I leaned my head against the window, closed my eyes, and said, "What'd Forthill tell you?"
"What he always says. That he couldn't make any promises, but that he'd do whatever he could to help. He said to call him back in a few hours and he'd see what he could get from his peeps."
"Pretty sure that Roman Catholic priests don't have peeps," I said gravely. "Too trendy and ephemeral. Like automobiles. And the printing press."
Molly didn't return fire against my comments, though I'd made them lightly. She was conflicted on the whole issue of the Church, which I thought was probably a fine state for her mind to be in. People who ask questions and think about their faith are the last ones to embrace dogma-and the last to abandon their path once they've set out on it. I felt fairly sure that the Almighty, whatever name tag He had on at the moment, could handle a few questions from people sincerely looking for answers. Hell, He might even like it.
"Harry," she said. "We could talk to my father."
"No," I said in a calm and final tone. "That isn't even on the table."
"Maybe it should be. Maybe he could help you find Maggie."
I felt a sharp stab of anger and pain go through me-a vivid memory. Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Sword and unflagging friend, had gotten his body torn and beaten to bits trying to help me with one of my cases. Bearing a Sword melded to one of the nails of the Crucifixion, given him by an archangel, he had been a bulwark against very real, very literal forces of evil in the world. It was incredibly comforting to have him on your side. We'd waded into all kinds of ridiculously lethal situations together and come out of them again.
Except that last time.
He was retired now, and happy, walking only with the aid of a cane, out of the evil-smiting business and spending his time building houses and being with his family, the way he'd always wanted to. So long as he stayed retired, I gathered that he had a certain amount of immunity against the powers of supernatural evil. It would not surprise me at all if there were literally an angel standing over his shoulder at all times, ready to protect him and his family. Like the Secret Service, but with swords and wings and halos.
"No," I said again. "He's out of the fight. He deserves to be. But if I ask for his help, he'll give it, and he'll have chosen to accept the consequences. Only he can't protect himself or your family from them anymore."
Molly took a very deep breath and then nodded, her worried eyes focused on the road. "Right," she said. "Okay. It's just ..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm used to him being there, I guess. Knowing that ... if I need him, he's there to help. I guess I always had it in my head that if things ever went really, truly bad, he'd Show Up," she said, putting gentle emphasis on the last words.
I didn't answer her. My father had died when I was young, before I learned that there was anything stronger than he was. I'd been operating without that kind of support for my whole life. Molly was only now realizing that, in some ways, she was on her own.
I wondered if my daughter even knew that she had a father, if she knew that there was someone who wanted, desperately, to Show Up.
"You get yourself an apartment and your plumbing goes bad, he'll still be there," I said quietly. "Some guy breaks your heart, he'll come over with ice cream. A lot of people never have a dad willing to do that stuff. Most of the time, it matters a hell of a lot more."
She blinked her eyes several times and nodded. "Yeah. But ..."
I got what she didn't say. But when you need someone to break down the door and commence kicking ass, you really really need it. And Michael couldn't do that for his daughter anymore. need it. And Michael couldn't do that for his daughter anymore.
"Tell you what, Molly," I said. "You ever need a rescue, I'll handle that part. Okay?"
She looked at me, her eyes blurred with tears, and nodded several times. She clasped my hand with hers and squeezed tight. Then she turned her face back to the road and pressed down on the accelerator.
We hit a drive-through and went on back to my apartment.
At the top of the stairs that led down to my door, I felt myself starting to get angry. They'd hammered the door flat. There were some scuff marks on it, but not much more than that. Tough door. But the wooden frame around it was shattered. There would be no way to get the door mounted again without extensive repairs that were probably beyond my skill level.
I stood there shaking with rage. It wasn't like I lived in an ivory tower or Bag End. It was just a dingy little hole in the ground. It wasn't much of a place, but it was the only home I had, and I was comfortable there.
It was my home.
And Rudolph and company had trashed it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
Molly touched my shoulder for a second. "It's not so bad. I know a good Carpenter."
I sighed and nodded. I already knew that when all this was over, Michael would be Showing Up for me.
"Just hope Mister will be back soon. Might have to board him somewhere until the door is fixed." I started down the stairs. "I just hope that-"
Mouse let out a sudden, deep growl.
I had my blasting rod out and my shield up in less than two seconds. Mouse is not an alarmist. I've never heard him growl outside the presence of danger of one kind or another. I checked to my right, and saw no Molly standing there. The grasshopper had vanished from view even more quickly than I'd readied my defenses.
I swallowed. I'd heard many variants on my dog's snarl. This one wasn't as threatening as it might have been-as it would would be, in the presence of dark threats. His body posture was a balance of tension and relaxation, simple wariness rather than the fighting crouch he had exhibited before. He'd smelled something that he thought was extremely dangerous, but not necessarily something that had to be immediately attacked and destroyed. be, in the presence of dark threats. His body posture was a balance of tension and relaxation, simple wariness rather than the fighting crouch he had exhibited before. He'd smelled something that he thought was extremely dangerous, but not necessarily something that had to be immediately attacked and destroyed.
