Chapter Forty-two
I talked Molly into staying at the church with her family until everyone had gotten some rest and we could talk things out with her mother. Any sane man would have hopped a bus for Las Vegas or somewhere rather than wait around and tell Charity Carpenter he wanted to haul her first baby in front of a gang of powerful wizards for trial and possible execution.
I found an unused cot and flopped onto it. My shins hung off the end of the undersized thing, and I didn't care a bit. Nails clicked in unsteady rhythm on tile, and I felt Mouse's warm, silent presence limp carefully to the floor beside my cot. I reached out, ruffled his ears, and laid my hand on the thick ruff of far across his shoulders. I was asleep before he settled himself down to sleep beside me.
I woke up later, in the same position I'd fallen asleep. I had a crick in my neck, and one hand dangled over the side of the bed. It had lost enough circulation to feel numb and floppy, and I had to squint over the side of the cot to see that it was still resting on Mouse's furry back. The room was unlit, but the door to the hallway was open, and afternoon-flavored sunlight lit the hall.
I wanted to go back to sleep, but I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, Mouse limping along beside me without complaint. I availed myself of indoor plumbing, and found myself wishing that they had a shower. I made do with a birdbath in the sink, and shambled back down to Forthill's guest room.
The cots were all but empty. Nelson slept in one of them, faint twitches randomly stirring his limbs. His closed eyes rolled back and forth, and he had broken into a light sweat. Nightmares, I supposed. Poor kid. I wished I could have helped, but realistically there wasn't anything I could do for him.
Molly slept in another cot; the motionless, black sleep of the truly exhausted. Charity sat in a chair beside the cot, her head tilted back against the wall. She snored a little. One of her hands rested on Molly's hair.
I regarded them both in silence for a while. I thought about writing the whole thing off, conjuring up a wistful image of digging a hole, getting in, and then pulling the hole in after me. Hey, it worked for Bugs Bunny.
"I should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque," I sighed to Mouse.
Mouse settled down on the floor again, and lay on his side, holding his injured leg clear of the floor.
"Yeah, you're right," I said. "I'm too stupid to be uninvolved. No sense in putting off the inevitable."
So I got up, went over to Molly, and gently shook her shoulder. Charity woke up when I did, blinking disorientation from her eyes. Molly took a little bit longer, but then she took a sharp breath and sat up in bed, mirroring her mother.
"Yes? Is everyone all right?" Charity asked.
"As far as I know," I told her. "Where are the other kids?"
"My mother took them home."
"Any word from Michael?"
She shook her head.
"We need to talk about something fairly important, please."
"And what is that?" she asked.
"Worth waking up for. Maybe you could get up, get some water on your face while I hunt down some coffee."
"We do need to talk, Momma," Molly said in a gentle tone.
She frowned at me for a moment, and I thought she was going to argue with me about it. Then she shook her head and said, "Very well."
I made it so. I raided the small staff kitchen and came away with not only coffee, but several bagels and some fresh fruit. I left a few bucks on the counter under a saltshaker, then went back to Molly and Charity.
We sat down to eat our breakfast in the shadowy room.
I laid it out for Charity just as I had for Molly.
"Black magic," Charity whispered, when I had finished. She glanced at Molly, a faint frown troubling her features. "I never thought it had gone that far."
"I know, Momma," Molly said quietly.
"Is what he says true?"
Molly nodded.
"Oh, baby," Charity sighed. She touched Molly's hair with one hand. "How could I not have seen this happening?"
"Don't beat yourself up over it," I told her. "At least not right now. It won't help anyone."
Anger touched her features and she said, "Neither will this nonsense with the White Council. Of course she will not go."
"I don't think you get it," I told Charity in a quiet voice. "She's going. She can go voluntarily, or she can go when the Wardens find her. But she's going."
"You plan to inform them of what has happened, then?" Charity asked, her tone gaining frost as it went.
"No," I said. "But that kind of magic leaves a mark. There are plenty of things in the Nevernever who can sense it-and, in fact, they had already tipped off the Council that there was black magic afoot here. Even if I never say anything else about it, it's only a matter of time until another Warden investigates."
"You don't know that for a fact."
"I kind of do," I said. "And this isn't just about accountability, either. The things she's done have already left their mark on her. If she doesn't get support and training, those changes are going to snowball."
