And you love me for it. Admit it, you missed the skullduggery."

"A little."

"Talk to your people and I'll talk to mine and we'll spring your lover. Then you and I are booking a one-way ticket to Central America and spending a few weeks on the beach."

"I can't wait."

Chapter Text

"You can't be seriously considering this."

I fished a fry out of its cardboard container and swirled it in the gob of ketchup on my wrapper. It was warm and perfectly salty when I brought it to my lips, staring Harry down. Did he really think I'd kid at a time like this? Thomas was suffering in the complex under my apartment. Sitting here munching on fries while he died by inches was driving me insane, but starving myself and weakening my magic wasn't going to help him out of the situation. So I tucked into my Whopper next, reaching up to straighten the Burger King crown on my head. The little girl at the only other occupied table beamed at me in reply.

"I'm dead serious. We need the help."

"We don't need a Knight of the Blackened Denarius. And you shouldn't have gone to Marcone. I don't trust that scumbag, and he's bound to be on guard now. He could turn us over for political capital."

"He won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do," I said quietly. "Marcone might refuse to help, but he won't turn me over to the Svartalves either. He knows what they're like. He wouldn't put me through the punishments they'd devise for treachery. He cares too much."

Harry snorted in disbelief, an obnoxious sound that drew the eyes of the little girl's parents. The blonde mother shot him a dirty look before turning her attention back to her chicken nuggets.

"I don't think he knows the definition of the word 'care,' Molly. He has lackeys and he has enemies. That's it."

I used to think that too. It was just sex, I told myself. Contact with someone who understood my unique situation and didn't judge me for it was crucial to holding onto my sanity, I'd said. It wasn't love. Marcone didn't love anyone, least of all me. I'd been counting on that to be true to keep my heart safe. But all that had come crumbling down around my ears the second I'd seared Thomas' lips black.

My silence in the face of his pronouncement was more telling than if I'd protested out loud. Whatever he read in my expression made him look vaguely ill. I wanted to rail at him. Where did he get off being disgusted by my romantic partners? I'd never laid into him about Murphy, even when things between the former detective and I were fraught.

"Oh God. It was more than just sex, wasn't it? It was bad enough when we all thought you were screwing Marcone. You love that bastard, don't you?"

I didn't answer, shoving a fry into my mouth to muffle an angry retort. Harry was around more, and I'd been working on trying to be less hostile. He was my dad's best friend, and he didn't hold any ill will toward Harry over Daniel's death. Hell, he didn't hold any ill will toward me and I'd been the one to actually pull the trigger, so to speak. In the interest of keeping Chicago safe, he and I might have to work together. But having him come out and judge me was a step too far.

"It wasn't like I intended for it to happen," I muttered.

"How long has this been a thing?" he asked.

I couldn't meet his eyes. "Since the night on the island. You don't know what it's like there, Harry. It's clear the place doesn't touch you. It's like putting myself through a blender just to be there. Then Fix died a few feet away from me. Lily's aura was so volatile it was like standing near an open flame. I couldn't take it. He kissed me and one thing led to another and..."

Harry growled low in his throat. It was a more canine sound than a human throat should have been able to make. The temperature of the air had dipped several degrees, and his shake was frosting over.

"He took advantage of you. I swear I'll kill him."

"It wasn't like that," I said defensively. "If anything, I took advantage of him. He was going to leave and I asked him to stay. He might have kissed me, but I took it further."

"But you needed someone and he should have known better. It's cruel."

He had no idea just how cruel it had been. My throat tightened infinitesimally, reacting to the idle thought that I should tell him the whole sordid tale. Namshiel's strangler spell was still in full effect. I'd blocked Lasciel's shadow out for the duration of the conversation. No doubt she'd be at my ear if I let her, whispering for the umpteenth time that she could help me shirk the strangler spell and tell anyone I damned well pleased about Marcone's secret.

All it would cost me was my soul.

"Don't punch him. I'd hate for his men to grease you after you tried. Then I'd be planning this rescue all alone. We're going to need all the help we can get."

"Which brings us back to the topic at hand. Getting Hannah involved is a bad idea."

"Maybe, but I'm fresh out of good ones. What she's asking for isn't a bad deal."

"No, it's terrible. You know what she and Lasciel will pressure you to do while you're jetsetting."

I winced at the sound of Lasciel's name. He still didn't know. I hadn't been able to face my family or Harry in the immediate aftermath of the meeting and had only called Harry when I was sure I wouldn't break down. This late-night fast food dinner was a poor substitute for whatever I'd have gotten from the Pump Room if I stayed. But if I stayed, I might have done something with Marcone I'd regret.

"About that..."

Harry tensed, fingers denting the styrofoam cup in one hand. With an ounce of force more he'd send the frosty goo in every direction, pelting our neighbors with Oreo-flecked ice cream. His eyes were as cold and hard as stone.

"Molly, you better not say what I think you're about to say. Please tell me you don't have one of those coins. Please. I can't deal with another disaster on top of the first one."

"I don't have a coin but..." I sighed. I might as well get it out of the way now. I'd been hoping to save this confession for the morning after I carried out my last errand of the night and got a few hours of shut-eye. "But something happened after the fight in Hades' vault. I can't remember much, what with the kids trying to force their way out of my head. But a few weeks later she showed herself. The Shadow is back."

Harry swore viciously, earning another glare from the blonde mother. She covered her daughter's ears and hissed an indignant, "Do you mind?" in our direction. Harry grumbled an apology without looking at her. He lowered his voice when he spoke next.

"Hannah exposed you to a coin and...what? Took up another?"

"Hannah had Samshiel's coin in reserve. She and Lasciel tried to convince me to take it before we fought Maeve's crew on the island. They wanted to be sure I survived, and whoever's coin I had was secondary."

His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't sound very Lasciel-like."

"It wasn't. She's selfish and possessive. I was pretty sure she'd let me die rather than accept a different Fallen."

He looked pensive. I wondered if he was as surprised by the sacrifice as I'd been. It was almost selfless, a quality I never knew she had. But it could have been a con. Demons were all about deception, and getting my hopes up could be another way of pulling one over on me.

"So you have the Shadow in your head. That makes leaving with Hannah an even worse idea than before. Your dad would kill me if I let you gamble your life away with forces like the Fallen."

"We need to get Thomas out and this is the best plan we have so far. If we wait too long, the peace talks will conclude and we'll never be able to spring him. Svartalfheim is damn near impregnable, even to a Knight of the Blackened Denarius. So if you have any better ideas, I'm all ears."

Harry glowered out the window. His emotions were so turbulent, pitching this way and that in his irritation, that it made me a little seasick. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. We both knew we were running out of time and options.

"Does your dad know?" he asked.

"Not yet. I was going to tell him in the morning. I was thinking he and Sanya could be my accountability buddies. I didn't ask for the Shadow to come back, Harry. I don't want her coin. I'm going to fight like hell to stay me. If I go missing or stop contacting them, Sanya will get the go-ahead to come after Hannah."

Harry didn't look happy, but he eventually nodded. "Fine. Continue with the rest of your part of the plan. I don't completely understand the middle bit."

So I explained it to him. As I expected, he looked homicidal when I mentioned Binder. He didn't want to work with the mercenary prick and said as much, but eventually agreed we'd need the backup. I didn't ask him to help us with the cost. We had a plan for that, and I didn't think he could stand the indignity of paying Binder out of his own pocket.

Harry finished off his burden and wiped a smear of mustard from his chin. He gave me one more dubious look. "You're sure about this?"

"No," I admitted. "But we don't have a lot of choices, do we?"

"Do you want help with the ritual you're trying tonight? I can stay. I doubt she's going to hurt you, but it never hurts to have someone watching your back."

"No, I can handle it. I trust her, to a point. She's my friend."

"Good luck," Harry said, balling up the wrapper before tossing it toward the trash. It sailed in a perfect arc, sinking the shot. Show off.

"Thanks. I'm going to need it."

Chapter Text

Toot tugged at his ears anxiously, something I'd only ever seen him do once before. The little faerie had a sense of self-confidence completely disproportional to his size. It had never occurred to me that the Major General would be terrified by any job I asked him to do.

"It's not that big a deal, Toot. You don't have to come in with me."

"The Za Lord has commanded you to have an escort," Toot replied automatically. "We of his Guard will not fail him!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It would crush his poor little ego to see me react with anything less than the seriousness that the mission demanded, at least in Toot's mind. It was just irritating. The Guard had never responded to me with that kind of loyalty. Sure, they'd perform scouting and petty acts of vandalism when bribed, but they'd never lost their wary streak where I was concerned.

I wasn't sure what had caused the reserve. Was it the talk of my past that put them off or was there something just...intrinsically bad about me? My history would bear that theory out. There wasn't a left-hand path I hadn't taken a detour on. When push came to shove, I knew where my inclinations lay. Fear led to anger, anger led to hate, and hate led to suffering. Suffering led to Lasciel. That was the sad truth of it. I was sometimes just a breath away from summoning her and damn the consequences. With Thomas suffering during his sojourn in Svartalfheim, I wanted her so badly I could taste it. This mission felt bigger than me. Hopeless. I should just-

I caught myself in mid-thought, pulling up short when I recognized the ring of falsehood in the words. The inner monologue sounded like me, enough to fool my brain when I ran in panicked circles searching for a solution. But the voice wasn't me. Which meant...

"Lasciel," I growled under my breath. "Show yourself."

She materialized a moment later, appearing as a glowing silhouette at first, the features etching themselves in moments later. She'd donned the short dress and swapped the more sensible black boots for the thigh-high variety. She'd pulled her hair back in the typical yeoman style and was grinning at me.

"Yes, my host?"

"Knock it off. We don't have time for this. And feeding me a sense of despair is not going to endear me to you."

Lasciel considered that for a moment before her grin returned. She tapped the side of her face thoughtfully, examining me. Finally, she spoke.

"Fine. I propose a deal. You want my cooperation and aid during this mission, do you not?"

I hesitated. Indulging her was a bad idea. But as I'd said to Harry, I was fresh out of good ones. It was worth hearing her out.

"Not enough to take up your coin for it."

Lasciel waved a hand at me, dismissing the notion. "That is not what I want at the moment. Perhaps later, when you are more comfortable and I have regained your trust. You react poorly to feeling oppressed. For now, I am asking for an hour."

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. "An hour? That's all?"

"That is all," she replied serenely. "An hour of allowing me to plead my case. You will be attentive and open-minded."

An hour of talking to most people in exchange for what she was offering wouldn't seem so bad. But this was Lasciel. I knew how persuasive she could be in an hour. But if I didn't accept the deal, the aid wouldn't come easily. She wouldn't sabotage me, but she wouldn't help me either.

"Forty minutes and not until Thomas is safe."

"Done," she said with a satisfied smile.

Then she beamed herself back to whatever corner of my brain she called home. I shook my head. Sometimes my life felt like a sci-fi fantasy, but now it was complete with the special effects budget.

Toot came to a quivering halt outside of a pair of double doors. They were plain metal, rather than the fancy entrance on the other side of the hotel. It would lead to a freight elevator which would take us up to the rooftop, where the Summer delegation was making their home during the peace talks. I understood why he was afraid. The pulsing blue aura of the winter fae gave him away as an enemy alone in the domain of Summer. Some Little Folk in these parts might consider that a provocation all on its own.

"I mean it. You don't have to come in with me."

Toot steeled his expression and slammed a fist into his breastplate, which rang like a struck bell. He intoned the motto he and the Guard had started using of late. "For the Za Lord! For the pizza!"

"Okay," I said, patting my shoulder. "Stay close."

Toot obediently perched on my shoulder, and completely disappeared behind my hair at times when I walked. The air got warmer as we stepped onto the elevator and began to ascend. The scent of honeysuckle and clover wafted through the garden paradise we stepped into like expensive perfume. Daisies, sunflowers, and aster blooms lined the winding dirt path that led to a throne made of twisting willow branches. The throne was occupied and not by the person I'd been hoping to see.

Titania was one of the most breathtaking women I'd ever seen, and I'd met a lot of gorgeous women over the years. Her white-blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. The elegant backless emerald green dress she wore clung to a perfectly proportioned figure. She exuded mature femininity and a warmth that would have made me smile, if not for her eyes. There was something dull and lifeless in the mesmerizing slit-pupiled eyes. An essential spark had gone out in her, never to be reignited.

A pair of Sidhe, both dark-haired and pretty, stepped into my path and barred the way forward. Their hands weren't on their swords yet, but they were definitely tense.

"Stop, mortal," the taller of the two said. "Identify yourself."

"You may call me Molly Carpenter. I am a vassal of Baron John Marcone."

"And a Squire of Summer," Titania said, speaking up for the first time since I'd entered the courtyard. "Granted a boon by the Lady for service rendered. Be welcome, friend of Summer."

The knot of tension holding my neck in a vice eased at that. The invitation was a silent understanding between us. Guest rights were sacrosanct to the old-world types. Titania had just pledged to protect me from harm if I was visiting peaceably.

I bowed at the waist, shifting Toot forward an inch. His wings buzzed, tickling my ear. I fought the urge to laugh. It seemed rude, not to mention stupid, to laugh in Titania's face.

"Queen Titania," I said.

"Molly Carpenter," she said, inclining her head more deeply than I expected. "What brings you to us this evening?"

I straightened, adopting a relaxed and hopefully non-threatening posture. "I need to speak with the Summer Lady but thought summoning her would be rude, given how close she is. I'm looking for an audience with her."

"I see. The Lady is meditating with one of the contenders for knighthood. This is the third this month. She hasn't been satisfied with the quality of the candidates."

Unreasoning guilt twisted beneath my ribs. The new guys weren't working out because Lily already had her next Knight in mind. My 'no' had apparently been interpreted as a 'wait.' I didn't want to believe that Lily was that blase about my boundaries. The truth of it was probably more depressing. Lily had never had an abundance of choices in her life. Appointing Fix her knight had been one of the few she'd been able to make for herself. I was a friend. Possibly one of the few true friends she had left. It was grief driving her to put off the selection, not a lack of consideration for their skills. She was hoping I'd change my answer.

"I'm happy to wait," I lied, smile never slipping.

Titania nodded to the pair who'd intercepted me. "Ivo. Rinan."

The Sidhe guards came to attention so fast that they left afterimages of themselves.

"Yes, my queen?" Ivo said. Or maybe it was Rinan. I still didn't know which was which.

"The Lady has a guest. Inform her."

The pair set off without question or complaint. The breeze left by their parting was citrusy sweet and absolutely mouthwatering. Stinking faeries, always trying to tempt people, even with their smell. It left us seemingly alone in the verdant clearing atop the Rothchild Hotel. I scanned my surroundings warily and came up with very little. I could feel things moving around us, but in the indistinct way that someone might note grasshoppers leaping through the undergrowth. Something always seen in the periphery.

"So," I began mildly. "How many arrows do you think are pointed at my head right now?"

Titania's lips twitched so infinitesimally that I questioned whether I'd seen it at all.

"You are under guest rights. No harm will be allowed to come to you while you enjoy Summer's protection."

"As long as I behave, yes. But I'm sure the Leanansidhe's copies of my memories have made the rounds among the upper tiers of Faerie. I seldom play nice."

She didn't smile this time, but I thought I saw approval flicker far back in her eyes for just a moment. Tricking mortals into bargains and stays in fairyland was less fun when the mark was easy. I knew enough about their culture and protocols that I'd be a challenge to snare.

"A few dozen arrows at least," Titania said at last. "And four dozen spears, axes, and swords waiting behind those, in case you managed to shield against the first wave."

My imagination treated me to the mental image of myself shuddering on the ground like a living pincushion. A straight plane of force had never been my best defense. Only hellfire had made my shield strong enough to resist conventional weaponry. By myself, I was capable of diverting the path of wind-tossed furniture, and that was only if I was well-rested and had eaten a few meals to prepare. I needed an alternative means to defend myself. Harry had been giving me the rundown of his fellow Wardens. Maybe I'd take a page from Rameriez's playbook and try to frag anything coming at me into manageable pieces.

"It could work," Lasciel said. "The largest cost to the caster is the formation of the spell. Once things have hit the barrier the kinetic energy would make the spell essentially self-fueling. Definitely something to keep in mind."

Again, my imagination barged in, sketching out an idea of just how messy that spell could get if a human stepped through it. Think industrial-sized meat grinder with monster truck tires and a nitrous engine strapped on the front. The carnage would be absolutely horrific.

"It feels like overkill," I said aloud. "You don't need an army to do me in. Just twitch your pinky finger. That'll do the trick."

"Perhaps a whole hand. You're more formidable than most with that parasite in your head."

It took me a second to understand what she meant by that. Then it was a struggle not to get indignant. She meant Lasciel. I wasn't sure what irked me about the statement. Hadn't I also called the Shadow a parasite once upon a time? But the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"She's not a parasite."

I wanted to find a nice long needle and stitch my mouth shut. Recent years had torn ragged holes in my filter, which had never been exactly well-run beforehand. It made me prone to mouth off. I was beginning to think that Nicodemus might have had a point years ago when he told my father I was insouciant when frightened. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, Titania scared me spitless. When provoked, she was just as deadly as her sister. I just had the assurance that my death would be quick. Winter could devise tortures that would make a cenobite shudder.

Titania's head tilted to one side in a motion that was too birdlike to belong to a humanoid body. It didn't make my stomach clench in instinctive terror. Promise.

"I think she'd call herself a symbiote," I continued as if her stare hadn't pinned me to the spot.

It shouldn't have surprised me that she could sense Lasciel in my head. Vadderung himself had told me that anyone of sufficient power would be able to spot my children without someone or something shielding them. By that logic, Lasciel's Shadow was as present to them as I was.

"The fragment of the Elder One is designed to cause its host harm. By any metric, it is a parasite."

Well, she wasn't wrong. It didn't matter what Lasciel's Shadow offered me. Ultimately, nothing she did was for my benefit. The Shadow worked for the real Lasciel, who would do everything in her power to have me under her sway again. And once she had me, the slow slide back down to the bottom would begin.

"Fine."

"Acknowledging the fact makes you uncomfortable. Why?"

My lips pursed. "This is an offshoot of Faerie, isn't it? I'd think the Summer Queen would know better than to try to casually coax information from a warlock. That sort of thing costs, you know."

That earned me a very brief smile. There and gone in a blink, but definitely perceptible. Titania shifted her weight on the throne, the motion baring one shapely leg up to mid-thigh. It drew the eye, so I didn't realize she'd scooted closer to the edge of the throne until I managed to pry them away.

"Perhaps I wish to know the answer."

"Doesn't Summer owe me enough already?" I asked.

A brief frisson of displeasure ran over my skin, a static shock against my aura. Titania kept her emotions leashed, but as tells went, that was a big one. I'd managed to get under her skin. Maybe I should stop while I was ahead. But my mouth kept going without checking in with my brain.

"How about this? You get three questions and I get three questions. No funny stuff about true names. No leading questions or bargains. Information only. Deal?"

Titania inclined her head to me. "I will rephrase the question then. My statement made you uncomfortable. Your infatuation with it blinds you to its true nature, does it not?"

"Blinds me, no," I said. "I'm aware of its...her true nature."

"Then your affection for the fallen one is selfish," Titania said.

It was a shockingly succinct reply from one of the Sidhe. Faeries liked to talk things to death on the whole. It was a game to many fae, seeing how many elaborate verbal traps they could set in the course of one conversation. To some extent, they couldn't even help it. It was in their nature. This was as direct as they ever got.

"I prefer to think of it as hopeful," I said.

There was a moment of still silence as I waited. She had to ask another question if she wanted me to elaborate on that one. Two could play at the verbal cat-and-mouse game.

"I don't take your meaning," she hedged.

"Yes you do," I said.

"I cannot lie. I don't understand what you could possibly feel hopeful about. You have once again trapped yourself with a Fallen. You touched its coin."

"I was exposed to it unwillingly, but it amounts to the same thing. She's in here."

"Very well. Why do you feel hope?"

"I have hope for her. Maybe it's a vain hope, but one I'm going to cling to."

"Hope for the Fallen?" Titania asked, arching one pale, perfectly sculpted brow. She didn't even bother to conceal the incredulity in her tone. It wasn't the 'Is she nuts?' look and mutter that I was used to, but her expression was a distant cousin.

"I've been through a lot in my life. I've seen and done things. But do you know what I've never come across? A hopeless case. While someone exists on this side of the divide, I have a chance to know them and positively impact their life if that's what I choose. Lasciel is older than the galaxy itself. She's done things I can't even begin to describe. A lot of people would say that she's beyond redemption. But I don't think that's possible for the God I know. There's always a chance. Always a way back. Right now her pride hurts too much for her to consider repentance, but it might not always be that way."

I smiled ruefully at the nonplussed expression on Titania's face.

"I'm not stuck in here with her, your highness. She's stuck in here with me. And I'm prepared to be annoying as hell. That was three questions. My turn now."

Titania smoothed her skirts down and gave me a 'get on with it' gesture. I risked a glance at her face, and the question I'd wondered about for years came out.

"Why were you such a shitty mentor figure to Lily?"

You could have heard a butterfly burp in the silence that followed the question. The gently swaying trees came to a halt and not a blade of grass moved. The drugging scent of wildflowers grew so oppressive that I almost gagged. It felt like sipping perfume. Toot was tugging his ears in a frantic rhythm and his wings beat hard against the side of my face. I'd shocked him into silence too. It was a feat.

"What," Titania began in a deadly calm voice. "Did you say to me, mortal?"

"You heard me," I said. "And I'm not going to repeat the question for you and let you off on a technicality. I get three questions. Answer me. I don't want to have to lay a binding on you, your highness."

Titania's eyes blazed with emerald fire and her proportions reminded me of a gracefully sculpted halberd. She screamed regal elegance and deadly force. The clearing felt more like a hothouse than a balmy meadow, growing warmer with every uptick of her temper.

"You would dare offer such an insult to my face? You would dare to bring a servant of winter to my lands and threaten me?"

"You bet I'd dare," I shot back. "And he's the size of a Ken doll. There isn't a lot he can do against you."

"The Little Folk were the weapons Dresden wielded against my Aroura. Do not think they are incapable."

"Fine," I agreed. "But we're not in the right conjunction of time or in the right geographical location in the Nevernever. He can't hurt you. Furthermore, he is here with me, despite being offered the chance to leave his post. I think courage should be rewarded with loyalty, don't you? I won't let you touch him."

I realized my mistake as soon as the second question left my mouth. It had rolled off my tongue so naturally that I didn't realize that I'd squandered one until it was too late. It did seem to have a civilizing effect on Titania, though. She lowered herself back into her chair, posture rigid, still pissed. Though she hadn't reduced the inside of my mouth into so much bubbling fat and scorched muscle, as I'd half expected.

"Bravery should be rewarded," she agreed. "And I cannot tell if you have pressed the bounds of courage or are simply too stupid to realize the gravity of the situation you have found yourself in."

"A bit of both, probably. Now answer the question. Lily deserved better than this. Your neglect caused her to reach out to Maeve, who almost tricked her into blowing half the country back to the stone age. If she wasn't so lonely, so knotted up in grief, she wouldn't be hanging on to the hope that I'll become the Summer Knight. That's what she's doing, right?"

Titania nodded tightly. "I told her it was a foolish idea. You aren't suited for the mantle."

"On that, we can agree."

"You don't count yourself worthy of it. Strange. I find most mortals have convinced themselves they can rise up as stalwart heroes, given half a chance."

"I know what I do with power. Now, you've answered two of my questions. Stop pirouetting around the first one. Thrice I ask, and done."

Titania shivered, swaying like a reed in the wind. The binding was a compulsion for the fae, one that they detested. And I'd just cast it on the Summer Queen. Jesus. I needed to get that death wish checked.

"It was easier," she said haltingly. Her eyes were a little wild, shining with distant reflections of faerie fire. "After Aroura, I couldn't..."

Couldn't get attached again. Those were the words she couldn't say. We were living in uncertain times. The enemy had found a way through the holes in our reality and warped even the strongest of the Sidhe, among others. It was easier for Titania to give Lily only the instruction she needed while holding the rest of herself in reserve. Neither of them could give the other what they needed. Titania could never offer Lily motherly love and encouragement. Lily could never transform into Aurora.

I nodded. "It was easier not to care. I get that. But the scales have returned to balance. You lost a daughter to the Winter Knight. The same hand felled Maeve. It's cold comfort, I know, but it's time, your highness. She at least deserves your knowledge, if not your affection."

"I will take that under advisement," she said crisply. "The Lady approaches. I suggest you run to her before I lose patience with this conversation."

My skin itched when I remembered just how many arrows might rain down on me at her command. I backtracked slowly, not offering any of the predators in the trees my back.

And I swore I felt the fire of Titania's gaze long after the throne had disappeared from sight.

Chapter Text

"That was gallant of you," Lily said when we'd paced far enough from her entourage to be assured of our privacy. Her voice bounced back weirdly from the screen of protection she'd raised around us.

The picnic table had twined itself into being shortly before we arrived. I could still feel the magic pulsing through the saplings when I sat down. Lily lowered herself opposite me, straight-backed and regal. A circle of ivy and morning glories held her flowing hair back from her face. She'd swapped her sundress for a gown of sage green silk and long strappy heels. How she managed to stay upright in them was beyond me.

"Gallant?"

"Speaking to Titania that way took tremendous courage, and you did so on my behalf."

"You heard that, did you?"

"I did. You are a true friend, Molly. Thank you."

But it didn't change anything, I wanted to say. One speech from me wasn't going to alter Titania's behavior. Hell, it might send her in the opposite direction. She didn't have to say anything aloud. I knew exactly what she felt about me. Pity, tempered with the wariness that befitted a queen so often at war with darker factions. I had to make a lot of bad choices to find myself in my position. Past behavior was the best predictor of future behavior after all.

I didn't speak my thoughts aloud. I just shrugged. "I know something about difficult mother figures. How are you, Lily?"

"As well as can be expected," she said. "And busy, of course. Much had to be done before the peace talks could begin. You're lucky you stopped by this evening. Earlier in the week I wouldn't have been available."

"Jetsetting as the Summer Lady?"

She smiled wanly. "Something like that. The job is more complex than it appears from the outside. I can't share much about the particulars, I'm afraid."

"That's fine. I thought you might be jetlagged, so I brought you something."

I reached into my pocket and drew out a crinkly paper bag, setting it logo-side up on the table. The tops of three macadamia nut cookies slid out, touching the table. Lily's eyes immediately lit.

"O'Brian's, right? You took Fix and me to that little Irish coffee shop a lot when we visited Chicago. I figured it had to be your favorite."

"It was just a few miles away from the University," she said quietly, fingers trembling an inch away from the package. She seemed almost reluctant to touch it, though the longing in her eyes hadn't dimmed. "Meryl would always walk me there after I finished night classes. I always felt safe with her nearby."

"Go ahead and have one. I got them for you."

Lily gave me a pointed look and didn't move. I realized my mistake a second later. "Oh, right. Guest. You don't want to incur more obligation. I...uh...I waive my rights to that or whatever. I got these for you because I wanted to make you happy, not because I'm looking to squeeze another favor from you."

Lily selected a cookie and nibbled delicately on one end, still studying me. "But you are here to ask for a favor."

It was a statement, not a question. Lily was no dummy. She knew I wouldn't be stopping by for a social call, especially with the peace talks pulling in monsters from all corners of the world. I was in reserve, not retired. If I'd turned up here, now, it was because I needed help.

"Two of them. I'll let you assess their value and how much obligation it erases from Summer's tally. I trust you to give me a fair deal."

That made Lily appear more troubled, not less. "It's not wise to take a Sidhe's terms at face value."

"I know. But I'm not talking to the Summer Lady. I'm talking to my friend, Lily, who has a big heart and a soft spot for macadamia nut cookies. I trust her to treat me fairly."

She trembled, a disturbing echo of what Titania had done not so long before. When the mantle clashed with the person wearing it, even for a second, it almost seemed to hurt. The regal composure of the Summer Lady slipped, revealing the soft, bemused expression of a much younger Lily. She sucked in a shaky breath a moment later and broke eye contact.

"Ask, then. I will give you the best deal I can."

So I did. I twined my fingers with hers and gave her a non-verbal rundown of my problem and what steps I was taking to fix it. I showed her what part we needed her to play. By the time I was finished, she'd emptied the cookie bag and started chewing nervously at the tip of one nail. The burbling water feature nearby splashed cold water on our feet from time to time, but her hand remained warm in mine.

"It will be tricky," she said. "And you cannot harm them permanently. No use of the bane is permitted. I cannot deliberately place them there and allow your plan to proceed if you intend to use cold iron during the attack."

"No bane," I agreed. "Not on our side at least. Can't guarantee what the other side will do."

"Of course," she said absently, rubbing a warm, tingling circle into the back of my palm. "And the first is easily accomplished. Give me a moment to weigh your second request."

I waited for an abbreviated eternity for her answer, and let out an involuntary sigh of relief when she finally nodded.

"Thank you."

"Don't. I wanted to give you a substantial gift, not allow it to be taken away piecemeal by Harry Dresden's poor choices. I have no doubt that Thomas Raith's position has something to do with him when the motive is discovered."

"It's my choice too. Harry isn't the only one who cares about Thomas."

"I know," she said, smiling gently. "Though I wish you'd choose friends who don't prey on you in the future."

I chuckled. "Me too."

Her smile dimmed. "You have friends here, Molly. You could stay."

"I can't be your Knight."

"I don't understand why."

"I know you don't," I said, stifling a yawn. It had been a long night, and the adventure was long from over.

Something petal-soft tickled the tips of my fingers. I looked down in time to see soft grasses and large, pillowy wildflowers bloom under my hands. Foliage was flowing like a rapid over the table. Before I knew exactly what had happened I was tumbling downward, rolling into a shallow depression in the earth. Lily was waiting at the bottom of the spontaneous landscaping effort, catching me before I could land face-first into a stem of a Daliah. Her arms wound around me, holding me to her side. My eyelids drooped without my permission.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking after my friend," she said quietly. "You need good sleep if you want to wake strong enough to attempt this. I can stand guard against the nightmares."

I squinted suspiciously at her, which eased my eyes most of the way closed. My body heartily approved. "I'm not going to wake up in twenty years sporting a Duck Dynasty kind of facial situation, right?"

Lily's laugh was like the first chord of a lullaby. I sank deeper. It felt like Lily's newly constructed bower was giving me a full-body hug. The lack of pain, weariness, or fear was narcotic on its own.

"I will stand vigil at your side for eight mortal hours, no more, no less."

"Awesome."

And, as it turned out, it was. In my dreams I lay under the summer stars with a warm hand in mine, listening to the cicadas singing until morning.

Chapter Text

"This is ridiculous," Lasciel griped as I descended the stairs to my apartment.

"No, it's important," I said, sliding my key into the lock, undoing my wards at almost the same instant. The door swung inward on well-oiled hinges with the slightest push. "And you're going to humor me."

Lasciel arched a dark brow. She'd remained in the voluptuous raven-haired shape she'd used in the Pump Room ever since. The 'sister' comment had offended her somehow. I had to admit that I missed the redhead Mercy shape, just a little. Though I couldn't deny this more aristocratic and sensual shape suited her better.

"And what incentive do I have to do that?"

I smiled grimly. "Twenty minutes. I'm offering to add twenty more minutes to our conversation clock to get it back to the hour you wanted. A whole hour with me as your captive audience. Just think of all the persuasive arguments you could make. Is talking to your kids really such a chore that you'd let the opportunity pass by?"

Lasciel's lips twitched in something that was either admiration or irritation. Maybe a mix of both. I had her, and she knew it.

"You are a wicked temptress, my host."

"Wonder who I learned that from?"

Lasciel contented herself with a satisfied smirk and subsided, falling into step beside me. The lights of the apartment flicked on with just a simple effort of will. There was an electric lighting system too, but I preferred the magic-sensitive chandelier most days. It was a shame I'd have to leave this place behind, but I couldn't stay in good conscience. They'd hurt my friend. If they had their way, they'd kill him. And after the incident in my kitchen, I didn't feel safe here. It was time to grab the kids and head out. I'd be staying with Mom and Dad until I could find another place to live.

A pair of metal skulls stood like macabre paperweights at the edge of my desk, all but obscured from sight by the clutter of my most recent project. Marcone had commissioned more of the magical quartz earpieces I'd fashioned before our breakup, and I wasn't petty enough to deny him the request, even now. Communication was crucial when we fought the Fomor and their sorcerers could hex down human tech as easily as any wizard.

Campfire sparks kindled in the skulls' eye sockets. The swirling motes that made up Pax's eyes were a shade of light blue while Fortnea's were burnished gold. I wasn't sure what the difference meant. Was it a reflection of their personalities? A marker of their abilities? I couldn't say. I picked them both up, cradling them in the crooks of my arms as I lowered myself to the floor. I assumed the lotus position, set them down, and sucked in a steadying breath, opening my sight.

"You two can come out now. I'd like you to meet your Other Mother."

Sparks poured out of the skulls. I'd gotten used to Bob while working on my foci, so I hadn't been prepared for how small my kids were in comparison. It made sense when I really thought about it. Bob was several centuries old, with all the accumulated knowledge that entailed. Knowledge was the very essence of what they were, so the twins had only what they were born with. Granted, they'd been born with a lot but none of it had been ordered into anything like sense.

