Cold Days

Chapter Fifty-three
Two Queens of Faerie lay dead.
Long live the Queens.
Everyone was shocked, still.
I turned to the retinues of the fallen Queens and said, “Let Fix go. Now.”
They released the smaller man, and he went at once to Lily’s side, his face still wrenched with grief.
“You will put down anything you took from my friends,” I told the fae in a level voice. “Then you will withdraw as far down the hill as the wall will allow. If I see any of you try anything violent, you will never leave this island. Am I understood?”
I didn’t look like much, but Mab was looming right over one of my shoulders, and Demonreach over the other, so they took me seriously—even the rawhead. They all moved away, breaking into two groups as they went.
“Harry,” Karrin said. “What just happened? Is Molly all right?”
I stared hard at Mab. “I don’t know,” I said to Karrin. “Can you and Justine get them both into the cottage? Just . . . make sure they don’t swallow their own tongues or something.” I looked over at Justine. “How you doing, Mac?”
Mac gave me a weary, shaky thumbs-up.
Justine looked up from tending to him. “I don’t think there’s too much bleeding. But we need to get this dirt washed off of him.”
“There’s a pump by the door to the cottage,” I said. I looked around and frowned at Demonreach. “Hey, make yourself useful and help them carry the wounded inside.”
Demonreach eyed me.
But it did so, lumbering forward to pick Molly and then Sarissa up, very carefully, the way a person would carry an infant, one in each arm. Then it walked over to the cottage, carrying them. Karrin, meanwhile, went to Justine, and between the two of them, they were able to get Mac on his feet and hobbling into the cottage. I went and managed to drag Thomas over my shoulder. I toted his unconscious form to the cottage, too, and told Mouse, “Stay with him, boy.”
Mouse made a distressed noise, and looked over at Molly. He sat down on the floor halfway between the two of them, and looked back and forth.
“Just have to have a little campout until dawn,” I said. “We’ll take care of them.”
Mouse sighed.
“Harry,” Karrin began.
“Gun,” I said quietly, and held out a hand.
She blinked at me, but she checked it, engaged the safety, and handed it over.
“Stay here,” I said, moving toward the door.
“Harry, what are y—”
“Stay here,” I snarled, furious. I took the safety off and left the cottage to stalk over to Mab.
As I crossed to her, her black gown and hair became storm-cloud grey, then silver, then white again.
“Yes, my Knight?” she asked me.
I started walking around the base of the tower, away from the cottage. “Could you please come this way?”
She arched a brow but did, moving over the ground with the same approximate weight as moonlight.
I walked until we were out of sight of the cottage and the fae down the hill. Then I thumbed back the hammer on the little gun, spun, and put the barrel against Mab’s forehead.
Mab stopped and regarded me with luminous unblinking eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s still Halloween,” I said, shaking with exhaustion and rage. “And I am in no mood for games. I want answers.”
“I have turned villages to stone for gestures less insulting than this one,” Mab said in a level tone. “But I am your guest here. And you are clearly overwrought.”
“You’re goddamned right I’m overwrought,” I growled. “You set me up. That’s one thing. I walked into it with open eyes. I get it, and I’ll deal with it. But you set Molly up. Give me one good reason not to put a bullet through your head right now.”
“First,” Mab said, “because you would not survive to finish pulling the trigger. But as threatening your life has never been a successful way to pierce your skull, I will provide you with a second. Miss Carpenter will have difficulty enough learning to cope with the Lady’s mantle without you handing her mine as well. Don’t you think?”
Right. I hadn’t thought about that part. But I wasn’t feeling terribly rational.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you do it to her?”
“It was not my intention for her to replace Maeve,” Mab said. “Frankly, I would have considered her a better candidate for Summer.”
“You still haven’t told me why,” I said.
“I meant Sarissa to take Maeve’s place,” Mab said. “But one does not place all one’s hopes with any one place, person, or plan. Like chess, the superior player does not plan to accomplish a single gambit, a particular entrapment. She establishes her pieces so that regardless of what her enemy does, she has forces ready to respond, to adapt, and to destroy. Molly was made ready as a contingency.”
“In case something happened to your own daughter?” I asked.
“Something had already happened to my daughter,” Mab said. “It was my intention to make Sarissa ready for her new role, much as I made you ready for yours.”
