Chapter Nine

Boyfriend Nelson had been arraigned two hours before. His bail had been set at enough money to make me glad that over the past year I had made it a habit to keep a chunk of cash around, just in case I needed it in a hurry. I got the fisheye from a hard-faced office matron as I counted it out in twenties. She counted it, too.

"Thank you," I said. "It's a wonderful feeling to be trusted."

She did not look amused. She pushed some papers at me. "Sign here, please. And here."

I signed, while Molly hovered nervously in the background holding Mouse's leash. Then we sat down and waited. Molly fidgeted until they brought her honey-bunny out to sign the last couple of papers before being released.

Boyfriend Nelson wasn't what I'd expected. He was an inch or two taller than Molly. He had a long, narrow face, and I would have hesitated to touch his cheekbones for fear of slicing my fingers on them. He was thin, but it was that kind of lean, whipcord thinness rather than anything that would denote frailty. He moved well, and I pegged him as a fencer or a martial artist of some other kind. Dark hair fell around his head in an even mop. He wore square-shaped, silver-rimmed spectacles, chinos, and a black T-shirt with another SPLATTERCON!!! logo on it. He looked tired and needed a shave.

The second he was free, he hurried over to Molly and they hugged, speaking quietly to one another. I didn't listen in. It didn't seem right to invade their privacy. Besides, body language told me enough. The hug went on a second or two longer than Molly wanted it to. Then, when Nelson bent his head down to kiss her, she gave him a sweet smile, turning her cheek to meet his lips. After that, he got the point. He bit his lower lip a little and stepped back from her, rubbing his hands on his pants as if unsure what else to do with them.

"Save me from awkward relationship melodrama," I muttered to Mouse under my breath, and got onto a pay phone to call a cab. Being a learned wizardly type I had, of course, discovered the cure for tangling up an otherwise orderly life with relationship issues: Don't have a relationship. It was better that way.

If I repeated it to myself often enough, I almost believed it.

Molly and boyfriend Nelson walked over to me a minute later. Nelson didn't look up at me when he offered me his hand. "Uh. I guess, thank you."

I shook his hand and squeezed hard enough to hurt a little. Me annoyed alpha male, ungh. "How could I refuse such a polite and straightforward request for help?" I took Mouse's leash from Molly, who looked away, turning pink again.

"I don't want to seem ungrateful," Nelson said, "but I have to get moving now."

"No, you don't," I said.

His weight had already shifted to move into his first step, and he blinked at me. "Excuse me?"

"I just got you out of a cage. Now comes the part where you tell me what happened to you. Then you can go."

His eyes narrowed and his weight shifted again, centering his balance. Definitely a student of martial arts. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm telling you how it's going to be, kid. So talk."

"And if I don't?" he demanded.

I shrugged. "If you don't, maybe I'll knock your block off."

"I'd like to see you try," he said, more anger in his voice.

"Suit yourself," I said. "But we're in sight of the cop at the entry desk. He probably won't see who threw the first punch. You just got out on bail. You'll go back, probably for assault, committed within two minutes of being freed. There isn't a judge in town who would grant you bail again."

I saw him think about it furiously, which impressed me. A lot of men his age, when angry, wouldn't bother with actual thought. Then he shook his head. "You're bluffing. You'd be arrested too."

"Hell's bells, kid," I said. "When did you fall off the turnip truck? They'll interview me. I'll tell them you threw the first punch. Who do you think they're going to believe? I'll be out in an hour."

Nelson's knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. He stared at me, and then at the building behind him.

"Nelson," Molly urged quietly. "He's trying to help you."

"He's got a hell of a way of showing it," Nelson spat.

"Just balancing the scales a bit," I said, glancing at Molly. Then I sighed. Nelson was holding on to his pride. He didn't want to back down in front of Molly.

Insecurity, thy name is teenager.

It wouldn't kill me to help Nelson save face. "Come on, kid. Give me five minutes to talk to you and I'll pay your fare back to wherever you're heading. I'll throw in some fast food."