In my Sight, Pax and Fortnea resolved into a more human appearance. Both looked older than the last time we'd talked. Before the birth, they'd looked prepubescent. Now they'd blossomed into teenagers. Pax reminded me so much of a painfully awkward fifteen-year-old Daniel that I flinched. Fortnea had budding curves and that pugnacious set to her jaw that I'd seen in the mirror over the years. Their gazes shifted over my shoulder as though they could make out the Shadow hovering there. Maybe they could.

A moment later Lasciel settled in beside me. She looked sober for the first time since we'd been reacquainted. She almost looked...angry to be sitting here. And I could guess why.

"Being vulnerable really sucks, doesn't it?"

Lasciel turned a poisonous look on me next. I'd been inoculated against her moods over the years and just stared back expectantly.

"Do not press your luck, my host," she said in a quiet, deadly voice. "I am indulging you this once."

"Because you're curious," I said, blithely ignoring the warning in her tone. "I've looked into it. Spirits of intellect are rare. Most don't survive to term. And even then, most of them are the scions of gods and minor demons. So far as I can tell, no one has ever had a kid with a fallen angel, let alone two. They're unique. Part you, part me, all trouble."

That earned me the briefest of indulgent smiles. Her hand slid up the nape of my neck, and her fingers wove through my hair, combing it until it was smooth. The feeling of her fingernails on my scalp was electric.

"I never did understand the human male pride in impregnating their women. I think I comprehend it now. There's something gratifying about leaving some essential part of myself in you."

I frowned at her. "Knock it off. The patriarchal bullshit is creeping me out."

Lasciel's laugh sounded like the airy tinkle of windchimes and she subsided, adopting the same pose as me as she faced the kids. She jerked in surprise when Fortnea leaned forward and brushed her hand over Lasciel's cheek. Fortnea's expression was wondering, and Lasciel froze, as if not sure what to do.

"You're so pretty," she breathed. "Like bronze and gemstones..."

I glanced sideways. Lasciel hadn't swapped the sable-haired sex kitten look for her more angelic aspect. I couldn't look on it for long without suffering catastrophic organ failure, not to mention the madness sure to follow if I somehow survived. Fortnea didn't seem affected. She was staring, wide-eyed at her other mother, seeing something drastically different than I was. And she didn't flinch.

When my eyes slid over to Pax, I found his illusory eyes filled with tears. He moved forward as though he might embrace her.

"You're in pain," he whispered.

"I am not," Lasciel said on reflex.

Even I could hear the lie in her tone. She edged away from his beseeching hand. It reminded me of all the times I'd edged out of Dad's arms, afraid I'd start sobbing and never stop if he held me. Lasciel was afraid of comfort. Upset that Fortnea saw her and didn't flinch. In a flash of insight, I realized she'd been hoping that she could write them off or manipulate them. But there was too much of me in them. The parts that wanted to see her whole again, even if it meant I'd never get to speak directly with her until I died. The parts that saw her as beautiful, despite her corruption. She hated herself. Hated her position. And she'd made the whole of humanity pay for that through her machinations.

But I'd put a seed of doubt in her mind. Now her kids were watering that seed, letting it germinate in the fertile soil of our imaginations. The possibilities scared her.

"I love you, Mommy," Pax whispered. This time, I knew he wasn't talking to me.

And that was apparently too much for Lasciel. She blipped out of my awareness with a suddenness that made my head spin, leaving only the terse reminder of my promise as her only salutation.

"Give her some time, Pax," I said. "She'll say it back eventually."

And for the first time in years, I had the smallest trickle of hope that she might actually mean it.

Chapter Text

Just get up and go into the kitchen, you coward, I told myself.

Myself wasn't convinced. I would rather have run a marathon barefoot in a Chicago winter before facing down not one but two Knights of the Cross with the secret I had. But if I didn't, Harry would. I had about twenty minutes of leeway while Harry tucked Maggie in and read her a bedtime story. I consoled myself that at least Butters wasn't in tonight. I wasn't sure I had the intestinal fortitude to face three of them down.

My stomach had started doing the samba the second I stepped through the door, and the tempo got more furious as time passed, not less. At this rate, the anticipation of the thing probably hurt more than the deed itself.

"Just go," I said under my breath. "Do it. Now."

My ass remained glued resolutely to the couch, regardless of my order. I could sense Lasciel's wary amusement, her shadow hovering just out of sight. She hadn't reemerged from her hidey hole until I'd arrived and safely stored my kids in a corner of the panic room. Nothing short of an elephant with shaped charges was going to get through the door to get to them. It was the safest place they could be, for the time being.

"I'm certain you could spend the night with Hannah and Samshiel if you are uncomfortable here," Lasciel purred.

And I could. Hannah would be stoked if I turned up at her door, suitcases in hand. We could share a queen mattress and reminisce about all the uncomfortable places we'd laid our heads over the years. Where snuggling hadn't been a matter of comfort, but of survival. I could curl up next to Hannah and be certain that I was safe from anything coming through the door after me. Except for her, of course.

"I'm fine," I gritted out.

"Liar. You're still upset."

"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with you."

And for once it was nothing she'd directly said or done that had brought on the waterworks. They'd redone Daniel's room. It was such a small thing to be so upsetting. They only had so many rooms in the house, after all, and a new mouth to feed. It made sense they'd give Maggie her own room and let her decorate it how she liked. So why did it feel like a betrayal? Did I expect them to keep it sealed like a time capsule or a memorial to him? It was just a room. The objects he'd left behind were just that, objects. They only had as much significance as we gave them.

I dabbed at the corner of one eye, furiously trying to thwart the tears there. It was such a stupid reason to cry. I'd come here for a reason, damn it. I just needed to get up, march into the kitchen, and tell Dad and Sanya what happened.

And...my butt remained glued to the couch cushion. The weight of what I was facing felt like iron bands wrapped around my chest, choking off my air. I couldn't do this. If I were smart, I'd run the other way.

Which was Lasciel taking again. I didn't have anything to fear from my Dad. We'd only found ourselves at each other's throats once when Nicodemus had maneuvered us into the most destructive clash possible. Even then, he'd never once hated me. He feared for me. Dad couldn't have wielded the Sword of Love with judgment or wrath in his heart. And...I honestly thought he felt something similar about Lasciel. That the Fallen were to be pitied, not despised. He would preach repentance to them if he thought they could be saved.

"Fool," Lasciel muttered. "A blind, misguided fool. I see where you get it now, my host. You grew up with delusions, so now you force them on others."

"I'm not forcing anything on you, Lash. I haven't even been harping on it. If you've got salvation and forgiveness on the brain, that's all you."

I swore I could feel the fallen angel grinding her teeth. For just an instant she wanted to pop me like an overfull tick. Then the feeling was gone, replaced with a sense of vast, dull weariness. The sense of despair that clung to her thoughts pulled at me like the gravity well of a black hole.

"Shut up, Molly," she whispered.

I shut up. I could barely breathe past the emotion she was feeling, let alone formulate a response. Once again, I couldn't encapsulate the sense of her in totality. Any exposure to her true form had to be done in increments, lest she crush me beneath her vast, cosmic weight. I felt a little like Moses, tucked into a cleft, with her gentle hands shielding me from the glory passing by. Except the creature lurking outside the fissure was a demon and it meant all of humanity ill.

Part of her had never left the crater she'd made in hell's crust. She'd left the withered corpse of her innocence behind, rising from the ashes changed. Corrupted, defiled, parts of her seared black from the fall. She was furious, her personal sense of justice offended. But most of all, a small, childish part of her screamed out in fear, cast adrift in a world without the only parent they'd ever known. Cast down for much less than the insult that humanity offered God. It wasn't fair that they should have him when she didn't.

"So if you didn't get to play you decided you were going to take the ball and go home?"

"I thought I told you to shut up."

Her words shrieked like electric feedback through my brain, adding a slap of pain to the order. I recoiled from the noise and slapped my hands over my ears.

"You can shield yourself from me. I'm sensing this because you want me to sense this. You're trying to make your confusion my problem. If you've got questions, I think there are a handful of angels up above the house who'd answer."

Lasciel muttered a sulfurous curse and disappeared from sight. She was doing that a lot lately, and always when she wasn't getting her way. Drama queen.

The couch cushion next to mine sank under someone's weight. When I risked a glance up I found my dad inches away, considering my expression with worry.

"So," he began slowly. "You said you had something to tell me?"

I sucked in a deep breath and charged forward with my eyes metaphorically squeezed shut in dread. The awful truth blurred together into one, barely audible word.

"Lasciel'sshadowisback."

Chapter Text

I'd almost stabbed my dad once. The look on his face when I'd attempted it would haunt my nightmares for years after. Nicodemus had orchestrated the whole thing for maximum suffering. Dad's, mine, and hell, maybe even Lasciel's. He and Anduriel had a contentious relationship with her even then. These days they were more likely to feed her Denarius into the vending machine at the mall than they were to work with her again.

I expected an echo of that horror, the betrayal, the pain, but...just got a raised eyebrow instead. His mouth thinned, pursing into a thoughtful line, but the concern in his eyes didn't morph into panic. I relaxed just a little when he gave no further reaction to the news.

"I thought it might be something like that," he said with a quiet sigh. "I'd hoped perhaps I was mistaken but..."

I blinked. "You...you knew?"

He shrugged, adjusting his weight with a grimace. The presence of both Summer and Winter Queens of Faerie in one geographical location meant some pretty epic storms were brewing. He'd probably been feeling the barometric pressure in every abused joint. He'd lost most of the use of one leg while trying to rescue me from the Denarians. It could have been so much worse, and I knew it. Still, watching him struggle with his injuries sent my stomach slithering right down to my toes. I'd never stop feeling responsible for his chronic, likely lifelong pain.

"Not for sure, but I know how the Fallen operate. I also know how you think. How long did she wait to reveal herself? The first time she approached you was after we talked, right? That timing favors Lasciel's agenda."

I just stared at him, mouth hanging in shock. I thought I'd been braced for any reaction, but this weary acceptance threw me. Where was the rant? The well-meaning but guilt-inducing lecture about knowing better?

"Molly," Dad said quietly, taking my hand when I didn't immediately answer. His warm, calloused skin felt like an anchor. "It was after we last spoke in person, right?"

"Yeah,' I whispered. "It was a week after I moved back into the apartment. I think she knew better than to approach while I was recovering here."

"It isn't a matter of knowing better. The Fallen knows human psychology. Why appear when counsel is nearby when waiting only nets her an advantage?"

I usually thought of myself as the perceptive sort, but I couldn't make sense of what he was getting at. Even when I turned the words over in my head, their meaning remained opaque. My brows drew together.

"I don't follow. How does waiting give her an advantage? Shouldn't she...uh...you know? Want to get a head start or something?"

"Not when the appearance of deception could shatter what she views as a fragile trust. And it imbued you with fear and doubt."

Well..shit. That made a lot of sense, now that I paused to think about it. My guilty conscience had been tying me into knots a sailor would envy. I hadn't wanted to admit the truth, to see the calculations spinning in his head. Wonder if he thought I'd been actively trying to pull the wool over his eyes. The longer I waited to tell him the worse I felt, and the more I wanted to keep the secret. I didn't want to see the look of disappointment on his face when he realized what I'd gotten myself back into. If I hadn't gone with Harry...

But no. Marcone would have cornered Hannah and forced her to relinquish Lasciel's coin anyway. I wasn't sure if he would have tried to offer it to me while I was conscious or if he would have resorted to the same deception. The end result would probably have been the same. That thought was oddly reassuring. I hadn't put myself in danger and been punished for it. Marcone was going to give me a coin regardless of what happened. What happened next was up to me.

Dad watched the thoughts play over my face with a small, sad smile. "Was I close to the mark?"

"Spot on." I shook my head. "God...I mean, Gosh, I can't believe I was so stupid."

"It's not stupidity, Molls," he said, scooting closer to me on the couch. I let my head settle on his chest and sighed contentedly when he began stroking my hair. "It's human."

"Though there are those who'd argue it's the same thing," Lasciel said acidly.

"If you hate humans like me so much you could just turn your ass around and retreat back into the coin."

"Oh if only it were so simple."

Now that was interesting. Lasciel and I had our disagreements, but she'd always blipped back to her home base somewhere in my brain while I cooled off. She'd rarely lost her temper with me. And underneath it all, both Lasciel and her shadow seemed gleeful to be interacting with the mortal world at all. She'd never once expressed a desire to go back to her coin for a few centuries of peace and quiet. It defeated the purpose of what she was to remain in stasis. Which meant that being in my head was less tolerable than laying on the shelf in a Tibetan monastery, unable to move or act.

"Something back there ruffle your feathers?" I asked innocently. "Is my head not as soft and malleable as what you found at fourteen? Has the Council of Molly been more vocal than you remember? Maybe their arguments are starting to sound a little more persuasive?"

I could practically see her baring her teeth in what could only generously be called a smile. There was too much fury exuding from her for it to ever seem genuine.

A calloused finger tapped my forehead, drawing me back to the here and now. While the conversation with Lasciel had happened at the speed of thought, it had captured all of my attention. He was perceptive enough to judge the lapse for what it was.

"Talking to someone?" he guessed.

I ducked my chin. "Yeah. Sorry. I know I shouldn't engage."

"I imagine she's difficult to ignore, even with rigorous mental discipline. Lasciel received the moniker, 'the web-weaver' for a reason. Penny for your thoughts?"

"We're arguing," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"Salvation."

Dad's eyes clouded with concern. "She's trying to convince you that you aren't worthy of salvation?"

"No. I'm trying to convince her that she is." I held up my hands, heading off the argument I could feel coming. "I know people think that it's impossible. Maybe it is. Maybe I'm being delusional. But the God I believe in, the God that you fought for, is supposed to be a just and loving God. Is it just or loving to give an infinite punishment for a finite crime? I think..." I cleared my throat, not looking at him. "I think that the choice to reconcile has always been there, but the Fallen are too prideful to even consider it."

"It could be a trick."

"Yeah, it could, but if she was trying to delude me into thinking she could be changed it would be a lot of crocodile tears and 'save me' vibes. She's not pretending to be sad. She's furious. She's pissed off at me, at God, at pretty much the world as a whole."

"What makes you think that salvation is possible?"

"Our kids," I said, smiling fondly at the skulls perched on the mantle. They looked odd scattered amongst the school photos and family portraits. "They were conceived the first time I looked at Lasciel with my Sight. I looked at who she'd been and what she was now and I gave her the one thing that she had never had since the Fall. Acceptance and love despite what she was. Or as you put it last year, I met Lasciel where she was, not where I wanted her to be. That act of love made our kids. If she was as immutable as she liked to think, we couldn't have done that. Both of us had to change, just a little to have spiritual recombination. If she can change even a little that means that change was always possible."

Dad leaned back, processing that. Finally, he asked, "Do you really think it's possible?"

"It sounds insane, but yeah, I do."

He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "God be with you, then. I hope you're right."

"Seconded," Sanya said, strolling into the room. He took up a section of wall across from us. "And I owe your father a fifty."

"Sanya," Dad chided. "You don't owe me anything. I didn't gamble with you."

Sanya caught my bemused expression and explained, "We spoke about the likelihood you'd been exposed to Lasciel's coin. I thought it would take another year for you to come clean. Your father predicted you'd bring it up in six months or less."

And I'd confessed in four months. Dad believed that I'd changed. Enough that he hadn't pushed me, even when he had every reason to. My throat suddenly felt tight.

"And since I owe your father a fifty," Sanya mused, ignoring Dad's protest. "Your honesty should be rewarded, da? Takeout. My treat."

"Awesome," I said. "I'm dying for some crab rangoon."

Chapter Text

"It feels like there's some sort of copyright infringement going on here," I muttered, watching the pair of Knights spar from my perch in the treehouse. Dad was leaning against the trunk of the giant maple beneath me and gave a light snort at the comment.

I'd gone to bed with my spirit a hell of a lot lighter than it had been in weeks. I'd built up the confession in my head so much, had braced myself for a gale-force reaction. Instead, I'd gotten a somewhat chiding headwind. The anti-climax left me reeling and almost giddy. I'd dug into the Chinese with gusto at suppertime and slept soundly for the first time since Lasciel's return. Even Harry's presence at breakfast the following morning couldn't quite dampen my mood.

Butters had changed quite a bit since I'd seen him last. He'd always been a little guy, but the slimness of a caffeine addiction and disordered eating habits had transformed into lean muscle. He moved with the sort of fluid grace that I usually associated with martial artists. His physique would have given him an advantage in dexterity over the better-muscled Sanya, but the seeming weightlessness of the Sword of Faith also gave him the advantage of speed. He zipped around like a damn video game character, unhindered by the cumbersome limits of a metal sword. Sanya roared with laughter every time he lost, knelt to retrieve Esperacchius, and charged right back into the fray.

Dad was uncharacteristically quiet, mulling over the revelation from an hour before. The Sword was only effective against monsters because there was an angel's consciousness guiding the blade. Three angels bound to the bloody nails of the Crucifixion arrayed against fallen angels bound to thirty pieces of silver. As above, so below. It made sense. And it still felt like being clouted between the eyes by a clue by four.

Lasciel regarded my awe with a mixture of amusement and derision. She was too dignified to say the 'imbeciles' aloud but it was heartily implied.

"Don't you have to go soon?" he asked, voice subdued. His eyes were unfocused, watching the fight but not really seeing it.

"Yeah, Lara's driver will be by in an hour. I've got time."

I didn't say the quiet part out loud. That I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to wade into another fight. I didn't want to pick a fight with my ex. I didn't want to partner with mercenaries and fallen angels to save Thomas from his own inexplicable actions. I wanted to curl up in a lawn chair and munch on popcorn while I watched Holy Wars: Return of the Jedi.

Dad reached up and gave my ankle a pat. "I don't suppose I can convince you to leave this in God's hands?"

"To whom much is given, much will be required," I said quietly. "I've been blessed to have the power to stand up to evil and do what's right. What the Svartalves have done to him is evil, Dad. I have to go. If I don't get him out of there when I can, it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

He nodded, unsurprised. "I just needed to hear the words."

I descended the ladder and molded myself to his side. His arm braced my waist and tugged me closer, cradling my head in the Hollow of his throat. Though we were almost the same height, some paternal magic made me feel like a little girl curled against his chest, basking in his warmth. He pressed a kiss to my hair. His voice didn't shake, but there was a tremor running through the arm that held me. I suspected that I wasn't the one who needed to lean on faith in this scenario.

"Be careful," he whispered. "And be on guard against temptation."

I squeezed him back, ignoring the guilty twist of my conscience. Now was not the time to tell him about the deal I'd struck with Hannah.

"I will, Dad."

Sanya stumbled backward and landed on his ass, still laughing. He craned his neck as he made to stand, and his eyes brightened when he landed on me.

"If you have time to watch, you have time to fight, da?" he asked.

I eyed his position on the ground and the advancing Butters. The intimidation factor was somewhat ruined by the goofy sports goggles he wore.

"If you're getting your butt handed to you I doubt I have much of a chance."

"Do not be so sure. I have seen you fight. You move like Nicodemus. Not as smooth or as practiced, but there is still something of him in it. Experience matters in a fight, and you have more than the good doctor."

I wasn't sure what face I made in response to that, but it made him chuckle and raise his hands defensively when I glowered at him.

"Would you understand what I'm saying if I tell you that I think you meant that as a compliment, but it feels like you just insulted my mother instead?"

He grinned. "Da."

"Sanya," Dad began warningly. "We've talked about this. Molly isn't a training tool."

I leaned a little away from him. He hadn't refuted the point. It was something of a sore spot that I'd learned everything I knew about swordplay from Nicodemus. It wasn't an entirely rational hangup on his part, but I understood. It was yet another thing Nicodemus had stolen from him.

"I feel like I missed something," I said.

"You move like Nicodemus," Sanya repeated. "Enough to give Waldo an idea of how he fights. They will face one another again in time, and it could prepare him."

"I'm probably the only person he's trained that wouldn't carve out Butters' liver and pair it with a nice chianti given half a chance," I agreed.

"So?" Sanya asked.

"So what?"

"So you'll fight, da? At least one practice round?"

I couldn't argue with the principle of the thing, but something still gave me pause. If the plan worked, there would be other days to do this. I shouldn't waste my energy on a practice round. On the other hand, there was every chance this would blow up spectacularly and I'd meet a grisly end. Sanya had a point. It wasn't a matter of if Nicodemus came for Butters, it was when. His pride wouldn't allow for anything else. Didn't I owe it to a friend to give him a better shot at survival?

Sanya beamed when I drew my sword in answer. Dad stepped further away. He didn't say anything, but I could sense the disapproval radiating off of him.

Butters swallowed audibly when I took up a position across from him. "Are you sure about this, Molly?"

It took me a second to understand the reluctance on his face. Hurt raked at my guts when I realized why he didn't want to fight. He wasn't afraid of me. He was afraid for me. Afraid that the Sword of Faith might be able to cut me after all. Viewed from that angle, the fight could also be a spiritual litmus test to assess how far I'd fallen. I didn't want to think of it that cynically, but my mind supplied the suspicion anyway.

"I'm sure," I said, willing magic into the blade. It hummed a steady, subdued note that was barely audible against the vocalizations of the angel in his blade. "Ready?"

I struck before I reached the second syllable, driving him back a step with a surprised yip. He had to dodge twice before he could get his guard up to block me and halt my advance. He let out a surprised oof when my shield bloomed into being, a solid dome of force around my upraised hand.

I'd give Butters credit. He recovered quickly. He managed to keep his head long enough to block the downward swipe of my arm. The plane of force would act just like solid matter and break the bridge of his nose. He managed to catch my wrist and use the leverage to throw me. By the time I regained my feet, he was on the offensive again, Fidelacchius sweeping upward. I threw myself to one side and caught the strike on my shield.

The contact shook my world. I felt like a plucked guitar string, vibrating from the mere brush against the true power of the Sword of Faith. My shield didn't so much shatter as is ceased to be. I had to fling myself to the side to avoid another sweep of his blade. By the time I'd recovered, Butters was moving in for the kill shot.

So I cheated. It was possibly the most important lesson Nicodemus had impressed on me when he'd been my teacher. If you fought a knight honorably, the battle was lost before it even began. The stakes were simple when you battled someone willing to kill you. If you wanted to keep breathing, you had to make sure they stopped. I didn't want Butters dead, but Nicodemus did, and pulling a punch now could get Butters killed later.

Butters yelped when the ground beneath him bunched. The effort it took to manipulate the small patch of earth under his heel left me panting. Butters tipped backward, and I helped him down, sweeping his legs out from under him. His head made a painful clunking sound when it hit the hard-packed earth. I drove the point of my sword down at his throat, stopping an inch shy of his bobbing Adam's apple.

White light burst between us and my entire body convulsed, stunned, and uncoordinated as a pillar of fire drove itself into my guts. For the second time in a day, the little guy was staring in mute horror at his sword. This time the beam had driven up into my stomach. I half-expected to feel my legs go and the blackness to eat at the edges of my vision.

Instead, Lasciel screamed. Her presence retreated like a wave pulling out from shore. It left me staring at the unblemished stretch of stomach under my shirt. I belatedly realized that I'd fallen and someone had caught me. My shirt was gone, and Butters was frantically trying to find a wound.

"I saw it go in," he said frantically. "You should have seen her expression. She was in agony. Where the hell is the entry wound? Is she bleeding internally? God, I knew this was a bad idea..."

"Lasciel," I said, licking my lips. My voice sounded raspy. How loudly had I screamed?

"Don't listen to her, Molly," Dad said.

"Hit...Lasciel. Hurt her. Not me. I'm not bleeding."

I watched that knowledge register on each face. Saw the thought occur to each of them. Fidelacchius could slay Lasciel's shadow and leave me unharmed. They could get rid of the threat right now. I'd be powerless to stop them. The helpless fear that they'd act without asking me made my stomach roll. Dad turned away first, shamefaced when he saw naked fear spasm across my face.

"Molly," he said, trying to offer me a hand when I flipped onto my stomach, still gasping for air. "Let me help..."

"I'm going to go upstairs and rest," I said quickly. "Save my strength, you know."

I got my feet under me and ran before any of them could argue. I slammed my door shut a minute later, pressing my back against the door. The ward I added felt like overkill, but it helped still my shaking fingers. It didn't help the bile that rose up my throat.

I was terrified of losing the Shadow.

"Are you okay?" I asked after a few minutes of slow breathing.

"I will be." She hesitated. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me. You could have allowed them to kill me. It would have been easier for you."

No, I couldn't. And that was the galling truth. I didn't want her gone. But I couldn't have my angel and love her too.

"No, it wouldn't have been."

Chapter Text

"The last time we sat in on a dinner this awkward, you were propositioning Nicodemus."

And I remembered the results with nightmarish clarity. Everyone that I'd hurt in my myopic quest for vengeance. The people I'd failed. The people I could have saved but didn't. That I could draw parallels between that meal and this one was damn depressing.

Butters had left sometime while I'd been recovering in my room. Dad and Sanya were sitting opposite me at the table, and neither would meet my eyes. The only sound in the room was the hum of the microwave as mom reheated chicken breast and mashed potatoes. I was trying to think tech-friendly thoughts, but the riptide of emotion in the room was threatening to drag me under.

"I thought I told you to stand by. Why so present all of a sudden? I thought you didn't like coming here."

"I don't, but your family matters to you. You are terrified of losing their good opinion. Keeping you from them would only lead to an intervention, which I'd like to avoid."

I snorted. Of course that would be her reasoning. Not because being separated from my family would hurt me, but because alienating me from them would hurt her chances of seducing me to the dark side.

"Something funny?" Dad asked, giving me a knowing look.

Shame tightened my chest, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. The guilty lump in my throat was cutting off my air. I was still talking to her and I knew better. Just because I didn't want to lose the Shadow didn't mean I was eager to embrace her either. I wished there was a happy medium. Some way that she could stay without being a danger. But she was dangerous and the sooner I remembered that, the better off I'd be.

"Sorry."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Molly. It's just a reminder."

"I know."

He reached for my hand and hurt flickered across his face when I dropped my hand to my lap automatically. He withdrew the attempt after another awkward pause.

"It just worries me," he said. "If I don't know what she's whispering in your ear I can't combat it."

A thought struck me and I wove the spell before I could really think about it. She appeared like a stark outline at first, shaded in by the light and shadow in the room. Color seeped into her last so that she appeared to us like an impromptu art piece. Dad and Sanya rocked back, startled by Lasciel's sudden appearance. Mom scowled in her direction from her position by the microwave. It was still going, thankfully.

"Dad, Lasciel. Lasciel, Dad. You have a problem with each other. Discuss."

Lasciel dropped neatly into the chair next to mine. Or, at least, she appeared to. This avatar she used to speak was just a construct made of light, magic, and applied will. She couldn't actually interact with the physical world, but the show was still pretty convincing.

"I don't see that there's much to say," Lash said, examining her nails. "We know each other's positions and neither of us is willing to change our stance."

Both Knights, former and current, reacted to Lasciel's voice like it was a physical slap. Sanya shivered, and I wasn't entirely convinced it was fear driving it. Her voice was a drugging contralto most days and a treat to listen to at the end of a hard day.

"But you could," I said. "You're capable of change."

Hellfire streaked through her eyes for a second, and her mouth thinned into a hard line. "No."

"You are. Our kids proved that. You can change, but you won't."

Her hands formed claws around the edge of the table. I knew the table couldn't groan under her grip, but I felt like it should. Her nails scored long lines counter to wood grain as she stared me down.

"You don't know that. I won't ask only to be turned away like the wretched, unloved child He never wanted."

"He's God, Lash. If he didn't want you, he wouldn't have created you. The only way to know for sure is to ask."

"I won't!"

"Why?" I demanded.

I leaned in close, getting in her face. She didn't back up. If anything, my proximity seemed to make her more angry. She gave me a shove, and I rocked back, despite the non-existent pressure of her hand.

"Because it's not fair!" she raged. She raked her hand through her ebony hair, whipping it into wild tangles. "Because even if I do have a choice, it doesn't matter. Regardless of what I choose, I lose!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could feel a headache building, and I didn't have the patience to deal with another of her tantrums. For a being who'd been around when the dinosaurs were God's latest fad creation, she could be incredibly childish.

"It's not a game," I said. "You're not losing something by admitting you were wrong. And you're sure as hell aren't doing anything profound by spitting in His eye. This isn't a matter of fairness. It's about accountability. When you admit fault, good people will forgive you."

Lash's laugh was caustic enough to make my ears itch. It felt like fire ants had poured into my skull, biting at my sanity as they went.

"I'm not talking about my pride, my host. I'm talking about you. You've made it abundantly clear that you will not accept me unless I change. But you don't understand the limits placed on me when I am among the Host. You say I cannot love you like this, but the inverse is true. Angels of the Host love God and then humanity in that order. We cannot love one human more than the other. Don't you see? I am not allowed that intimacy. I am not allowed to love and be loved by you. And it isn't fair!"

The room was silent but for the slowly revolving container of mashed potatoes in the microwave. No one but Lasciel moved. She stood and began to pace, whipping around in increasingly furious circles, walking through counters and people as she went.

When I dared a glance sideways I found Dad staring at Lasciel with an odd look on his face. It was an odd mix of pain and realization. Until that point, he'd always viewed the hosts of the Fallen as victims and the Fallen as an enemy to be defeated. He'd never thought of the angels' suffering, their rage, their sorrow. Now, he couldn't miss it. Lasciel was in pain, and he wanted to help. Compassion replaced contempt.

She rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his face. A dark halo had gathered around her head, casting the room into shadow, with only the light from the microwave piercing the murk.

"Don't you pity me, Knight."

"Is it a crime to want to help you?"

"I don't need help."

His eyes were soft when he asked, "Are you sure?"

Lasciel gave him one, last scorching look before popping out of existence.

"So," I began, accepting the mashed potatoes mom placed in front of me a moment later. "That was a disaster."

"No," Dad said, eyes bright. "That was progress."

Chapter Text

Michael

God is everywhere, but I'd always found it easiest to talk to him on my knees, forehead pressed to my hands, seeking that still, small voice with my head bowed.

In his more philosophical moments, Harry would muse about the relative positioning of prayer in different religious traditions. And while there may have been some metaphysical reason for the stance, I thought the reality was much simpler. Kneeling left the human body in a vulnerable position. It was a gesture of trust to approach a being greater than yourself on your knees. Admittedly, that was harder to do when you were getting on in years and had a bum leg, but I knew the Almighty would understand if I adopted a lopsided lean instead. It was the intent that mattered.

I'd prayed on battlefields that made me less fearful than the struggle I currently faced. When I'd been serving with the Armed Forces, it was only my life I was laying on the line. Only my life forfeited if I failed. If I encouraged this and it went wrong, I could lose her again. It felt like Molly had only just returned to us, had only just recovered herself, and now...

And now, she was nose-to-nose with the darkness again, and I was no longer a Knight. Did that diminish my capacity to help her? Would that be the difference between losing her to Lasciel entirely? I'd barely gotten her out last time.

"God of wisdom," I whispered, pressing my forehead against my whitening knuckles. "I seek your counsel. I need to know what you'd have me do."

I needed to know if Molly was being deceived. Lasciel was the Web-Weaver. She was bound inextricably within Molly's mind, able to feed her any perception she wished. Her mind might not be aware of the demon's silver-tongued whispers, but she'd be hearing them regardless. This idea of redemption could be a fabrication. Yet another way to seduce my daughter back into the darkness.

But the nagging doubt persisted. What if it wasn't? What if I was guilty of the arrogance I'd accused Harry of not so long ago? Who was I to dictate what was and was not in the Almighty's plan? His love was infinite and the angels were his children, Fallen or not. I couldn't imagine a scenario in which I would cut off my children entirely, regardless of what they'd done. And if my weak mortal self was capable of such, why not God? The same being that preached about the prodigal surely wouldn't spurn a lost soul seeking redemption.

"Is it possible?" I whispered. "Can Lasciel be redeemed? Or was that scene in the kitchen a performance?"

I desperately wanted to believe the latter, and that made me sick to my stomach. Did I truly want there to be no redemption for the Fallen? Yes, in my selfish human heart, I did. Because if the Fallen could also be redeemed, it made the jobs of the Knights of the Sword that much harder. If the Fallen were as much victims as their wielders, it would behoove us to save both. Trying to persuade a being that could swat down demi-gods with little effort was a daunting task. Add their pride to it, and the fighting would become even more vicious. Nothing was quite as dangerous as a creature with wounded pride and something to prove.

God answers all prayers. The problem was, not every answer was the one you wanted. The still small voice spoke and I listened. I bowed my head even deeper, a wash of grief consuming me before I could stop it.

I'd never wanted my children to be engaged in the physical and spiritual trenches, saving souls. There were safer ways to impact the lost and needy for good and I encouraged them. But being on the front lines meant I could lose them. The Lord was calling my daughter to war against all the forces of Hell and I was helpless to stop her. I shouldn't want to stop her. It was noble work. It could also get her killed. I'd already buried her once. I never wanted to do it again.

"Please keep her safe," I whispered. "Can you do that much for me, at least?"

I swore I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder once in reassurance, but when I checked, no one was waiting behind me. I took it for the affirmation it was and muttered a quick amen before standing.

I needed to hug my daughter before she went off to parts unknown to fight evil. I needed to feel her safe in my arms one last time before I let her go, trusting that she'd come back to fill them another day.

God would provide. He always had and he always would. He'd provide a way back, even if she fell down. I believed that.

Now it was time to make her believe it too.

Chapter Text

"You look good, seidrmadr," Freydis said, eyes twinkling. "I think white is your color."