“That’s why you exposed her to all of those things alongside me?”
“I have no use for weakness, wizard. The situation here developed in a way I did not expect. Molly had originally been positioned with another purpose in mind—but her presence made it possible to defeat the adversary’s gambit.”
“Positioned,” I spat. “Gambit. Is that what Molly is to you? A pawn?”
“No,” Mab said calmly, “not anymore.”
That rocked my head back as surely as if she’d punched me in the nose. I felt a little bit dizzy. I lowered the gun.
“She’s a kid,” I said tiredly. “She had her whole life ahead of her, and you did this to her.”
“Maeve was always overly dramatic, but in this instance she was quite correct. I could not risk killing her if I did not have a vessel on hand to receive her mantle—and the lack of the Winter Lady’s strength would have been critical. It is one of the better plays the adversary has made.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” I said.
“I do not,” she said. “I do not see how what I have done is substantially different from what you have been doing for many years.”
“What?” I asked.
“I gave her power,” she said, as if explaining something simple to a child.
“That is not what I have been doing,” I spat.
“Is it not?” Mab asked. “Have I misunderstood? First you captured her imagination and affection as an associate of her father’s. You made her curious about what you could do, and nurtured that curiosity with silence. Then when she went to explore the Art, you elected not to interfere until such time as she found herself in dire straits—at which point your aid placed her deep within your obligation. You used that and her emotional attachment to you to plant and reap a follower who was talented, loyal, and in your debt. It was actually very well-done.”
I stood there with my mouth open for a second. “That . . . that isn’t . . . what I did.”
Mab leaned closer to me and said, “That is precisely what you did,” she said. “The only thing you did not do is admit to yourself that you were doing it. Which is why you never availed yourself of her charms. You told yourself lovely, idealistic lies, and you had a powerful, talented, loyal girl willing to give her life for yours who also had nowhere else to turn for help. As far as your career as a mentor goes, you grew into much the same image as DuMorne.”
“That . . . that isn’t what I did,” I repeated, harder. “What you’re doing to her will change her.”
“Did she not change after you began to indoctrinate her?” Mab asked. “You were perhaps too soft on her during her training, but had she not already begun to become a different person?”
“A person she chose to be,” I said.
“Did she choose to be born with her gift for the Art? Did she choose to become someone so sensitive that she can hardly remain in a crowded room? I did not do that to her—you did.”
I ground my teeth.
“Consider,” Mab said, “that I have done something for her that you never could have.”
“What’s that, exactly?”
“I have put her beyond the reach of the White Council and their Wardens,” Mab said, again as if explaining something to an idiot. “While they might howl and lecture as much as they wish about an apprentice wizard, they can do nothing at all to the Winter Lady.”
I took a deep breath.
That . . . was also true.
“You’ve made her life so much harder,” I said quietly. I wasn’t saying it to Mab, really. I was just sounding out loud the chain of argument in my head. “But so have I. Especially after Chichén Itzá.”
“You trusted her with your mind and your life,” Mab said. “I took that as a statement of confidence in her abilities. You will be working frequently with the Winter Lady. It seems to me that this would be a most appropriate match.”
“And her duties?” I asked. “What is the purpose of the Winter Lady?”
“That is for her to know,” Mab said. “Know this, my Knight: Had I not considered her an excellent candidate, I would never have had her prepared. She has the basic skills she will need to master the power of the mantle—especially if one she trusts is there to advise and reassure her.”
“You should have spoken to me about this first,” I said. “You should have spoken to her.”
Mab moved so quickly that I literally never saw it. The gun was suddenly, simply gone from my hand and was being pushed into my face—in exactly the same spot where Maeve had been shot.
“I,” Mab said coolly, “am not your servant, Dresden. You are mine.”
“Demonreach,” I said. “If our guest pulls that trigger, take her below and keep her there.”
The guardian spirit’s vast shadow fell over us even though there was nothing actually casting it, and Mab’s eyes widened.
“Servant,” I said. “I don’t like that word. I suggest that you consider where you stand and choose a different term. My Queen. And you will be gentle with that girl, or so help me I will make you regret it.”
Mab’s mouth quirked very slightly—her eyes more so. She looked up at me almost fondly, exhaled, and said, “Finally, a Knight worth the trouble.” She lowered the gun and calmly passed it back to me.
I took it from her.