Slowly, I went down the steps, shield at the ready, my left hand extended before me, my fingers in a warding gesture, my thumb, pinkie, and index fingers stiff and spread wide apart, center fingers folded. My right hand held the blasting rod extended before me, seething scarlet power boiling out from the carved runes and the tendril of bright flame at its tip, simultaneously ready to destroy and lighting my way. Mouse came down the stairs with me, his shoulder against my right hip. His growl was a steady tone, like the engine of a well-tuned car.
I came down the stairs and saw that there was a fire crackling in the fireplace. Between that and my blasting rod and the stray bits of afternoon sunlight, I could see fairly well.
The FBI could have done worse to my apartment, I supposed. Books had been taken off my bookshelves, but at least they had been stacked in piles, more or less, rather than tossed on the floor. They'd moved my furniture around, including taking the cushions off, but they'd put them back. Incorrectly, but they were back. Similarly, my kitchen had been dismantled with a kind of cursory courtesy, but not destroyed.
All of that was secondary in my mind, next to the pair of coffin-sized cocoons of what looked like green silk. One of the cocoons was stuck to my ceiling, the other to the wall beside the fireplace. Susan's face protruded from the second cocoon, sagging in something near unconsciousness, her dark hair hanging limply. On the ceiling, I could see only a man's mouth and part of his chin, but I was pretty sure it was Martin. They'd come back to my apartment, presumably after the feds left, and been captured.
"Mouse," I murmured. "You smell any cordite?"
The dog shook his head as if to shed it of water, and his tags jingled.
"Me neither," I said. So. Whatever had been done to them, it had happened fast, before an extremely quick Susan or an extremely paranoid Martin could employ a weapon.
One of my old recliners was faced away from the door. As I stepped across the threshold, it spun around (completely ignoring the fact that it was neither meant to spin nor mounted on any kind of mechanism that would make such a thing possible) and revealed, in firelight and shadow, an intruder and my cat.
She was tall and beyond beautiful-like most of the Sidhe are. Her skin was fair and flawless, her eyes enormous, slightly oblique orbs of emerald green. In fact, they almost mirrored Mister's eyes as he sat primly in the Sidhe woman's lap. Her lips were full and very red, and her long red hair, accented with streaks of pure white, spilled down in silken coils and waves over her dress of emerald green.
When she saw me she smiled, widely, and it revealed neatly pointed canine teeth, both dainty and predatory. "Ah," she said warmly. "Harry. It's been such a long time since we've spoken."
I shivered and kept my blasting rod trained on the Sidhe woman. She was a faerie, and I'd learned, from long experience, that the folk of Faerie, Summer and Winter alike, were not to be underestimated. Only a fool would trust them-but on the other hand, only a madman would offend them. They set great store by the forms of courtesy, etiquette, and the relationship of guest to host. One flouted the proper forms at peril of ... rather extreme reactions from the Sidhe, the lords of Faerie.
So instead of opening up with fire and hoping I got in a sucker punch, I lowered my blasting rod, gave the Leanansidhe a precise, shallow bow without ever taking my eyes off of her, and said, "Indeed. It's been a while, Godmother."
Chapter Fifteen
"Aren't you pleased with me?" the Leanansidhe said. She gestured with one manicured hand to the two cocoons, then went back to caressing Mister. "I came upon these brigands ransacking your little cave and ... What is the word?" Her smile widened. "I apprehended them."
"I see," I said.
"As I understand mortal business," she said, "next there is a trial, followed by ... What is the word mortal law uses for murder? Ah, an execution execution." Her red-gold brows furrowed briefly. "Or is it execution and then then trial?" She shrugged. "La. It seems largely a matter of semantics in any case. Harry, would you prefer to be the judge, the jury, or the executioner?" trial?" She shrugged. "La. It seems largely a matter of semantics in any case. Harry, would you prefer to be the judge, the jury, or the executioner?"
I ... just stared.
The last time I'd seen my faerie godmother, she had been ranting and raving in a couple of distinct personalities and voices while half-entombed in a sheet of ice at the heart of the Winter Court. Since I was sixteen, she'd pursued me relentlessly whenever I crossed into the Nevernever, apparently determined to transform me into one of her hounds.
For crying out loud. Now she was all smiles and bubbles? Protecting my apartment? Offering to play courtroom with me, as if I were a child and Martin and Susan were a pair of dolls?
"It isn't that I don't like to see you, Lea," I said. "But I can't help but wonder what it is you want."
"Merely to ensure the well-being of your spiritual self," she replied. "That is what a godmother is supposed to do, is it not?"
"I was sort of hoping your answer would be a bit more specific."
She let out a musical laugh that rang like distant church bells over snow. "Sweet child. Have you learned nothing of the fae?"