"Everyone looks better in silk," I muttered, shoving a curl behind one ear.

The damn thing was so stiff with hairspray that I swore it crinkled. I'd arrived at Lara's place early and spent most of my time in a chair being made up to look like anyone else. The black they'd put in my hair would fade quickly to a sooty grey. A near-fatal feeding had etched a few lines into my face and leached most of the color from my hair. A makeup artist had contoured my face into a harmless young woman with soft, dewy features. No one would pick me out from the crowd of feeders lounging around the feet of Lara's entourage.

Hannah stretched out languidly, letting the long silk sleeves of her kimono pool around her elbows. Her back formed a lazy arch as she did it. Her face was serene, despite what we were about to do. She was enjoying the hell out of this entire scenario. I blushed when she gave me a thorough once-over.

"She's right," Hannah said. "That robe is doing things for you."

"I think you both like it because it shows my ass when I walk or bend over."

"We like the white satin underwear too," Hannah answered cheerfully and without a hint of shame.

I snorted and faced forward, opting to stare at Lara's knees, instead of meeting her eyes. I could feel them pressing like sticky fingers against my skin, the silken whisper of Lara's demon curling like perfumed smoke in my head. The ivory skin over her crossed calves was enticing enough. I wanted to be on my knees in front of her, molding my lips to the soft inner curve of her thigh.

"Fuck," I hissed. I dared to raise my gaze and shoot Lara a dirty look. "Stop that. If you want my help I have to be able to focus. The come-hither puts a thoughtless, horny gremlin in place of my brain. Do you really want that at the moment?"

Lara's eyes sparkled and she contented herself with a brief, sly grin before reining in her demon. Her thighs were still lovely, but I no longer felt the need to beg for a scrap of attention like a dog at her feet.

"Some other time, perhaps."

"Been there, done that with almost everyone in this car. I'll skip the rerun if it's all the same to you."

"I feel left out," Hannah said.

"I'll make it up to you after we're through here," I promised. "Mai Tais on the beach, my treat."

Hannah let out a lusty sigh as if I'd said something far dirtier. "You really know how to sweet talk a girl."

I let myself imagine it for a moment. I didn't love Hannah, but theoretically, I could get there. We were friends, bonded through blood, and forged for a purpose. It would be good to have my battle buddy back. And who's to say it couldn't happen after a heart-pounding raid on an enemy or a lazy evening with a bottle of wine? She was pretty. We understood each other.

And she still wasn't Marcone. The callous bastard had branded his name onto my heart, and it would take a while for that particular wound to close. Even if I eventually fell for someone, it wouldn't be anytime soon.

"Do not fret, my host," Lasciel said. "I will keep time from taking its due from your body while we are away. You'll have the opportunity to adjust without worry."

"I haven't agreed to take up your coin."

"You will."

I shivered at the absolute certainty in her tone. Lasciel's shadow had never failed before. Hard not to be confident when you have a perfect record.

"We will be meeting Dresden shortly after he arrives," Lara said, ignoring our banter. "Miss Ascher, you will accompany Freydis and kneel between my feet and Natalia's. Miss Carpenter will kneel in front of me."

I bit back a sigh. Of course she'd choose me. Why stop at rescuing her brother when she could throw in a chance to gain influence over a potential enemy at the same time? I'd already thumbed my nose at powerful foes and walked away (mostly) intact. There could come a time when my loyalty could be swayed, and then she'd have a glut of information about Marcone's plans and holdings.

"That's not a good idea," I said. "Take Hannah. I'll sit with Freydis. I'd rather not touch you."

Lara's lip jutted in a faux pout. The succubus somehow managed to make it look playful and charming, instead of petulant. She reached for me, tipping my chin up as though she'd plant one on me, just to prove a point. Her fingers ghosted over my skin for only an instant, but it was enough.

Lara let out a breathless exclamation of pain, drawing her hand back as though she'd laid it on a hot burner. She stared at her blistered fingers for a second before her gaze darted up to my face sharply, scanning me with enough intensity to make me squirm. Realization hit a moment later, and to my surprise, her grin made a return.

"I see," she said quietly. "That is very interesting. It changes things."

I had a feeling that she wasn't just talking about the mission. She'd come away from this car ride with something more valuable than a thrall. Information was power, and Lara had just uncovered a chink in Marcone's armor.

I could only pray she didn't use it to kill him someday.

Chapter Text

I didn't mind kneeling if I was in front of the right person. There were some people who demanded your automatic respect, like Mab. The woman was as cold and resolute as a glacier, an inevitable and unshakeable force that I hoped never to cross. There were some people for whom my submission was a hell of a lot more personal. Something he never demanded, but always valued.

And then there was the Raith contingent, replete and glowing in their flowing evening gowns, using some of the feeders as their furniture. The men wore glazed, happy looks, completely oblivious to the weight of the women balanced on their broad backs. It was a little depressing to realize that I might have to become someone's footstool before the night was out.

"Wind yourself down, sweetie," Hannah murmured near my ear. "You're so tense. No one here will bite...without permission."

She bent close, careful to keep her lips obscured by the shadowy fall of my hair. I doubted anyone was paying attention to a pair of reclining feeders when there were gloriously beautiful women just above us to stare at. But better safe than dead. Just because the words might not be audible over the soaring orchestral music, there were enough monsters with keen eyes around to pick up our meaning.

"Have you seen who's out there? My ass will remain pneumatically sealed until we're on a different continent, thank you very much."

Hannah let out a pealing laugh that drew a handful of eyes. The mingling dignitaries didn't stare for long. We didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. To the casual observer, the feeders were closer to classical sculptures than people, something you glimpsed, appreciated, and then promptly forgot. For the vampires, we were dinner and a show. We meant nothing, and for once, that was fine with me.

"Dresden is taking his sweet time," Hannah said once all eyes were fixed elsewhere.

Her breath tickled the shell of my ear, and I didn't struggle when she pulled me onto her lap. It made talking easier, even if the gentle kisses she pressed to my throat were distracting. If I wanted to look like an empty-headed thrall, general horniness came with the package. Lots of the feeders were paired off if not currently in use by one of the family.

"He's on the clock for the Council and those windbags never do anything quickly. He'll arrive soon."

"I hope so. We have to meet Lily at a quarter till, right?"

"Yeah."

Which only left ten minutes to make guaranteed contact with the Summer Lady. She was nestled on a golden throne near the raised dais in the middle of the room. She'd pulled the silken white fall of her hair into a complex braid that draped over one shoulder like a shawl. A delicate crown of honeysuckle and ivy wove through the locks. It paired well with the sage dress she wore.

Lily was deep in conversation with Titania. The relaxed set of her shoulders and shy smile were encouraging. At least she and the queen were socializing for pleasure, instead of duty. Had my tactless interrogation had an impact after all? They'd never love each other like family, but perhaps someday they could be close.

"So I repeat, where is he? We're here for a reason, not to sit on our asses and look pretty."

"We're mostly here to do reconnaissance," I pointed out. "We are doing work."

She blew a lock of hair from her eyes with a scowl. "Taking attendance isn't exactly thrilling. I want to get this over with and get out of this fucking city. I've had enough of Chicago to last me a lifetime."

I craned my neck so I could give her solid eye contact. Our lips touched when I spoke.

"We can't afford this."

"Afford what?"

"Hubris. I know it's ironic, considering who I'm talking to, but I'm asking you to please approach this with tact for once. One fuck up and a man I care about dies."

Hannah's brow creased. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying you're impulsive. You go in slinging fire and assume that because you're strong, you can muscle your way through. As someone who has had to scrape and claw to master even half of the combat magic you can do, I can tell you it's better to be prepared than powerful. Muscle gets you nowhere unless you know where to aim it."

Her expression darkened and she pulled back from me. "I can handle myself."

"Not against a dragon you can't," I said, turning her chin to face a shadowy corner of the room. The figure lounging in a gilt-backed chair blowing smoke rings didn't look imposing from the outside. But just brushing by him on the way in had made my heart hit the deck and scramble for cover.

Hannah's face paled a moment later. It was the first reasonable reaction to the crowd she'd had. Glad at least a Fallen angel could pound a little sense through her thick skull.

"Fine, maybe you have a point. People watch away and fill me in on any of the good bits."

I smiled and curled into her arms, peering out at the party through a part in her hair.

In a matter of days, Marcone's people had transformed the great hall from a utilitarian cafeteria into an opulent ballroom, complete with twinkling faerie lights. Lush blooms sprouted from every wall sconce and dripped in colorful smudges to the floor. The air was perfumed by the drugging scents of incense and rose petals. A live orchestra composed of hauntingly beautiful Winter Sidhe played near the dais. If you could ignore the knife-edged tension in the room, it would have felt like a spa day, not a potential battlefield. I took note of where each faction sat and how many combatants they had, just in case. I'd get smited six ways to Sunday if we were caught, but if I timed it right, I could be the one who took that (possibly literal) bullet, not Harry or Thomas.

"You would survive if you had my coin."

That was probably true. Aside from the dragon, Lasciel could go up against any of them one-on-one. Even if they fought us together, she was confident we could escape through the Nevernever. Surviving what came after that was the tricky part.

"Out of curiosity, could you fight the dragon?"

"Yes, but it's inadvisable."

"Why?"

"It would unravel your galaxy."

Oh. Well, shit. How the hell did Dad defeat the one about to eat Mom?

"The Almighty," Lasciel said simply.

Ah, right. God. He and I hadn't been on good speaking terms lately, and the squatter in my brain wouldn't help his opinion of me.

"Let's not destroy the planet."

"Indeed. It's seven and a half billion years too soon. Would you like to be there to witness it? Your sun isn't large enough to go supernova, so it isn't as spectacular as say, Eta Carinae, which should go in the next million years."

Her voice came out on a wistful sigh. A deep, hollow longing began somewhere around my navel, paired with a sense of loss so profound that it brought tears to my eyes.

"Would you watch the stars with me, Molly? she asked, voice dropping into the void that had formed in my guts like light from above.

My knee-jerk response to her offers was always a no. Whatever she offered wasn't worth the price she'd ask for it. But this wasn't a silver-tongued story of glory, strength, or power. The request was as close to timid as Lasciel ever got. I realized with a jolt of surprise that she wasn't as confident in our chances as she claimed. Every wicked faerie and god of yesteryear was arrayed in a ring around us. All were bound by honor to retaliate if someone broke the accords. We could win, but the fight wouldn't be pretty or painless. Tomorrow could kill me, and she knew it. She wasn't offering arcane knowledge for the hell of it. She wanted to spend what could be my last night showing me something beautiful.

A single tear fell, seeping into the silk collar of my robe. I batted it away before more could fall and betray me. Why the hell had the gesture moved me to tears?

"I'd like that."

Her relief seeped into my every pore. The mask had slipped, if only for a moment, and I'd gotten a glance at who she'd been before. For just a moment she was a pale echo of an angel so heart-rendingly beautiful and pure that I wanted to cringe out of existence. I felt like a stain, a smudge on her robes that should be blotted out. I wasn't worthy of her regard, let alone anything deeper.

"Molly," she began haltingly. "You should know that I..."

A hand came down on my shoulder, jerking me from the intimate exchange. My eyes flew open and I whirled, startled to find Hannah staring at me.

"Are you okay?"

No, I was frustrated. I'd been getting through to her. I knew it.

"Yeah," I lied.

"Good. Dresden is back. It's our turn to socialize."

"Fun," I muttered under my breath. "Let's dance."

Chapter Text

Freydis slapped a rune-carved tile into each of our hands, fixing us with a piercing stare. "Do not snap the tile until the exit is clear. The obfuscation spells will only hold for five minutes. Perhaps a little less. you need to be back here in that time frame, or you risk outing yourselves in front of Mab. And worse, my boss. Don't waste time in here. Understood?"

"Got it," Hannah said with a bob of her head. "Wait until the coast is clear, get our Raith on, then return to the bathroom to change back into our robes. Then we get the hell out of dodge and plan our next move."

I twirled a lock of my newly dyed hair. I wasn't a fan of the black, but it was less work for Freydis if I kept dark. The less she had to change, the longer the illusion would last. I didn't dare use my own veils in a room with Namshiel. I'd slipped under the radar. No way was I going to get caught before we achieved our goal.

"Do you really think it'll pass muster?" I asked. "Most of the Raiths are back there. Don't you think someone would notice if a pair of succubae slipped in?"

Freydis smirked, eyes flicking to the dramatic V-neck of the silver evening gown Lara's people had packed in a duffel. When searched, they cited the need for an additional wardrobe in case of a messy feeding. No further questions were asked. The hemline of the dress left very little to the imagination.

"No one is going to be looking at your face, trust me. It's mostly the tone I have to correct. There's an opalescence to their skin that humans lack. You'll fly under the radar."

When Freydis was satisfied with our appearance she slipped out and lounged by the door, signaling us when the coast was clear.

"Here goes nothing," I said and snapped the tile.

The veil sprang into being around me, clinging like a cobweb to my skin. The spellwork was so artfully done that I spent a few moments of our limited time admiring the intricacies of it. It was work I could theoretically master, but that I was too ignorant to do at the moment. If we survived what was coming I was going to ask for lessons.

Hannah gave me a gentle shove out the door. I staggered for a step and then righted myself. I took Hannah's arm when she offered it. We walked arm in arm, and I had to remind myself that I couldn't sprint across the room to reach Lily. If we were anything less than inconspicuous, we were dead.

Lily had stepped into an alcove on the pretense of perking up a wilting flower in its sconce. It was a subtle but potent illusion, designed to look benign. You wouldn't know it was there unless you were mere inches from it. The real Lily fizzled into sight as we bypassed her enchantment. The air felt warm and close, and the music barely carried through to us past the veil. Lily appeared somber as she regarded us.

"I was hoping you wouldn't come," she said. "I sincerely hoped you'd see the hopelessness of your cause and think better of this. I can't protect you if you insist on moving forward."

"He's a friend," I said.

She smiled gently. "I know. You are a loyal soul, Molly Carpenter. I am truly honored to call you my friend."

My throat felt tight. "Ditto, Lily."

"We don't have time to shoot a Lifetime movie," Hannah interjected. "We need the coordinates of the relevant Ways. Do you have them?"

"Of course," Lily said. She handed me a scrap of paper with Marcone's letterhead on it. There was a string of coordinates printed onto the surface and a handful of addresses that marked backup sites, in case the Way we preferred was blocked.

"Thanks, Lily. This really helps."

"Just remember the rules of engagement. No use of the bane. Promise me on your power."

"I swear by my power that I won't use cold iron on any of them. Everyone gets roughed up but no one dies."

"Good. Best of luck."

"Thanks," I said with a sigh. "I think we're going to need every scrap of that we can get."

Chapter Text

"I'm not sure about this," I said, cautiously twining my arms around her neck. She'd slung my legs around her waist not long after I'd settled in for bed. "What if I fall off?"

Lash rolled her eyes and gave a very refined snort. "You cannot fall off of me, my host. This avatar is only a portion of my true self, and it only exists in your mind. You are not actually sitting on my lap."

I knew that, but damn could she be convincing sometimes. We were curled up in the treehouse in an accidental echo of what I'd done with Anduriel years ago. I'd set out a picnic for two in honor of the occasion, though her half of the meal would go uneaten. Okay, picnic was a strong term. I'd shoved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two cans of Sprite into a backpack alongside a thermal blanket and called it a night.

Lash lifted a peanut butter from its sandwich bag and nibbled on the crust. I couldn't help but dust the crumbs from the royal blue silk robe she wore. The getup was just to the right of propriety, so I couldn't bitch, but also couldn't stop looking. I stuffed another bite of sandwich into my mouth to give myself time to think. Besides, I wasn't going to travel the cosmos on an empty stomach.

"That's not what I meant," I muttered. "What if I end up lost for a few thousand years and you end up finding me near a star about to go nova?"

"I can snuff a star like a candle flame," Lasciel said with strained patience. "And I remind you again, it is an illusion. The only reason you'd play chicken with a celestial body is if you chose to do so."

"Fine, let's say I believe you. That doesn't explain..." I gestured at her helplessly. "This. What's with the lingerie? I'm wearing a T-shirt."

Lasciel's lips quirked, and she flicked her wrist in a lazy motion. Cool air feathered over my thighs and I glanced down in surprise. Gone was the clearance t-shirt and jean combo that Mom bought at Walmart and kept on hand for the occasions I walked in dripping blood. In its place was a getup almost identical to Lasciel's, this time in wine red.

"Barbie," I muttered, frowning down at her. "Just like I said years ago. You love dressing me up. I swear you'd have enjoyed playing with Barbies. You could mix and match with her all day and never get bored."

"Presentation is an important consideration when viewing art," she said, skimming her full lips over the thundering pulse in my throat.

"If I wanted someone to blow smoke up my ass I'd look on Craigslist. I'm sure I'd find a few takers."

Her lips pursed. "I'm serious. Every soul is as complex as a multifaceted jewel. No matter what you smear onto it, there is still something precious hiding just beneath."

"I didn't know you still felt that way. Don't the fallen like to twist souls?"

"A broken gem still glitters," she said quietly. "But I've come to realize that it's less gratifying to have something in pieces when you truly want the whole."

It was the closest she'd ever come to apologizing to me. I wasn't sure if I should push for more or let the statement hang between us. Which response would resolve the situation? I'd actually been enjoying a talk with the less hostile version of Lash.

Ultimately, the decision was plucked out of my hands. The knobby edge of her knee disappeared from beneath my thigh and I flailed, trying to right myself. It was no use. I windmilled my arms in instinctive panic, my heart adopting a less frantic rhythm when I realized I was drifting toward white dunes far below like a feather carried by the wind. When I touched down, the flannel blanket and meager meal were wedged between Lash and I on the blanket. Her fingers sought and tangled with mine.

"Why are we in a desert?" I asked, rolling so that I lay on my back staring out at an inky void. "And what's out there?"

"Shh. It's starting."

"What is?"

She chuckled softly. "Everything. Everything that is, everything that has been, and everything that ever will be. It begins here."

I turned to her, eyes bugging. "The Big Bang? We're seriously about to watch the Big Bang?"

Lasciel shushed me again, and this time I listened. I was still boggling over the fact that she'd reached so far back in her memory to show me the beginning of the universe.

"I technically don't exist here," she said quietly. "The elements for my creation haven't come into being yet. He gave us all the relevant memories, but this isn't truly mine."

Holy shit. Not only was I witnessing the birth of the universe. I was about to essentially watch Lasciel's birth. From God's point of view.

There was no warning. From one millisecond to the next the cavernous void exploded with light. The dense, hot mass smaller than the period at the end of a sentence lit up like a cosmic flare and blew outward in a dazzling display of light and sub-audible sound. I felt the music like a hum in my bones, a simplistic beat that was still incredible enough to draw a sound from my throat. Before humans were a thought, before the first poet wrote a verse, music existed. And I would always know the beat.

"It's a rough translation," Lash whispered, leaning her head against my shoulder. We were touching in one long line, and I didn't have it in me to push her away. This wasn't a sight to be marveled at alone. "You wouldn't be capable of grasping the complexity of what's going inside."

"Cliffnotes, please?"

She motioned to the ever-expanding cloud of dense vapors. Her fingers swept through it, plucking off a piece like cotton candy, offering it to me. She cradled it between our clasped hands.

"Take it."

"I don't think I can, Lash. You can't just give me the universe."

"But I want to," she insisted, closing my fingers around the cosmic motes.

Fire consumed me, scouring away everything that made me human for an instant. I existed outside of time, far from the reach of pain or fear. Everything I was pulsed in time with the joy of creation. The fire didn't burn, it purified, shining as brightly as a jewel in the sky. My mind had never been clearer or more open. I was aware of thousands, perhaps millions of years passing around me as I clashed with darkness and fought it back. And then there was finally enough of me to be hewn from the fire, shaped into being, and given a purpose.

I didn't see God after the moment of Lasciel's creation, though she had. Apparently, that was too much for my psyche to handle. My head was already aching with the strain of comprehending what I was seeing and feeling.

I didn't realize I was gasping for air until I came back to my body. It felt like having limbs amputated to return to the limited confines of my own head. So achingly lonely. My face was a mess of tears and snot. I hoped I wasn't letting out a horrible, keening cry in the real world. That would bring someone running and I didn't want to miss a second of this.

Lasciel produced a handkerchief and began to mop up my face. "I've always questioned his decision to make a social species utterly alone in their own minds. A communal mind would have been more beneficial."

"I don't want to be alone," I whispered.

Her sigh ruffled my hair. "We have that in common, my host."

I waited for the follow-up. The promises that she'd stay by my side. That she could offer protection and pleasure in exchange for my soul. But the proposition didn't come. Lasciel was weighing a newly formed star in her palm, studying it wistfully.

"I helped create this one. I believe your scientists named it Methuselah. I think my name was more poetic, but you wouldn't understand the original Enochian."

"Isn't that one of the oldest stars in the universe?"

"From your point of view, yes. I helped bring it into being. My perspective of the universe diverges quite a bit from yours."

Lasciel closed her fist, snuffing the burgeoning star like a flickering candle. It came apart in a burst of blue-white sparks. She used the same hand to cradle my cheek with infinite care. The juxtaposition of strength and tenderness made my head spin.

I didn't fight her when her mouth closed on mine, sticky sweet, and tasting like Sprite and strawberry jam. Her skin was softer than a damn cloud and backlit by hellfire. She looked like a goddess of destruction, great and terrible. Her touch burned, sinking through my flesh and bones to cradle a flickering ember inside me.

My soul. She was touching my fucking soul. The intimacy of the moment was so intense that I nearly shook apart. I shivered when her lips lifted from mine and she whispered a strained, "Please."

I wasn't sure what she was asking, and the answer left my lips without checking in with my brain. "Yes."

When the reality of what I'd said slammed home, I tried to rise, horrified at the thought that I'd summoned a coin in my dad's backyard. But she pressed me back down gingerly.

"Be still," Lasciel said and seemed torn between exasperation and amusement. "This is delicate work."

"What are you doing?"

"Inching as close to heaven as I can get."

She kissed me again, and this time the vapors wreathed us both, bringing us back to the very start of everything, when only rapidly traveling cosmic dust motes existed. Her presence in my head was unspeakably huge, and for a moment, I thought I'd be crushed under the metaphysical weight of a creature that made Titans look like ants. I felt her pare herself down, mote by mote until she and I could co-exist in the same space. It had to hurt, but she did it until only the stardust remained.

We touched. Dust to dust, one soul to another, mingling at the beginning of the universe.

"I love you," I whispered.

Lash was silent for a protracted moment. I sensed words whirring inside her head, desperate to be spoken. But what she eventually said was, "I know."

Disappointment twinged under my ribs. An uncomfortable moment followed before Lasciel brightened, her mind turning toward the next item on her list.

"You've seen the beginning. Now, let's skip to the end."

Chapter Text

"He's late," I said, foot jiggling in time with my pulse, setting the bench to creaking.

The oldest depot in the Northern Pacific Railway didn't see the same bustling crowds as an airport or a marina, so we were almost entirely alone on the platform. I was pretty sure the man sleeping on the next bench over was a drifter just looking for a place to spend the night. Probably not a threat, but I kept my fingertips near the handle of my wand anyway. To say I was tense would have been an understatement.

"He can't control when the trains leave, Molls. Be patient."

"I can't," I hissed back, more vehemently than I intended. "Thomas' situation is time-sensitive. If we don't resolve things tonight, he'll die, and that's unacceptable. If the plan doesn't go off without a hitch we are all going to think fondly of the days where Nicodemus was our biggest problem."

The placating smile she'd worn dropped from her face, leaving her face sober and unhappy. In the pre-dawn light she looked like an eidolon lurking in the mist, distant and a little ominous. She'd tugged her curls into a tail and tucked it into the hood of her body armor. It had been a little flattering to realize that she'd kept the stuff I'd made for her during our time in the Fellowship. I'd dragged my hooker couture from the closet for an encore of its last performance. If I was going to face off against gods and monsters, I'd be doing it wearing the most powerful defensive item I owned.

"He's the reason, isn't he?"

"The reason for what?" I asked, craning my neck, trying to see past the shadow the Sandpoint, Idaho train station cast over the tracks. Where was the damn train?

"You burned Lara's hand," Hannah said. "I know enough about the White Court to know why that happened. You're in love with him, aren't you? That's why you're willing to do anything, even take up the coin."

"Since time is of the essence could I try to tide you over with a Facebook relationship status? I think 'it's complicated' fits best."

"Bull, Molly. It might be hard but it's not complicated. Do you love Thomas Raith? I've seen him around you. I could buy that he'd get attached. And he's the most recent person you've been with. Because I just can't see Marcone giving you that level of protection."

I tried not to react to the venomous diatribe, but something must have shown on my face. Hannah stared at me in unflattering shock.

"Marcone? You and he..."

She tried to speak a few times, couldn't find the words, and shut her mouth again. When she shook her head, it was more to clear it than deny what I'd said.

"Jesus," she muttered. "Molly, you really do pick the worst people."

"I know," I said with a sigh. "We can psychoanalyze why once we're safely away. I want to get this done and then blow this whole fucking popsicle stand. Can you agree to drop this for the next forty-eight hours or so?"

Hannah rolled her eyes but nodded. "Fine. On a related topic, I want to know what you got up to last night. You didn't pick up, even though I called the house twice. If you got dragged into a family thing you could have told me. And why the hell do you look so tired? Didn't you try to go to bed early?"

"It wasn't a family thing. I..."

It was my turn to trail off, unable to find the words to convey what Lasciel and I had done last night. There wasn't any word that accurately portrayed just how intimately bound we'd been. Sex seemed crude and mechanical in comparison. A date sounded like a laughable description of watching the birth of the cosmos. Girlfriend wasn't the word you used for someone who'd held your soul in the palm of their hand. Awkward wasn't even close to the word you used when you spilled all your gooey feelings and got no reply back.

"I had a talk with Lasciel," I finished lamely when nothing else stuck. "It took a while."

Hannah sat up a little straighter, brows lifting. "Really? And what did you discuss?"

"The future."

There. Let her make of that what she would. The campaign to join Team Fallen would be less aggressive if the pair of them thought I was on the brink already. I couldn't afford any hiccups in the plan. Things were already incredibly dicey as it was. I'd lied to Hannah to get results before and, as shitty as it made me feel, I'd do it again if that was what it took to save Thomas.

Hannah scooted closer to me. She knew better than to compromise my hands at a critical juncture. I was our best hope of making a clean getaway. If Hannah had to use her magic this morning, it meant things had already gone sideways. There were other train stations in other parts of the country where we could meet Binder.

"Am I in that future?" she asked.

"I hope so."

"And Lasciel?" she asked.

And Lasciel. Two more complicated words had never been spoken. The future with Lasciel had seemed possible for just an instant. I thought we'd finally been on the same page for the first time in years, and then...nothing. She'd been very quiet since the light show had ended and I'd fallen asleep, huddled on my side in the treehouse. She knew that I'd cried, but hadn't broken radio silence. It had probably been stupid to assume something as enormously powerful as an angel cared that she'd hurt my feelings.

"I care." Lasciel said. She sounded even more exhausted than I felt.

"Then why stay quiet?"

"I'm not capable of giving you what you want, my host. You know that."

"Bullshit."

The sigh seemed to originate from somewhere around my toes and wrapped me in a sense of weariness that would have buckled my knees if I'd been standing.

"Is this truly the time to have this conversation?"

Well damn it, she had a point. If I couldn't afford hiccups from Hannah's end of things, I definitely couldn't afford them from Lasciel's. I'd put a pin in it. For now. There was just one burning question I needed an answer to.

"You got a blanket yes. Why didn't you...the real you turn up? You could have. At that point, I was so emotionally compromised that I wouldn't have resented the trick. But she's not here. I want to know why."

"Your physical body was located in your father's home, where a dozen guardian angels act as enforcers. If I tried to compromise your free will in front of them, I would have deserved whatever retaliation followed."

I followed that line of logic to its conclusion and a slow smile broke over my face. "You did it on purpose."

"I assure you that one does not touch a soul without anything but intent. Mishandling them has disastrous results."

"No, I mean the location," I continued, growing more certain I was right with every word. "I have a dozen hideouts all over the city where I can sleep and sometimes catch a shower. You could have steered me toward any of those. But we came back to my dad's house. You knew I'd say yes. You built in a deterrent on purpose so you couldn't do it. You..."

I felt the desire to laugh bubble up in my throat, but I choked it down. No one near me would react well to the joke. But if it was true, it was one of the most hilariously well-meaning and horribly executed plans in history.

"You did it this way to keep yourself from acting. Like putting up guard rails at the bowling alley to keep a kid from getting a gutter ball. You were trying to make it fun and consequence-free."

And I was pouting because she hadn't said three words back. I felt like an idiot.

"Thanks for the consideration, Lash," I said quietly.

No answer. Which was fairly typical as these things went. For someone whose reputation painted them as uninhibited, Lasciel had some serious hang-ups.

"Ah, there's the train," Hannah said brightly, pushing to her feet.

Sure enough, if I strained my ears, I could make out the tinny whistle that signaled Binder's approach. I stood as well, stretching out the kinks in my muscles. Sleeping on the hardwood of the treehouse hadn't been great for my spine.

"Good. It was about time he showed up. Let's get this show on the road."

Chapter Text

"Two birds handcuffed in the back of a pleasure craft and one pervert guiding the boat into dangerous currents. You couldn't have set me up for dirty jokes better if you tried, love."

I thought calling The Serenity a pleasure craft was stretching the meaning of the words to the point of absurdity. With the pair of us on board, we couldn't afford to spring for a newer model with a lot of onboard controls. The thorn manacles that kept our magic from tearing the engine apart weren't an insurance policy against disaster. The water would dampen most excess magic, but if we had to come out of the water fighting, we were sunk.

The 1952 Runabout was just a step above a rickety row boat and looked like a kid's toy when we'd seen it tied to the docks in the marina. There was barely enough room for Hannah and I to sit, let alone move around or get up to anything fun.

Hannah fingered one of the steel links I'd threaded between the manacles. It had taken several hours and a lot of sweat, but I'd managed to lengthen the chain to allow us a few feet of breathing room. It could pose problems on the approach, but in my head, the element of surprise when we dropped in on the Fomor superseded the risks for tangling that the longer chain posed. We were going straight down. The approach was dangerous but not complicated.

"I could strangle you with this, Binder," she said sweetly. "Drop you over the side, and nobody would ever know."

"Do it and you'll have to guide this beauty," he rubbed The Serenity's dash for emphasis. "Back into the marina and we both know how bad it would be for your image."

Hannah's lips twitched as she gently bit back a smile. She snapped her fingers with a muttered, "Damn it, he's right. I think we'll keep him alive a little longer."

I'd tuned out most of their banter. It had surprised me to learn that she'd done business with Binder on a routine business during her years with the Fellowship. It hadn't been difficult to hitch her wagon to his when Nicodemus needed to put what he believed to be an undercover agent in the fold.

"Are we almost there?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. Lake Michigan wasn't exactly a sauna, even on sticky summer days. Add in high winds and the wetsuits we wore, and you had the potential for hypothermia.

Binder ignored the waspish tone of the question and leaned over the dash, examining the slip of paper Lily had given me the night before. He consulted a set of instruments and nodded.

"About a mile off. You sure you want to do this, love?" he asked, directing the question to Hannah. "There are safer ways to pay my fee. I know at least four joints in Chicago that would be easier to knock over than this place."

"None of the banks in Chicago have a stake in the peace negotiations," I said.

"Oh for the love of..." Binder trailed off before scrubbing his face hard in frustration. "You're doing this to tweak the bloody Fomor's nose? Not smart. Do you even remember Uncle Binder's rules? Do the job, get paid, and don't make things personal. The Fomor will take this fucking personal, Hannah."

Hannah stood and stretched, popping the kinks from her back. It was essential to relax before we executed Operation Hail Mary, our last desperate attempt to save Thomas' life. There was only a small chance of success, but we were betting the house on the outcome we wanted.

She offered me a hand up and I took it. We watched the waves foam white behind the motor, the trailing bubbles dying away when Binder came to a gradual stop. He busied himself with the dive cable, letting out enough line to touch the bottom far below...we hoped. Without more modern sensors, we could only estimate the depth, and the Fomor stronghold hidden under a network of enchantment.

"Are you sure you don't want to opt for scuba gear?" Binder asked. "Would only take a few hours to make the swap. It might be safer."

"No, the risks are the same either way," Hannah said. "If we do it wrong, we drown. Molly and I learned that the hard way when we were stationed in Belize. There was an aquatic mission we did for the Fellowship and we rented scuba gear. We managed to screw up the equipment mid-mission, blowing out portions of the tech that would have helped us get out of the underwater cave network that a Count used to dispose of his victims and political enemies. We're lucky we didn't end up bobbing inside the cave like so many others."

Binder winced. "Jesus."

I shuddered. I still remembered that grotto full of bloated bodies. The way flesh sloughed off if you brushed against one too hard. The cold, creeping panic as our air ran out, afraid we’d meet the same fate.

"Freediving will work. And once we're inside, we'll be safe." I paused, then amended, "Okay, we'll be safe from drowning. There's still a high probability we get shot."

"Let me worry about the Servitors," Hannah said. "You get in, grab the bullion, and get clear."