“Have you any other questions?” she asked.
I frowned, thinking. “Yeah, actually. Someone called Thomas and told him to be ready at the boat when I first got back to town. Do you know anything about that?”
“I arranged it, of course,” Mab said, in a voice that sounded exactly like Molly’s. “As a courtesy to the ancient one, just before your party started.”
At that, I shuddered. Molly’s voice coming from that inhumanly cold face was . . . just wrong.
“Lily,” I said. “She waved her hand over my chest, as if she could detect the influence of the adversary.”
Mab’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Yes.”
“Could she?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Mab said. “Were it so simple a task, the adversary would be no threat. Not even the Gatekeeper, at the focus of his power, can be absolutely certain.”
“Then why would she think she could?” I asked. Then I answered my own question. “Because Maeve led her to believe that she could. All Maeve had to do was lie, and maybe sacrifice a couple of the adversary’s pawns to make it seem real. Then she could have Lily wave her hands at her, and ‘prove’ to her that Maeve was clean of any taint. And Lily wasn’t experienced enough to know any better. After that, Lily would have bought just about anything Maeve was selling.”
“Obviously,” Mab said, her tone mildly acidic. “Have you any questions you cannot answer for yourself?”
I clenched my jaw and relaxed it a couple of times. Then I asked, “Was it hard for you? Tonight?”
“Hard?” Mab asked.
“She was your daughter,” I said.
Mab became very silent, and very still. She considered the ground around us, and paced up and down a bit, slowly, frowning, as if trying to remember the lyrics of a song from her childhood.
Finally she became still again, closing her eyes.
“Even tonight, with everything going to hell, you couldn’t hurt her,” I said.
Mab opened her eyes and stared down through a gap in the trees at the vast waters of Lake Michigan.
“A few years back, you got angry. So angry that when you spoke it made people bleed from the ears. That was why. Because you figured out that the adversary had taken Maeve. And it hurt. To know that the adversary had gotten to her.”
“It was the knife,” Mab said.
“Knife?”
“Morgana’s athame,” Mab said in a neutral tone—but her eyes were far away. “The one given her by the Red Court at Bianca’s masquerade. That was how the Leanansidhe was tainted—and your godmother spread it to Maeve before I could set it right.”
“Oh,” I said. I’d been at that party.
Mab turned to me abruptly and said, “I would lay them to rest upon the island, the fallen Ladies, if that does not offend you.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “But check with the island.”
“I shall. Please excuse me.” She turned and began walking away.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
She stopped, her back straight.
“Was it hard for you to kill Maeve?”
Mab did not turn around. When she spoke, her voice had something in it I had never heard there before and never heard again—uncertainty. Vulnerability.
“I was mortal once, you know,” she said, very quietly.
And then she kept walking toward her daughter’s body, while I stared angrily . . . sadly . . . thoughtfully after her.
The rest of the night passed without anyone getting killed. I sat down with my back against the outside wall of the cottage, to keep an eye on my “guests” down the hill, but when I blinked a few seconds later, my eyes stuck shut, and then didn’t open again until I heard, distantly, a bird twittering.
Footsteps came crunching up the hill, and I opened my eyes to see Kringle approaching. His red cloak and gleaming mail were stained with black ichor, the hilt of his sword was simply missing a chunk, as if it had been bitten away, and his mouth was set in a wide, pleased smile. “Dresden,” he said calmly.
“Kringle.”
“Long night?”
“Long day,” I said. Someone, during the night, had covered me with an old woolen army surplus blanket that had been in a plastic storage box in the cottage. I eyed him. “Have fun?”
A low, warm rumble of a laugh bubbled in his chest. “Very much so. If I don’t get into a good battle every few years, life just isn’t the same.”
“Even if it’s on Halloween?” I asked.
He eyed me, and his smile became wider and more impish. “Especially then,” he said. “How’s the leg?”
I grunted and checked. Butters’s dressing had stayed on throughout the events of the night. The constant, burning sting was gone, and I peeled off the dressing to see that the little wound on my leg had finally scabbed over. “Looks like I’ll live.”
“Hawthorn dart,” Kringle said. “Nasty stuff. Hawthorn wood burns hot, and doesn’t care for creatures of Winter.” His expression sobered. “I’ve a message for you.”
“Ah?” I asked.