Nelson's stomach made a gurgling sound and he licked his lips, glancing aside at Molly. The wary focus slid out of his posture and he nodded, brushing his hand back through his hair. He let out a long exhale and said, "Sorry. Just... been a bad day."

"I had one of those once," I said. "So talk. How'd you wind up in jail?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure what actually happened. I was in the bathroom-"

I held up my hand, interrupting him with the gesture. Eat your heart out, Merlin. "What bathroom? Where?"

"At the convention," he said.

"Convention?" I asked.

"SplatterCon," Molly offered. She waved a hand at her button and at Nelson's shirt. "It's a horror movie convention."

"There's a convention for that?"

"There's a convention for everything," Nelson said. "This one screens horror movies, invites in directors, special-effects guys, actors. Authors, too. There are discussion panels. Costume contests. Vendors. Fans show up to the convention to get together and meet the industry guests, that kind of thing."

"Uh-huh. You're a fan, then?"

"Staff," he said. "I'm supposed to be in charge of security."

"Okay," I said. "Get back to the bathroom."

"Right," he said. "Well. I'd had a lot of coffee and potato chips and pretzels and stuff, so I was just sitting in there with the stall door closed."

"What happened?"

"I heard someone come in," Nelson said. "The door was really squeaky." He licked his lips nervously. "And then he started screaming."

I arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Clark Pell," he said. "He owns the old movie theater next to the hotel. We rented it out for the weekend so we could play our favorites on the big screen. Nice old guy. Always supports the convention."

"Why was he screaming?"

Nelson hesitated for a second, clearly uncomfortable. "He... you have to understand that I didn't actually see anything."

"Sure," I said.

"It sounded like a fight. Scuffling sounds. I heard him let out a noise, right? Like someone had startled him." He shook his head. "That's when he started screaming."

"What happened?"

"I jumped up to help him, but..." His cheeks turned red. "You know. I was kind of in the middle of something. It took me a second to get out of the stall."

"And?"

"And Mr. Pell was there," he said. "He was unconscious and bleeding. Not real bad. But he looked like he'd taken a real pounding. Broken nose. Maybe his jaw, too. They took him to the hospital."

I frowned. "Could someone have slipped in or out?"

"No," Nelson said, and his voice was confident on that point. "That damned door all but screams every time it swings."

"Could someone have come in at the same time as Pell?" I asked.

"Maybe," he said. "On the same opening of the door. But-"

"I know," I said. "But they would have had to open the door to leave." I rubbed at my chin. "Could someone have held the door open?"

"The hall was crowded. You could hear the people when the door was open," Nelson said. "And there was a cop standing right outside. He was the first one in, in fact."

I grunted. "And with no other obvious suspects, they blamed you."

Nelson nodded. "Yes."

I mused for a moment and then said, "What do you think happened?"

He shook his head, several times, and very firmly. "I don't know. Someone must have gotten in and out somehow. Maybe there's an air vent or something."

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe that's it."

Nelson checked his watch, and swallowed. "Oh, God, I've got to get to the airport. I'm supposed to meet Darby in thirty minutes and take him to the hotel."

"Darby?" I asked.

"Darby Crane," Molly supplied. "Producer and director of horror films. Guest of honor at SplatterCon."

"He do any work I might have seen?" I asked.

Molly nodded. "Maybe. Did you ever see Harvest? The one with the Scarecrow?"

"Uh," I said, thinking. "Where it smashes through the wall of the convent and eats the nuns? And the librarian sets it on fire and it burns down the library and himself with it?"

"That's the one."

"Heh," I said. "Not bad. But I'll take a Corman flick any day."

"Excuse me," Nelson said, "but I really need to get moving."

As he spoke, the cab I'd called pulled up to the curb. I checked, and found my shadowy tail still outside, patient and motionless.

Mouse let out another almost subaudible growl.