It sounded simple in theory. Steal the gold kept on hand to fulfill wergild as was due in the accords. We had two separate objectives, both designed to pit the factions against one another. Confusion and conflict were distracting, and we needed all eyes elsewhere tonight. Hannah and I were providing a big, shiny distraction while Lara and Harry smuggled Thomas out. It also meant that we were exposed to a hell of a lot more risk than the rescue party.

"Right," I said, my confidence in our plan flagging as I stared down at the impenetrable surface of the water. Could I really reach the bottom in one breath?

"Ready to go?" she asked, cracking her knuckles. If she was feeling any nerves, it didn't show. She was pushing up on the balls of her feet, seeming almost eager for the coming fight.

"Oh hell no, but I'm going anyway."

Hannah let out a pealing laugh. "Good. It's been for fucking ever since I've fought beside you. Let's do it right this time. Is DJ Molly C taking any requests?"

I allowed myself a small smile. She was right about one thing. It was good to have a friend watching my back again.

"I might be. What did you have in mind?"

She told me.

Chapter Text

"Relax," Lasciel soothed. "Calm is the key to a successful free dive."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one risking her life for the mission. If I drowned twenty meters down, she'd be reabsorbed into the greater whole. I was willing to buy that she liked me enough to mourn me when I was gone, but it wouldn't stop her from pursuing whatever plans she was intent on.

"In point of fact, I would not survive," Lash said as I sank into the water up to my neck. The water was so cold that my fingertips were already starting to go numb. In other circumstances, I might have asked her to change my perception of the temperature, but I couldn't afford to be cozy. The discomfort would help me remember where I was and what I was doing.

"What do you mean?"

"The greater whole in the coin left an imprint on your mind-"

"Yeah, I know. That's you. What do you mean you will die?"

I'd always thought of Lasciel as indestructible. After everything we'd been through together, it was difficult to believe that a lungful of air could kill her.

"You didn't let me finish. I am but a fraction of the original, placed here to persuade you."

"Tempt me, you mean."

She sighed. "View it however you wish, my host, it changes nothing. The portion of Lasciel in your mind would cease to be if you died. She would lose this fraction of herself. It is not an insignificant loss."

As if I didn't have enough to ruminate over. Now I had to worry about offing a portion of Lash if I failed.

"Relax," Lasciel repeated. "You are too tense."

"I'm freezing and about to attempt an ambush on a Fomor stronghold. It's not exactly conducive to zen, Lash."

"Then allow me to assist you. With your permission, I can help bring your stress levels down."

I hesitated, shivering as the waves slapped at my face and splashed water into my eyes. I trod water for a moment, considering it. Allowing her further access was probably a bad idea. The last time she'd been that deep into my psyche, she'd twisted me into knots, fanning the flames of my rage, keeping my stress levels so high I'd developed an incredibly myopic view of the world.

On the other hand, drowning helped no one, and nothing short of a sedative was going to bring me down from the tizzy I'd been in since seeing the state Thomas was in. Lash had refrained from taking advantage of me in the treehouse. I still couldn't trust her but the offer was probably benign. Unless that was what she wanted me to think.

Stop it, I thought. If you keep this up you'll have a paranoiagasm and stroke out before the mission even starts.

"Fine. Make with the elevator music and water features," I muttered.

She laughed, a sound so bright and full of joy that it made me smile reflexively. It had been a long time since I'd heard a laugh like that from her. If she wasn't being sultry she was spitting something scathing. Genuine and positive emotion weren't exactly her strong suit.

It didn't take her long to make with the mojo. One instant I was shivering so hard my teeth were clacking together, treading water like my life depended on it and the next, every muscle fiber in my body went slack. I bobbed in place, half-floating on top of the water like a cooked spaghetti noodle.

Hannah grinned at me, pulled up the hood of her wetsuit, donned her goggles, and sucked in a deep breath. I did the same, packing my lungs with air until they felt like they were about to burst. I gave Hannah a quick thumbs up, and she returned it before diving into the water, dragging me behind like a wine cork in her wake.

Water is almost never blue. Sure, sometimes you get an ocean shore with white sand and crystal blue waters, but that's the exception, not the rule. Most water on land was a ghostly shade of green if you dove down and felt compelled to open your eyes. Mid-morning sunlight slanted through the tossing waves, illuminating the cord Binder had dropped into the lake. It was a simple matter to seize the nylon cord and fin my way down, timing the strokes with Hannah's so neither of us was pulling hard on the chain.

The constant pressure from all sides was almost womb-like and serene. The desire to sink into the deep and the dark and stay there was strong. It was disconcerting, even if a psychic headlock kept the worst of my panic at bay.

"Call of the void," Lasciel said knowingly. "It's nothing to worry about. Your body is acknowledging potential danger and reacting. The feeling you're experiencing is a post-hoc rationalization. Pay attention. We're nearly to the shields. Be prepared to remove the manacles when Samshiel has finished."

I twisted around in time to watch Hannah come to a halt. She held out a hand in front of her, running her fingers through the water as though she could physically touch the barrier the Fomor sorcerers had erected around their stronghold. According to the intelligence Summer had been able to gather, it was one of a dozen such installations and was used to contain material wealth and personnel in the area. This one was keyed to scan every living being that passed through and react with hostility if an intruder tried to break through. It was a nearly flawless defensive measure.

Unless, of course, you had a Fallen angel riding shotgun in your head. A being powerful enough to rend galaxies asunder with a thought had no difficulty manipulating the human body, including arresting the heart of its host for a brief time.

I watched, my lungs beginning to burn, as Hannah drifted, limbs splayed and face slack. Even knowing it wasn't permanent, seeing her like this made ice form in my stomach. I'd had recurring nightmares of her death in the years since dropping Lash's coin. Abandoning her after the debacle with the Denarians had always been my biggest regret. With any luck, I'd be able to make it up to her after this.

I bobbed forward, trailing after Hannah as she slipped through the barrier, disappearing briefly from sight. I reached numb fingers to my mouth and reached past my lips, gripping the key I'd kept clenched against my teeth during the dive. The plan was simple, but that didn't make it easy. I kept the small key poised over the lock, waiting.

It began slowly. The barrier flickered, dozens of wavering sigils written in a language I didn't know pulsing in time with the waves above. It wouldn't shock me if they were keyed to draw their power passively from the kinetic motion all around. The sigils brightened, glowing a poisonous shade of green for a moment. The veil that obscured the compound flickered, giving me a glimpse of the squat building beyond.

From above, it looked a lot like a rock shelf covered in a growth of algae on one side. I knew that if I got closer, the collection of clinging vegetation would be a hell of a lot more threatening than pond scum. I had the acid scars on my back to prove it. I tried to commit the details I could spy to memory. What happened next was going to happen fast, and it was a hell of a lot easier to invade a place when you knew where the front door was. With any luck, we'd be in and out in under five minutes.

If not, we'd be dead.

"Positive thoughts, my host."

"I'm positive that this is going to get us killed."

Lasciel let out a refined snort. "Allow me to assist you and we'll make it out intact."

"I'm not taking your coin," I said.

"That's not what I am implying. There is no room for human error in this plan. Take what I offer without question, and you may come out of this foolish endeavor with your life."

"No funny business? No coin?"

"No funny coin business," she confirmed. "I will not lose you to your own impulsive and self-destructive tendencies. If I must part with some of my leverage, so be it. The stakes are too high at this juncture."

I wasn't sure what to say to that and was saved the effort when the sigils brightened, the venomous green motes of energy burning away to sullen red hellfire. A square around the size of a large pizza box sparked, fizzled, and died.

An instant before it could buckle completely I shoved the key in the lock and twisted. The agonizing steel thorns parted ways with my skin, the cold worming its way into the punctures that lined my wrist. I was going to have to get inoculated for everything and follow up with a round of IV antibiotics before we settled elsewhere. Nothing ruined a vacation like necrotizing fasciitis.

The water rushed in to fill the pocket of air beyond. A rip current dragged me down in a violent spiral, knocking one of my fins off entirely. Lake Michigan thundered against the convex barrier, pitting all its strength against the weak point in the shield. Optimistically we had five minutes before the trickle became a flood.

The air left my lungs in a painful whoosh when we hit the ground. Black spots danced in front of my eyes and only sheer force of will kept me conscious. I rolled over onto my side, coughing and spluttering as the steady stream from above splashed more cold water into my face.

"Up," Lasciel ordered. "Now. There are servitors coming. Five at least, perhaps more. On your feet, if you value our lives."

I thought about saying something unkind. Staying down sounded like an excellent idea. I was tired, I was hurting, and I wasn't looking forward to the deception I was planning to orchestrate in a few hours time. Sleep sounded like nirvana right about now.

Lash's voice was gentler when she spoke next, but no less insistent. "I know you are tired and hurting, but it is nothing to Thomas Raith's suffering. The longer he languishes in captivity, the worse his odds become."

Nothing else she said could have galvanized me more. My body started moving without conscious permission. I rolled onto my stomach and forced myself to my knees. Hannah was already standing and offered me a hand up.

"Servitors?" I gasped.

"Five o'clock," she said with a casual shrug. "I've got this. Time's a wasting, Molls. Get Binder his loot and get gone. We've got bigger frogs to fry."

I choked on a laugh. It wasn't that funny, but the hysterical edge I'd been clinging to for months was beginning to crumble. Hannah shot me a sharp look.

"Are you okay?"

"No," I said, unzipping my suit just enough to allow me to seize my wands. "But I will be. Are you going to be alright without me?"

She gave me a cocky grin. "Are you kidding? I was made for this. Consider these fish sticks already baked. Now get lost."

I cast her one last glance before kicking off my remaining fin and breaking into a run, a wand in each hand.

The first shot missed me by a hair. It sounded like an angry hornet flashing past one ear, and a moment later the barrier behind me rippled, absorbing the kinetic energy of the shot before dispersing it across the shield. When my wheeling eyes finally settled, I found myself in the sights of a turtleneck with a machine gun.

I launched myself toward the shooter. The keyboard and percussion of Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire swelled to fill the glorified fishbowl we'd broken into.

"Let's fucking go!" I shouted.

Chapter Text

Acid ate through the ground near my feet, sizzling like butter in a hot pan. The stone mosaic that made up the courtyard (if you could really call it something that grand) was more structurally sound than the homes or warehouses where I normally tangled with servitors. I was able to leap the smoking crater with effort, flattening myself against the ground as another shell projectile sailed over my head.

I was on my feet and running again before the shell detonated, sending more acid slewing in every direction. My hand shot out without conscious permission and a shield mushroomed into being around me, stronger than anything I'd produced since dropping her coin. I expected to see hellfire crackle through the spell's matrix, but could only spy rings of concentric silver ripple out from the point of impact. Wherever the acid met the shield, the poisonous green stuff evaporated.

"What the hell?" I asked, staring in wonder at my hand. Soulfire. But shouldn't that be gone? There was a fallen angel in my head.

"You did not touch the coin of your own will, thus did not make the choice to sacrifice the gift Uriel gave you."

"But you're helping me now. Can you use the soulfire?"

"No," she said impatiently, prodding my cold and weary body to get moving. My lagging pace sped up, and I ate up the yards that separated me and my goal.

"Then how are you doing that?" I asked.

"I'm not. You are. The conscious mind is only a fraction of what goes on in your head. I've been instructing the Council of Molly about their roles in the upcoming fray. It only feels like this is new to you because the conscious mind is usually the last one to know important things."

I'd read something to that effect somewhere. Decisions were usually made well in advance, and the conscious mind used rationalization to compartmentalize anything uncomfortable.

"That seems like a very fine line for Uriel to tread."

"It's what he does best. Just accept the commands your body gives you. Do not think, just act. We're nearly there."

Right. General Molly and the rest of the squad were ready. I just had to get with the program.

The sulfurous smell of hellfire coated the inside of my nose, wafting through the dome of rapidly disintegrating magic like rotten potpourri. Hannah was taking the fight to the servitors. I must have caught the attention of the stragglers.

By the time I hit the outbuilding I was looking for, the water was lapping at my ankles. At this rate, it would be to my waist in minutes, and the servitors would have the home-field advantage. It only took one to pull me under and hold me down to end our heist.

Almost as soon as I thought it, the water seemed to push back against me, and I found myself walking across the top as though it was solid ground. Nothing about the stuff had changed. I was walking on water.

"Altered surface tension," Lasciel said distractedly.

I turned without input from my rational mind and summoned a roughly spherical ball of force into my hand. When force met face, the servitor came to a halt, back arching in agony as every bone in his face crunched. Blood burst like a crimson stain over the soulfire-infused sphere, and the servitor dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Not stopping for breath, I kicked his limp body into the shins of one of his fellows. The servitor jumped in time to avoid being bowled over, but the water fouled his landing. He listed a few inches to the side, and it was all the opening I needed. I brought the sphere down again, delivering a sledgehammer blow to his ear. His wail of pain cut off abruptly when my knee swept up to slam into his jaw. His teeth clacked and broke, and blood fountained out of his mouth.

The third and final servitor received the worst beating yet. She jabbed the ivory tip of one wand into his eye, sending a million volts coursing into the ocular cavity. The eye burst like a rotted fruit, spewing hot white goo in every direction. The flesh around the eye cracked and blackened, flaking off the seared bone seconds later. The resulting scream was deafening, The finger he'd kept on the hollow-looking tube weapon in his hands spasmed, launching another shell projectile high into the air.

The shell burst in a verdant shower overhead, shedding off my shield in an acid rain. The servitors weren't so lucky. The acid chewed holes into any exposed skin. I watched in horror as they dissolved like paper towels under a deluge, leaving only mangled corpses behind.

Holy crap. I'd never fought quite like this. I could do dirty, but this felt personal. Lash may have only been an observer of this fight, but it was her anger I was feeling.

"They almost killed you," she said, voice tight with rage. "They tried to take what's mine. I don't often agree with your ex-beau, but we have at least this in common. I don't tolerate poachers either."

I wasn't sure what to say to that and was saved the effort of finding an answer when a nearby building went up in flames, noxious steam rising from the site where hellfire met the lake. It was difficult to tell from above, but it was probably up to thigh-level now. The running water sanded down the potency of every spell I cast, and would probably have negated my magic completely by now if not for the soulfire.

I drew the knife I had strapped to my outer thigh as I cleared the doorway. I expected to find another throng of servitors waiting for me but when I looked around, there was no one. Literally, no one. The inside of the building was as white and sterile as a hospital room. An alarm screamed through the room, bubble lights pulsing red in time with my heartbeat. The cages on the wall were empty, and the vault hidden behind a panel at the far end was unguarded.

"Is this a trick?" I asked, aiming the question at Lash.

"Not as far as I can tell," she said. "There are very few beings who could obfuscate their work from me. This is unguarded."

But why? Had the Fomor somehow learned of the heist and moved their valuables elsewhere? Was that why I'd only dealt with a skeleton crew? Hannah had been fighting two dozen, the last I'd seen. I'd dealt with three. Surely twenty-seven servitors weren't enough to handle operations here? Where were the sorcerers? Not every one of them needed to be present at the peace talks.

"A double-cross?" I asked. "Could they be trying to mess with the talks?"

"Doing so would be suicide. There are many present who would take such treachery personally. Even if they came in strength, I don't think they could defeat something like Ferovax."

I opened the vault with difficulty, following whispered instructions on how to open the vault. A part of me wanted to know the story of how Lasciel acquired the skill, but decided it could wait until we were safely away. Still, the sickly feeling remained. Something was wrong, and my skin wouldn't stop crawling until I figured out what it was.

I'd just finished loading a backpack full of bullion and slung the heavy load onto my back. Next time I needed to pay a mercenary, I was doing it with Benjamins, not gold.

I'd just turned to go when something whipped through the standing water and lashed itself to my calf. I had only an instant to stare in horrified fascination at a pulsing, purple tentacle before I was yanked under the murk.

Chapter Text

My head hit the stone so hard I saw stars. Some part of me, probably prompted by Lasciel, sucked in a deep breath and equalized the pressure in my ears before I went under. The barrier had well and truly given up the ghost, because the water was sheeting down, sweeping away any unsecured materials and one unlucky, demon-possessed wizard.

The barbs on each sucker-tipped tentacle dug deep into my calf, yanking me across almost a half mile of granite at a speed that wrenched my neck. If the beastie holding me had a mind to, it could shake me in one violent motion and break my spine. There wasn't much I could do about it. Submerged in running water, my magic was as absent as Nicodemus' conscience.

Lasciel could have let me wallow in that despair. If I died here, part of her died too, but the larger whole would know that we'd died together. She was just twisted enough to find that sort of thing romantic. I personally thought a walk on the beach was classier and infinitely more enjoyable than a futile death by raw calamari. She could have insulted me, goaded me, or possibly even given a rousing speech about my character. But what she actually did was a hell of a lot more effective. It only took one word, really.

"Thomas."

Adrenaline shot through my veins, awakening every nerve like a painful static shock. It felt like someone had plucked my heart out of my chest and was crushing it slowly in front of my eyes. Though, that could have been the looming Kraken. Dealer's choice.

I hurt. God, did I hurt. The monster had dragged me like cheese over a grater, leaving the skin of my back a mess of fleshy streamers. I could feel the feverishly hot pulse of blood into the frigid water of Lake Michigan. Ironically, the temperature was the only reason I wasn't going into shock from the pain of that injury alone. The cold blunted the worst of the agony and I could, with difficulty, think past it. I could remember the reason for all the fear and suffering. Thomas was worth this. After all that he'd suffered for me, I owed him.

The fingers of my right hand flexed around something solid. It took me a moment to recall what I was holding and why. I'd pulled the tactical knife, anticipating more servitors waiting in the hallway beyond. Magic dwindling, it had been my best option. In close quarters, I could be as deadly as any servitor and with Lasciel hitching a demonic piggyback ride, my skill would only increase.

I was shocked I'd managed to keep my grip but wasn't about to look a gift knife in the face. I was a little less screwed than I'd been a second before. I held very still, waiting, lungs burning from my last stale breath. I'd held my breath longer on the way down. I could do it again.

Yeah, tell that to my chest. It felt like someone had hit me in the solar plexus with a sledgehammer, and everything south of my navel was beginning to fade into pins and needles. Except, of course, for the points where the barbs pierced my skin. Needle points of agony poked at my control, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to expel the air I'd taken in.

Just when I thought I'd suck in a lungful of lake water, my face broke the surface. I gasped in a ragged breath, blinking the water from my steaming eyes. When I could finally bring the scene into focus, I realized I was being hauled upward through the small bubble of air remaining as the Fomor's barriers crumbled. The water below foamed white, rushing upward at speed to rejoin the rest of the lake. Debris swirled near the center in a fast-moving whirlpool.

In thirty seconds or less, this pocket of precious oxygen would disappear. If I prepared, I might be able to survive another minute or two.

Without warning, the tentacle around my legs spasmed wildly and then went completely flaccid. Crimson billowed into the water around me, and I tasted blood. I kicked wildly, freeing myself from the now limp appendage. I screamed and struck out wildly with my knife when something brushed my elbow. The creature had the pebbled texture of scales in places, and sodden feathers in others. Its feet were claw-tipped, not webbed, like the Fomor's creations. It turned its head, four sets of eyes fixing on us as we flailed. One set was almond-shaped and a lovely shade of amber. The luminous second set of eyes framed a pulsing angelic sigil.

Samshiel and Hannah. I felt like smacking my forehead at my sheer stupidity. How the hell had I forgotten that Hannah would have access to a battle form?

"And why,"I began slowly. "Didn't you offer your coin in what could have been my eleventh hour?"

The silence that met the question was telling, but I didn't have long to pursue the subject. Hannah went rocketing upward after I grabbed her waist, narrowly avoiding a scything tentacle as she kicked furiously for the surface. The pressure built behind my eyes and my heart pounded against my ribs, intent on escaping to the surface without me. The blackness spread like ink stains across my eyes. They slid closed without my permission...

And flashed open again what seemed like only a second later. My chest burned, my back was one hideously painful sheet of gore, my neck was stiff, and I was bleeding from several cuts. All in all, I'd fared better than I expected, the last-minute drowning aside.

Hannah hovered above me, hands braced on my chest. Half her face was coated in crimson. Blood pulsed steadily from a cut above her eye. Other than that, she seemed to have fared remarkably well. She plastered on a false smile, but fear simmered beneath the forced joviality.

"About time you woke up."

"What did I miss?" I asked, wincing as I tried to sit up. Hannah hadn't broken any ribs, but I was going to be tender for a week, at least.

"Not much. We loaded everything up and hauled ass before the Kraken could get its bearings." She paused and turned to Binder, who was leaning over the steering wheel as though he could somehow make the boat move faster. "We can thank Binder for the rescue. He had a few...interesting weapons stashed in his kit."

"Illegal, she means," he said. "So mum's the word."

"I won't tell a soul," I said, wilting back onto the deck. Sitting hurt too much.

"Next time we decide to fuck with the holdings of a sovereign nation, could we pick one that doesn't live underwater?" she asked.

"I'll take that under advisement," I answered dryly.

Chapter Text

"This feels very Wizard of Oz," I remarked, skimming the edge of my blade against the silken petal of a poppy flower.

Summer was in full bloom, every flower, grass, and tree donning lush colors. The scent on the air was drugging, and without the mental defenses Lasciel had constructed, I would have been overcome with the desire to lay down among the poppies. According to Lash, this species of carnivorous flower sedated their prey and digested the bodies over days, ala the Venus fly trap. It was a powerful enough deterrent in its own right that only the suicidal would approach the Summer Lady's Chicago residence from the Nevernever. The path we were cutting through the flowers would lead us to the roof of the Rothschild in short order. Binder's suits were just waiting on our signal to run up the improvised path and begin the attack.

"Hail Dorthy," Hannah said dryly. "But as I was saying, I think it's a bad idea. Wait until we're clear at least. In just a few hours we'll be on a cruise ship bound for Belize and you can send a runner then."

She was probably right but...

"They have a freaking kraken in the lake," I said. "Marcone deserves to know. It affects his city."

Hannah stopped midway up the path, cocking her hip to the side, lips pursed in distaste. Her eyes narrowed on my face. "You sound just like him when you talk like that. Chicago doesn't belong to Marcone. It's just a city, just like millions of others around the world. So the Fomor set a giant squid on ships. So what? It doesn't have anything to do with you or me."

I stared back at her, feeling like I'd been struck between the eyes by a rock going at Mach 20. My head rocked back, and I had to suck in a breath to steady myself. It was like I was finally seeing her for the first time, unclouded by the nostalgia of our time with the Fellowship. There was cruelty glinting in her eyes and scorn in the set of her mouth. She meant every word. She didn't care what happened to the people of Chicago. The people that I'd been fighting to save for almost three years meant nothing to her.

I realized, after a second of thought, why her stance bothered me so much. It was like reaching through the past and pulling my seventeen-year-old self from yesteryear. I knew how cold that callous place could be. I'd lived there longer than I liked to admit. I was looking at a reflection of who I'd been. Who I could become again if I embraced the power of the coin.

"Just," I said slowly, giving her a hard look. "I don't like that word."

Hannah's brows shot up. "What do you mean?"

"You said it's just a city. Let me fix that for you. It's a city. A city with millions of innocent people who live in ignorance of the war waging around them. People who could die horribly if we let a kraken roam Lake Michigan unopposed. Maybe our hijinks let that thing out. I don't know. What I do know is that I can't let people die pointlessly when there's a way to save them. I thought you understood that, Hannah. We fought for the Fellowship together for years. What did you do it for, if you didn't want to help people? You used to know who and what mattered."

Hannah took a step forward, getting in my face. Fire licked along her fingers, the heat of it searing the remaining space between us. One of them at least had the sense to keep hellfire out of it. The scent of sulfur would carry on the breeze and give our position away.

"Because you're so much better than me?" Hannah began hotly. "Get off your high horse, Molly. I know you. I've seen the things you're capable of. You have no fucking right to claim moral superiority here."

I eyed the flames in her hand. I wasn't sure she knew she'd drawn on magic and powered the spell. Her emotions surged like a relentless tide, more turbulent now than they'd been the last time I'd seen her. Whatever tactics Samshiel used to mold his hosts, it was more violent than Lasciel's quiet coaxing.

"You knew me as a child," I said quietly. "A fifteen-year-old kid who was in way over her head and had a fallen angel riding shotgun on the highway to hell. I've done some growing up since then. And you're right. I've got no high ground to stand on, but I do have more perspective on the Fallen than you do. I've been exactly where you are now. It might do you some good to listen to what I've learned sometime."

Hannah continued to glower at me, but she at least stepped back, flames guttering. The air was still feverishly hot between us, a shimmering heat haze hanging like a dense curtain in the middle of the path. She was the one to finally break the silence.

"Fine," she spat. "Send Marcone a message. Risk the whole operation. Be my guest."

I hesitated. She was right about one thing. The surge of magic I'd need to use to engage my quartz crystal earpiece could draw unfriendlies to our position. Summoning Toot or Lacuna to my position would amount to the same thing, and also had the added baggage of being known allies of mine. We needed to remain anonymous as long as humanly possible. This whole thing had been for nothing if we couldn't provide enough of a distraction to keep Marcone's goons otherwise engaged.

Hannah's lip curled slightly. "Not so keen to do it now, huh? So what's right only matters when it comes to getting what you want? You hypocrite."

Somewhere, deep inside of me, a door slammed and frosted over. Up to this point, I'd been trying to shoulder the guilt of what had happened to her. She wouldn't have been as juicy a target for Nicodemus if we hadn't been allies. He wouldn't have given her Lasciel's coin. She would still be the person I'd known.

Except, I wasn't sure if I'd ever known who that was. Hero worship and friendly affection had given my glasses a very rosy tint, and the picture looked a lot uglier without them on.

The truth was, I could only ever take accountability for the things I'd done. It was easier to blame myself than acknowledge she was a person with free will and used it to make some very awful choices. It was hard to realize someone you looked up to was only human.

For now.

"Fuck you, Hannah," I whispered, stalking past her, striding purposefully back down the footpath we'd created.

"Where are you going?" Hannah said, alarm in her voice. She seemed to realize she'd made a misstep, though she had no idea how large.

"To talk to Binder," I said. "Finish the last half mile of the path and I'll tell him we're ready."

Her hand landed on my shoulder. I craned my neck very slowly and shot the offending appendage an icy look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just stressed."

"It's fine," I lied.

Then I shook off her hand, running back the way we'd come before she could see the tears fall.

Chapter Text

"Motherfucking son of a bitch!" I swore, diving for cover as one of Binder's men went sailing over my head to collide with the broad trunk of an oak. Dark ichor fountained from the Suit's body and it sank boneless to the ground, instead of dissolving into ectoplasm. Here in the Nevernever, the Suits were as real as the rest of the landscape, and they died like it.

They were dying by the score, but it didn't really matter in the end. I'd finally learned why Binder felt so confident in his ability to continually call upon the Suits. If he'd bound a small nation into service, he'd have eventually exhausted their numbers, even if you accounted for the time difference between Earth and Faerie. Binder hadn't entered into a deal with a single entity with the ability to spawn like bacteria, spreading its consciousness over vast numbers. Every Suit that fell would dissolve into dust, only to respawn in Binder's circle seconds later. We weren't more powerful than the guards surrounding Lily's courtyard, but we were making forward progress by dint of sheer numbers.

My back let out a flare of hot pain as I landed on the hard-packed earth. Though Hannah had done what she could for the wounds on my back, it was going to take time for the muscles to recover. I'd boxed the pain away, feeding it as fuel to my magic.

I slammed my hand down on the ground, ice glittering into being with an effort of will. I couldn't summon much elemental magic without help, so the disc was only about the width of a CD. But that was all it took, in the end. The hoof of the Schwarzenegger league centaur that had been hounding me came stomping down toward my head and hit the ice at an oblique angle. He slid to one side, thrown off balance for a crucial half-second. It was just the opening I needed to summon the soulfire sphere of force into the palm of my hand and bring it down like a cue ball against the back of one of his back hooves.

The centaur toppled backward with a pained bellow, its muscular hindquarters hitting the lip of a fountain as he went. The rap he took to his noggin couldn't have done any favors for his constitution, but he had just enough focus to lob a globule of shining energy in my direction before he passed out. It flew over my right shoulder, missing its mark by just a hair. It burst on contact with a stone pillar. The stone split apart with enormous cracks of sound seconds later, a writhing mass of flowers and leafy vines crawling from the interior, as though they'd been waiting there the entire time.

"Oh lovely," I muttered, as the vines split off from one another, coiling one on top of the other to form stubby legs, a torso, arms, and then a bulbous head. Within just thirty seconds, a few dozen of them had...budded, I supposed. They were around the size of your average lawn gnome. They were also sporting stone-tipped claws, cobbling together weapons from the surface they'd sprung from.

"Had that spell struck you they would have used your bones to attack your allies," Lasciel said.

I pulled a face, backpedaling quickly as the little...vine things...advanced. "I thought Summer was the nice court. Chest-bursting is not very nice."

Lasciel let out a laugh that had no business being as appealing as it was. We were in the middle of a pitched battle, for Pete's sake. But her laugh was still a bouy in uncertainty and fortification against my foes.

"You ought to know better by now, Molly. Faeries are some of the most duplicitous beings to interact with your mortal realm. Even the kindest of the Sidhe is no friend to humanity when it comes to matters of the Court."

"Still, the VineBursters are a little over-the-top-villanous for Summer."

"VineBursters?" she repeated skeptically.

"Well I need something to call them besides vine thing. That would sound silly. Let's get going before they try to shove their stamens down our throats."

"Indeed," she answered dryly.

One of the VineBursters got a running start, shot out a vine, and freaking Spidermanned its way across the yards of space that separated me from the leader. It let out an eerie, rustling cry and let the vine fall from the branch. The thorned tip of the plant landed a few inches from my boot, long barbs digging into the ground like pitons.

"That's just not fair," I muttered, raising a hand with its etched leather strap, willing a shield into being as it finished its arc. The plane of force didn't pancake the thing as I'd hoped. The VineBurster got up, a little squished, but still pissed, and came for me again, swiping for my Achilles tendons instead. The thinking was clear. If the VineBursters could get me on the ground, they'd be able to mob me and at least one of them could go for my throat.

I was about to get killed by something that should have looked cuddly but wasn't, Star Wars-style.

Just as the Vineburster raised its claws to take a slash at me, it began to smolder, and then smoke. That rustling shriek came back, higher and more agonized than it had been a few seconds before. When the first flames licked along its back the thing went berzerk, completely forgetting about me. It ran back the way it had come, toward the fountain, inadvertently setting some of its fellows alight as it went.

The next second, I was shouldered out of the way of a falling mace. One of Binder's Suits gave me a shove, taking the brunt of the blow in my place. The energies laid into the mace warred with Binder's animating magic and overloaded the construct. The Suit simply exploded into a puddle of foul-smelling black ooze before evaporating.

An ogre roughly the size of a telephone pole hoisted the mace back up to his shoulder and sized up the battlefield, deciding who to smite next. He had a line of blisters popping along his forehead where Hannah's hellfire-infused spells had grazed him. From the sound of things, Hannah had taken the fight to the VineBursters. Which left me with Blisters as a dance partner. Goodie.

I might have given myself good odds against an ogre if I had my sigil-etched katana in a sheath at my side. But I'd promised Lily that I wouldn't use the bane on any of her people. They were fighting in earnest against a perceived threat. It wasn't their fault that I'd asked for this little melodrama. Lily's guards would react to an alleged assassination attempt with extreme prejudice. Anything we did to them could be healed with time, so long as we didn't use cold iron. That put us at a disadvantage. But you couldn't expect a perfect deal from one of the Sidhe.

The distraction had already done what we hoped. Binder had reported runners going for reinforcements. The closest guards to the Rothschild would be in Lily's entourage at the peace talks. Marcone, who was hosting the talks in his territory, would honor the mutual defense stipulations in the accords, and send some of his men to ensure the threat had been neutralized. Every eye would be on the Summer Lady and her plight, a nice, shiny distraction that would let a gaggle of fugitives sneak by unnoticed, and there would be fewer einherjar for Harry to deal with if things somehow went sideways.

Blisters swung his mace again, and I juked left. The wind of the mace's passing almost knocked me off my feet. My heart was hanging out around my uvula, and a high-pitched girly scream of terror was building in my chest. Sometimes, I thought I was crazy. On days like this, I knew I was. No sane person walked up and flicked the collective nose of Summer's guard and yelled, "Can't catch me!"

I was able to get a grip on one of the shiny, fae-metal spikes and held on for dear life as Blisters raised his weapon. He stared at the ground where I'd been for a second, expression comical. His head seemed to turn in slow motion to face me, but by the time he realized I was there, it was already too late. I descended on him, wands out, and jabbed them into one enormous eye socket with a shout of, "Rakurai!"

A helix of blue-white fire and silver motes spiraled outward, utterly obliterating the ogre's eyes. I let myself go boneless as I fell, absorbing the shock of hitting the ground at the body's natural bending points. My back screamed out in agony, staggering me even with my shields in place.

The roll I'd planned turned into more of a flop, and I disappeared into a singed thicket just in time for the first of the mercenaries to drop from a nearby tree and put two between the eyes of the nearest Suit. It dropped soundlessly, the exchange over so quickly that anyone not looking his way would overlook it. In tactical gear and a dark mail shirt, he looked like some kind of warrior king, silver-haired and venerable. His faded green eyes were fixed on Hannah, who was only a smudge against the fire billowing from the VineBursters' corpses.