“Mab has taken the new Ladies with her,” he said. “She said to tell you that the new Winter Lady would be returned safely to her apartment in a few days, after some brief and gentle instruction. Mab is on excellent terms with the svartalves, and anticipates no problems with your apprentice’s . . . new position.”
“That’s . . . good, I guess,” I said.
“It is,” Kringle replied. “Dresden . . . this is the business of the Queens. I advise you not to attempt to interfere with it.”
“I already interfered,” I said.
Kringle straightened, and his fierce smile became somehow satisfied. “Aye? Like to live dangerously, do you?” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “Never let her make you cringe—but never challenge her pride, wizard. I don’t know exactly what passed between you, but I suspect that if it had been witnessed by another, she would break you to pieces. I’ve seen it before. Terrible pride in that creature. She’ll never bend it.”
“She’ll never bend,” I said. “That’s okay. I can respect that.”
“Could be that you can,” Kringle said. He nodded to me and turned to go.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned to me pleasantly.
“The whole Winter Knight thing,” I said. “It’s made me stronger.”
“True enough,” he said.
“But not that much stronger,” I said. “You could have beaten me last night.”
“Oh?” Kringle’s smile faded—except from his eyes.
“And I’ve seen goblins move a few times,” I said. “The Erlking could have gotten out of the way of that shot.”
“Really?”
“You meant me to have the Wild Hunt.”
“No one can be given a power like the Wild Hunt, Dresden,” Kringle said. “He can only take it.”
“Really?” I said, as drily as I knew how.
That got another laugh from Kringle. “You have guts and will, mortal. It had to be shown, or the Hunt would never have accepted you.”
“Maybe I’ll just punch you out whenever I feel like it, then,” I said.
“Maybe you’ll try,” Kringle replied amiably. He looked out at the lightening sky and let out a satisfied breath. “It was Halloween, Dresden. You put on a mask for a time. That’s all.” He looked directly at me and said, “Many, many mantles are worn—or discarded—on Halloween night, wizard.”
“You mean masks?” I asked, frowning.
“Masks, mantles,” Kringle said. “What’s the difference?”
He winked at me.
And for the briefest fraction of a second, the shadows falling from the tower and the cottage in the gathering morning behind us seemed to flow together. The eye he winked with vanished behind a stripe of shadow and what looked like a wide scar. His face seemed leaner, and for that instant I saw Vadderung’s wolfish features lurking inside Kringle’s.
I sat straight up, staring.
Kringle finished his wink, turned jauntily, and started walking down the hill, humming “Here Comes Santa Claus” in a rumbling bass voice.
I stared after him.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself.
I stood up and wrapped the army surplus blanket around myself before I walked into the cottage. I smelled coffee and soup, and my stomach wanted lots of both.
There was a fire going in the fireplace, and my coffeepot was hanging near the fire. The soup kettle was hanging on its swinger, too. The soup would be made from stock and freeze-dried meat, but I was hungry enough not to be picky. Everyone else there probably felt the same way.
Thomas was sacked out on one of the cots, snoring. Justine had spooned up behind him, her face pressed into his back. They both had clean faces and hands, at least. Mac was snoozing on the other cot, bare to the waist, his chest and stomach evidently washed free of any dirt—and any blood or any injury as well.
Sarissa was gone. Molly was gone. Fix was gone. I felt confident they had left together.
Karrin sat at the fire, staring in, a cup of coffee in her hands. Mouse sat beside her. When I came in, he looked over at me and started wagging his tail.
“You leave the blanket?” I asked quietly.
“Once we got the fire going,” she said. “I suppose I could go get you your duster now, though.”
“I’d look like a flasher,” I said.
She smiled, very slightly, and offered me two mugs. I looked. One had coffee, the other very chunky soup. She passed me a camp fork to go along with the soup. “It isn’t much,” she said.
“Don’t care,” I said, and sat down on the hearth across from her to partake of both. The heat gurgled into my belly along with the food and the coffee, and I started feeling human for the first time in . . . a while. I ached everywhere. It wasn’t at all pleasant, but it felt like something I’d come by honestly.
“Christ, Dresden,” Karrin said. “You could at least wash your hands.” She picked up a towelette and leaned over to start cleaning off my hands. My stomach thought stopping was a bad idea, but I put the mugs aside and let her.