My shadow wasn't exactly going out of his way not to be noticed, which meant that he almost certainly wasn't a hit man. A hired gun would do everything he could to stay invisible, preferably until several hours after I was cold and dead. Of course, he could be trying reverse psychology, I supposed. But that kind of circular reasoning could trigger a paranoia-gasm and drive me loopy fast.

Odds were good he was just supposed to keep an eye on me, whoever he was. Better, then, to keep him in sight, rather than trying to shake him. I was happier knowing where he was than worrying about him being out of sight. I'd play it cool-give him a while to see if I could figure out what he was up to. I nodded to myself, and strode out to the curb, Mouse at my side.

"Okay, kids," I called over my shoulder. "Get in the cab."

Mouse and I took the backseat. Molly didn't give Nelson a chance to choose. She got into the passenger seat in front, and boyfriend Nelson settled into the backseat beside me.

"Which?" I asked him.

"O'Hare."

I told the driver, and we took off for the airport. I watched my shadow in vague reflections in the windows. The car's lights came on and followed us all the way out to O'Hare. We got Nelson there in time to meet his B-movie mogul, and he all but leapt from the car. Molly opened her door to follow him.

"Wait," I said. "Not you."

She shot me a glance over her shoulder, frowning. "What?"

"Nelson's out of jail and he's talked to me about what happened, and he's in time to meet Darby Crane. I think I pretty much lived up to what I said I would do."

She frowned prettily. "Yes. So?"

"So now it's your turn. Close the door."

She shook her head. "Harry, don't you see that he's in some kind of trouble? And he doesn't believe in..." She glanced at the cabby and back to me. "You know."

"Maybe he is," I said. "Maybe not. I'm going to get over to the convention tonight and see if there's anything supernatural about the assault on Mr. Pell. Right after we get done talking to your parents."

Molly blanched. "What?"

"We had a deal," I said. "And in my judgment, Molly, we need to go see them."

"But..." she sputtered. "It isn't as though I need them to bail me out or anything."

"You should have thought about that before you made the deal," I said.

"I'm not going there," she said, and folded her arms. "I don't want to."

I felt cold stone flow into the features of my face, into the timbre of my voice. "Miss Carpenter. Is there any doubt in your mind-any at all- that I could take you there regardless of what you want to do?"

The change in tone hit her hard. She blinked at me in surprise for a second, lips parted but empty of sound.

"I'm taking you to see them," I said. "Because it's the smart thing to do. The legal thing to do. The right thing to do. You agreed to do it, and by the stars and stones, if you try to weasel out on me I will wrap you in duct tape, box you up, and send you UPS."

She stared at me in utter shock.

"I'm not your mom or your dad, Molly. And these days I'm not a very nice person. You've already abused my friendship tonight, and diverted my attention from work that could have saved lives. People who really need my help might get hurt or die because of this stupid stunt." I leaned closer, staring coldly, and she leaned away, declining to make eye contact. "Now buckle the fuck up."

She did.

I gave the cabby the address and closed my eyes. I hadn't seen Michael in... nearly two years. I regretted that. Of course, not seeing Michael meant not seeing Charity either, which I did not regret. And now I was going to drive up in a cab with their daughter. Charity was going to like that almost as much as I like cleaning up after Mouse on our walks. In her eyes, my mere presence near her daughter would make me guilty of uncounted (if imaginary) transgressions.

The angelic sigil on my left palm burned and itched furiously. I poked at it through the leather glove, but it didn't help. I'd have to keep the glove on. If Michael saw the sigil, or if he somehow sensed the shadow of Lasciel running around in my head, he might react in a manner similar to his wife's-and that didn't take into consideration a father's desire to protect his... physically matured daughter from any would-be, ah, invaders.

I predicted fireworks of one kind or another. Fun, fun, fun.

Should I survive the conversation, I would then be off to a horror convention, where a supernatural assault might or might not have happened, with a mysterious stranger following me while an unknown would-be assassin ran around loose somewhere, probably practicing his offensive driving skills so that he could polish me off the next time he saw me.