"You don't know that," Charity insisted.
"I kind of do," I said, louder. "Hell's bells, Charity, I'm trying to protect her."
"By dragging her in front of a kangaroo court of egotistic, power-mongering tyrants? So that they can execute her? How is that protecting my child?"
"If she goes in voluntarily, with me, I think I can get her clemency until she has a chance to show them that she is sincere about working with them."
"You think?" Charity said. "No. That's not good enough."
I clenched my fists in frustration. "Charity, the only thing I am sure about is that if Molly doesn't come out, and if one of the other egotistical, power-mongering tyrants finds her, they're going to automatically declare her a warlock and execute her. To say nothing of what will happen to her if she's on her own. It's more than likely that she'll deserve it by then."
"That's not true," Charity snapped. "She is not going to become some sort of monster. She is not going to change."
"My God, Charity. I want to help her!"
"That isn't why you're doing it," she snarled, rising. "You're trying to get her to go with you to save your own skin. You're afraid that if they find her, they will brand you traitor for not bringing her in, and execute you along with her."
I found myself on my feet as well. Silence fell heavy and oppressive on the room.
"Momma," Molly said quietly, breaking it. "Please tell me what Harry has done in the past two days to make you think that he is selfish. Or cowardly. Was it when he turned to face the ogres so that we could escape? Was it when he traded away the obligations the Summer Lady owed him in order to attempt the rescue?"
Charity was shocked silent for a second. Then her face heated and she said, "Young lady, that isn't-"
Molly went on smoothly, her voice quiet, calm, displaying neither anger nor disrespect-nor weakness. "Or perhaps it was when you were unconscious and no one could have stopped him from simply taking me to turn over to the Council, and he instead stopped to give me a choice." She chewed on her lip for a second. "You told me everything he's done since I was taken. Now he's offering to die for me, Momma. What more could you ask of him?"
Charity's face reddened further, and I thought I saw something like shame on her features. She sat down again, bowed her head, and said nothing. The silence stretched. Her shoulders shook.
Molly slid down to kneel at her mother's feet and hugged her. Charity hugged back. The pair of them rocked slowly back and forth for a moment, and though the dim room made it hard to see, I was sure they were both crying.
"Perhaps you're right," Charity said after a moment. "I should not have accused you so, Mister Dresden." She squared her shoulders and lifted her head. "But I will not allow her to go."
Molly looked up very slowly. She faced Charity, lifted her chin a little, and said, "I love you very much, Momma. But this isn't your choice. I'm the one responsible for what I did. I'll face the consequences of it."
Charity turned her face away from Molly, a kind of terrible grief and fear making her look, for the first time in my memory, old. "Molly," she whispered.
Father Forthill had arrived at some point during the conversation, though none of us had noticed him in the doorway. His gentle voice was steady. "Your daughter is in the right, Charity," he said. "She's an adult now, in many ways. She's taken actions that demand that she accept the responsibilities that accompany them."
"She is my child," Charity objected.
"She was," Forthill corrected her, "if only for a time. Children are a precious gift, but they belong to no one but themselves. They are only lent us a little while." The priest folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. "I think you should consider what has happened, Charity. Dresden is perhaps the only one who could have helped you and Molly. I think it no accident that he became involved in this situation." He gave me a whimsical little smile. "After all. He does work in mysterious ways."
I walked across the floor and lowered myself to one knee before Charity. "I don't know anything about that. But for whatever it is worth, I promise you," I said very quietly. "I will bring your daughter back from the Council safe and well. They'll have to kill me to stop me."
Charity looked up at me, and I saw a dozen emotions flicker over her features. Hope, fear, anger, sadness. Twice she opened her mouth to speak, but bit down on the words before she uttered them.
Finally, she whispered, "I have your word on it?"
"You do," I said.
She stared at me for a moment. Then she looked up and said, to Forthill, "I wish Michael was here."
Forthill asked her, "If he was, what do you think he would say?"
Her eyes moved back to me, and she said, frowning faintly, "To have faith. To trust the wizard. That he is a good man."
The priest nodded. "I think he would say that, too."
Charity glanced at me without meeting my eyes. "How long will it take?"
"I'll contact the Council today. Depends on who is available, but this kind of thing gets high priority. Tomorrow, the next day at the latest."