She cleaned my hands off patiently, going through a couple of towelettes. Then she said, “Lean over.”
I did.
She took a fresh towelette and wiped off my face, slowly and carefully. There were nicks and cuts. It hurt when she cleaned one of them out, but it also felt right. Sometimes the things that are good for you, in the long run, hurt for a little while when you first get to them.
“There,” she said a moment later. “You almost look human—” She paused at that, and looked down. “I mean . . .”
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“Yeah.”
The fire crackled.
“What’s the story with Mac?” I asked.
Karrin looked over at the sleeping man. “Mab,” she said. “She just came in here a few minutes ago and looked at him. Then before anyone could react, she ripped off the bandage, stuck her fingers into the wound, and pulled out the bullet. Dropped it right on his chest.”
“No wound now,” I noted.
“Yeah. Started closing up the minute she was done. But you remember the time he got beaten so badly in his bar? Why didn’t his injuries regenerate then?”
I shook my head. “Maybe because he was conscious then.”
“He did turn down the painkillers. I remember it seemed odd at the time,” Karrin murmured. “What is he?”
I shrugged. “Ask him.”
“I did,” she said, “right before he passed out.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘I’m out.’”
I grunted.
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
I thought about it. “Maybe it means he’s out.”
“We just let it go?” she asked.
“It’s what he wants,” I said. “Think we should torture him?”
“Point,” she said, and sighed. “Maybe instead we just let him rest.”
“Maybe we should let him make beer,” I said. “What about Thomas?”
“Woke up. Ate.” She frowned and clarified, “Ate soup. Been asleep for a couple of hours. That big bone thing really clobbered him.”
“There’s always someone bigger than you,” I said.
She gave me a look.
“More true for some than others,” I clarified.
She rolled her eyes.
“So,” I said, a moment later.
“So,” she said.
“Um. Should we talk?”
“About what?”
Mouse looked back and forth between us and started wagging his tail hopefully.
“Quiet, you,” I said, and rubbed his ears. “Bad guy made of bones and he gets the drop on you? Charity giving you too many treats or something? That fight should have been like Scooby-Doo versus the Scooby Snack Ghost.”
Mouse grinned happily, unfazed, still wagging his tail.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Karrin said. “There’s always someone bigger.” Then she shook her head and said, “Wow, we are such children. We’ll grab at any excuse not to talk about us right now.”
My soup did a little flip-flop. “Um,” I said. “Yeah.” I swallowed. “We . . . we kissed.”
“There’s a song about what that means,” Karrin said.
“Yeah. But I don’t sing.”
She paused, as if her soup had just started doing gymnastics, too.
Then she spoke very carefully. “There are factors.”
“Like Kincaid,” I said, without any heat or resentment.
“He’s not one of them,” she said. “Not anymore.”
“Oh,” I said, a little surprised.
“It’s you, Harry.”
“Pretty sure I’m supposed to be a factor.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Just . . . not against.” She took my hands. “I’ve seen things in you over the past day that . . . concern me.”
“Concern you.”
“They scare the holy loving f*ck out of me,” she said calmly, by way of clarification. “This Winter Knight thing. You’re not changing. You’ve already changed.”
I felt a little chill. “What do you mean? Tonight? Hell, Karrin, when haven’t we done monsters and mayhem?”
“We’ve done it a lot,” she said. “But you’ve always been scared of it before. You did it anyway, but you thought it was scary. That’s the sane thing to think.”
“So?” I asked. “What was different about it tonight?”
“The way your erection kept pressing into my back,” she said wryly.
“Uh,” I said. “Really?”
“Yeah, a woman kind of notices.”
I hadn’t.
Gulp.
“It’s just . . . Karrin, look, that thing hardly ever does something that isn’t ill-advised. Doesn’t mean it’s going to make the calls.”
“I will never understand why men do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Talk about their genitals like they’re some other creature. Some kind of mind-controlling parasite.” She shook her head. “It’s just you, Harry. It’s all you. And part of you was really loving everything that was going on.”
“And that’s bad?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then she made a short, frustrated sound. “No. Maybe. It’s a change.”
“Do changes have to be bad?”
“Of course not. But I don’t know if this one is bad or not yet,” she said. “Harry . . . you are the strongest man I know, in more than one sense of the word. And because you are . . . it means that if you do change . . .”
“You think I’d be some kind of monster,” I said.