Let the good times roll.

Chapter Ten

I told the cabby to keep the meter running and headed for the Carpenters' front door. Molly remained cool, distant, and untouchably silent all the way over the small lawn. She walked calmly up the steps to the porch. She faced the door calmly-and then broke out into a sweat the moment I rang the bell.

Nice to know I wasn't the only one. I wasn't looking forward to speaking with Michael. As long as I kept the conversation brief and didn't get too close to him, he might not sense the presence of the demon inside me. Things might work out.

My already sore head twinged a little more.

Beside me, Molly rolled her shoulders in a few jerky motions and pushed at her hair in fitful little gestures. She tugged at her well-tattered skirts, and grimaced at her boots. "Can you see if there's any mud on them?"

I paused to consider her for a second. Then I said, "You have two tattoos showing right now, and you probably used a fake ID to get them. Your piercings would set off any metal detector worth the name, and you're featuring them in parts of your anatomy your parents wish you didn't yet realize you had. You're dressed like Frankenhooker, and your hair has been dyed colors I previously thought existed only in cotton candy." I turned to face the door again. "I wouldn't waste time worrying about a little mud on the boots."

In the corner of my eye, Molly swallowed nervously, staring at me until the door opened.

"Molly!" shrieked a little girl's voice. There was a blur of pink cotton pajamas, a happy squeal, and then Molly caught one of her little sisters in her arms in a mutual hug.

"Hiya, hobbit," Molly said, catching the girl by an ankle and dangling her in the air. This elicited screams of delight from the girl. Molly swung her upright again. "How have you been?"

"Daniel is the boss kid now, but he isn't as good as you," the girl said. "He yells lots more. Why is your hair blue?"

"Hey," I said. "It's pink, too."

The girl, a golden-haired moppet of six or seven, noticed me for the first time and promptly buried her face against Molly's neck.

"You remember Hope," Molly said. "Say hello to Mister Dresden."

"My name is Hobbit!" the little girl declared boldly-then lowered her face into the curve of Molly's neck and hid from me. Meanwhile, the house erupted with thudding feet and more shouts. Lights started flicking on upstairs, and the stairwell shuddered as brothers and sisters pounded down it and ran for the front door.

Another pair of girls made it there first, both of them older than Hope. They both assaulted Molly with shrieks and flying hugs. "Bill," the smaller of the pair greeted me, afterward. "You came back to visit."

"My name is Harry, actually," I said. "And I remember you. Amanda, right?"

"I'm Amanda," she allowed cautiously. "But we already have a Harry. That's why you're Bill."

"And this is Alicia," Molly said of the other, a child as gawky and skinny as Molly had been when I first met her. Her hair was darker than the others, trimmed short, and she wore black-rimmed glasses over a serious expression. "She's the next oldest girl. You remember Mister Dresden, don't you, Leech?"

"Don't call me Leech," she said in the patient tone of someone who has said something a million times and plans on saying it a million times more. "Hello, sir," she told me.

"Alicia," I said, nodding.

Evidently the use of her actual name constituted a gesture of partisanship. She gave me a somewhat relieved and conspiratorial smile.

A pair of boys showed up. The oldest might have been almost ready to take a driver's test. The next was balanced precariously between grade school and pimples. Both had Michael's dark hair and solid, sober expression. The younger boy almost threw himself at Molly upon seeing her, but restrained himself to a hello and a hug. The older boy only folded his arms and frowned.

"My brother Matthew," Molly said of the younger. I nodded at him.

"Where have you been?" the oldest boy said. He stood there frowning at Molly for a moment.

"Nice to see you too, Daniel," she replied. "You know Mister Dresden."

He gave me a nod, said to Molly, "I'm not kidding. You just took off. Do you have any idea of how much it messed things up here?"

Molly's mouth firmed into a line. "You didn't think I was going to just hang around forever did you?"

"Is it Halloween wherever it is you live?" Daniel demanded. "Look at you. Mom is going to freak out."