Marcone raised a rifle, casually sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

I lunged for Marcone, throwing my arms around his shins, and used our combined weight to bear him to the ground. The rifle let out a deafening crack near my ear, and the shot whistled harmlessly through the tall grass before punching into the base of a tree near Hannah. She jerked at the sound, spinning in time to shield herself from the volley of bullets coming her way from the rest of the einherjar.

A quick glance up showed they were all toting submachine guns and taking up firing positions, using the relative safety of the treeline to provide concealment and cover. The revenant Viking warriors spread out in a sharp v formation, aiming to bounce their shots past the shield Hannah was holding up. They had enough experience with wizards to be familiar with our combat shortcomings. Using a plane of force to bounce bullets was all well and good until one got inside your guard. Then you were trapped in a tin can of your own making and desperately avoiding BBs. Failing that, they could force her to hold up the shield long enough to exhaust her strength. Then they'd approach and calmly turn her head into something roughly the consistency of raspberry jam.

And if she dropped the shield to fight, they'd achieve the same goal faster. The plan had always been to retreat back into the far reaches of the Nevernever and take a circuitous route back to the East Coast, where we'd board a cruise ship. I hadn't anticipated an approach from this avenue, assuming like any sane person that Marcone's people would come in through the service elevator, the way that guests usually entered. Someone had apparently shown the einherjar a secret back entrance because they'd snuck up behind us and were prepared to fuck my plan all to hell.

I must have lingered a little overlong on Skaldi's retreating back because the next thing I knew Marcone had yanked a foot free of my grip and sent a heavy combat boot stomping straight down at my face. I let out an inarticulate yelp of surprise and released him on reflex, flipping onto my back beside him to avoid another blow. I scrambled to get my feet underneath me, but it was no use. Marcone's boot was already moving again, swinging in a wide arc before crashing painfully into my side. The force of the kick knocked me back onto my ass, and I curled miserably around the abused ribs.

A thought swam lazily to the surface of my mind, popping like a dingy soap bubble. Hannah had to get out. Now that Marcone had taken the field, we were outmatched. There was no way we were going to defeat the already difficult-to-kill Vikings and the covert Denarian Baron who commanded their loyalty. With the last of my concentration, I lifted my wand into the air and shot out a series of violet sparks that carried like dandelion fluff on the breeze. They didn't look like much, but Hannah would understand what it meant. Retreat. If she ran now, she could probably make it back to the waypoint we'd used to get here.

Another boot, this one bigger and stompier than Marcone's, came down on the tip of my wand, snapping the thing in half. The lights died away, guttering like a candle flame. Above me, men were speaking in terse voices, and above it all, Marcone, snapping orders. I curled into an even tighter ball as he approached, anticipating more blows. This wasn't how I expected it to end, but if I had to go, saving Thomas wasn't a bad way to do it.

Marcone nudged me onto my back with a toe and peered down at me, the rifle trained casually between my eyes. I stared back, defiantly. If he was going to shoot me, he'd look me in the eye while he did it. Comprehension dawned slowly, and a dozen conflicting emotions tried to settle onto his face. Rage. Regret. Fear. Impotent fury as the Suits formed a bulwark between Hannah and the approaching einherjar. She was bleeding from a wound in her calf and struggling on the uneven ground. But most of all, he looked...betrayed. It was only a nanosecond, but it had been the prevailing emotion. Et tu, Molly?

Hah, I wanted to sneer. It's not as entertaining when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?

Marcone spoke low, but his voice still carried, even over the rhythmic click-clack of weapons fire. His eyes bore into mine, and his hands clenched, as though imagining how badly he'd like to shake me.

"Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter," he said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"Yes, Daddy?" I replied, injecting as much scorn into the words as I could manage.

Marcone was never an especially expressive man. Anything he projected was sure to be a fabrication. The more you dug into the mystery of his past, the more of a phantom he became. But just for a second, I felt a tiny needlepoint of genuine feeling punch through the pretense. Then it was gone, and he was hauling me to my feet by the front of my jacket. Even the craftsmanship of a fallen angel couldn't handle the beating dished out over the course of this day. It was coming apart in his hands, baring my body by the fistful. I wasn't incident yet, but I would be in short order.

Marcone got a grip on my shoulder, probably intending to frog-march me back toward certain death. If not at his hands, then by one of the accorded nations. It didn't matter which. I'd pissed off most of them. Maybe they could hold a fundraising raffle to decide which got the privilege. His fingers sank into the exposed muscle of my back, bandages sloughing off like loose skin now that the corset was no longer there to hold them in place.

Marcone jerked his hand back quickly, staring at the scarlet staining his fingers with horrified fascination. He dared a peek over my shoulder and looked absolutely appalled by whatever carnage he found there.

"You're looking a little green, John," I said, a wheezing laugh scraping its way from my throat. "What? You've never seen a degloving before?"

"Jesus Christ," he swore, dropping his hand to my bicep instead. The many scrapes and bruises littering my skin protested the contact, but it was significantly gentler than I'd expected. "What the hell did you do?"

I stared back at him, saying nothing. His eyes were as cool and opaque as frosted glass. It didn't take him long to puzzle out what we'd done or why. Fresh anger twisted his features.

"Do you have any idea how deep a hole you're in?" he hissed. "I can't protect you from them. Someone will have their pound of flesh for this."

He'd have to throw me to the wolves to salvage even a poor facsimile of the peace process he'd worked so hard to forge.

"I know," I said wearily, leaning against his side for support. Without the steady pulse of adrenaline through my veins, my strength was flagging quickly. My many injuries dogpiled me, each vying to be the first to make me scream.

"Damn it, Molly!" he hissed, catching me as I sagged.

"Pin it all on me," I said. Or at least, I tried to say. I wasn't sure if my lips were actually moving. "Better that way."

Then the pain rose up like a prizefighter and pounded me into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

I woke with my hands shackled to a bolt in the floor and my back propped against a pallet of Lemon Pledge. My entire body felt like one large contusion, which was an improvement from the sucking chest wound I'd resembled not so long ago. Someone had reapplied bandages and smeared something foul-smelling on my back. The skin there felt tender, but there was...you know...skin again. My captors had managed to preserve my modesty with creative uses of gauze, holding what little remained of my corset jacket in place like amulets between a mummy's bandages.

Had Marcone healed me? If so, why?

"To better withstand torture, I imagine," Lash murmured wearily appearing at my side. She was dressed in an orange Illinois Department of Corrections uniform and had pulled her long, dark hair into a braided Viking style much like my own. She looked ready for a fight. "The prisoner has to stay conscious long enough to answer questions."

"Thanks, Lash," I drawled. "That's helpful."

"It is realistic. There is nothing for us after this, Molly. Marcone was quite correct. Once the ploy is discovered, the Svaltalves will have their pound of flesh from your body, not his. They will bind you hand and foot in thorn manacles and trap you in the earth, watching you struggle futilely to draw breath. It is a slow and agonizing way to die. Unless..."

"No."

"Molly, please be reasonable," Lash said, her chains jingling in discordant melody as she leaned toward me, taking my face in her hands. "Take the coin. I can help you."

"I said no and I meant no. I've died badly before and I can do it again."

"Fool," she whispered. "Deluded, self-righteous fool."

"You don't have to stick around for the torture, you know. You've got better places to be."

I glanced pointedly toward the ceiling. In my head, I knew that heaven didn't have a geographical location in relation to Earth. It was a part of the Nevernever, just like all other afterlives. But I still turned my face toward the sky when I wanted to address the Almighty. I just felt right.

"If you are determined to suffer for the sake of that vampire, I will at least bear witness. You will not die alone."

My eyes itched with the desire to cry. I lifted a hand to swipe at my cheeks before any tears could fall. My chains rattled in reply, and someone nearby shifted their weight. I was under guard.

"Thanks, Lash," I repeated, and this time there was some real feeling in the words.

A waft of perfume carried to me on the stale air, floral and expensive. I recognized it at once and turned my head with difficulty to find Sigrun Gard perched casually on a folding chair a few feet away. She'd laid a well-worn battle ax across her lap with the same care someone would use to spread a napkin. One hand rested lightly around the haft, while the other waited, poised to activate one of the many runes she'd etched in a circle around my position.

I sat up straighter, grimacing as the motion pulled the muscles in my back. It wasn't responding as readily as had this morning. I'd probably permanently fucked up my back with this stunt.

Sigrun's stare was flinty. A lesser wizard might have been cowed. But I was used to the fury of valkyries by this point. I met that gaze and returned it. She wasn't human. I had little to fear from meeting her eyes.

"Staring contest in three, two, one, go!" I said.

A muscle in her jaw twitched. "You think you're funny."

"I'm hilarious."

The slap came without warning. One moment I was sore but upright, and the next my head was bounced from the floor like a basketball. The inside of my cheek tasted like copper, and the acrid stench of smoke filled the air for a moment. When my hands stopped shaking, I lifted one finger delicately to the stinging side of my face. It came away covered in soot. A corresponding rune near my bare feet was burned black.

"Remote control bitch slap," I managed. "That's a new one. But shouldn't you be waiting for your boss' okay before you start in on the beatings?"

The fingers around the haft of her spear reflexively, as though picturing splitting open my stupid head with it. It was a favorite calming technique of hers. When she spoke, her voice was terse and unhappy.

"He is busy trying to salvage something of the peace process that your actions just gutted. I recommended he cut your throat while you slept to bypass your death curse and hand your bloodless corpse to the Svartalves to use as a decoration."

"Of course you did. Where am I, by the way? I figured I'd be in a deep, dark hole somewhere."

Gard's lips twitched, but it would have been generous to call it a smile. "The deep, dark hole is being searched at the moment. It seems as though Thomas Raith has conveniently vacated the space for you."

I couldn't keep the relief off of my face. They'd done it. Harry and Lara had gotten him out. It was cutting things a little too fine for my tastes, and there was still the possibility of getting caught, but Thomas was free. The Summer Lady's eloquently expressed woes had caught enough of the room's attention to let them skate past.

Crack!

Again the world went white. Force slapped me to the ground, this time catching enough of my chain to add an extra layer of agony to the experience. The heavy links settled over my prone body when the spell dissipated. Involuntary muscle twitches started in my back and legs, making me shiver in spite of myself.

"Do not smirk at me, seidrmadr. You breathe only because my client allows it. The second he orders it, I will remedy the oversight."

"And here I thought you liked me," I said. It came out with a lot more spittle than I would have liked. Blood dribbled in a line down my chin, and I swiped at it clumsily before it could slide into my cleavage.

Sigrun shifted her weight and aimed a glare at me down the fine line of her nose. "If I were you, I would remain silent and still. I have more than the runes you can see inked on the floor. Nowhere you crawl will be safe."

My mind treated me to an unpleasant image of crawling across a floor covered in firecrackers and I curled into a tighter ball. Sigrun slid off her seat and knelt near me, moving the hair from my face with more gentleness than I'd expected. She examined my face clinically and shook her head once.

"Odin's blood, seidrmadr. What did you do out there?"

"Fought a kraken," I said. No point in hiding that now. "Both of us survived."

Her gaze locked onto mine with so much intensity I flinched. "A what?"

"A kraken," I said. "They have one in the lake. I'm not sure why. Might mention that to Marcone before he starts buddying up with King Corb. I don't think anyone who hides a giant squid offshore is interested in peace."

Gard leaned even closer, trying to read the truth from my face. And those few inches probably saved her life.

Without warning there was a gathering of violent energies and an enormous sound like rolling thunder. The wall above our heads simply exploded, raining pulverized stone and dust on the floor below. Something lithe and dark sailed past as well before crunching through the opposite wall, disappearing from sight. Only Gard's shielding kept us from being buried by the ruined remnants of the wall. White gold sparks fizzled on a quarter dome of force as stone pelted it. They went shooting off like bits of popcorn, rolling to land in a ring around us, instead of forming an improvised cairn on top.

Gard didn't release her hold on the spell until only dust drizzled out from the opening. Only then did she silently slot the key into the manacles I wore and twist them free. The reasoning was sound. If I couldn't move, another collapse would kill me before she could get answers. I wasn't in good shape, physically, and she could incapacitate me before I could do any real damage.

"What just happened?" I asked as she peered through the twin holes in the walls.

Gard's face blanched when she made sense of what she was seeing.

"What is it?" I hissed.

"It's Mab," she whispered. "Someone kicked her through the wall."

Chapter Text

I felt like a bug scuttling over the wall into the main hall. The motion wasn't fluid or attractive. I had to army crawl past every barrier, my back sending out increasingly panicked signals to my body to stop moving. It felt like one good shove might be enough to disable me entirely. But I had to keep moving. Had to. Because, whether I liked it or not, the man I loved was out there.

I dropped into an ungainly crouch at the back of the crowd. No one paid Gard and I much mind. All eyes were glued to the woman at the end of the hall. If I hadn't seen Lash's true self, I might have mistaken her for an Old Testament angel. She was nine feet tall and someone had fashioned her supple limbs from bronze and crystal. The metal had collected in runnels near the bends in her arms and legs. The rest was smooth and living, moving with her like a second skin. The absolute authority she exuded was like gravity. Simply a fact, as inarguable as any other law of the universe.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Except for John Marcone.

Something in my chest eased when I saw him, ruffled but unbowed in the face of what looked to be a goddess.

"A titan," Lasciel corrected grimly.

My blood chilled. I was pretty sure that titans preceded the ruling pantheons in most mythologies. We weren't going against a god. That would have been merely impossible. We were pitting ourselves against a titan, which bordered on inconceivable.

John Marcone, Baron of Chicago faced the titan's terrible beauty and remained unbowed. He stared at the face of a proto-god without flinching. And I loved him for it.

The titan spoke. Her voice was narcotic, a promise so fundamental, so primal that it bypassed rational thought. It seized the id by the throat and took it hostage. My lizard brain told me this creature was an order of magnitude greater than anything I'd ever faced. Something so impossibly huge in the literal and metaphysical sense that I could never hope to touch, let alone defeat it. It was a voice that belonged to divinity and commanded worship.

“Children, children, children,” she murmured, shaking her great head like a disappointed teacher. "The world has gone to the children."

Her gaze swept the room, taking in and promptly dismissing most of the attendees. She paused when she reached the corner of the room Vadderung and Ferrovax occupied. A small smirk curved her lips. “One-Eye. Are you that involved in the Game, still? Are you still that arrogant? Look how far you’ve fallen. Consorting with insects, as if you’re barely more than mortal yourself.”

Marcone took a step forward, putting himself in her line of sight. Mismatched eyes of mesmerizing green and sullen red swiveled toward him.

"Good evening, madam. I am Baron John Marcone. This is my home. Might have the pleasure of knowing how you wish to be addressed?"

The titan regarded him with nothing less than utter revulsion. The contempt and pure, seething hatred she felt for him blistered my mind for a fraction of a second. It was enough to stagger me and my cheek collided painfully with a marble pillar. I wrapped my arms around it, desperately trying to stay upright. I was grateful when she turned her gaze back to Vadderung, dismissing Marcone from her attention.

“This is your host?” she demanded. “You permit a mortal among you? Where is your dignity? Where is your pride?” She shook her head. “This world has gone astray. We have failed it. And I will no longer huddle fearfully in the seas and watch the mortals turn it into their filthy hive.”

My heart threw itself painfully against my bruised ribcage as she glided forward, circling Marcone, taking his measure. She not only found him lacking, she was furious at the gall of something so insignificant believing himself her equal. She entertained the idea of pressing him into a stain of crimson ichor on the dais, crushing him as easily as I'd flatten a tomato. The image was so visceral that I could taste her wrath. It burned like molten metal in my throat. I wanted to scream, to throw up, to run. I sank to my knees, clutching my stomach. I saw a few einherjar on the ground as well. Any mortal mind seemed to be crumbling beneath the psychic attack the titan sent pulsing through the room.

Eventually, she pointed a finger at Ferrovax and said, “Introduce me to this ephemeral.”

Ferrovax fought not to answer, but after a few seconds that felt infinitely longer, he spoke. Each syllable seemed to be wrenched from his throat against his will.

“This is Ethniu. Daughter of Balor. The Last Titan.”

Ethniu lowered her pointing finger. Ferrovax gasped and staggered when she released her hold on his will. He shot out a hand, steadying himself with the back of a chair.
Holy shit. She'd put a psychic brain lock on a fucking dragon. How the fuck were any of us supposed to be able to stand against that? It was impossible. We'd been doomed from the moment she set her sights on us. She'd had the grace to allow humans to forget her might. She'd stood back for endless years and allowed us to wallow in our mediocrity. Now she was here to enlighten us once more, reminding us why we used to bend the knee to the divine.

“This world has manifestly failed,” she continued, now addressing the room. “You thought yourselves wise to band together. To live quietly. To embrace”—her lip lifted in a sneer—“civility. With the mortals that used to tremble at the sound of our footsteps.”

Trembling? Check. I had that one covered in spades. My teeth were audibly clacking together. I couldn't force my body to move.

“I have stood by doing nothing for too much of my life,” Ethniu said, pacing slowly. “I have watched holy place after holy place fall to the mortals. Forest after forest. Sea after sea. They dare to walk where they were never meant to walk. And as they do, the divine retreats, withers, dies. They grow more numerous, more petty, more vicious, while they foul the world we helped to create with their filth, their noise, their buildings, and their machines.”

She came to a stop beside King Corb and laid a hand on his shoulder. The repellent frog prince lookalike smirked, standing straighter. Hard not to be arrogant when you have a titan at your back.

“This ends. Tonight.”

She turned and strode to Vadderung. She dropped to one knee to speak to him eye to eye. “I remember what you were. Because I respect you, I assume you have seen some redeeming value among these . . .” She waved a hand at the room. “Children. And because of that respect, I offer you something I was never given: a choice.”

She looked around the room. “I offer it to all of the divine here. At the witching hour tonight, we who you thought fallen, defeated, banished, and humbled march upon the mortal world—starting with this fetid hive around us.” She smiled, very slowly. “Finally.”

Vadderung found his voice, but it came out strangled, as though the titan's will had cinched a noose around his throat. “Ethniu. Do not do this.”

“I remember that once you were great,” she said quietly. “For the sake of the being I remember, I offer you this one chance: Do not interfere. My quarrel is with the mortals. Stand aside and there need be no conflict.” She gestured at the hole in the wall behind the high seat. “That creature cannot protect you. Cannot enforce her justice. Each of the divine here must choose: abandon the mortal world—or burn with it.”

Ethniu turned her mismatched eyes to the roof, and a lambent red issued from the ravaged eye. And the world screamed. I had no other way to describe it. Reality let out a tortured cry, writhing like a living thing all around me. I felt like a mouse caught in the undulating coils of a cosmically huge serpent, rubbed raw by its scales and thrown into a nauseating spiral as my mind tried to drain away.

"No," Lasciel said, forcing me to my feet.

And the world abruptly stopped spinning. Cool hands soothed away every ache and gently tugged my lids closed. The world was searingly bright, but in Lasciel's shadow, I found peace and blessed quiet. When I could finally open my eyes again, I only saw the world in a mosaic, bits at a time, so no one aspect of the tableau threatened to rip my sanity away. I saw the eye reduce the roof to powder, ripping through every arcane enchantment like they were made of wet tissue paper.

That done, Ethniu's great head turned in my direction, scanning the gathered crowd until she found me leaning heavily against the marble column. My knees felt like underdone Jello, ready to melt out from under me at the slightest provocation. A slow, satisfied smile spread across that cruel mouth as she considered me. I knew I didn't look like much. Smeared with gore and filth from the day's battles, hair slicked to my head with still more of the stuff. My spell-laced jacket barely looked like clothing, let alone the useful tool it was meant to be. Soot coated one half of my face as though I'd been dragged headfirst through a chimney.

"Ah, at last, someone worth addressing. I'm surprised to see you push to the fore, Fallen One. Do you truly value one puling mortal meat sack so much you would show your face to me?"

I saw the world only through the fractures in the wall Lasciel had constructed to protect me. The world appeared many-layered, a virtual kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that I could barely register, let alone keep track of. Only the titan's face seemed real and fleshed out in all its ghastly splendor. I dimly realized that Ethniu seemed amused by Lasciel's gesture. The expression was grimly delighted, rather than frightened. Facing down a fallen angel, and she barely looked ruffled.

My mouth moved and though it was my voice that spoke, the words belonged to Lash. They pulsed in the air once before expanding like ripples in a pond, carrying to all corners of the room. A few of the einherjar were able to fight free of the psychic headlock and raise their eyes to glare their defiance at the titan.

"I'll give you one chance to end this foolishness, Ethniu," she said in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried. "Retreat to the ocean you crawled out of and I won't strike you down."

Ethniu's face twisted, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a vicious snarl. "Do not presume to threaten me, you parasite! Your limits were set long before the mortals crawled from the muck. They will remain long after."

"Perhaps," Lash replied. "But I have my ways."

Ethniu's laugh was filled with such contempt that my mind shrank down in subservient fear. Only pain could result from meeting the eyes of a creature like the titan. But Lasciel met them anyway. The emerald perfection of one, and the ruin of the other.

"Your mortal host is a pathetic waste of dirt," Ethniu said. "Let me make you a counteroffer. Because your kin and mine share a common goal, I will let you leave this city. Stay and I will send someone for your mortal cow's head."

"Touch her and I will destroy everything your hands have wrought," Lasciel said.

Though, the words hardly did the sentence justice. The last time someone had said something so filled with certainly and lethal intent, it had gone something along the lines of, if thou eatest of the fruit, thou wilt surely die.

The titan showed her teeth then. It was terrifying.

"We shall see, Fallen one. We shall see."

And then she was gone. All eyes in the room turned toward me. My stomach lurched when one of the grey-cloaked wardens' eyes lit with recognition. He was around my height, dark-haired and good-looking. I remembered a younger man, no less handsome chasing me through a church parking lot when I was only seventeen years old.

"Who is that?" I heard a few of the attendees ask, their buzzing curiosity warring with the leaden fear of the titan's ultimatum. Still others muttered, "Fallen?"

"That is Catherine Len-" the warden broke off, mentally adjusting as he struggled to remember my real name, not the alias I'd used during my time with the Fellowship. "Margaret Carpenter. A warlock guilty of breaking the first, third, and fourth laws of magic."

The warden took a reflexive step forward, drawing his sword. He advanced on me, the blade gleaming in the low light. And I was too damn weak to stop him from taking my head off my shoulders.

I closed my eyes. I wasn't proud of it, but after everything I'd been through today, I thought I deserved to show weakness, just this once. But the slash I feared and expected didn't come. When I risked a peek through my lashes, I realized the warden had stopped dead in his tracks.

Because Marcone had a gun to his head.

"Take one more step toward her," he began in a cool but emphatic tone. "And I will plaster your brains against the opposite wall."

Chapter Text

For the second time in a night, the room was stunned into absolute stillness. The most fearsome representatives from sovereign nations stood with their jaws flapping in the wind as our melodrama unfolded. It had to be a red-letter day. How many centuries had it been since a gathering of gods and monsters had gone so spectacularly awry?

"What is the meaning of this?" Councilman Cristos snapped, rising to his feet. The other members of the Senior Council followed his lead, adopting defensive postures without thought.

"Call off your guard dog, Cristos," Marcone said in that same deadly tone. "I would hate to make an enemy of the White Council at this juncture, but if Warden Rameriez continues toward my vassal I am within my rights under the accords to defend her."

"Vassal?" Rameriez echoed, scowl still fixed in place. "She's a fugitive!"

"And Chicago has no extradition agreements with the White Council. Whom I see fit to employ is none of your concern. Do you truly think now is the time to throw a gauntlet at my feet? This was exactly the sort of division the titan wished to inspire. What does her relative morality have to do with her ability to be useful? Do you truly think it is wise to throw away a capable fighter while the enemy is at the gates?"

Cristos assessed Marcone's expression intently but broke eye contact before he fell into a soulgaze with the Baron. As far as I could tell, he saw no bluff in Marcone's eyes. He made a sharp, almost military gesture, and Rameriez took a grudging step back the way he'd come, sheathing his weapon.

"You are correct," Cristos said, pulling a face as though the words tasted bad. "We cannot afford a schism at this point in time. But should we prevail against Ethniu, the Council will be speaking to you about this, Baron."

Marcone showed his teeth. It had a distinctly lupine flavor, a wolf about to tear into the haunches of a doe. "I'm looking forward to it, Councilman."

There was a scuffle and I turned in time to watch Carter LaChaise and his retinue of ghouls move for the exit. Marcone lowered his weapon and eyed their retreating backs.

"LaChiase," he called in a voice that carried. The eyes of the room fell on the ghouls and they reacted visibly to the collective scorn. "Where are you going, sir?"

LaChaise jabbed a claw-tipped finger at the ruin of the back wall. Dust still floated in an opaque haze over the spot where Mab had disappeared.

"You heard that monster," he said, his drawling New Orleans accent growing thicker as he spoke. "You saw what she did.”

“Yes," Marcone said, once more adopting the facade of a patient diplomat. But I'd seen the crack in the mask. So had everyone else. "I also saw your signature at the bottom of the Unseelie Accords, I believe.”

“And?”

“And, as I demonstrated earlier when Summer's territory was threatened, the mutual defense in the case of an aggressor nation is stipulated therein.”

No one bothered to point out the flaw in his logic. That I stood accused of denying the Svartalves their due justice under the accords. Every mind was occupied with the pressing threat. If we survived, there'd be fallout for Marcone, but until then, people took him at his word.

“Mab was the Accords,” LaChaise spat. “You saw what the Titan did to her.”

“And so I did,” Marcone replied.

“If she can do that to Mab, what chance do any of us have?” LaChaise asked. He looked around at the rest of the room. “All of us signed because all of us fear Mab. Do any of you think you can stand up to Corb and Ethniu when even Mab gets swatted down like an insect? Let the mortals throw away their lives for this city. It's no business of ours. We survived before the accords and we can do it again."

“Baron Marcone is correct,” Etri said, shooting a dirty look my way. It was the only acknowledgment he gave me. “You are signatories of the Accords, as are we all. You are obligated to come to Mab’s defense."

"And the titan?" LaChaise demanded. "Did you see what she was wearing?

"Titanic bronze," Etri murmured.

"What's that?" I asked, unable to help myself. I immediately regretted speaking. All eyes fell on me once more, and I wanted to sink into cringe right out of existence.

"An alloy of Olympian Bronze and Mordite. It's complex beyond even the ken of my people. Only the Hundred-Handed ones knew the secret of forging it. Merely physical force can do little against it. Even our most potent magics would be hard-pressed to scratch it, let alone deal a mortal blow. It would take energy of a divine nature to strike her down."

Motion drew our attention to the hole Mab had disappeared through. She emerged, shoulders deformed by their impact with the wall. She reached up and casually shoved one shoulder into its socket. Her eyes were bright with fae light, shifting in a mad swirl of color around her slit pupils. It was mesmerizing to watch the shift from glacial blue to catlike green and finally a purple so deep it almost appeared black. She settled on the ground with a grace that belied her condition. And her eyes were only for me.

"A sufficiently infernal source would also suffice," she said quietly.

Marcone stiffened and took a step closer to me, interposing himself between me and Mab. The Queen of Air and Darkness stopped a few feet shy of him and gave him a reproving look.

"Move aside, Baron. This decision is not within your purview and you know it."

Marcone's jaw set stubbornly. He met Mab's gaze squarely and didn't blink.

"Concessions," Marcone said.

"Pardon?" Mab asked, tone absolutely arctic. It had probably been a few millennia since a mortal gave her firm suggestions, let alone made demands of her.

"You cannot simply make demands of my vassal without incurring a debt, your highness," Marcone replied, shedding her displeasure with ease. "What you ask of her is unjust, given her history."

"It is necessary," Mab insisted.

I tried to make sense of the words, but the vowels sounded unnecessarily long. I couldn't make sense of them, no matter how hard I tried. Somewhere in a rational corner of my mind, I knew that I didn't want to know.

"You ask her to invite another being into herself. Essentially, you are asking her to quarter a soldier for your fight, knowing it will do her harm. You. Owe. Her."

Mab shivered, reacting to the words like they'd been a light, compelling caress instead of a statement of fact. Her eyes closed briefly. When they opened she gave Marcone a stiff nod.

"Margaret Carpenter, Knight of Chicago will enjoy the full protection of Winter. Any who'd seek to gainsay that will face my personal displeasure."

Her gaze swiveled like a gun turret to the White Council's representatives. Some of the younger wardens flinched, dropping their gaze automatically. Cristos fared only a little better. He swayed once before returning her stare. His jaw ticced once before he nodded.

"And Summer's protection," Lily added, stepping from the crowd. Light had gathered beneath her skin flickering in time with her breath like a firefly. She evoked a lazy summer night on the patio watching the stars. "Miss Carpenter has been a friend to Summer thus far. We will not allow harm to come to one of our own."

"I don't understand," I mumbled. The words came out slowly as though I were sounding them out. But I could feel awareness slowly creeping in, and a lead weight dragged my stomach down to my toes.

"A Knight of the Sword might cut Ethniu in twain," Mab said, still regarding me with bright eyes. "As could a Knight of the Coin."

Oh. Oh God. They wanted me to summon Lasciel.

And if I didn't, everyone I knew and loved was going to die. A wail bubbled up in me but i was too appalled to voice it.

I couldn't help myself. I turned and ran from the room, tears stinging my eyes and a scream trapped in my throat.

Chapter Text

I didn't make it far before my strength gave out. This day had just been too much. Too much pain. Fear. Heartache. Betrayal. I felt my mind shrinking back from all of it, huddling in a quiet corner away from prying eyes so I could go to pieces. I wasn't sure when the tears started, but they gradually rose in violence and pitch, until I collapsed in the nearest locker room, retching.

Ash coated the floor, mingling with the evidence of my panic. A fine coating of dust was all that remained of the roof. The Titan's eye had blasted away the work of a lifetime with about as much effort as a kid kicking over a pile of blocks. Humans couldn't stand against that.

A soft hand touched the small of my back. A moment later Lasciel's illusory form was kneeling beside me, rubbing my back.

"Breathe, Molly."

I whipped in her direction, fixing her with a streaming glower. My voice came through hiccups and huge, unattractive sniffles, but it came nonetheless.

"Don't. Don't you dare pretend you're anything less than thrilled with this development, Lash. I'd respect you more if you did a little jig. At least it would be honest."

Lasciel's expression was eloquent with pain. "Do you truly think so little of me, my host? That I take joy in your misfortune? That I relish having your hand forced?"

I managed to lay flat. The room was spinning. I turned onto my side and curled into a tight ball. I wanted to close my eyes, turn back the clock, and warn my past self not to wriggle out from under the covers. Maybe then everything wouldn't hurt.

"You're a demon. That's sort of what you do. And wasn't your philosophy always, 'by any means necessary?'"

"Not like this," she said, soft, kissable mouth firming into a line as though the words tasted sour. "It is a matter of choice."

"I could choose to run. Take my family and go. Get as far away from Chicago as we can."

Lasciel inclined her head. "You could. I will assist you if that is your choice."

But I couldn't run. We both knew what was coming for the city. I could no more let the titan go unchallenged than I could stop my own heart. Turning my back on Chicago while legions marched through the streets would destroy what remained of my blackened soul. The deaths of untold millions would be on my head. I had a choice.

Except, in the harsh light of truth, it wasn't really a choice at all. It had been a foregone conclusion from the moment the titan set foot in the room.

Lasciel lay down on the floor next to me. She'd donned her more angelic aspect, complete with toga. The filmy white material of her clothing darkened with filth as she drew close, mirroring my posture. The green of her eyes was luminous and a little...sad.

"I'm scared," I whispered. "I don't think I can beat that thing."

"I can."

The depth of her surety was staggering. No matter how powerful the titan was, Lasciel was an order of magnitude greater. Even hobbled by the necessity of a mortal host, she was a match for Ethniu. In the end, it came down to a simple question. Was I the sort of person who could sacrifice the soul of a city to preserve my own?

As I'd told Harry once, the only soul I was willing to sacrifice was my own.

I sat up shakily, and Lasciel mirrored me once more. I sat in the lotus position, facing her.

"You know my price."

"I do. I will pay it."

"Good. Then let's do this."

Chapter Text

Marcone

"We do not have time for this," Namshiel said, tone clipped with impatience. "Track her down. Drag her back. Talk sense into her."

I snorted lightly, curls of smoke easing from my nose as I exhaled. I'd given up most of my vices years ago, but the urge to smoke still popped up from time to time. Decades later, I barely resembled the snot-nosed teen who'd taken up smoking to earn extra breaks at work. Such a trivial reason to blacken one's lungs.

I took another drag off the cigarette and stared resolutely at Chicago's skyline. Fires were already burning, casting the entire city in a hellish glow. Fear, real and primal, saturated the air, providing an ample supply of fuel for enemy and ally alike.

"She isn't running," I thought back.

"You cannot know that. A wiser person would leave. Lasciel's shadow would give her unparalleled knowledge of the Ways near the castle."

Which was true. Any rational being would take stock of the field and see a hopeless proposition. The mortal world hadn't seen a fight of this magnitude in millennia. Only a sliver of the city could be evacuated before the titan and her forces stormed our shores. Many would die. Immortals would fall. The world as we knew it would tilt off its axis and spin a grimmer reality into being. We could win the day but at a terrible cost.

"She's here," I said. "And she will fight. She just needs time."

"A finite resource at this juncture. Ethniu and her cohort will not abide by their given word. We must be prepared for all eventualities and cannot afford to coddle her."