She bowed her head again, and nodded. She said to Forthill, "Is there nothing we can do?"
"Molly's made her decision," Forthill said quietly. "And everything I've learned about the effects of black magic upon those who use it agrees with what Dresden has told you. Your daughter is in very real danger, Charity."
"Can't the Church...?"
Forthill gave her a faint smile and shook his head. "There aren't many of us still standing sentinel against the Shadows. Of those who do, none of us have any real skill with magic. We could assist her in turning aside from her gifts, but given her age it would in effect be nothing more than imprisonment." He nodded to Molly. "And, no offense, child, but with your temperament, without your full cooperation, it would only push you more quickly toward the darkness."
"No," Charity said. "She's got to set this aside."
Molly folded her arms tightly against her stomach, and nodded, lips pressed together. "No."
Charity looked up and all but pleaded, "Molly. You don't understand what it could do to you."
The girl was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Do you remember the parable of the talents?"
Charity's eyes blazed. "Don't you dare attempt to use the scripture to justify this."
I held up a hand for silence and said, "I haven't read this one."
Forthill said, "Three men were given money by their lord in the amount of fifteen, ten, and five silver talents. The man with fifteen invested the money, worked hard, and returned thirty talents to his lord. The man with ten did the same, and returned twenty talents. The lord was most pleased. But the third man was lazy. He buried his five talents in the ground, and when he returned them to the lord, expecting to be rewarded for keeping them safe, his lord was angry. He had not given the lazy man the money to be hidden away. He'd given it to the man so that he could use it and make his lands better, stronger, and more productive. The moral being that, to whom much is given, much is required."
"Oh," I said. "Stan Lee said it better. Or at least faster."
"I'm sorry?" Forthill said.
"Spider-Man. With great power comes great responsibility," I said.
Forthill pursed his lips and nodded. "That is faster, I suppose. Though I'm skeptical on how it could be worked into a sermon."
I frowned and glanced at Charity. She had her head bowed, and her hands clenched into fists over and over again. Another insight about her hit me, then.
Charity had been the one given five talents. She'd had the power, and she buried it in the ground.
"My teacher told me something once," I heard myself say in a quiet voice. "That the hardest lesson in life is learning when to do nothing. To learn to let go."
Molly laid her head in Charity's lap and said, "You know bad things are out there. I have a chance to make a difference. I want to help."
Something inside the steely will of Michael's wife suddenly broke. She gathered Molly up into another hug and just held her there while she shivered. Then Charity whispered, "Of course you do. You're your father's child. How could you want anything else?"
Molly let out a choking little laugh and leaned closer. "Thank you."
"I will pray for you," Charity said quietly. She looked up at me and tried to smile. "And for you, Harry."
Chapter Forty-three
Forthill led me to a small, cluttered office I was sure was his own. He pointed me at the phone and then shut the door, giving me privacy before I could ask him for it. I sat down on the edge of his desk, got the notebook I kept my contact information in from my duster pocket, and called up the Wardens.
I did a password and countersign routine with the young-sounding woman who answered the phone, after which she asked, in accented English, "What is the nature of your call?"
"A report," I said. "I've got a young woman here who's broken one of the Laws."
"You've captured a warlock?" the woman asked.
"She turned herself in, full cooperation. There are extenuating circumstances around it. I want her to have a hearing."
"A hearing..." the young woman said. I heard paper rustling. "Warden, I'm sorry, but I don't think we do hearings anymore."
"Sure we do," I said. "We just haven't had one for ten or twelve years. Pass word to command and tell them we'll use the same location, sundown tomorrow. I'm tasking Warden Ramirez with security."
"I don't know," the woman hedged. She sounded young and uncertain. Our recent losses to the Red Court had created openings for a lot of young wizards, and they had inherited a hellishly dangerous responsibility from the fallen. "I'm not sure if this is appropriate."
"This is how we're doing it," I told her. "All you have to do is get word to Morgan and Luccio. Tell them what I said. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," she said. She sounded almost grateful. "I'll pass word up the line."
"Thank you," I said, and hung up.
I took a deep breath. Word was on its way to the Wardens, and now I was committed.
There was a knock, and then Forthill opened the door. "Finished?"
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks."
"Of course. Is there anything else I might do?"
I shook my head. "You've done more than enough already."