Molly stepped forward and half tossed Hope into Daniel's chest. "When does she do anything else? Shouldn't these two be in bed?"

Daniel grimaced as he caught Hope and said, "That's what I was trying to do before someone interrupted bedtime." He took Amanda's hand, and over half-hearted protests took the two youngest girls back into the house.

There was a creak from the upstairs of the house and Alicia thumped Matthew firmly with her elbow. The two vanished as heavy steps descended from the second floor.

Michael Carpenter was almost as tall as me and packed a lot more muscle. He had the kind of face that told anyone who looked that he was a man of honesty and kindness who nonetheless could probably kick the crap out of you if you offered him violence. I wasn't sure how he managed that. Something about the strength of his jawline, maybe, bespoke the steady power of both body and mind. But as for the kindness, that went all the way down to his soul. You could see it in the warmth of his grey eyes.

He wore khaki pants and a light blue T-shirt. A hard-cased plastic cylinder, doubtless the one he used to transport his sword, hung from a strap over one shoulder. An overnight bag hung over the other, and his hair was damp from the shower. He came down the stairs at the pace of a man with places to be-until he looked up and saw Molly and me standing in the doorway.

He froze in place, a smile of surprised delight illuminating his face as he saw Molly. The overnight bag thumped to the floor as he strode forward and crushed his oldest daughter to his chest in a hug.

"Daddy," she protested. "Hush," he told her. "Let me hug you."

Her eyes flickered to the case still held against one shoulder, and her expression became tainted with a sudden worry. "When are you going?"

"You just caught me," he said. "I'm glad."

She hugged her father back, and closed her eyes. "It's just a visit," she said.

He rose from the hug a moment later, studying her face, worry in his eyes. Then he nodded, smiled, and said, "I'm glad anyway." He jerked his head back a moment later, as if the rest of her appearance had only then registered on him, and his eyes widened. "Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter," he said, his voice hushed. "God's blood, what have you done to your..." He looked her up and down, gentle dismay on his face. "... your..."

"Self," I suggested. "Yourself."

"Yourself," Michael sighed. He looked Molly up and down again. She was doing that thing where she tried to display how much she didn't care what her daddy thought of her look, and it was almost painfully obvious that she cared a great deal. "Tattoos. The hair wasn't so bad, but..." He shook his head and offered me his hand. "Tell me, Harry. Am I just too old?"

I didn't want to shake Michael's hand. Lasciel's presence in me, even if it wasn't the full-blown version, wasn't something he would miss-not if he made actual physical contact with me. For a couple of years I had been avoiding him with every excuse I had, hoping I could take care of my little demon issue without bothering him about it.

More accurately, I supposed, I had been too ashamed to let him see what had happened. Michael was probably the most honest, decent human being I had ever had the privilege to know. He had always thought well of me. It had been something that had given me comfort in a low spot or two, and I hated the thought of losing his trust and friendship. Lasciel's presence, the collaboration of a literal fallen angel, would destroy that.

But friendship isn't a one-way street. I had brought his daughter back because I had thought it was the right thing to do-and because I thought he'd do the same for someone else in a similar circumstance. I respected him enough to do that. And I respected him too much to lie to him. I had avoided the confrontation long enough.

I shook his hand.

And nothing in his manner or expression changed. Not an ounce.

He hadn't sensed Lasciel's presence or mark.

"Well?" he asked, smiling.

"If you think she looks silly, you're too old," I said after a moment. "I'm moderately ancient by the standards of the younger generation, and I think she only looks a little over the top."

Molly rolled her eyes at us both, her cheeks pink.

"I suppose a good Christian should be willing to turn the other cheek when it comes to matters of fashion," Michael said.

"Let he who hath never stonewashed his jeans cast the first stone," I said, nodding.

Michael laughed and gripped my shoulder briefly. "It's good to see you, Harry."

"And you," I said, trying a smile. I glanced at the plastic case on his shoulder. "Business trip?"