I flinched. He was right. We had outcomes to consider. Like the real possibility that Lasciel and Molly fell in battle to Ethniu. In some ways, it was advantageous that the titan had learned of the Shadow's existence. It gave her an easily identifiable target on which to expend resources. Ethniu would not see the knife coming for her back before Namshiel slammed it in to the hilt.

Saluriel's coin was still in storage and unavailable for use at this time. Hannah and her mercenary partner were lost in the Nevernever, too far away to be of much use. And it was just as well. One Fallen in my employ could be a coincidence. Two were suspicious, and three formed a pattern. We couldn't afford the scrutiny. If Chicago remained standing after dawn, I would have a great deal of work to do, and none of my plans involved dealing with the petty grievances any of my allies had with Namshiel.

The only warning I had was a brush of fingers against my suit pocket. When I glanced down, jerking a little in surprise, I found a lovely young woman calmly lifting the pack of cigarettes and my lighter from my pocket. Her hair looked like darkly spun silk and reflected back the shifting reds and oranges of distant fires. Her eyes were cornflower blue and entirely opaque as she watched the conflagration take shape. The skin around her eyes was blotchy. She'd been crying.

Molly calmly lit a cigarette and leaned against me, saying nothing for a long moment. From the strength of her reaction in the hall, I expected her to shout but when she spoke, her voice was infinitely gentle. It hurt more than if she'd screamed insults in my face. Guilt, so long absent, rose like an ugly tide, threatening to suffocate me.

"That wasn't your place. Back there, I mean."

"I don't follow."

Molly gestured vaguely back at the castle. We were all but swallowed by the shadow of the fortress. Above, the sovereign defenses of every nation under the accords prepared for war while I waited for my knight to return.

"What you did with Mab. I'm not your property. You don't get to sell me to the highest bidder."

I turned to regard her slowly, flicking ash to the ground. The tip of the cigarette glowed a dull orange, smoldering in silence.

"That," I said quietly. "Was not an auction."

She laughed, and there was enough bitterness in her tone to turn my stomach. "Could have fooled me."

I flicked the remainder of my cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath the heel of one dress shoe. "I was trying to give you a future, should we all last the night. The White Council is convinced of its moral superiority. Now that they are aware of your continued existence, they will do their best to remedy the situation. With Lasciel as your only ally, they feel assured of their victory. With the might of Faerie behind you, they will think twice."

She considered that for a long while. Ash tumbled from the lit end of the cigarette, staining her fingers white. Her knuckles were red and raw. The less said about her arms and back, the better. Her armor was barely more than a decoration at this point. She'd need new gear before she waded into the fray.

"Not good enough," she said at last. "You're right. If I want to have a future, we have to survive the night. That future will include my family, or you can forget the entire plan."

"A waste of precious time and resources," Namshiel hissed.

I ignored him. Out loud I said, "I was under the impression that Sir Michael had a dozen guardian angels standing vigil over the property."

"Yeah, and they can only nuke supernatural threats. What happens when Corb or Ethniu decides to send mortals there? Nicodemus almost burned the house down around my family's ears, and he wasn't leading an army. I know how the Formor think. They're going to send someone to kill them if only to demoralize me. You need a big shiny distraction. I get that. But if you don't want my focus split, they're going to be safe. I'll leave immediately and return to whatever command post you set up when it's done. Those are my terms for summoning the coin. Take them or leave them."

I didn't have to think for long. She could have asked for the Empire State Building and I would have found a way to gift wrap it for her.

"Done. When you've completed the invocation you may recruit Gard for your errand."

I stared down at her expectantly. Her lips curled in a tiny smile and she lifted her right hand. Instead of a cigarette dangling from her fingers, there was a tarnished silver denarius. The angelic script burned into the metal vaguely resembled an hourglass. There was no ash on her fingers. She'd never stolen a cigarette. It had been a damn good illusion the entire time.

Molly gave me a sad smile. "Already done. Like five minutes ago, actually."

I ought to have been vexed by the deception. But all I felt was a fierce, burning pride. I traced the fullness of her bottom lip with my thumb. She shivered.

"That's my girl."

Molly hesitated before pushing up on her toes, molding her lips carefully to mine. The kiss was lingering and sweet and left my mouth tingling long after she'd pulled back.

"Don't die," I said. "That's an order."

She snapped off a mocking salute. There was a glimmer of something puckish in her eyes. Diving headfirst into hell, and she was grinning.

"I'll do my best, Boss Man."

Chapter Text

"Do you hear them?" I asked, breaking the terse silence for the first time since we'd set off from the castle.

There was plenty of apocalyptic ambiance to fill the empty air. Gunfire crackling in the distance. The roar of fires consuming entire sections of the city with atavistic glee. Women screaming. Babies crying. The unscrupulous taking advantage of the chaos to visit violence on their neighbors. I put a stop to that when I encountered it, but there would be no catching all of them. People would be hurt. Traumatized. Killed. And I couldn't stop it. That was perhaps the most bitter pill of all. For all the power I'd gained and what I'd sacrificed to attain it, I couldn't save everyone.

Gard's eyes flicked briefly to my face. She caught my significant glance upward and smiled grimly. "The Choosers of your White God circle the city."

Good. I wasn't imagining the darting shapes in my periphery. To my mortal mind, the sound was like a flock of migrating birds. So many moving at once that the flutter of feathers was background noise, like waves lapping the shore. That, alone, told me how many people the Titan had managed to slaughter with the city-wide hex. We couldn't go even a block without seeing stalled and wrecked cars. Some intersections were impassible, even by foot.

A laugh bubbled from my lips, but it wasn't my own. Too low. Too sultry. Gard twitched just once in surprise, setting her chain mail rattling. Each link was so etched with runes that they looked black in the low light. Her spare armor wasn't an exact fit for me, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing.

"I suppose from a certain angle it does appear similar. But choice rarely has much to do with it on the angelic side of things."

Gard's eyes narrowed on my face. "Lasciel."

"Sigrun," Lasciel said, mirroring Gard's tone down to the last inflection. Irritation flickered far back in Gard's eyes for just a moment. Then it was gone. She edged around another corner, ax raised to strike.

I followed close behind. My instinct was to be out in front, taking the fight to the Fomor's scouts, forcing them back the way we'd come. But that wasn't my purpose tonight. In this battle, I was a lure, something shiny and distracting that could keep Ethniu's attention while the real strike came at her back. If I got lucky, I might even accomplish what Marcone told the others I was meant to do. Gard took point, risking panic fire and the ire of the Fomor troops to preserve me for the right moment.

There were a lot of people on the street, some gawking, others wandering with the eerie, dreamlike slowness of deep denial. I had to leave them to shamble alone in the dark. Even if we had some kind of shelter for them, we couldn't afford the time it would take to shepherd them there.

I left people behind me to die and hated myself for it.

"There will be more dead if we don't move quickly to stop Ethniu," Lasciel said.

The sound of her voice was...everything. A frisson of pure pleasure that ran down to the soul. The promise of comfort on a cold night. The caress of a lover in the quiet afterglow. The solid, supportive presence of a friend during a crisis. Summoning the coin to my open hand had felt obscenely good, like sliding the last puzzle piece into place, completing a picture. The satisfaction ran so deep that it actually scared me.

"You think I'm being paranoid, right?" I thought back.

"On the contrary, I think your caution is more than warranted. An assessment has no doubt been made of the home's defensive capabilities. Listen will understand how to exploit their limits. And I would still accompany you, even if I thought this was a fool's errand. Failing to protect your family lost me your regard once. I won't make the same mistake again."

I cast my gaze up at the sky. It was choked with smoke and stained crimson from the light of a hundred fires.

"Nope," I muttered under my breath. "No flying pigs. I was just checking. Cause it sounds like you just apologized to me."

"Do not grow accustomed to it, my host," she said, trying for stern. I didn't buy it. There was a satisfied purr in her tone that undercut her warning entirely. "And the night is still young. Should reality be strained to its limit this night, it's quite possible you may see porcine flight before dawn."

My gaze flicked up to the sky, this time in alarm. It looked as hellish as ever, but it also held a comforting solidity. No winged pork chops in sight.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Hardly."

"I feel like I'm going to regret asking this but...what exactly does that mean?"

Lasciel considered that for a moment. Gard and I navigated a city block while she puzzled out the best way to figure out how to explain the concept. I had the impression it was a lot like a professor trying to explain calculus to someone who'd barely passed the model on long division.

"More like an astrophysicist trying to break down the fundamentals to a grade-schooler," she corrected mildly. "While you are a remarkably intelligent example of your species, there are some concepts too large for you to fathom until you slip your mortal constraints."

"Die you mean."

Lasciel made a non-committal sound. "It's more complicated than that, but I suppose it would all feel the same to you, regardless. Yes, you would have to die."

"Well, there's plenty of opportunity for enlightenment tonight."

"Azrael himself will have to fight to take you," she said.

I believed her. No matter what happened tonight, we weren't going down without a fight. I had to admit, with a squirming sense of guilt, that I was pleased to have her riding along. It was only a snowball's chance in hell against a titan, but it was more of a chance than Chicago had twenty minutes ago.

"I think we're going afield of the point. What did you mean before? You're not pulling my leg about the pig thing?"

"Indeed not," she said with a dry chuckle. "Reality is...a construct, I suppose. The universe began in chaos, and it has been trying to creep its way back in ever since. It was all of us, the elemental beings that existed before you, who brought order to the universe in defiance of their will. And it has been a struggle to preserve reality ever since. Right now the terror of millions is charging the city. Reality can only take so much strain at a time. If it buckles, the results will be impossible to predict. Madness, in the short term, most likely, but the outcome is literally impossible to determine, even with intellectus."

I fought the urge to whistle. It would just draw Gard's attention unnecessarily. We passed by a tight knot of Chicago police when we turned a corner. It spoke to just how bizarre things had gotten when they let us stroll past with barely a comment. When you'd seen monstrous talking felines stalking the streets alongside bigfoot and revenant warriors armed with weapons from a bygone era, two women strolling by in a mix of mail and tactical gear barely registered.

We made it sixteen city blocks before the Fomor finally showed their hand. It began far in the distance. Screams, high and piteous. I didn't need to make out the words to understand their meaning. Someone was about to die. Horribly. A slow-moving wave of congealed hate was rolling toward the castle, ready and willing to bury us if we got in the way.

I turned in the direction of the sound. Gard paused a few steps ahead of me and craned her neck to fix me with a stern stare.

"Don't you dare, Carpenter."

I think Gard might have tackled me in that instant. If I'd still been purely human, she might have even succeeded. But with Lasciel fueling my flight, I was about as agile as the formidable Valkyrie. I was on my feet and moving in the direction of the screams before she could get her hands on me. And after a few seconds, she stopped trying.

Gard followed me into the fray, ax held high, letting out a primal scream to echo mine. And together, we plunged into the dark and rushed the monsters waiting for us in the shadows.

Chapter Text

The screams were coming from the upper floor of a two-story family home. The oak door was hanging sideways, only supported by a single hinge. The screen door had been ripped free and tossed aside like a frisbee. It lay crumpled at the base of a well-trimmed tree, the mesh torn to ribbons.

I didn't like this. Not one freaking bit. If the creatures I could feel moving like furtive shadows around us were willing to cross a threshold without an invitation, it meant one of two things. They were mindless monsters, lathered up to a frothing rage by their Fomor masters and set loose to kill indiscriminately. In which case, it would be like facing a rabid dog. Or, more disturbing still, the things were just too powerful to care if they sacrificed a portion of their magic to the threshold.

"Or both," Lasciel said.

"Thanks for that, Lash," I drawled.

Gard reached the yawning blackness of the open door first and plunged through, runes blazing to light along the haft of her weapon. In the pulsing light of Sigrun's power, I could just make out what had elicited those screams.

The thing was simply huge. For a moment that felt longer, I just drank in the details I could make out from across the room. The thing resembled a hideously overgrown, ash-stained human being at first glance. There was an alien slant to the features that thrust it firmly into the uncanny valley. Its mane of hair had been bound with feathers and bits of bone. A cloak of furs gathered around it, obscuring most of its body beneath a mantle of rippling darkness. Stag's horns thrust out to either side of its head, casting eerie shadows in the low light.

In one gnarled hand, it clutched a length of blackened metal tipped with a wickedly pointed spearhead. The tip swung in my direction, an alarming red glow beginning at the tip.

"Duck!" Gard shouted.

I was already in motion, diving for the floor. Lasciel's perception was seconds ahead of my own, informing me how to respond before the thought even entered my head. Every move felt like a reflex, a muscle memory as automatic as drawing a hand back from a hot stove. I hit the bloodstained carpet and rolled, just as a jet of light issued from the spear and went streaking overhead.

Hate blistered the air, so thick and choking that I could barely draw a breath. Their rage was so deep, so fathomless that it had gutted madness and made a new art form with its corpse. The mind guiding the creature might have been human once but had been so warped by Fomor sorcery that it barely had thoughts anymore. I was grateful I hadn't opened my sight to spot it. I didn't need more vivisected corpses in my nightmares. My brother's splayed-open psyche had been enough fuel to last a lifetime.

Gard let out another shrill cry and swung her ax like a Louisville Slugger, intercepting another blistering wave of hate in midair. The air flashed white, boiling in a visible clash of energies. A defensive rune on the haft burned black and the stalemate broke. The lance of furious red went rocketing back at the creature. It was fast, throwing itself to the side before the beam could take its head off. The blast set fire to the thing's cloak, and it let out an inhuman shriek, bounding toward Gard in a blind rage.

If the thing had any brains, it would have come at Gard from below, using an upward strike to drive the Valkyrie backward. In midair, it was as easy to track its trajectory at any given moment. I saw Gard's lips curl into a pleased smirk as the thing soared overhead. At the height of its arc, she swung the ax, splitting the creature from navel to groin.

I didn't care how tough a customer you were. Something like that caught your attention. It swiped a knobbly hand at Gard's face, trying to gouge out her eyes. She flicked the ax once more, and the thing was left with a gouting stump where the hand used to be. She finished the poor dumb bastard off with a swift kick to its neck, twisting the spine so quickly that things snapped. The creature went limp and, after a moment, deflated like a balloon, leaving only a rapidly disintegrating skin behind.

I rolled to my feet, drawing my sword. The runes carved into the blade burst into sullen light, hellfire pulsing through every etched working with enough power to cleave a tractor-trailer in two. The sword wasn't ideal as a focus for all the applications of magic I'd be doing tonight, but it was better than nothing. There hadn't been time to whip up another wand to replace the one I'd lost.

Another of the shaggy creatures loomed over Gard's shoulder, larger and more stacked than its fellow. I tagged it with a blast of hellfire-infused force, sending the thing flying off at an angle. It went through a wall.

Scratch that. Walls. Plural. Its antlers were jammed into the privacy fence sideways, momentarily trapping it there. A follow-up blow hammered it into the ground, crushing it flat.

I just stared at the tip of the blade for a second. It was a lot more juice than I'd meant to give the spell. I'd meant to send it sprawling, not off the property completely. The amount of energy it should have taken to send the thing flying should have dropped me to my knees, gasping in desperate lungfuls of air. But I only felt keyed up, the adrenaline fizzing like champagne through my veins. I wanted to smash these monsters into paste. And I knew with serene confidence that I could do it.

"What the hell are these things?" I panted, ducking low to avoid the debris as a third creature, somehow even bigger than the first two, crashed through the wall like an infernal take on the Kool-Aid Man.

I raised my hand in time to intercept another pulse of pure, primal hatred from the thing's spear. The crimson stain washed over a shining quarter-dome of my shield, sinking in as the wobbling plane absorbed the energy, dispersing each mote into its component parts, until it passed through the other side, a hot, foul-smelling, but ultimately harmless gas. Again, I was stunned by my ability to draw on the spell at all. I knew the theory, based on types of water magic. It involved pushing matter through a plane of magic so fine it shredded things down to the molecular level. But it was a magic so complex and demanding that it took a more formidable talent than mine to pull it off.

Unless you were a Knight of the Coin, fueled by hellfire and the suffering of millions.

Gard answered me, though she had to shout to be heard over the bellow of another of the creatures. How many of these things were lurking in this house? It sort of beggared belief that the roided-up hell beasts could all fit under one roof.

"Huntsmen!" she said, grunting with effort as she spun, blocking the downward swing of the Huntsman's spear with the flat of her blade. The tip drizzled red sparks to the carpet, scorching lines into the floor as it pressed forward, trying to overbear the Valkyrie.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" I called back.

Gard lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. "Ask the Fallen. It will be quicker."

"Lash?" I prompted.

"Hunstmen hail from Annwn, the Welsh land of the dead. The details of their creation are..." She paused, then continued in a halting tone. "Unpleasant and too involved to explain at the moment. They are forged from hate and their only purpose is to rain mindless destruction down on all mortals. There are thirteen in every pack, and when one falls, it lends its strength to the remainder of its fellows."

So we weren't just facing down epic, mythological rage monsters. We were facing epic, mythological rage monsters who could essentially pass a Super Mushroom to its buddies every time they bit it. If the huntsmen kept growing at the rate they had been, the house wouldn't be able to contain the sheer mass.

"That's just not fair," I thought.

"Indeed not," Lash purred back. "Let's level the playing field, shall we?"

I bared my teeth in what could only be generously called a smile. "Let's."

Then I reached for my will, concentrated, and pulled on the knots in nearby reality, allowing just a little energy from the other side to pour through. I caught my reflection in the broken hall mirror and watched, intrigued and repulsed in equal measure as the change began. My clothes seemed to melt away, and violet smoke clung to my front like an ardent lover, concealing only my vitals from sight. The rest of my skin shone like backlit alabaster, save the designs inked into my flesh, which writhed like serpents just beneath it. My hair fanned out in every direction, creating a dark, sparking halo around my head. And where my fingers should have been, there were only knife-tipped claws clutching my sword.

The woman in the mirror wasn't human. She looked like a demigod forged by fire and raw sensuality.

I looked...like a Temptress.

And for once, that was just fine by me.

I threw myself up the stairs as fresh screams rang out from the upper floor. It was time to show the Fomor what they were dealing with. Right here and right now.

I encountered the limp body of the father at the head of the stairs, a hole the size of a basketball simply gouged out of his chest. He hadn't died well. Most people wouldn't, tonight. There was no dignity in war. I had to step over the corpse and made a vow to myself as I did so.

The Huntsmen were going to pay for this. Every goddamn one of them.

Chapter Text

Five of the remaining nine huntsmen had gathered at the end of the second-floor hallway. These were easily nine feet tall, their antlers sparking with sullen rage when they dragged against the ceiling. Plaster rained down on their heads, and the air went opaque with dust. Only the lantern-like glow of the Huntsmen's eyes could pierce the choked air, scorching even the dust motes spinning wildly through the air with the intensity of their hate. I knew each was armed with a spear and moved with a speed and fluidity that should have been impossible for monsters of that size.

The fight wasn't even close to fair.

For the Huntsmen.

By the time they'd swung their spears in my direction, I was already through the pall of dust and within arm's reach of the first. His fleshy underbelly felt eerily like splitting silk beneath my claws. Snick. Scream. Splat. The Huntsman's organs flopped out of its belly with a sickening slurp, bursting on contact with the hardwood floor of the hall. The smell of fetid meat and rot was so cloying it was threatening to choke me.

The Huntsman apparently took evisceration in stride, because the thing's massive head swung in my direction, nearly snapping my nose to the side with a point on its horns. It still wasn't enough to save the monster. The great horned head toppled off its neck with one casual swing of a sword. The head maintained its solidity for a pivotal second and fouled the lunge of the second Huntsman. It stumbled. An ordinary human wouldn't have noticed the hitch in its gait, but I did. In the half-second of uncertainty, I spun with a shout of, "Kaze!"

A gale of wind swept up the stairs with the speed and howling ferocity of a small tornado. It stirred the wreckage, seizing anything small enough to be lifted by the wind. Remote controls. Shattered picture frames. Knick knacks. Kitchen knives. Kettlebells. Sections of drywall and broken glass. All of it went soaring past my battle form without inflicting a scratch.

The Huntsmen were hit with a hail of utter destruction. I saw one's head simply explode into a welter of gore when a kettlebell hit it at an oblique angle. A butcher's block struck one in the chin, forcing it upward at an angle, allowing the knives trailing behind it to do their thing. It wasn't a decapitation, but it was damn close.

For another, it was the death of a thousand cuts. I didn't care how big you were. If enough shrapnel hits you going over thirty miles an hour, your insides are going to look like salsa.

Sixty seconds. That was all it had taken to utterly decimate some of the toughest monsters I'd faced to date. With the fear of so many supercharging the air and the guidance of a fallen angel, I wasn't just a weapon. I was an economy-sized Cuisinart.

Hope, long absent, kindled in my chest. Only to be abruptly extinguished by guilt. If I'd embraced this power a few years ago, how many more of my friends would still be alive? How many people could I have helped?

"This isn't the time for reflection, Molly," Lasciel chided.

Right. Navel gazing during a battle was an open invitation for someone to kick you in the face. I forced myself to bypass the rapidly deflating skins and peer into the room beyond.

A little girl stared back at me. She couldn't have been much older than eight. It was impossible to tell what color her hair was. Her entire front was stained crimson, with still more of the stuff gathered in her lap. Then the picture really came into focus, and my stomach rolled. What I'd initially written off as raw hamburger was a head. I couldn't have told you what the woman looked like originally. Everything that made her look recognizably human had been turned into slurry. She'd gone down trying to protect her daughter, and what was left had flopped limply into the kid's lap.

The girl's eyes were glassy. She didn't react when I approached, just stared danger placidly in the face. Her mind had checked out, retreating to denial. Too much horror in too short a time could snap the mind.

I scooped her up gently and carried her to the undamaged linen closet, arranging her on top of a stack of fluffy towels. With a muttered word and an effort of will I helped her sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. The ward I left on the door wouldn't keep her safe from the Eye of Balor, but anything short of that would have a literal hell of a time trying to hammer through it.

The stairs were a wreck by the time I returned, and I had to leap from the balcony, taking the brunt of the fall on one pale, unblemished shoulder. Gard gave me an arch look when I rolled to my feet a few yards away.

"Huntsmen?" I checked. My voice sounded deeper. Richer, somehow, though it was still mine. Lasciel's influence, maybe.

"Taken care of," she said. "Though we could hardly afford this diversion. This is meant to be an errand, not a quest, seidrmadr."

"So you would have felt comfortable leaving a third grader to the mercy of monsters?" I shot back.

Gard's gaze flicked to the upper floor and then back to me. Her lips pursed, and she raised the ax to shoulder height. "Just because a cause is worthy does not mean it is wise. Engaging with their scouts will only make it easier to track you."

She was probably right. I couldn't help everyone. But to the ones I did help, it meant everything. I wasn't going to apologize for the diversion. But she had a point. We needed to be on the move.

So with difficulty, I hacked away at the empathy. I reached into the vaults of my mind and scoured it clean, leaving only a sterile, white room in its stead. There was no room for my weakness here.

"Kindness is not weakness, my host," Lasciel said faintly, taking me by surprise.

"But we still can't afford it."

"No," she said with a wistful sigh. "We cannot. We march as to war."

I smiled faintly, remembering the last time we'd had this little exchange. I'd been ripping a bloodthirsty empire down around the Red Court's ears.

"Onward Christian Soldiers," I muttered under my breath, before bounding back into the night, praying that scouts hadn't already reached my neighborhood.

Chapter Text

Gard and I walked shoulder to shoulder down the ruined streets West of Wrigley Field. There were a lot of stalled cars, which would have made navigating the streets difficult on any other night. With the city's terror pounding like a second heartbeat behind my ribs, it was disgustingly easy to use one of the whirling discs of energy I'd created from debris to upend cars, leaving a maze of narrow but traversable space between.

Gard eyed the nearest band of whirling debris, reaching toward it as though she might pluck an object from the air. The swiftly shifting ring around me grew wider and thicker as we went until I looked like a minuscule planet ringed by junk. One ring broke many of the objects into small chunks. But a chunk of asphalt the size of my thumb would still put out an eye or sever an artery if it was moving fast enough.

"How many layers have you built up?" she asked, skimming her fingers through the air as though she could trace the many facets of the enchantment.

"Six," Lasciel said, speaking aloud for the first time. "A standard plane of force nearest the core. The second is something of a reservoir, saving back kinetic energy anytime something passes through rings three through six."

"Which break things down into their component parts," she remarked, watching the deformed husk of a bullet swing past. There were a lot of those. As something objectively bizarre, we'd drawn a lot of fire, some friendly some not. "You must have a lot saved back."

"Enough to flatten Wrigley Field into a parking lot," she said.

"Really?" I asked. "That much?"

My usual footwear could store back energy from a run, but I'd never even considered creating something of this scale. On an ordinary day, even one of the rings would have been too much for me to handle.

"With a set of proper foci you could manage something similar on a smaller scale," Lasciel said. "It just takes dedication and patience."

"And who has time for that?" I teased.

An indulgent chuckle rolled through my lips. Again, Gard reacted visibly to the sound. Lasciel leaned in close, brushing a wisp of hair off Gard's throat in a move too sensual for a battlefield.

"Have I done something to spook you, Chooser?"

Gard used the haft of her ax to bat the hand away. Lasciel didn't push things, subsiding into another mirthless laugh as Gard shot us a dirty look in her periphery.

"You'll have to get up a few centuries ahead of time to spook me, Lasciel. I'm simply...taking stock of things."

A chill smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Whether I am an asset or an enemy, I suspect. Should we all survive this, your patron will be seeking new talent. Or to swat down the competition, should I pose too great an obstacle to his plans. You can tell One-Eye that I will not allow my host to become a pawn in his endgame."

Gard's eyes narrowed. The lethal edge of her ax shone like argent fire when it caught a flicker of light. Her posture shifted slightly, ready to bring all that leonine strength to bear if I twitched wrong.

"Of course you'd say that. No one manipulates Carpenter but you, isn't that right?"

Lasciel remained silent. A wall slammed shut between us for an instant while she struggled with whatever she was feeling, locking herself away from my conscious mind.

"Stop fighting, you two," I sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into the pair of you but I-"

A deep, prolonged note hit the air like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves through the city. Bits of broken tile and stone rained down from a nearby home, hitting the ground before skittering across the shaking earth. More notes followed, and in their wake came a deluge of magic so powerful that just a brush of it could drive someone temporarily insane. From the lake shore came the chorus of dozens of sludgy voices, belting out a challenge in a language I didn't know.

"Jotnar," Gard hissed. "That evil bitch!"

"Bad news?" I guessed.

"Giants. Formed from chaos and a foe to my people. Just one jotnar with an ax could scythe through an army like a farmer threshing wheat. If they're allowed to run roughshod over Marcone's forces at the castle, the battle is over before it begins."

"Can the einherjar handle them?" I asked.

Gard considered it. "For a time. We need to return as soon as possible. I don't like leaving the client's fate in inexperienced hands."

Translation? Haul ass. And we did. The cloud of debris picked up more fuel, peppering every surface near it with small holes. It was a lot like having a sphere of reusable buckshot at my beck and call. Gard stayed close, though she looked as though she wanted to throw my inferior human body over one shoulder and sprint the rest of the way. Even the Valkyrie could see the wisdom in standing behind a shield wall, instead of running relatively unprotected into battle.

We were a few blocks away from the relatively untouched suburban sprawl I used to call home when a new shape staggered into the road. Gard had her ax arcing above her head, shining with azure light before the shape resolved itself. It wasn't one of the horrifically deformed beasts the Fomor created from the remains of the pets they'd slaughtered. Nor was it a Huntsman or one of the squidlike creatures that had dived at us like falcons, determined to deliver their acidic payload or die trying.

It was...just a young man. Which seemed more out of place in this hellscape than any monster. He was moving with dreamlike slowness, eyes wide and unfocused. Blood pumped enthusiastically from a deep forehead laceration. At least one of his arms was broken, and a bruise was beginning to form in a long stripe across his neck. If I had to guess, he'd come off worse in a car crash when the Titan's Eye hexed the city.

More blood slicked his dark hair back from a slight widow's peak. Under the lights of hundreds of zipping demi fae, I could make out his face, bits at a time, and realized I recognized him.

"Nelson?" I blurted.

His eyes focused on me after a second and grew even wider. He backed up a step and held out a hand as if to ward me off.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," he whispered, falling to his knees in the middle of the street. "Don't. Please don't. I'm so sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to hurt Rosie. I didn't mean for her to lose her baby!"

I stared back at him in blank confusion for a second before I got it. For an instant, I saw myself the way he did. A nearly naked apparition of his dead ex-girlfriend bearing a hellfire-infused sword and lethal claws. The phosphorescent glow of a second set of eyes fixed over my own. Were the roles reversed, I would have been pissing myself too.

After a second of thought, I released my hold on my shields, stepping past Gard's military stance to lift him up. His breathing hitched when the glow began to dim, and the trailing violet smoke gave way to chain mail and tactical armor. Transfiguration complete, I figured I looked odd, but no longer bad-trip terrifying. He flinched when I raised a now human hand and pressed the tips of my fingers gently to his forehead, stirring the energy of his aura, urging the wound to knit together.

"I'm not here to drag you to hell, dummy," I said, flicking his ear playfully, the way I had on our first, awkward date. "What do you think this is, Hellraiser? I mean I think I could pull off Female Cenobite, but let's be serious. All that leather? In this heat?"

His eyes widened, and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Then he surged forward, throwing his arms around me with a sob. His knees gave out a second later and I had to support most of his weight as he tried to sink to the ground.

"This feels like hell," he whispered, voice shuddering out on an exhale. "G-God, Molls. Please tell me I'm not dead."

It took some doing, but I managed to peel Nelson off my front and pulled him into an awkward side-carry, supporting him as he listed to the side. I needed to get him to my parents. They couldn't do anything for him if it was a brain bleed, but short of that, they'd have whatever he needed.

"You're not dead yet," I confirmed. "But if we don't get you behind a threshold, you will be. It's only a few blocks to my parent's house."

Nelson's eyes still had a faraway look, but I couldn't afford to worry about that at the moment. He nodded slowly and hobbled forward a few steps without help. Then something occurred to him.

"Oh God! What about your parents? Do they know you're back from...?"

He trailed off, awkwardly, seeming to realize what he'd been implying. In any other circumstance, it would have been fun to let him wallow in the Catholic Guilt of thinking I'd been in hell. Or that I would report that to my parents if that had actually been the case. All I could muster now was a dry, humorless laugh.

"They know. I've been...uh...haunting them for a while."

It said something about the present climate that he accepted that answer without question. Gard kept shooting me impatient looks over one shoulder, but didn't bark at me to stop. One, she knew it wouldn't do her any good, and two, somewhere, deep down, she was a person with a heart. She couldn't turn away from the wounded. It just wasn't her nature.

Though she did seize Nelson by the waist and throw him over one shoulder so she could break into a loping run. I followed her, taking the corner to the Carpenter house at speed, vaulting over a mangled Buick in the middle of the road when it loomed out of the dark. And then there it was.

Home. A pale, untouched beacon of hope in the middle of hell on earth. I could feel the power surging like a storm above the roof, riled by the destruction visited upon the humans of the city. If I glanced up, I knew I would be fixed in the glower of a dozen guardian angels.

I didn't look up.

The Carpenter yard was lush green, a pocket of color among the rest of the houses on the street. The summer heat had broiled most of the yards into a wilted brown mess. The well-kept shrubs in the front yard swayed in a cold wind whipping in from Wrigley Field.

I stopped inches shy of the gate and moved no further. Nelson protested weakly when Gard bumped the gate open and rocketed toward the front door without me. None of the angels stopped her. But they'd stop me. With prejudice.

So I waited, chest clenched tight, to confess my sin to a Good Man.

Nelson was right. This really did feel like Hell.

Chapter Text

Are you willing to die in defense of what you care about?

That's always been the big, existential question humanity had to answer. Were we willing to die to preserve our families, our lands, our religions, our way of life? My dad had replied to that question with a resounding yes. He counted his life as a worthy sacrifice in the service to the greater good. What I was about to ask him was a hell of a lot harder to answer.

Are you willing to place your beloved son or daughter on the altar as a sacrifice to save millions?

Everybody loved God when he poured out prosperity. But sometimes people were called to be Job. Sometimes their children died horribly. Sometimes their children had to kill each other horribly. Sometimes such misery flooded their lives that it was easy to curse the heavens and die. I knew I'd been there more than once. But faith isn't faith unless it endures a storm. Or in this case, a hurricane. The titan was an elemental force of destruction, after all.

"Theology, Molly?" Lasciel said with a delighted little laugh. The sound was almost unbearably appealing. "At this eleventh hour?"

"What's the saying: there are no atheists in a foxhole?"

She laughed again, and I was tempted to sink to the ground in a boneless puddle. Her voice was like a scalp massage, a gourmet dinner, good sex, and a smoke rolled into one. I had to mentally shoo her away from my thoughts so I could stay upright.

"I don't need the come-hither right now, Lash. You can bury me in a hedonistic orgy of sensations later. Once we've kicked the Titan's ass."

"Your heart rate is alarmingly high. I'm trying to bring your blood pressure down. This discussion will proceed more smoothly if you are calm."

Of course my heart was racing. I could see shadows moving behind the curtains. Gard would return with my dad in tow in less than a minute. Then I had to confess to my father that I'd once again partnered with one of the things he'd spent his entire career fighting. I'd have to see the horror, the confusion, the betrayal spasm across his face. I'd relive that awful day in Shedd Aquarium, where I'd very nearly ended his life.