"Does anyone, ever?"
Her slender fingers stroked Mister's fur. "Do you think it so impossible?"
"Don't you you think it is?" think it is?"
"In what way is my opinion relevant to the truth?"
"Are we going to stand around here all day answering each other's questions with questions?"
Her smile widened. "Would you like that?"
I lifted a hand, capitulating.
She inclined her head to me, a gracious victor. Lea was better at that sort of wordplay than me, having had several centuries to practice.
Besides, losing to the guest with grace was a traditional courtesy, as well.
"What I would like," I said, nodding toward the cocoons, "is for you to please release these two. They aren't robbers. They're guests. And this is, after all, my home."
"Of course, child," she said agreeably. "No harm done." She snapped her fingers and the cocoons seemed to sublimate into a fine green mist that quickly dispersed. Susan fell limply from the wall, but I was waiting to catch her and lower her gently to the floor.
Martin plummeted from the ceiling and landed on a threadbare throw rug covering the concrete floor. Nobody was there to catch him, which was awful. Just awful.
I examined Susan quickly. She had no obvious wounds. She was breathing. She had a pulse. And that was pretty much the length and breadth of my medical knowledge. I checked Martin, too, but was disappointed. He was in the same condition as Susan.
I looked up at my godmother. Mister was sprawled in her lap on his back, luxuriating as she traced her long nails over his chest and tummy. His purr throbbed continuously through the room. "What did you do to them?"
"I lulled their predator spirit to sleep," she said calmly. "Poor lambs. They didn't realize how much strength they drew from it. Mayhap this will prove a useful lesson."
I frowned at that. "You mean ... the vampire part of them?"
"Of course."
I sat there for a moment, stunned.
If the vampire infection within half vampires like Susan and Martin could be enchanted to sleep, then it was presumably possible to do other things to it as well. Suppress it, maybe permanently.
It might even be possible to destroy it.
I felt a door in my mind open upon a hope I had shut away a long time ago.
Maybe I could save them both.
"I ..." I shook my head. "I searched for a way to ... I spent more than a ..." I shook my head harder. "I spent more than a year year trying to find a way to ..." I looked at my godmother. "How? How did you do it?" trying to find a way to ..." I looked at my godmother. "How? How did you do it?"
She looked back at me, her lips curled into something that wasn't precisely a smile. "Oh, sweet child. Information of that sort is treasure indeed. What have you to trade for such a precious gem of knowledge?"
I clenched my teeth. "It's always about bargains with you, isn't it."
"Of course, child. But I always live up to my end. Hence, my protection of you."
"Protection?" I demanded. "You spent most of a couple of decades trying to turn me into a dog!"
"Only when you strayed out of the mortal world," she said, as if baffled at why I would be upset. "Child, we had a bargain. And you had not willingly provided your portion of it." She smiled widely at Mouse. "And dogs are so charming."
Mouse watched her with calm, wary eyes, his body motionless.
I frowned. "But ... you sold my debt to Mab."
"Precisely. At an excellent price, I might add. So now, all that remains twixt thou and I is your mother's bargain. Unless you would prefer to enter another compact, of course ..."
I shuddered. "No, thank you." I finally lowered my shields. The Leanansidhe beamed at me. "I saw you in Mab's tower," I said.
Something dark flickered through her emerald eyes, and she turned her face slightly away from me. "Indeed," she said quietly. "You saw what it means for my queen to heal an affliction."
"What affliction?"
"A madness had beset me," she whispered. "Robbed me of myself. Treacherous gifts ..." She shook her head. "I can think on it no more, lest it make me vulnerable once again. Suffice to say that I am much better now." She stroked a fingertip over an icy white streak in her hair. "The strength of my queen prevailed, and my mind is mine own."
"Ensuring the well-being of my spiritual self," I murmured. Then I blinked. "The garden, the one on the other side of this place ... It's yours yours."
"Indeed, child," she said. "Did you not think it strange that in your turmoil-strewn time here none of your foes-not one one-ever sought to enter from the other side? Never sent a spirit given form directly into your bed, your shower, your refrigerator? Never poured a basket of asps into your closet so that they sought refuge in your shoes, your boots, the pockets of your clothing?" She shook her head. "Sweet, sweet child. Had you walked much farther, you would have seen the mound of bones of all the things that have attempted to reach you, and which I have destroyed."
"Yeah, well. I nearly wound up there myself."
"La," she said, smiling. "My guardians were created to attack any intruder-including one that looked like you. We couldn't have some clever shapeshifter slipping by, now, could we?" She sighed. "You took a terrible toll on my primroses. Honestly, child, there are are elements other than fire, you know. You really ought to diversify. Now I have two gaping maws to feed instead of one." elements other than fire, you know. You really ought to diversify. Now I have two gaping maws to feed instead of one."
"I'll ... be more careful next time," I said.