"Yes," he said.

"Where to?"

He smiled. "I'll know when I get there."

I shook my head. Michael was entrusted to wield one of the blades of the Knights of the Cross. He was one of only two men in the world who were entrusted with such potent weapons against dark powers. As such, he had a lot of planet to cover. I wasn't clear exactly how his itinerary was established, but he was often called away from his home and family, apparently summoned to where his strength was most needed.

I don't go in big for religion-but I believe in the Almighty. I had seen a vast power at work supporting Michael's actions. Coincidence seemed to go to insane lengths, at times, to make sure he was where he needed to be to help someone in trouble. I had seen that power strike down seriously twisted foes without Michael so much as raising his voice. That power, that faith, had carried him through dangers and battles he had no business surviving, much less winning.

But I hadn't ever thought too much about how hard it must be for him to leave his home when the Archangels or God or Whoever sent up a flare and called him off to a crisis.

I glanced aside at Molly. She was smiling, but I could see the strain and worry beneath the surface.

Hard on his family, too.

"Haven't you left?" called a woman's voice from upstairs. The house creaked again and Michael's wife appeared at the top of the stairway, saying, "You'll be-"

Her voice cut off suddenly. I hadn't ever seen Charity in a red silk kimono before. Like Michael, her hair was damp from the shower. Even wet, it still looked blond. Charity had nice legs, clearly defined muscles in her calves shifting as she stepped to the head of the stairs, and what I could see of the rest of her looked much the same-strong, fit, healthy. She bore a sleeping child on one hip-my namesake, Harry, the youngest of the bunch. His arms and legs splayed in perfect relaxation, and his head was pillowed on her shoulder. His cheeks were pink with that look very young children get while sleeping.

Blue eyes widened in utter surprise and for just a moment she froze, staring at Molly. She opened her mouth for a second, words hesitating on her tongue. Then her eyes shifted to me and surprise fell to recognition, which was followed by a melange of anger, worry, and fear. She clutched her kimono a little more tightly to her, her mouth working for a second more, then said, "Excuse me for a moment."

She vanished and reappeared a moment later, sans little Harry, this time covered in a long terrycloth bathrobe, her feet inside fuzzy slippers.

"Molly," she said quietly, and came down the stairs.

The girl averted her eyes. "Mother."

"And the wizard," she said, her mouth hardening into a line. "Of course he's here." She titled her head to one side, her expression hardening further. "Is this who you've been with, Molly?"

The air pressure in the room quadrupled, and Molly's face darkened from pink to scarlet. "So what if it is?" she demanded, defiance making the words ring. "That's no business of yours."

I opened my mouth to assure Charity that I had nothing to do with anything (not that it would actually alter the nature of the conversation), but Michael glanced at me and shook his head. I zipped my lips and awaited developments.

"Wrong," Charity said, her stance belligerent and unyielding. "You are a child and I am your mother. It is precisely my business."

"But it's my life" Molly replied.

"Which you clearly lack the discipline and intelligence to manage."

"Here we go again," Molly said. "Go go gadget control freak."

"Do not take that tone of voice with me, young lady."

"Young lady," Molly singsonged back in a nasal impersonation of her mother's voice, her fists now on her hips. "What's the point? Stupid of me to think that you might actually be willing to talk with me instead of telling me how to live every second of my life."

"I fail to see the error in that when you clearly have no idea what you're doing, young lady. Look at you. You look like... like a savage."

My mouth went off on reflex. "Ah, yes, a savage. Of the famous Chro-motonsorial Cahokian Goth tribe."

Michael winced.

The look Charity turned on me could have withered the life from small animals and turned potted flowers black. "Excuse me, Mister Dresden," she said, words clipped. "I do not recall speaking to you."

"Beg pardon," I said, and gave her my sweetest smile. "Don't mind me. Just thinking out loud."

Molly turned to glare at me, too, but hers was a pale imitation of her mother's. "I do not need you to defend me."