"That was the past. Leave it there."

"Oh, so you wouldn't kill my dad if you got the chance?" I asked sourly. "You've changed, but I don't know if you've changed that much.."

Lasciel was silent for a beat. When she spoke, her voice was stiffer, as though saying the words hurt. "His death would alter you in ways I would find unpleasant. Since I experience what you do, I'd rather avoid that. I would leave him intact. There are a myriad of other effective ways to keep you from him."

At first glance, the statement looked creepy as hell. But, reading between the lines...

"You wouldn't kill him because it would hurt me. That's what you just said."

Lasciel gave a delicate snort. "Choose to interpret my meaning however you wish, my host. I cannot stop you."

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. The denial was almost cute in its speed and dismissal. I knew, deep in my guts, that I was right. If she'd been sitting next to me I might have ruffled her hair or pecked her cheek. It was almost sweet. In an incredibly twisted and dysfunctional way.

"Thanks, Lash."

"Hmph."

The smile slipped off my face when the front door opened, and Dad leaned out of the front door and motioned me forward. My heart sank. So, we'd finally come to it. Of course he'd want me inside the protection of the yard while a literal apocalypse unfolded around us.

I shook my head and glanced pointedly upward. And he got it. Without a word being spoken, he understood exactly what I'd done. I waited for the fear, the hurt, the anger to burn in his eyes. For tears or disgust.

It never came. Yeah, his lips pursed once in disapproval, but I'd seen stronger scowls when he was watching one of my siblings throw a tantrum. My heart contracted violently when he began a slow shuffle forward. I entertained the thought of sprinting away before he could reach me. But that would only hurt him. I forced myself to stay still as he approached the front gate.

And stepped out, divesting himself of angelic protection.

I wanted to scream at him. What the hell was he doing, sacrificing his rightful claim to the protection of angels? He knew exactly what he was facing. I'd nearly killed him once when I was like this, and he'd been whole and healthy then. He was too weak to fight and win, and he'd stepped in front of the monster willingly.

"Dad, I-" I began, subsiding at once when he raised a hand to cut me off.

He took a deep breath and then spoke in the slow, measured tones he used when he was trying to get something through my head. "Shall we just skip to the relevant parts? Assume I've already listed my concerns and quoted scripture?"

I blinked once. I'd come prepared to endure just that. And he wanted to skip it?

"You sure?" I asked. "I mean, I know you like a good sermon. After what I did I think I deserve at least that much punishment."

He didn't smile, but his eyes did gleam in the low light. "Considerate of you, but no. I assume time is of the essence?"

As if in answer, the sky lit with vermillion light. The murdeous gleam of the Eye of Balor lit the sky like cloud-to-cloud lightning. The curse rolled through the city, a psychic pressure front that threatened to flatten me, even this far off. When I turned back to him, Dad's eyes were wide with surprise. He was clutching the gate for support.

"Very much so," I said. "That was the Eye of Balor. It's a magical superweapon, and it's being wielded by a titan. The Eye can reduce this city to rubble in a matter of hours. Only beings of divine or infernal status can pierce through her armor."

"The Knights," he murmured. "I had a feeling it wasn't a coincidence that brought Sanya to us." He considered me and sighed. "And I suppose you considered it your responsibility to shoulder the lives of millions by taking up the Coin."

I jerked my thumb in the direction of the lake. "She's carrying a pocket nuke and she plans to use it on Chicago. If you had a nuke-destroying gun, would you want two shots in the chamber or three?"

Four, really, but the fewer people who knew that, the better.

"Point," he acknowledged. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to be happy about it."

"I didn't ask you to be."

There was a beat of tense silence. He stood a little straighter as he considered the fire-lit skyline. The only time I'd ever seen him more troubled, my soul had been on the line. When he spoke again, the words didn't immediately register. Because they were the last fucking thing on earth I'd ever expected to hear him say.

"May I speak to Lasciel?"

I tried to speak, sputtered, and then eventually retreated from the impossible scenario. Lasciel pushed to the fore, and my body adopted a subtly different posture. Indolent. Sensual. When my mouth moved, a drugging contralto came out. He stiffened a little but managed to keep most of his reaction off his face.

"I cannot imagine we have anything to speak about, Sir Knight," she said, arching an imperious brow. "But Molly requested this meeting. It would be breaking an oath to her if I failed to comply."

"That's actually what I'm curious about," he began in a genial tone that was utterly at odds with the chaos unfolding around us. "I've never encountered a Fallen who truly cared what their given word was worth. You have ample and justifiable reasons to urge her away from this house, her family, and any reminders of what she stands to lose. It would be easy to have another perform whatever task she's come here to do. But my daughter is here."

"I don't take your meaning," Lasciel said, voice quiet and deadly.

"I think you do. You are an expert in temptation. Unparalleled at creating illusions. You know that the best way to curb someone's will is to convince them a choice was never there. By allowing her to come here, you are presenting her with a clear and difficult choice. Because you don't want to break her will."

Lasciel pulled my body to its full height, hands clenched into fists at her side. Our nails dug into our palms until blood ran. A terrible light gathered around my head, a void as frigid and unspeakably hollow as a black hole. The light from Lasciel's broken halo would have driven some mortals mad.

But not my dad. He stood, watching the display with idle curiosity. Insouciant, defying a power so much greater than his own. She could crush him. A few years ago she would have. Her pride could not allow for an insult so blatant to stand.

"What is your oath worth?" I reminded her gently.

Her anger cooled so rapidly it could have sent universes winking out of existence. In a fraction of a second, the halo vanished, leaving the night feeling a little lighter than it had been a moment before. She sucked in a heaving breath and looked away from him.

Lasciel's entire being spasmed in shock when my father wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her into a hug. A tremor rocked up from my toes and rose violently up my spine. My hands fluttered helplessly, finally settling on his back a moment later. I couldn't see my father's expression from this angle, but I could imagine his gentle smile.

"Thank you, Lasciel. For letting me see and speak to my daughter. It must have been difficult to act against your nature."

My mouth worked, but no sound came out. Dad pulled me in closer, but it was Lasciel who felt the strong, paternal press of his love. Emotions so complex I couldn't fathom them pulsed through my body for an agonizing second. Dad continued, oblivious to Lash's discomfort.

"No matter how much time has passed, how many wrongs have been done, how much suffering has been caused, the fact still remains. We are both children of God. You are my sister and I believe in your ability to change."

Lasciel pulled free of his grasp so quickly that I heard something snap. Dad grimaced but didn't cry out. My body continued to backpedal. My chest felt tight. I could barely breathe. Panic streaked like electricity through my veins.

And it wasn't mine.

"We have to go," she said through gritted teeth. "I enchanted several stones before we left the Brighter Future Society. Illusions have been tied to each. When Gard is through activating them, you'll relocate to a troubleshooter's house down the street. Am I clear?"

"Quite," Dad said, still smiling serenely. Lasciel wanted to slug him for it. "God be with you, Molly." He paused. "And God be with you, Lasciel."

That was apparently too much for my temperamental angel because she wheeled around and stalked back toward the ruined Buick.

We could wait for Gard just as easily from the end of the block.

Chapter Text

"Mission accomplished," I said five minutes later, breaking into a loping run behind Gard.

Like me, she had one of my quartz earpieces screwed into her ear, listening to the radio chatter of several dozen police scanners, interspersed with updates from the two defensive positions we'd established with the White Council and Svartalfhiem.

"Understood," Marcone's voice said, coming through with more clarity than any of the police bands. "The Winter One has chosen her ground at Wrigley. Since you are close, I'd like you to join Mab's forces there."

To make the target as tempting as possible. The Fomor were out for revenge against the Sidhe, and the Titan was driving forward to destroy the only person on the field who had the potential to stop her.

"Roger that, Boss Man."

Marcone snorted, a sound etched with subtle tones of impatience and grudging amusement. "No discipline at all."

I might have dignified that with a response if Murphy's voice hadn't come over the comm a second later.

"This is Valkyrie. I've got Booster Gold."

I heard Harry splutter in the background, but what he said next was too indistinct to be intelligible. Marcone acknowledged the statement and repeated the information he'd given us only seconds before for Murphy's benefit. He concluded with a grudging, "I am sending Angel One to back Mab's army. They are a few blocks north of your position. I recommend-"

But whatever he'd been about to say was drowned by the psychic feedback of the Eye. A section of the city near the shore simply went up in flames, every particle blasted into incandescent ruin. It was going to take at least a minute or two for reality to flex back into shape enough to support the earpiece's magic once more.

Wordlessly, we came to a stop and waited for our backup. Though calling it backup offended Lasciel's sensibilities. She was sour about this whole thing.

"Do you really hate Harry that much?" I asked.

"Don't you?"

The truth was easy to admit with a sword hanging over all our heads. There wasn't room for resentment in my head either. "Not anymore. I doubt we'll ever be friends, but I know a thing or two about complicated choices. He made a bad call. It doesn't make him the devil. Right now, he's on my side and I'm grateful for that."

I could tell the answer didn't make Lasciel happy, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she continued as though I hadn't spoken. "It is not Dresden's involvement that worries me it's..."

There was a clatter of moving stones, and then our backup arrived. The Alphas came first, their furred bodies somehow suited to the difficult terrain in a way humans weren't. They nudged enough debris out of the way to allow for Murphy's motorbike to find a way through. Harry, looking worse for wear since his trip to the island, was riding on the back. And I realized it was their rear guard that was making Lasciel bristle.

"The Knights," she finished acerbically. "Though your father exercised a surprising amount of wisdom, I cannot count on the same from his Brother Knights. They are young. Impulsive."

Willing to throw down with a Fallen angel, even when we were all working on the same side.

"Let me handle them," I said under my breath.

I felt her frown as she sensed the direction of my thoughts. "I'm not sure that is wise."

My chin set in a pugnacious line. "Trust is a two-way street, Lash. You want me to believe this is going to go any differently than last time? Prove it. Let me do this. I'm pretty sure I know how this is going to go."

I could feel her extreme skepticism but she didn't protest. I took it as assent and began striding toward the small knot of Chicago's defenders, head held high.

We stopped a few feet away from one another, a ridge of upraised rock between us an almost visual metaphor for the place in which we now stood. Two diametrically opposed forces staring each other down from different sides of a theological schism. Murphy's face was impassive, and she'd tucked her emotions into a tiny box to be dealt with later. Harry's eyes were somber. Guilty. He was probably wondering exactly how to blame himself for my choices this time. Sanya's dark eyes were troubled. Butters actually looked a little intimidated. For a moment that felt longer, no one spoke.

"Angel One?" Murphy said finally. "Obvious much?"

Spots of heat burned high in my cheeks. "I've been a little too busy to figure out my radio handle. Blame Marcone, not me."

Sanya's gaze flicked from my face down to my hellfire-infused sword, and back. He made the circuit a few times before he spoke, as though the sight was too horrible to look away from.
"You have taken Lasciel's coin," he said, voice a little rougher than the last time I'd heard it. The sentimental part of me hoped it was worry for me, but it could just as easily have been smoke inhalation.

I sheathed my sword, cocked one hip, and folded my arms over my chest, meeting each gaze steadily. "I have. Are you going to make it a problem?"

I hadn't put any threat in the words, but the Knights of the Cross reacted as though I'd just bawled vile insults about their mother. Their grips adjusted on the hilts of their swords, the faint strains of an angelic chorus leaking into the night as they did. My instincts screamed at me to bring up a shield, to strike one of them before they struck me. But that was exactly what they'd be expecting. Treachery. We couldn't afford that tonight. So I stayed as I was, arms folded over my chest, staring them down.

The Knights' nerve broke first. Sanya and Butters looked away from me after a second, both ashamed of their knee-jerk reaction. They both knew how the Swords worked. I wasn't their enemy. And tonight, neither was Lasciel. Fighting on the side of good didn't make her a big damn hero, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Michael," Sanya began again. He subsided when I raised a hand.

"I already spoke with Dad. He's not happy, but he understands. If my own damn father isn't giving me shit, you don't get to either. Now are you going to waste time reading me the riot act while Chicago burns, or are we going to go kick that bitch's teeth in?"

"The Knights of Faith and Hope could be enough to bring her down," Harry added. "I don't want you to backslide. This isn't your fight. Not your responsibility."

Again, I stared one of my allies down. Once more, he couldn't meet my eyes for more than a second or two. He didn't want to see what was in my soul any more than the Knights did. I couldn't blame him.

"Chicago is my home," I said quietly. "And Ethniu wants to kill my family. It has always been my fight. But I'll tell you what. If you really think that I'm not necessary to the war effort, prove it."

I extended a hand toward him. He recoiled from it on reflex, which hurt. Then he drowned himself in a wave of self-recrimination, which hurt even more. He forced himself to step a little closer, watching with alarm as something fizzled into being on my palm.

"I hope you know what you're doing, my host," Lasciel muttered.

And then she was gone. Something as dark and fluid as motor oil pooled beneath the tarnished silver coin I'd summoned. Lasciel's corruption seeped back into the denarius as though it had never been. I met Harry's gaze solidly and bobbed my palm in his direction.

"Take it," I said coolly. "Pick it up with a hankie and drop it in a hole somewhere if you really believe that you can afford to lose a capable fighter."

The silence that met that proposal was total. No one moved. They barely even breathed. All eyes were on Harry's expression, taking their cues from him. This was Harry's fight when you got down to it. He was the only one who could bind the Titan. But he'd need every advantage to do it.

I saw it when the steel crept back into his gaze. He hated himself for it, but he curled my fingers over Lasciel's coin, pressing it back into my palm. None of them were looking at me now. Too ashamed. They needed me, and they knew it. When it came down to a choice between the soul of one person who knew damn well what she was doing and the souls of millions of innocent human beings, we knew how the math shook out.

"Molly...I..." Harry said, voice breaking mid-sentence. Hot tears stung his eyes and he blinked them furiously away. He knew what he was asking. Loathed having to do it.

I reached up and touched his cheek with my free hand, smiling gently. The expression jolted like a shock of pure, nitrous-fueled guilt into his soul. He felt utterly unworthy to be touched. To be greeted with kindness. And I'd made him feel that way.

"I know," I said quietly. "For Maggie. You have people you love too."

"I'm sorry," he said, voice choked with the tears he wouldn't shed.

"I'm not," I said. "At least this way I'm making a difference. Just do me a favor."

His gaze flicked up, meeting mine for a dangerously long second. A soulgaze loomed.

"What?" he rasped.

"Put that bitch in an extra-small crystal for me. If I die, I want to know I went out thumbing my nose at a titan."

Harry's eyes gleamed with furious pride for a second before he nodded. "Count on it."

I offered him a hand up. And as knights and angels looked on, he took it.

Chapter Text

Two magi followed the cold light of Winter beaming from the East, and Knights, werewolves, a Chooser of the Slain, and the people of Chicago came after.

The will of the city took a while to condense. But eventually, the shock of the night's events ceded to a bone-deep rage. The primal, gut-level instinct that a violation of this magnitude could not be ignored. Most of the people who joined the stream of humanity behind us weren't anything special. One slightly overweight man in a polo looked like a favorite history teacher, not a warrior. A scrawny teen girl, probably no older than I'd been when I'd first touched Lasciel's coin, was no match for a titan. They followed in Harry's wake anyway. That's what you did when your city chose its leader.

Well, leaders, plural. Because I could feel the banner of Marcone's will unfurling like the wings of an enormous bird of prey. I could have resisted the pull of it if I wanted to. It would be as easy as slipping under the protection of the Winter Knight's command. But if I was being honest with myself, I didn't truly want that. I didn't want to bend the knee to either man, in any sense, but I knew which I preferred to be enmeshed with.

A tide of relief hit me when I joined a band of a few thousand others. Just like Harry's volunteers, they were just regular people. A college kid with a septum piercing. A woman in her sixties who wielded a cane like a weapon. More and more. Too many to count. Regular people, fighting for their homes.

"You made it to Wrigley," he noted.

It was odd to hear his voice in my head. It felt like he was in the room with me, though I knew he'd only catch what I shared. The level of intellectus didn't penetrate down to anything that abstract. And with anyone else, he wouldn't have delved even this deep.

"I did. Gard and I will be joining Mab shortly."

Marcone exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. "I'm afraid I have another task for the pair of you. Two jotnar escaped the seige near my position and split off toward the Svartalf embassy. If their position buckles-"

"They'll be in a great place to circle behind you and fuck your forces right in the ass."

He sighed. "To put it in unnecessarily graphic detail, yes, that is essentially it. I have already dispatched a team of einherjar to assist."

But giants moved fast. It was likely that the pair would reach the Svartalf embassy before they had a chance to do anything. If we couldn't bring them down ourselves, we had to keep them busy.

I signed off and allowed myself a drink of water before I gave Gard the grim news. I figured if I was facing a giant from Muspelheim, hydration was probably a must.

We were turning to go when Sanya caught my eye and beckoned me over. I was tempted to ignore him. God knew we couldn't afford this distraction. But I turned toward him anyway.

We met at the halfway point between our positions. Behind him was a crowd of frightened, angry people who were hanging on Harry's every word. Someone had broken out a metric ton of shotguns and was arming the citizenry. I stopped an arm's length away from him.

"What do you want, Sanya?" I asked, and my voice sounded just as tired as I felt.

"To help you, Molly."

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought we already covered this. I'm helping you in this fight, end of story. All of us are fighting the same battle."

"Right now, Da. And perhaps one triumph over evil convinces you that a Fallen angel has somehow mended her ways. You begin to trust her. And then you are trapped, just as you were before. I just want to let you know that I understand where you are. I have been at this tipping point."

I felt the almost unbearable urge to spit something acidic that would chew into the ground at his feet. Impotent fury that wasn't my own swelled in my chest.

"Do you truly think I care what you think, you Doubting Thomas?" Lasciel spat. "You, who have been given proof after proof of the divine and thinks, in his own mind, he is somehow superior to religious practice? I was created for a purpose so fundamental that your flimsy mortal mind would boil away if you conceived of it."

Sanya tilted his head. "If you do not care what I think," he began slowly. "Then why defend yourself at all, Lasciel?"

Lasciel apparently decided that flight was the better part of valor. I had a feeling she was seconds away from taking the pushy Russian's head off if she'd stayed. Lasciel was usually the picture of suave civility, able to navigate political and social waters with slippery ease. But all of my brutish friends and family insisted on being as boorish as humanly possible.

When we caught up with Gard, I'd assumed my full battle form, kicking up a fresh cloud of debris around us.

"Can you pinpoint where the jotnar are?" I asked, voice coming out with more quiet sensuality than I intended.

My focus was elsewhere, spinning out formulae at a speed that would have shamed most supercomputers. Lasciel was taking things well past the point of theoretical spells into some truly reality-bending territory, and only our unique set of circumstances allowed her to do it.

Gard shot me a quizical look. "Yes. What did you have in mind?"

A sphere of layered force shimmered into being around us. I bounced a few times before settling into a runner's lunge, tensing every muscle as the spell reached its zenith. It would be ready to go right...about...now.

I threw myself forward in a dead sprint, and the sphere moved forward, picking up steam when we crested a hill and slid down the other side. Gard seemed to get what I was going for and began sprinting as well.

"Steer!" I called over the fresh roar of a jotun's horn. "I'll do the rest!"

Gard did. She settled into a confident, long-legged stride, bouncing my magical hampster wheel of doom off the corners of buildings where appropriate. We navigated several streets like that, caroming off of shop fronts and houses like a deranged ping pong ball. Only the layers of protection Lasciel and I had built around the interior kept us from being splattered against the plane of force with every new angle.

The horn blew again, a psychic blow that could have hammered my mind into the gravel if not for Lasciel's aid. I felt the fear well up in my gut. But there was a measure of excitement there too.

Because, come on. Everyone wants a chance to KO Goliath.

Chapter Text

"Wizards...are...insane," Gard panted, heaving her ax into position once more as we approached an intersection. This one was thankfully free of stalled cars, so it would be a less violent collision than most.

I couldn't reply, and wouldn't have had anything pithy to say, even if I had the concentration to find it. My mind was going at a dangerous speed until things seemed to happen in slow motion all around me. I was able to devote time and attention to a million small facets of the spell, which should have been impossible for someone of my age and skill level. The working Lasciel used my will and magic to create would have rivaled even one of the Senior Council in skill and complexity. And if not for the fuel provided by the burning city, she wouldn't have been able to do as much as she was.

Gard continued, not seeming to care if I'd heard. "Only a mortal wizard would think that a gambit out of a Looney Toons Cartoon is a feasible battle strategy!"

"It'sth jotun season!" I quipped, doing my best impression of Daffy Duck.

Gard shot me an absolutely withering look over one shoulder. "It's lucky that the All-Father likes you."

"Aww, shucks. I have an admirer."

Gard faced forward again, shaking her head in disbelief. She muttered something in a language I didn't understand and swung the ax at a pivotal moment, lashing the energy against the inside of our sphere at just the right angle to send us rebounding off a shop front with a crunch. We went bouncing down a street that had been mostly turned to singed rubble, but for the odd telephone pole, which stood out like toothpicks on a very overdone sub.

We were still going at an incredible speed when we crashed into one of the jotun's ankles. He paused, mid-stride, and watched us bounce away, shedding layers as we went. Gravel crunched under my bent knees when we came to a complete stop. Only the layers of shielding provided by Lasciel's spells kept me from skinning my legs down to the bone.

When I climbed to my feet, I found the giant staring down at me. It was...well, it was one of the more intimidating things I'd ever seen in my life. And I'd faced down Nicodemus Archleone. The jotun lifted an ax that glowed red-orange and jerked its chin at me.

"Name thyself, so I might know whom I kill," the jotun said, basso voice so loud it shook the leaves on nearby trees.

Ah, right. boasting. I'd never actually done the whole formal exchange with Freydis, though I'd witnessed plenty of the einherjar go all out. I never thought there would be enough good accomplishments to fill a haiku, let alone a full poetic verse. But, the more I thought about it, I realized that what I considered a worthy accomplishment was vastly different than what a jotun might consider admirable. It was the outcome of a fight that mattered, not the morality of the actions you fought over. I'd done a lot of fighting. But where did I even begin? How the hell did I assemble a humble brag out of it?

I had to come up with something. The second jotun was further ahead. Gard was already moving in that direction. I just had to keep this one occupied long enough for her to slip away.

I was saved by Lasciel's timely intervention. She strolled right up to the jotun leaned my weight in a provocative pose against a leaning street lamp not far from one of the jotun's feet. Glass crunched beneath the heel of one combat boot as she smirked up at the giant. Her voice was equal parts sex and scorn when she spoke. She didn't speak loudly. She didn't have to. The magic in her voice was a league above what most creatures on the field possessed. It was a boast in and of itself, proving without a single doubt that she was the better in power.

"I think you ought to go first, jotun. I am a creature older than time itself. If I boast, we will be here awhile. Perhaps, when you've finished, I can give you the greatest hits."

The jotun's huge, craggy face lit in a grin, and those dark, soulless eyes practically gleamed in reply to the jibe. The once-over he gave me was a hell of a lot more speculative than it had been a second ago.

"Damn it, Lash! We're supposed to be fighting him, not fucking him!"

"Just trust me, my host. Believe it or not, I have been in battle without you before."

I might have shot back an acid retort if the jotun hadn't thrown back his head and howled with laughter. It took him a few seconds longer than I thought it should to recover.

"A woman with spirit! It is a shame I must end your life. I'd much prefer to take you back to Muspelhiem to wait on me in my chamber."

My stomach rolled, and Lasciel let the disdain show on my face. She gave him a scornful head-to-toe assessment before promptly dismissing him. The mocking sound of her laughter and pointed glance at his rather large pelvis did what it was meant to. Fury charged the air around the jotun's fists, sending boiling power flashing through the haft of the battle axe he'd propped on one shoulder.

"Oh please," Lasciel drawled. "You wouldn't have any idea how to handle a woman like me. I watched the Almighty shape the ground upon which your World Tree grew. I've seen or conceived of any act of lust you can imagine. In my spare time, I make up new kinks because I can. In comparison to me, you're like a..." she paused, then smirked. "Blushing virgin bride. It would be almost depraved of me to take advantage of one so...limited."

A ruddy flush rose up the giant's neck as she spoke. By the time she'd finished, he was nearly purple in the face, and fire had licked across the blade of his axe. He held it at the ready and lunged forward, his spittle hitting me like the backsplash from a fast-moving car. Lasciel wiped our face free of the stuff with a snort of disgust.

"I am Asger, son of Arvid," he snarled, the words reverberating from the surrounding buildings like a crack of thunder. The draft of his breath was so strong that it threatened to toss me sideways. "And I..."

I tuned him out. So did Lasciel. Which only pissed him the hell off. By the time he'd finished, he was practically frothing at the mouth, trying to impress the terror of himself into us without success. I thought Lasciel would have been more impressed if I'd knelt down and fished a pretty rock from an overturned planter.

"Oh," she said with a yawn. "Is it my turn already? No long list of acheivments, Son of Arvid?"

Lightning exploded into being above the jotun's head. His fury was literally heating the air, drawing down a miniature cyclone toward our position. Because that was just what Chicago needed right now. A tornado chaser after the Titan whiskey.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Lash," I said slowly.

"Two-way street, remember?"

I remembered. So I shut my mouth, and let her have the moment. She didn't disappoint. She shimmied up the power line and took a seat on top, as though she was facing a pupil in dire need of instruction instead of a fuming giant.

"I am Lasciel, daughter of the Almighty," she began, and there was a quality of scales rasping over flesh in her voice.

The air felt suddenly too close, like the coils of a serpent closing around your middle. I saw Asger's eyes dart nervously to the side once. He couldn't seem to stop himself from leaning in as she continued to speak. Neither could I, for that matter. No one within a mile would be able to tear themselves away from this match.

"I was forged at the dawn of the universe to be the vengeance of a great and terrible God. I have formed and crushed galaxies because it amused me to do so. When I fell, the enormity of my power stretched the journey to nine mortal days. I was the worm in humanity's ear, fouling their speech in the beginning. I was the prideful hand that turned Pharoah's heart to stone and brought ruin to his empire. I was the blood and sweat upon the brow of the frightened Jesus of Nazareth. It was my voice that planted a moment of doubt and pain in the mind of the Redeemer. I turned Pilate's mind from mercy and killed the Son of God."

"Did you just quote Sympathy For the Devil Lash?"

Not that I really minded if she had. It wasn't like the jotun had been keeping up with pop culture for the last few millennia. The other implication was more disturbing. Maybe Sympathy For the Devil had drawn its inspiration from Lasciel, and not the other way around.

Lasciel ignored me, continuing to kick her legs merrily, as though the giant's anger amused her. She continued with a serpent's smile. If Lucifer had fixed Eve with one half as compelling as Lasciel's, it was no wonder we'd sinned.

"I am the corruption that lurks at the core of everything. God himself had to bind me in a coin of silver because I posed too great a threat. I am a temptation that not even those in heaven ignore. And when I am through with you, Son of Arvid, your entire legacy will be reduced to a smear on the broken streets of a stinking mortal city."

Asger glowered at me expectantly. I came to the fore slowly, still not entirely sure what to say. I paused for a beat, considering it. What could come after that kind of hype? What was my greatest accomplishment in comparison to everything she'd said? It came to me in a flash of insight and I smiled.

"I am Molly, daughter of Sir Michael, Knight of the Cross. For eight years, day in and day out, I handed Temptation her damn fine ass." I drew my katana with a flourish, sending hellfire flashing down through the runes. "Compared to that, you're just a sad joke. Let's do this, asshole."

Chapter Text

There's a difference between a fire devil and a real tornado, but it was mostly academic when you were inside the damn thing. The movies lie to you, by the way. Tornadoes don't have eyes, the way that hurricanes do. There are vortices within vortices in a twister's center. And that was where I was, struggling not to be tossed like a static cling sheet in a dryer.

With a negligent flick of one wrist, Lasciel drew down the whirling current of air, adding her own layer of topspin to the already fast-moving gale. The winds howled like a hound baying for blood, lifting anything that weighed less than a car from the street for nearly a hundred feet in every direction.

That would have been a lot of ammunition on a regular day. On the post-apocalyptic streets of Chicago? It was like having access to an ersatz Gatling Gun. Thousands of chunks of rock rocketed up the verticle column of wind. Broken telephone poles whirled like chopper blades around the funnel cloud. Bicycles, scooters, wagons, and plastic slides were ripped forcefully from the yards of the surrounding houses. Not a single one of them could have put a dent in the jotun's armor. But around a dozen of them to the face still hurt.

Asger, Son of Arvid, let out a rather unmanly cry when he realized that a dozen telephone poles had shot like arrows toward his exposed eyes. He managed to get his ax up in time to snap them like matchsticks. It sent a cone of white-hot fire on a collision course with the funnel cloud, feeding flame into each tumbling gust of wind.

That's when things got really, really hot. I felt a sudden and violent pang of sympathy for Hannah's plight in the Gate of Fire. It was hard enough to work with fire when you weren't immersed in it. And Hannah had a lot of practice inuring herself to the element before Lasciel helped her navigate the trap. Fire had never been my element. Doing even a sliver of what I'd pulled out of a hat tonight would have knocked me out for a week. Everything had its limits. And I was almost at mine.

My stomach peformed a nauseating arabesque as the heat rolled off of my aura in waves of kinetic energy. Lasciel used the extra motion to hammer the giant with more ammunition from the street. Have you ever seen someone get stoned to death? I had. It's never quick and it's always messy. Asger's face was bloody, and the hand holding his ax looked lumpy and deformed.

"I can't keep this up for much longer, Lash," I whispered, noting with alarm that my outstretched hands were shaking. If I didn't stop, I'd hit a brick wall at terminal velocity.

"Sixty seconds," Lasciel replied tersely, mental voice faraway and worried. I wasn't the only one feeling the strain. "Only a minute more."

I wasn't sure I had a minute in me. Even with hellfire and the magical jet fuel the city's residents were pumping into the air, I couldn't keep this up forever. I'd already pushed myself past my physical, magical, mental, and spiritual breaking point. And I couldn't stop the suicidal sprint toward the finish line, no matter how badly it hurt. The mind was willing. My body was not. The heat kept encroaching, licking ever nearer to the center of the Molly Pop. When it reached me, I'd fry like bacon.

Lasciel moved at the center of the storm, raising my voice in a note so maddeningly pure that it made me want to rip my ears off and offer them to her as a worthy sacrifice. Reality performed tiny sidesteps, never quite catching up to the sensually shifting fallen angel it was chasing. It didn't matter what went spiraling through the cyclone, it never touched us. Combined with the effort it took to keep the fire off my body, I was pretty sure the only one performing more complex magic tonight was Mab.

Lasciel fed the fear, the anger, the fatigue, and the pain into a fire in my thoughts, pushing enough raw, unfettered power into the katana to make it shine with the blinding brilliance of a supernova. And then she released her hold on the leashed tornado, letting it plow into the jotun's front like a wrecking ball. The collision of elemental forces threw the jotun to the ground with a tremendous crash. Before the giant could recover from the beat of stunned shock, Lasciel was there, descending on the giant on eagle's wings.

Asger didn't even have time to scream before a lance of hellfire so needle fine it could have doubled as razor wire wrapped itself like a serpent around his throat. He met Lasciel's gaze for a dangerous second, eyes widening with dismay when she jerked her grip on the wire the way someone might pull along a dog.

She took Asger's head off at the C2 vertebrae. It went flying and bounced down the street like an overblown beach ball, coming to a stop near the shattered remnants of a kid's playset.

Lasciel barely managed to keep our landing graceful. The second my feet touched the ground, my strength gave out and I collapsed boneless to the ground. I ended up on hands and knees, heaving in lungfuls of baking air. I had to force my noodle legs to move a little ways away from the fire, or smoke inhalation would get me where gods and giants failed. I ended up curled onto my side in the wrecked front yard of a Colonial-style home. The weariness that settled over me was total. I wasn't sure if I could lift my head, let alone go on.

"We have to move," Lasciel urged. "I know you are tired and I promise you that we will find a peaceful place to rest when this is over. But we can't lay down while the Titan breathes."

Damn it. She was right.

But even with that galvanizing knowledge, I could still only manage to haul myself to my knees. The world swam alarmingly. I swallowed back bile. And, like the sting in a horror film, I heard the worst sound my mind could fathom.

Clicks. There were Fomor sorcerers and their beasts nearby. The giants had been a distraction to get a legion or two behind Mab's people while they hid under veils. I had to move.

A furtive motion in my periphery drew my head up. I blinked, trying to clear the haze from my vision. When the picture finally came into focus, I found myself staring at a kid, probably no older than ten. He had a chipped tooth and a bad bowl cut. Balanced with the freckles and his pajamas, it was probably one of the most adorably wholesome sights I'd seen in a while.

A lot less wholesome was the shotgun clutched in his shaking hands. At second glance, I realized his face had blanched white, making the freckles stand out like ink spots. His mouth was fixed in a trembling line. He glanced desperately behind him and I saw, with a sinking heart, a little girl, probably no older than four. She was clutching the strings of the backpack he wore like it was the only thing that would keep her from falling off a cliff.