She shrugged, and squeezed my hands with hers. “I’m not saying this right. It’s not coming out right. But I felt you, when we were with the Hunt. I knew what was driving you, what you were feeling. And in the moment, I was down with it—and that scares me, too.”
“So am I too much of a monster or are you?” I asked. “I’m getting confused.”
“Join the club,” she said.
“You’re saying that the problem is, you think I could go bad,” I said.
“I know you could,” she said. “Anyone can. And you’ve got more opportunity than most. And maybe you shouldn’t be rocking your emotional boat right now. When Susan broke your heart, right after she was changed? You went into a downward spiral. If that happened now, with the kinds of things you’re facing . . . Harry, I’m afraid you might not be able to pull out of it.”
That much sure as hell was true. “You aren’t wrong,” I said. “But we haven’t even gone on a date yet and you’ve already skipped ahead to the ugly breakup?”
“There are factors,” she repeated in a firm, steady voice.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like this thing with Molly,” Karrin said.
“There’s no thing with Molly,” I said. “There’s never going to be a thing with Molly.”
She sighed. “You’re a wizard. She’s a wizard. Now you’re the Winter Knight. And she’s the Winter Lady.”
“Karrin,” I began.
“And I’m going to get old and die soon,” Karrin said very, very quietly. “Relatively soon. But you’re going to keep going for centuries. And so is she. The two of you are close—and even if nothing ever happens . . . it’s one more thing. You know?”
We held hands and the fire crackled.
“Oh,” I said.
She nodded.
“So there are things stacked against us,” I said. “What else is new?”
“You are the captain of disaster in the supernatural world,” she acknowledged. “But I’m the one who has repeatedly taken relationships into icebergs. I’ve done it enough to know that you and I are the Titanic.”
“We’re people,” I said. “Not some f*cking ship.”
“We’re also people,” she said. “A kiss when we’re both ramped up on adrenaline is one thing. A relationship is harder. A lot harder.” She shook her head. “If it ends in tears, I’m afraid it could destroy us both. And there’s a lot on the line right now. I don’t think this is something we should rush into. I need time to think. To . . . I just need time.”
I swallowed. She still wasn’t wrong. I didn’t like what she had to say, not one bit, but . . .
She wasn’t wrong.
“Is this where you tell me we need to be friends?” I asked.
She blinked and looked up at me. She touched my face with her fingertips. “Harry, we’re . . . We went past that a long time ago. I don’t know if we can . . . if we should be lovers. But I’m your friend. Your ally. I’ve seen what you want, and what you’re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.” She took one of my hands between hers, pressing hard. “I feel lost since they fired me. I don’t know what I’m meant to do or who I ought to be. But what I do know is that I’ve got your back. Always.” Tears fell from her blue eyes. “So goddammit, don’t you start taking the highway to Hell. Because I’m going to be right there with you. All the way.”
I couldn’t see her face after that. I felt her head underneath my chin, and I put my arms around her. We sat together like that for a while.
“Things are going to get bad,” I said quietly. “I don’t know how or when, exactly. But there’s a storm coming. Being near me isn’t going to be . . . sane.”
“Let’s just agree that I’m not all the way together, and save us both some time arguing,” she said. “Always, Harry. I’m there. End of story.”
“Okay,” I said. “One condition.”
“What?”
“That’s not the end of the story,” I said. “I mean, maybe neither one of us is ready. But we could be, one day. And maybe we will be.”
“Optimistic idiot,” she said, but I could hear the smile.
“And if we get to that place,” I said, “you don’t chicken out. You don’t run away, no matter how it looks to you. We set course for the f*cking iceberg, full speed ahead.”
She started shaking. She was weeping.
“And the sex,” I said. “It will be frequent. Possibly violent. You’ll be screaming. Neighbors will make phone calls.”
She started shaking harder. She was laughing.
“Those are my conditions,” I said. “Take them or leave them.”
“You’re such a pig, Dresden,” Karrin said. Then she drew back enough to give me a look through tearstained blue eyes. “Maybe you’ll be the one screaming.”
“You sure about this?” asked Thomas. “Out here by yourself?”
“Cold isn’t really an issue anymore,” I said, untying the first of the lines from the Water Beetle to the Whatsup Dock. I was wearing some of his clothes from the ship. The sweats were too short, and the shirt was too tight, but the duster hid most of that. “And I’ve got supplies for a week or so, until you can make it back. You sure that tub’s going to make it back to town?”