Charity's attention shifted back to her daughter. "You will not speak to an adult in that tone of voice so long as you are in this house, young lady."

"Not a problem," Molly shot back, and then she whirled on her heel and opened the door.

Michael put his hand out, not with any particular effort, and the door slammed shut again with a sharp, booming impact.

Sudden silence fell over the Carpenter household. Both Molly and Charity stared at Michael with expressions of utter shock.

Michael took a deep breath and then said, "Ladies. I try not to involve myself in these discussions. But obviously your conversation this evening is unlikely to resolve the differences you've had." He looked at them in turn, and his voice, while still gentle, became something more immovable than a mountain's bones. "I don't have any feeling that my trip will be an extended one," he said, "but we never know what He has planned for us. Or how much time is left to any of us. This house has been upset long enough. The strife is hurting everyone. Find a way to resolve your troubles before I return."

"But..." Molly began.

"Molly," Michael said, his tone of voice inexorable. "She is your mother. She deserves your respect and courtesy. You will give them to her for the length of a conversation."

Molly set her jaw, but looked away from her father. He stared at her for a moment, until she gave him a brief nod.

"Thank you," he said. "I want you both to make an effort to set the anger aside, and talk. By God, ladies, I will not go forth to answer the call only to come home to more conflict and strife. I get enough of that while I'm gone."

Charity stared at him for a second longer, and then said, "But Michael... surely you aren't going to leave now. Not when..." She gestured vaguely at me. "There will be trouble."

Michael stepped over to his wife and kissed her gently. Then he said, "Faith, my love."

She closed her eyes and looked away from him after the kiss. "Are you sure?"

"I'm needed," he said with quiet certainty. He touched her face with one hand and said, "Harry, would you walk me to the car?"

I did. "Thank you," I said, once we were outside. "I'm glad to get out of there. Tension, knife."

Michael nodded. "It's been a long year."

"What happened to them?" I asked.

Michael tossed his case and his bag into the back of his white pickup truck. "Molly was arrested. Possession."

I blinked at him. "She was possessed?"

He sighed and looked at me. "Possession. Marijuana and Ecstasy. She was at a party and the police raided it. She was caught holding them."

"Wow," I said, my voice subdued. "What happened?"

"Community service," he said. "We talked about it. She was clearly repentant. I thought that the humiliation and the sentence of the law were enough to settle matters, but Charity thought we were being too gentle. She tried to restrict which people Molly was allowed to spend time with."

I winced. "Ah. I think I can see how this played out."

Michael nodded, got into his truck, and leaned on the open window, looking up at me. "Yes. Both of them are proud and stubborn. Friction rose until it exploded this spring. Molly left home, dropped out of school. It's been... difficult."

"I can see that," I said, and sighed. "Maybe you should pitch in with Charity. Maybe the two of you could sit on her until she gets back on the straight and narrow."

Michael smiled a little. "She's Charity's daughter. A hundred parents sitting on her couldn't make her surrender." He shook his head. "A parent's authority can only go so far. Molly has to start thinking and choosing for herself. At this point, twisting her arm until she cries uncle isn't going to help her do that."

"Doesn't seem like Charity agrees with you," I said.

Michael nodded. "She loves Molly very much. She's terrified of the kinds of things that could happen to her little girl." He glanced at the house. "Which brings me to a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"Is there some kind of dangerous situation developing?"

I chewed on my lip and then nodded. "It seems probable, but I don't have anything specific yet."

"Is my daughter involved in it?"

"Not to my knowledge," I told him. "Her boyfriend got arrested tonight. She talked me into bailing him out."

Michael's eyes narrowed a little, but then he caught himself, and I saw him force the angry expression from his face. "I see. How in the world did you get her to come here?"

"It was what I charged for my help," I said. "She tried to back out, but I convinced her not to."

Michael grunted. "You threatened her?"

"Politely," I said. "I'd never hurt her."