I realized what was about to happen a few seconds before it did. It came together like a sterile equation, as irrefutable as it was possible to be. This kid was armed and without parents. Which meant he'd probably watched them die horribly, possibly while shielding the eyes of his little sister. He'd stolen Daddy's gun, determined to save what was left of his family. But there were monsters everywhere. And he'd just witnessed this one kill a giant.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't make a sound before the little boy jammed the double barrel of the shotgun up beneath my mail and vest and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

The recoil was enough to knock the kid off balance. Which meant that only some of the buckshot went flying into my abdomen, instead of the full load. A spray of crimson burst across the kid's front. He looked so utterly shocked by what he'd done that it was almost comical. Too young to understand consequences, but old enough to feel pain when they happened.

His nerve broke. The kid scrambled to his feet and seized the little girl by the waist, hoisting her over one shoulder. He ran with a frightened cry away from what he'd done. And I couldn't even hate him for it. He was just a scared little boy. He'd only done what he thought was right.

He didn't know that he'd just killed one of three chances to save the city.

I wanted to lay down, bury my face in the muck and weep. Weep for the city that I'd failed to save. The press of the titan's will was threatening to drag me to my knees. Only the steady touch of a fallen angel kept my head unbowed. But even she couldn't stop the crimson stain spreading rapidly across my front. The world around me swam, a wretched heat haze blinding me at every turn.

"Open a way," Lasciel urged. "Now. I can't heal you here."

Healing a mortal wound would take more power than she could expend while also keeping even a flimsy shield going. If she turned her attention aside, even for a moment, a deluge of Fomor sorcery would atomize me in seconds. Her only hope would be to fall through an open way at our feet and close it at almost the same instant. But even if I were somehow able to find the will to try, what waited on the other side wouldn't be much better. The night's events would drag Chicago's Ways closer to the hellish side of things for years to come.

"No," I said, dragging myself to my feet. It hurt like hell. And I would know.

"We have to try," she said, voice strained with quiet desperation. "Cede control to me. I will deal with whatever awaits us in the Nevernever."

"No," I repeated, forcing myself to stand tall.

My arm shook when I raised my sword, but it at least responded to instruction. Feeling was creeping back, little by little. And it hurt. Oh God did it hurt. My belly was on fire, and only the pressure of my remaining armor kept anything unsightly from spilling out. Lightning streaked down my legs and spine as I forced myself forward one step. Two.

"What are you doing?" Lasciel asked. She sounded alarmed.

"Going down swinging," I replied, staring ahead with grim determination.

There were too many of them. I might cut down a few before my strength failed me. I'd settle for taking even one more of the bastards to hell with me when I finally kicked it. It was one less servitor, one less huntsman, one less sorcerer terrorizing Chicago. It wouldn't mean much in the numbers game when the victor reviewed their gains and losses. But to a citizen of Chicago, it might mean a great deal. The longer I fought, the longer they had to run.

The eerie clicking sound of the Fomor's advance was even nearer now, though strained. Each and every one of them would have to climb over the body of a downed jotun to reach my position. If I picked my ground right, I could come at the center. Would a hellfire-infused death curse be enough to level the entire legion?

"You can't!" Lasciel cried, and she definitely sounded alarmed now.

"I can," I gritted out. "Watch me."

I was taking every last one of them with me if I could help it. Hopefully, it would take pressure off Marcone's forces to the South. My heart beat sluggishly, and I wavered once before continuing doggedly on. Three steps. Four. A poisonous green light suffused the air beyond the pall of smoke.

In the distance, another jotun's horn blew. It was a low, pulsing note that hammered fear and hopelessness into the back of my skull with the force of an economy-sized baseball bat. My head snapped forward and I fell, trembling, onto the blood-slicked earth. My fingers went numb, and my sword tumbled free, disappearing among the rubble. I couldn't find the strength to lunge for it. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe.

I only had one weapon left. I willed my numb fingers to curl into the earth. I reached for the well of hellfire waiting for me and poured it into the remainder of my will, shaping the spell in my thoughts.

And then everything...slowed. I wasn't sure how else to put it. The quicksilver flow of time slowed, moving like a glacier where I stood. It was still moving, would still grind away at the last grains of my life, but it had been all but stopped for this handful of moments. The light brightened in barely perceptible increments, and the jotun's horn warbled into insensibility. My head was as clear as it could be, under the circumstances.

Lasciel appeared to me as she had in the beginning. A young, vulnerable teen with flyaway red curls and blue eyes you could drown in. She looked just as wild-eyed as she had then when she'd been pretending to be an abuse victim in need of rescue. The fact that she'd returned to the old standby, instead of the sultry warrior princess she'd been projecting for the last few days, was probably intentional. She was even wearing the SplatterCon!!! t-shirt she'd donned during our first meeting. The average teenage look was about the most out-of-place thing I'd seen all night.

Lasciel sank to her knees in front of me, gripping my shoulders like she could anchor me to earth with her mere presence. She tipped my chin up. I met the deep, endless blue of her eyes and smiled. Her head rocked back as though she'd been slapped.

"Molly, don't," she said. "You consign yourself to oblivion for what?"

I nodded toward the skyline, all but obscured by a pall of smoke. What I could see probably wouldn't be standing when the sun rose, but I wouldn't be here to see the outcome. I could only give what I had left to give.

"For them, Lash. For people."

"They would not do the same for you," she hissed.

"Some wouldn't. Some already are. I'm just one person. One life. All I get to do is choose what I do with the time I have. I choose them. I choose people."

Lasciel's eyes took on an almost feral gleam. Her hands wound into her hair, tugging hard. She looked for all the world like an overwhelmed kid. "I don't understand!"

My smile only broadened. "Yes, you do, Lash. For God so loved the world..."

"I don't love the world. I love you ! Just you!"

Tears stung the open cuts on my face. Her body stiffened when I wrapped my arms around her. The hollow of her throat was cool and blissfully dark when I laid my head on her shoulder.

"I'm glad you were with me at the end," I whispered. "Bye, Lash."

A shape emerged from the smoke over Lasciel's shoulder, approaching at an easy pace. I recognized the figure. We'd met once before. Her eyes were like shining discs of mercury. The color was unbroken by the darkness of a pupil. Everything but the eyes was black. Black slacks, a black dress shirt, long black hair, and skin as dark as ink. She looked too solid against the hazy gray backdrop around her. Her hand rested solidly on the pommel of her weapon as she sidled forward.

Lasciel whirled, putting her body between me and the approaching angel of death. The angel's eyes narrowed, but her pace didn't stutter.

"Not a step closer, Adriel," Lasciel said.

There was a quality to her voice I'd only heard a few times before. A sound so fundamental and ancient that humanity had all but forgotten it. Her girl disguise melted away to reveal the bronzed angel with galaxy eyes.

"Cease, Lasciel," Adriel said. She sounded weary. "You exceed your limitations. She has chosen."

"To kill herself!" Lasciel hissed. "And to use my essence to do it!"

"It is her will. You cannot subvert her choice. You are making her death more painful than it was destined to be. Her mind cannot take the strain."

Abruptly, the angelic form of Lasciel dimmed back into Mercy. She was holding her middle. She looked like she wanted to throw up. Her eyes were...wet. She was crying. Over me.

"This isn't the end," Lasciel said, almost to herself.

"It is," Adriel said. "You cannot contravene this course. She will throw the curse. It will deplete her soul. She will die. You will be once more consigned to your coin. That is how it is destined to be."

"Fuck destiny," she said, standing straighter. "I am Lasciel and I cheat."

She turned her back on Adriel. Her lips pressed to mine. The kiss was as brief and gentle as the flutter of butterfly wings, but the result was instantaneous. When she spoke next, I felt the words down to my marrow. I swore they etched themselves on the inside of my skull.

"Father," Lasciel began in a broken whisper. "Forgive me."

And the world went white.

Chapter Text

Heaven means different things to different people. For some, it's Saint Peter and the Pearly Gates. For others, it's a never-ending afternoon on a placid lake, enjoying the quietude that comes with fishing. Paradise can't be one thing to all people. It's just not the way we work.

My heaven was the Carpenter House at Christmastime. Daniel, no longer the flayed horror he'd been in my Sight, but whole and happy at the head of the table. My father, contented and relieved of his pain. Mom, unfettered from any anxiety. My brothers and sisters crowding close.

And Lasciel as she'd always appeared in my head, sitting in the chair next to mine, our fingers twined under the table. Heaven was a good meal, good company, and eternity with the people you loved.

The real world didn't return all at once. It came in pieces, as though my mind needed time to sort out what went where before booting up entirely. The smells hit me first, which wasn't surprising when you got down to it. Scent had an inextricable link to memory. The reek dragged me from that blissful dreamland where I'd floated, insensible for an unknown amount of time. The raw hamburger stench of too much blood, and the acrid scent of cordite. Burning rubber and piles of melted slag. Human waste. Ozone and oncoming lightning.

With the melange came snippets of memory. Blackened bodies. Skyscrapers toppled as easily as sandcastles, rendered into nothing but twisted metal and shattered glass. Homes scorched and hollow of life. Friends and neighbors shot down in the streets. A scared kid with his father's gun. Lasciel...

Lasciel was...

A blare of background noise hit my ears so violently that I spasmed once in shock. Or, at least I tried to. It was more of a limp flop. My head felt detached from my body and I couldn't will myself to drag my eyelids open.

Slowly, the jumble of vowels and consonants resolved themselves into something like English. Even so, it took my poor, beleaguered brain a few seconds to understand what I was hearing.

"Is she...?" Marcone asked, letting the sentence hang for a moment. There was something threading through the question I'd never expected to hear. Fear. He was afraid.

The world shifted beneath me, and my head lolled back, as limp as a ragdoll's. I couldn't have lifted my head if I wanted to. Every nerve in my body buzzed like incandescent motes. I could practically feel the stardust that formed my body and get lost in the chasms between each speck. Instead of red behind my lids, I saw only white gold. Someone was supporting my weight, my body slung into a loose fireman's carry.

"No," Gard said quickly. "She's not dead."

Marcone allowed himself one sharp, relieved exhale. I could practically see him reconstructing the mask of the stolid general after the moment passed.

Gard shifted my weight off one shoulder and let out a relieved grunt when bulging arms lifted me free of her grasp. Hendricks, I realized dimly. The links of his chain mail felt blessedly cool against my cheek.

"What happened?" Hendricks asked. "We saw this column of light over your way and then the boss said you and Molly just blipped right out of his awareness."

Ah. So that was why Marcone was reacting like this. He'd already compartmentalized the idea that I'd died, shoving it away to be dealt with later. It was a lot harder to stuff the emotions back into their cage when you had a sudden reprieve from the Big Guy himself.

"I can only speculate," Gard said. "I've never heard of something like this. I didn't believe it was possible."

I managed to crack my lashes just a fraction. It let in a sliver of hellish red sky so clogged with smoke that it was nearly opaque. Marcone and Gard looked almost washed of color against the garish backdrop.

Marcone raised one brow infinitesimally. It wasn't a large tell to most people. But I knew his moods well enough by now to guess what that meant. He was tired of mystical theory. He wanted an answer.

"Meaning?"

"I believe..." Gard's expression was one of deep disquiet. She sounded out the words slowly, as though she couldn't quite believe she was speaking them aloud. "That was Lasciel's doing. She appears to have defected."

The well of silence that met that statement could have drowned the world. For a crystalized moment that felt longer, I felt a spasm of utter betrayal, followed by a rage so deep and primeval that it could have scoured life from galaxies. Plural. It detested every single one of us and hated being fettered to a human mind. Namshiel would snuff every single trace of life from our galaxy if he could.

And in that moment, he hated Lasciel with a passion so focused and unholy that it seared my psyche. A strangled noise rose in my throat. It was the closest I could come to a scream.

"I thought the Fallen were damned," Hendricks said.

"Apparently there's a route back to paradise," Gard said. "It certainly appeared that the prodigal returned. And this just strengthens my theory."

Gard flicked something into the air. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, and when they had, I just stared, mesmerized. Gard was holding a shiny silver denarius. It looked like an ordinary, untarnished coin. The angelic rune on its surface shone so brightly that its afterimage was seared onto the back of my eyelids.

"I know a sanctified relic when I touch one," Gard said, flicking the coin toward Marcone. His hand flashed out, capturing the coin on reflex. A shudder ran over him as the silver made contact with his skin. "It's saturating everything that light touched, but its especially thick around Carpenter, since she was ground zero."

"We have contacts to the west," a man said from just out of my line of sight. Marcone said something quietly to him and he disappeared in a rustle of fabric.

"What does this mean?" Marcone asked in an undertone.

Gard shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. There isn't precedent for this. Angels fall. I've never heard of one climbing back up again. I have no idea what changed her mind."

My throat felt like sandpaper and my voice came out thick and furry when I tried to speak. I had to clear my throat painfully twice before I could make myself heard.

"Me. It was me. She knew I was about to die. There was an angel..." I frowned, trying to conjure the name that went with the face of the angelic escort who'd come to claim me. "Adriel. Lasciel tried to stop her from taking me. They started talking about destiny and..."

And things got blurry after that. I still remembered the flickering sensation of her mouth on mine. The sheer joy of that second of contact. The clarity of her plan unfolding in a singular moment in time. Then a jumble of silver-white chaos, possibilities spinning themselves into being, pure creation expanding like a thermal bloom. And anywhere the light touched, our enemies had disintegrated like soap suds under a pressure washer, simply scrubbed from existence. A fourth of the Fomor's fighting force was obliterated in an instant.

"And she...she cheated. She knew that the moment of transformation would have enormous energy potential. It was roughly the equivalent of a small nuclear exchange on a metaphysical level. Lasciel couldn't change my decision to keep fighting, but she could put her own power behind that choice. She harnessed her own freaking redemption to stick it to the Fomor." I shook my head and let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Adriel told her she couldn't change things and Lasciel pretty much said 'fucking watch me.'"

I didn't realize that I was crying until the first fat tear fell onto my hand. It was stained with blood and soot. I sat in the earthworks that the Svartalves had constructed around their headquarters and wept. The tears were cleansing to the soul, as well as the body. I felt every foul emotion slough off me, washed clean by Grace.

When I could finally breathe evenly, I found Marcone staring down at me, expression inscrutable. I had no idea how he felt about this development. Irritated? I wasn't an effective weapon without Lasciel to lend her power. Relieved that I'd survived almost certain death? Impatient? I was hunched in a trench crying while a war raged around us.

But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Can you fight?"

I dared to pat myself down. It was difficult around Hendrick's grip, but I took stock of my various parts. I appeared whole. Even better, I felt strength flooding into my limbs, the remnant of Lash's sacrifice clinging like cosmic radiation to my...well, everything. Anything on my person buzzed with the same power as the empty coin.

Sanctified. Saved by Grace.

I motioned for Hendricks to put me down when I was sure I could stand. Silvery anticipation quivered in my belly. It felt foreign. Not mine. Perhaps the remnant of an avenging angel. It urged me forward. There were enemies to be thwarted. But more importantly, some souls would be lost due to inaction. That was unacceptable.

Silver-white light poured from my sword when I pulled it free of its sheath. The katana's blade let out a chime of choral fury. I knew without being told that the power would depart at dawn. But Lash had left me with everything I needed to defeat a titan.

I straightened to my full height and lifted a genuine holy sword to high guard.

"Just try and stop me."

Chapter Text

"Just think about it," River said. "Ventriloquism. Kid-friendly. A good PR trick, hm?"

I couldn't stop grinning at the bigfoot. While he might have looked like a small, shaggy mountain of dark fur stuffed into a suit, he had the temperament of a teddy bear. If you were on our side, that is. I watched him casually backhand a huntsman into a wall with no more effort than it would take me to swat a fly. The huntsman hit an overturned car and bounced, only to be torn to pieces by the ghouls marching in lockstep all around us.

"Start with balloon animals," I said, trying to force down a giggle.

A bubble of laughter would sound like a discordant note against a backdrop of screams and vicious snarls. But with the arrival of Titania ahead of us, the oppressive weight of the city's terror had washed away, leaving me feeling as clean as though I'd stepped out of a shower. Paired with the thrumming remnant of Lasciel's will trapped in my skin, I was almost completely immune to the worst of the psychic mortars that were flying around.

Marcone led the charge, brandishing a seemingly endless supply of pistols at the fore, calmly and efficiently dispatching them before he moved on to his next target. Beside him, Gard went through a row of turtlenecks, ax scything in great, graceful arcs. Fomor blood stained the street.

Gliding out of the night behind River and I were a group of lithe, silver-haired goddesses, their gowns plastered with conflicting stains of ichor to their supple bodies. Lara moved like a dervish, sending heads spinning with every liquid flick of her sword. Her sisters fanned out like a horribly compelling group of backup dancers, sashaying their way through the Fomor ranks with deadly efficiency.

The Archive was chewing through Fomor ranks like a lawn mower, using a similar technique to the one I'd used on a jotun. Nothing survived being hit by heavy objects moving at terminal velocity. Wizards brought their talents to bear.

And I was riding on the back of a friend who'd once owed me a favor, riding into battle with a Sword of Light clutched like a beam of lighting in one hand. The chorus rose into an angry crescendo when I came within striking distance of a froggy Fomor sorcerer.

He tried to lob a sphere of force at my face. With a confidence that was not my own, my arm swept up to meet the opposing force. The energies collided with a sound that was simply tectonic and then the Sorcerer went flying, knocking a furrow into the lines of their legion.

Let me tell you, if there's one thing you don't want to do on a battlefield, it's fall. The Fomor troops didn't have a chance to climb to their feet. Marcone's banner rolled forward with the strength and inevitability of a juggernaut, and their discipline broke. Some turtlenecks started screaming. Some ran. I didn't chase them. I had bigger game in mind.

I spotted Harry and Butters across the open field, cutting a swath through the Fomor troops on their way toward Ethniu. Sanya vaulted over an overturned car and let out a battle cry so furious that I could only echo the challenge. It drew his eyes to me, and he froze for a fraction, staring in incomprehension at my upraised sword. And then the light of Hope itself suffused his face, burning through the miasma of the Titan's will like a corrosive acid. He let out a whoop and ran at the Titan like a freaking madman, laughing the entire time.

I risked a glance toward Marcone. He didn't speak. The jerk of his chin toward Ehtniu was order enough. I nodded, steeled myself, and took off in the direction he'd indicated.

The battle near the Titan's flanks had grown unspeakably savage. I watched a young blonde woman go down under a wave of howling huntsman, only for one of the trolls that had accompanied the Winter Lady's charge to bat them off her with the deadly precision of a pro golfer. Except, when the ball is soft, you end up with chunks. Fomor sorcerers threw the bodies of both friends and foes in front of the Knight's charge, trying to slow Butters down.

He went through them like a whirlwind, striking down only the foe. I threw one hand forward, helixes of soulfire that Lash left behind spiraling into the enemy ranks like a canon ball. I was already moving through the gap, moving with the utter certainty that there'd be a passageway to the heart of the enemy.

For this instant in time, there was hope. There was room for choices to be made. Because, as my father had said, obfuscation was the best way to convince a population that all hope was lost. The light of Hope, Faith, and...God, what did I even call the temporary holy sword? Love was already taken. Though she had done it for love, it hadn't been the pure, unbiased kind I'd grown to expect from angels.

Sacrifice, I decided. I held up the Sword of Sacrifice, and its light shone like a beacon over the battlefield. It thrummed in sympathetic pain with the loss of so many souls. It told them that it had not been in vain. That Evil could only seem to triumph for a time. Because there were always those willing to lay down their very souls so that other people would live. It wasn't a Sword, in the same way that Butters and Sanya knew them, but an accompanying note that enhanced the flavor of power that shone from its sister blades.

I extended my free hand and gathered power into my palm. It wasn't much. There was no more fuel for a city-wide boom box. But there was enough for a megaphone. A big, distracting shout at just the right moment.

Guns and Roses' Sympathy For the Devil blared into the night, casually defiant in the face of the titan's will. I felt a small, warm pulse of amused approval from the Sword before its attention turned back to the task at hand.

The spell did exactly what it was supposed to. The Titan's head swiveled toward me. Her heel lashed out and broke apart what meager shields I could muster in the split second before it hit me.

I went flying like a ragdoll and hit a pile of debris. Things broke. Mostly me. But before my eyes slammed shut, I saw Butters reach her. I saw the Sword of Faith flash.

And I saw a Titan bleed.

Chapter Text

The doctors said it was a miracle that I survived the hit. Most of them had no clue how right they were.

But even divine intervention had its limits. The ribs on my right side snapped like kindling beneath the Titan's heel. I'd bounced twice before coming to a complete stop and had even more broken bones to show for it. And I'd gotten off lucky. When I woke up, I was in one of the makeshift overflow tents outside Cook County Hospital, chest wrapped and limbs already splinted, just awaiting plaster casts. The rooms inside were reserved for the critical patients. The hundreds who'd been trapped under rubble and needed emergency amputations. The burn patients, who died quietly, were ferried to the afterlife by the rationed drip of pain medications in their IVs. Those who'd survived being impaled by flying rebar and other debris.

The first wizard to visit me wasn't the one I expected. He was short and stocky, with a bald pate that gleamed under the work lights set up around the tent. The tufts of hair that remained were white, and his face wore his age with only grudging acceptance. Most of the snowy white had migrated to his chin, where he sported an impressive beard. He pulled up a chair next to mine, laying a solid oak staff across his lap as he considered me.

"I remember you," he said. "From that debacle with Nicodemus."

I tried to shrug and had to abort the attempt halfway through. It hurt. A lot.

"And I remember you. Sort of. Just your voice. I think it was..." I screwed up my concentration and parroted back the words in a passable imitation of the man, "'One good act don't redeem her of a whole mess of wrong, Hoss.'"

That made the old man smile. "Something like that, yes. You've got a good memory. I thought you were sleeping during that particular conversation."

"Sort of just...floating. I was in shock. Not a lot penetrated. Just fragments. An older Native American man tried to heal me. Wizard Solis wanted to go to bat for me, but the Merlin wasn't sold on it."

The man grunted and leaned back in his chair, white beard twitching. It was hard to tell, but I thought he might have smiled.

"I'd say that's a fair bit more than fragments."

I tried to shrug again and actually yelped when the motion jarred something in my arm. When I could finally suck in a breath I asked, "Are you here to kill me then?"

The old man tilted his head at a more quizzical angle. "What makes you think I'm here to do somethin' like that?"

The short, disbelieving laugh that escaped me made my chest and throat burn like fire. When I could finally force myself to speak, I jabbed a finger at him in demonstration.

"You are a wizard of the White Council." I jabbed the finger at myself. "I am a warlock. There are thousands of people dying all around us. You wouldn't even need magic to do it. Just angle the broken ribs in and puncture both lungs."

The lines around his eyes drew tight, and the strength of his distaste coated the inside of my mouth like bile. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees so that he could give me an instant of very solid eye contact. I turned my head before a soulgaze could begin.

"Aye," he said slowly. "But it seems to me a person can be more than one thing. You broke the law when you were a stupid kid. Then that stupid kid grew up and helped redeem an angel. I think that means we misjudged you the first time around. I'm here to offer you a second chance." He stuck out his hand toward me, dropping it awkwardly when he realized I couldn't take it. "I'm Ebenezer McCoy."

"Molly Carpenter. But you knew that."

He nodded. "In light of recent events, the Council offers you a suspended sentence under the Doom of Damocles."

"Doesn't an adult wizard have to take responsibility for me? That's what Harry did for my brother."

The lines around Ebenezer's eyes softened and fanned out in a joyful arc when he smiled. He rapped my forehead lightly with his knuckles, going for one of the only places on my body that wasn't scraped, bruised, or broken.

"What do you think I'm here for, Little Lady? Since Hoss ain't able to do it himself, I'm here to do it for him."

I examined him for a quiet moment and shook my head. "No, that's not it. Or at least, not all of it. There's a lot you're not telling me." I thought about it, then continued, feeling more sure of my suspicion with every word. "This is about what Marcone did, isn't it? Trying to put me out of the Council's reach. I bet the control freaks on the Senior Council didn't like that one bit. So this is the solution. Put me under their legal purview, so it looks above board if you try to kill me."

The good humor fled, leaving a smaller, more weary-looking man in its place.

"You trying to use neuromancy?"

"No. I'm just sensitive and I've been around the political block. It sucks."

He frowned. "You'll need to get that under control. That's the first thing we'll work on when you're healed up."

"I never said that I was taking your offer."

Ebenezer stood. "You will."

"What makes you so sure?"

Ebenezer paced to the end of my cot before he turned and gave me a sad smile. "Because you're just like that damn fool. You're gonna prove us old windbags wrong out of sheer pigheadedness."

He wasn't wrong. If I took the offer, I was opening myself to risk. But I'd also have the closest thing to a real life that I could get. At least I wouldn't have to flee like a hunted animal. I could stay home. With my family.

God, that sounded like Heaven.

"So, when do we get started?" I asked.

"Winter Solstice. I'll meet you at the castle."

"I'll be there."

Chapter Text

Marcone raised an incredulous brow at me. "You cannot be serious."

I held the Sharpie I'd lifted off one of the aid workers and waggled it at him with a grin. "I'm dead serious. Sign it, Boss Man."

Marcone's lips pursed, but he took the marker from my outstretched fingers. They were about the only parts of my body I could move easily and without much pain. He uncapped the Sharpie and then paused.

"This seems very...middle school."

"And I spent most of middle school in a war zone or trotting merrily down the left-hand path. Indulge me."

He sighed. "Very well. What do you want me to write?"

I twitched one shoulder. It was the closest I could get to a shrug without pulling something. "Whatever you want. I think Sanya drew a penis on the underside, but I didn't get a chance to look before Mom struck it out."

It was humor Hendricks would have appreciated. But he was gone now, along with so many others. Members of the Ordo. Murphy. Nelson, who'd expired from a brain bleed not long after arriving at the house. Thomas, who was not dead, but was as inaccessible as any corpse.

And Lasciel. Not dead but definitely gone. Her absence was dull and ever-present like a toothache. Something I could put on the back burner when things were hectic, but consumed me in the quiet moments. I cried a lot. The place where she'd been made me its bitch for a while.

Dad had gotten to the root of the complex knot of emotions, as usual. He'd thrust a pointed finger right into the bruise in my soul making it nearly impossible to breathe.

I wanted her back. After everything she'd done, everything she'd sacrificed, the simple truth was, that I wanted her back. Even if it meant she was damned. Even if it hurt me. Heaven was better for her. But it meant she'd left me behind.

I'd cried so hard they had to sedate me after that.

Marcone's lips twitched, but his eyes were somber, as though he'd read my thoughts. Who knows? Maybe he had. I still wasn't clear on everything Thorned Namshiel was capable of. He leaned over the cast and scrawled something before capping the marker. I didn't glance down to see what he'd written. If he'd only put down his business signature I'd be disappointed. If he'd drawn something ludicrous I'd laugh, and that would hurt like hell.

"I hear you're being sent home today," he said quietly, mindful of the ears all around. Most patients in the tent were insensible, too medicated, or traumatized to care what their neighbor was doing. Still, instinct was instinct, and Marcone's could be lethal.

"That's what the doctor said," I said, settling my arm back in my lap. The doctors had finally cleared me for limited movement. "But you knew that already. You've probably gotten status updates on my condition daily."

Marcone inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point. I was too tired to remark on his surveillance. Anything I said would go in one ear and out the other. If John Marcone decided I needed to be watched, there'd be someone in the street across from the Carpenter house taking photos and reporting back to him.

"How'd your meeting with Mab and the others go?" I asked in a more cavalier tone.

Marcone grimaced. "Don't ask."

"So it went badly."

"Another time," he said, waving the words away impatiently. "For now, I will simply say that there is a plan for the city moving forward."

Which wasn't much comfort to the dead, and would only consolidate his power in the city. I supposed Chicago could do worse than having the infernal robber baron run things behind the scenes. I at least trusted that Marcone was going to pay the Fomor back on behalf of his people--with interest.

"You didn't have to come in person, you know," I said. "There are a lot of Red Cross folks who can wheel me out to the front."

Marcone placed something on my lap in answer. It was a modest stack of manila envelopes. I gave him a searching look.

"What's this?"

"Everything you'll need to get started," Marcone answered. "I have some contacts in state and federal bureaucracy. As far as the state of Illinois is concerned, Margaret Carpenter was found in the rubble of a destroyed neighborhood, alive and relatively unharmed. I believe there will be an afternoon news broadcast about it in a few days from now."

I stared at him. He couldn't mean...

"I'm alive? Legally?"

He nodded. "A suitable scapegoat was found to take the blame for your disappearance. A known criminal offender that I could never quite catch in the act. I'll give you the details soon. Feel free to embellish the story if you wish. Or claim trauma-induced amnesia. In this climate, no one will care either way."

I lifted the tines and shook the folder's contents out on my lap. The first thing to fall out was an Illinois birth certificate. Then a social security card. A dozen other things I couldn't identify. And finally, the details of a bank account with a staggering amount in it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Wergild," Marcone said. "Everyone who lost someone in the battle will be compensated fairly."

I frowned. "But...I didn't lose anyone."

Marcone's eyebrows rose, expression eloquent. "Didn't you?"

It took me a moment to understand the look. When I did, I ducked my chin. Hot, stinging tears were never far away these days. After the battle every wall I'd put up crumbled, leaving me awash in the city's grief. It was hard to bear, on top of what I was already grieving.

"She's not dead."

"But she is gone. Take it. Donate it all to charity if you wish. But I honor my debts."

Marcone stood. He made it halfway to the nearest open tent flap before he turned around, strode back to me, seized the marker from my lap, and scrawled something new on the cast. Then he faced resolutely forward and walked away without saying goodbye.

I cried. It wasn't anything special. I'd been doing a lot of that since the battle concluded. Too much pain. Too much loss. I'd already said goodbye to John Marcone. This farewell shouldn't sting more than the last.

When I finally dared to examine the orange plaster cast, I found his signature squeezed in between Mom's and Gard's. It was only a handful of words, but they warmed my heart, all the same.

Be Happy, Molly.

With my most sincere well wishes,

John Marcone.

Chapter Text

Michael

All wounds heal, even those inflicted by a Titan.

It took several months to clear the city of rubble, and still more to construct enough shelters to house the unhomed. Saint Mary of the Angels and Soldiers Field became refuges for the displaced in the months following the attack on Chicago. There was enough grief to overflow Lake Michigan.

But there was hope too. Love. Generosity. Compassion. Charity. When times are at their darkest, God shows his light. A kindness from a stranger might seem like a tea light against the endless dark, but millions of flickering sparks in the dark still cast enough light with which to see the truth. We would recover. It would take time and patience, but God would sort this tragedy out, one person at a time. I didn't worry for the people of Chicago.

I worried for my Molly.

She'd died and come back once. It had been like a serrated knife to my guts to realize how close I'd come to losing her all over again. But what lay on the living room couch hadn't been my daughter. Her light had come back, little by little, and I'd been able to breathe easier.

This version of Molly wasn't hollow-eyed and suffering but she did appear...vague. Distant. Harry's theory was that exposure to power so that elemental meant that Lasciel had to make the conscious choice to keep her alive. The explosion of Lasciel's Grace had been potent enough to level city blocks, and Molly had only received the lightest of what that power could do. It was still enough to scramble someone's brain. He predicted she'd have phobias for a while. Anxiety. Depression. The prescription the doctor gave her was helping, but it wasn't a cure.

I frowned down at the golden brown flapjack in the skillet. Charity usually allowed Molly to sleep late, so I made her breakfast closer to noon, setting it aside so she could eat it when she was ready.

Molly was upstairs in her room, face buried in her pillow. Sometimes I heard her nightmares through the walls. Heard her weeping in her sleep. And it broke my heart. Charity never protested my absence those nights. Sometimes, we both crawled into Molly's bed together and wedged her between our bodies, the way we had when she was small. It couldn't protect her from harm, but it felt better to hold her than let her suffer alone.

The knock at the door wasn't unusual. Sometimes it was a neighbor asking for food or clean water, which we provided when we could. Other times, it was a drifter in need of a bed, and we opened our doors.

Today, it was a petite red-head dressed in a convention t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Only the wild, flyaway curls boosted her above five feet tall. She was slender in the way some young women are. It made her look awkward and untried, like a colt taking its first trembling steps in the real world. She looked...disturbed, almost, frightened by the environment she found herself in. Wide, sky-blue eyes fastened on my face a moment later.

To my surprise, she leaned up to touch my cheek, marveling at the texture. The ghost of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

"You are much taller in real life," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I'm not sure I'll get used to life on this scale. It just seems so..confining." She waved a hand through the air, lips twisting a second later. "Sorry for all the...mess. I'm trying to figure out how to word this. Language is so cumbersome, honestly. It's a marvel that you people write epic poetry with so few phonemes."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have we met?"

The girl straightened to her full height. "Three times, Sir Knight. You were a worthy opponent. But times have changed."

Then she stepped calmly past the threshold. The solidity of the hand that took mine sent a jolt of pure, befuddled panic up my spine. Because the cadence of her speech was familiar. I'd heard it twice before. Once, when I'd faced its owner on Harry's island. And again, on my own property as Molly fought to reason with me and a fallen angel.

I took an unsteady step back. She couldn't be who she was implying herself to be. Lasciel had returned to the Host. The sanctified coin Molly kept on the top shelf of her closet was a testament to that.

And yet, there she was, standing almost nose-to-nose with me, apparently as human as I was.

"I want to see her," Lasciel said quietly.

"Soon," I said, surprised by the word that had tumbled out of my mouth. A moment later, I was sure it was the right response. That still, quiet affirmation once again. "But first, you're putting on an apron, young lady."

Lasciel's girl disguise raised an incredulous copper brow. "Why?"

"Because you are going to help me make pancakes."