“Put three patches on the hull after I got her off the beach, and the pumps are working,” Thomas said. “We should be fine. What about you? That thing the island said was in your head?”
“Another reason to stay here,” I said. “If Molly’s the one who can help me, I’m on my own for now. But Demonreach seems to be able to make it leave me alone, at least while I’m here. Pretty much means I need to stay until Molly gets herself back together.”
My brother exhaled unhappily, and squinted up at the noonday sun, south of us, hidden behind grey clouds. “Heard from Lara on the radio.”
“And?”
“Both her team and Marcone’s found rituals in progress at the two sites. They broke them up. Someone really wanted this place to get screwed up.”
“Or something,” I said with a melodramatic waggle of my eyebrows.
He snorted. “You joke around. But I can’t help but think that Fix is going to hold you responsible for some of what happened last night,” he said. “He might show up to explain that to you.”
“He shows up here, there’s nothing he can do,” I said quietly. “I can take him on neutral ground. Here, it won’t even be a fight.”
“Still,” Thomas said. “Out here, alone?”
“I think it’s important,” I said. “I’ve got to know more about this place and what it can do. The only way to do that is to invest the time.”
“And it’s got nothing to do with facing Molly’s parents,” he said.
I bowed my head. “It isn’t my place to tell them. Molly should decide who they hear it from first. Once she has, yeah. There’s going to be a really hard talk. Until that time, I need to be here.”
“And it’s got nothing to do with facing Maggie,” Thomas said.
I looked away, out at the grey water of the lake.
Fix knew that Maggie existed. If he wanted to hurt me . . .
“She’s with Michael because he’s got an NFL lineup of angels protecting his house and family,” I said. “And Supermutt, too. Am I going to be able to provide a real home for her, man? An education? A real life? What’s her college application going to look like: ‘Raised on Spooky Island by wizard with GED, please help’?” I shook my head. “And when the fallout from the White Council about Molly and about this place starts hitting, it’s going to be a nightmare. I might as well have a target tattooed on her forehead as keep her near me.”
“Michael is awesome,” Thomas said. “Hell, I wish he’d raised me. But he isn’t her dad.”
“I had sex with her mother,” I said. “That’s not the same as being her father.”
Thomas shook his head. “You’d be a good dad, Harry. You’d spoil her and you’d indulge her, and you’d embarrass her in front of her friends, but you’d do right by her.”
“This is me,” I said. “Doing right by her. For now. Maybe someday things could change.”
Thomas eyed me. Then he shook his head and said, “Kids change. Into adults. Way faster than it seems like they should. Don’t take too long deciding how much change is enough.”
Hell, he was right about that much, at least. I sighed and nodded slowly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I know,” he said, and smiled at me. “Because I’m not going to shut up about it.”
I rolled my eyes and nodded. “Good. Don’t.”
I offered my fist for bumping.
Thomas ignored me and gave me a rib-cracking hug, which I returned.
“Glad you’re back,” he whispered. “Loser.”
“You gonna start crying now, wuss?” I said back.
“See you in a few days,” he said. “We’ll get the cottage finished off. Make it someplace Maggie won’t need to learn shape-shifting to survive in.”
“Just don’t forget the books,” I said. “Or the pizza for the guard.”
“Won’t.” He let go of me and hopped up onto the Water Beetle. “Any messages?”
“Molly,” I said. “When she gets back, ask her to send Toot and Lacuna to me. And . . . tell her that when she’s ready to talk, I’m here.”
Thomas nodded, untied the last line, and tossed it to me. I caught it and started coiling it. Thomas climbed up onto the bridge and took the ship out, chugging away at the sedate pace he would use until he cleared the stone reefs around Demonreach.
Karrin came out of the cabin and stood on the deck. Mouse came with her, looking solemn. She leaned back against the cabin’s wall and watched me as she went.
I watched, too, until I couldn’t see her anymore.
Thunder rumbled over Lake Michigan, unusual in November.
I settled the new black leather duster over my shoulders, picked up the long, rough branch I’d cut from the island’s oldest oak tree a few hours before, and started back up the hill, toward the former lighthouse and future cottage. I had preparations to make.
There was a storm coming in.