He smiled a little. "Arguable," he said. "Though, may I ask you something?"
I nodded.
"The young man," he said. "Nelson. Is he truly pursued?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so. No reason for him to be. Molly worked a spell on him that forced him to feel fear of drug use."
He frowned. "And you think it brought on a sense of paranoia?"
"She didn't know how badly her own feelings for him would disrupt the spell. She didn't mean to do it, but she laid a world of hurt on the boy." I shook my head. "Paranoia. Nightmares. Phobias. And he's feeling the physical withdrawal from the drugs, to boot. He could be permanently damaged."
"Poor lad," Forthill said.
"I don't know how to begin helping him, Father," I said. I paused for a moment, then said, "He's an orphan."
Forthill smiled and took off his spectacles. He polished them with a handkerchief. "You may not know where to begin to help. I do. Don't worry, Dresden. The boy won't be left alone."
"Thank you," I said.
"I don't do it for you," he said, "but for the boy. And from obedience to our Lord. But you're welcome."
I put the notebook away and stood up, but Forthill remained in the doorway, his expression direct.
"Tell me," Forthill said. He squinted at his glasses, making sure they were clean. "Do you believe that you'll be able to protect the girl?"
"I think so," I said quietly. I didn't have many friends on the Council. But the ones I did have were on the Senior Council-it's an executive body, especially in wartime. They'd support me. It wouldn't clear the kid completely, but at least she could be placed on a kind of zero-tolerance probation rather than executed.
Forthill watched me with patient, bright blue eyes. "You sound familiar with this situation."
I smiled a little. "Intimately."
"I begin to see," he said.
"Tell me," I said. "Do you really believe what you told Charity about me? That God arranged for me to be there for Molly?"
He regarded me as he replaced his spectacles, bright blue eyes steady. "I do. I know that you don't much hold with religion, Dresden. But I've come to know you over the years. I think you're a decent man. And that God knows his own."
"Meaning what?" I asked.
He smiled and shook his head. "Meaning, mostly, that I have faith that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. I meant what I said about you."
I snorted gently and shook my head. "Harry Dresden. I'm on a mission from God."
"Seems an awfully unlikely coincidence, does it not? That the one person Michael knows on the Council should be the one in the position to best help his daughter, just when he was called away?"
I shrugged. "Coincidences happen," I said. "And I don't think God's got me warming up in the bullpen to be one of his champions."
"Perhaps not," Forthill said. "But I think that you are being prepared, nonetheless."
"Prepared?" I asked. "For what? By whom?"
Forthill shook his head. "It's an old man's hunch, that's all. That the things you're facing now are there to prepare you for something greater. Something more."
"God," I said. "I hope not. I've got problems enough without working up to bigger ones."
He chuckled and nodded. "Perhaps you're right."
I frowned over a thought. "Padre. Tell me something. Why in the world would the Almighty send Michael off on a mission just when his family most needed him to protect them?"
Forthill arched an eyebrow. "My son," he said, "God knows all things at all times. By His very nature, his omniscience enables Him to know what has happened, is happening, and will happen. Though we might not be able to see His reasons, or to agree with them from our perspectives, they are yet there."
"So what you're saying is that the Almighty knows best, and we just have to trust Him."
Forthill blinked. "Well. Yes."
"Is there any reason that the Almighty couldn't do something blatantly obvious?"
Poor Forthill. He'd been preparing himself for years for a theological duel with the shadowy wizard Dresden, and when the moment came, I wasn't even giving him a real fight. "Well. No. What do you mean?"
"Like maybe the Almighty didn't send Michael away right when he was needed to protect his daughter. Maybe He sent Michael away because that's exactly what He wanted him to do." I let out a short laugh. "If I'm wrong, it would be one hell of a coincidence..." I frowned for a moment, then said, "Do me a favor. Go get Molly for me. Council procedure says that I can't leave her alone. I've got to keep her with me until it's done."
He rose and nodded, agreeable if still slightly baffled. "Very well."
"And I need to know something, Father. Do you know where Michael is right now?"
Forthill shook his head.
"Could you get word to him?" I asked. "I mean, if you really had to?"
He tilted his head, frowning, and asked, "Why?"
"Because I've had an idea," I said. "Can you get in touch with him?"
Forthill smiled.