"I know that," Michael said, his tone gently reproving. Behind us, the front door opened. Molly stepped out onto the porch, hugging herself with her arms. She stood that way for a moment, ignoring us. A few seconds later, a light on the second floor came on. Charity, presumably, had gone back upstairs.

Michael watched his daughter for a moment, pain in his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and said, "May I ask a favor of you?"

"Yes."

"Talk to her," Michael said. "She likes you. Respects you. A few words from you might do more than anything I could tell her right now."

"Whoa," I said. "I don't know."

"You don't have to negotiate a treaty," Michael said, smiling. "Just ask her to talk to her mother. To be willing to give a little."

"Compromise has to work both ways," I said. "What about Charity?"

"She'll come around."

"Am I the only one who has noticed that Charity really doesn't regard me with what most of the world thinks of as fairness? Or fondness? I am the last person in the world likely to get her to sit down for a reconciliation talk."

He smiled. "Have a little faith."

"Oh, please." I sighed, but there wasn't any real feeling behind it.

"Will you try to help?" Michael asked.

I scowled at him. "Yes."

He smiled at me, mostly in his eyes. "Thank you. I'm sorry you walked into the cross fire tonight."

"Molly told me there had been trouble at home. Bringing her here seemed like the right thing to do."

"I appreciate it." Michael frowned, his eyes distant for a moment, then said, "I've got to get moving."

"Sure," I said.

He met my eyes and said, "If something arises, will you keep an eye on them for me? It would make me feel a lot better to know you were watching over them until I return."

I glanced back at his house. "What happened to having faith?"

He smiled. "Seems a bit lazy to expect the Lord to do all the work, doesn't it?" His expression grew serious again. "Besides. I do have faith, Harry. In Him-and in you."

Demon-infested me writhed in uncomfortable guilt on the inside. "I'll keep an eye on them, of course."

"Thank you," Michael said, and put the truck in gear. "When I get back, I need to talk business with you, if you have the time."

I nodded. "Sure. Good hunting."

"God be with you," he replied with a deep nod, and then he pulled out and left. Have sword, will travel. Hi-yo, Silver, away.

Get Molly and Charity to sit down and talk things out. Right. I had about as much chance to do that as I did of backpacking my car to the top of Mount Rushmore. I was gloomily certain that even if I did manage to get them together, it would only make things go more spectacularly wrong once they were there. The whole house would probably go up in an explosion when mother met antimother.

No good could come of this one. Why in the world had I agreed to it?

Because Michael was my friend, and because I was in general too stupid to turn down people in need. And maybe because of something more. Michael's house had always been fulll of hectic life, but it had been a place, in general, of talk and warmth and laughter and good food. The ugly shouts and snarls of Molly and Charity's quarrel had stained the place. They didn't belong there.

I had never had a home like that, growing up. Even now that Thomas and I had found one another, when I thought of a family, I thought of the Carpenter household. I had never had that kind of intimacy, closeness. Those who have such a family seldom realize how rare and precious it is. It was something worth preserving. I wanted to help.

And Michael had a point. I might have a chance to get through to Molly. That was only half the battle, so to speak, but it was probably more than he could manage from his own position.

But whatever higher power arranged these things had a demented sense of timing, given how much I had on my plate already. Hell's bells.

Molly came over to me after Michael's truck had vanished. She stood beside me in the quiet summer evening, silent.

"I guess you need a ride back to your place," I said.

"I don't have any money," she replied quietly.

"Okay," I said. "Where do you need to go?"

"The convention," she replied. "I have friends there. A room for the weekend." She glanced over her shoulder at the house.

"The rug rats seemed glad to see you," I observed.

She smiled fleetingly and her voice warmed. "I didn't realize how much I missed them. Dumb little Jawas."

I thought about nudging her toward her mother for a second, and decided against it. She might decide to do it if she wasn't pressured, but the second she thought I was trying to force her into something, she'd dig in her heels. So all I said was, "They're cute kids."

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"I'm heading for the convention anyway," I told her. "Get in the cab."

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," I said.