by Jim Butcher
“What is your point?” he asked quietly.
“Heaven ain’t safeguarding me, Michael. But you’re different than me. I figured God was going to look out for you and yours, out of professional courtesy if nothing else. And I’ve seen how He’s arranged things for you in the past. So what I did wasn’t about faith. It was just a matter of deducing probabilities.”
He shook his head, not agreeing with me, but not pressing it, either. “Charity?”
“She’s fine,” I assured him. “Kids too. Should be back home by now.”
“She and Molly?”
“Reconciled. Well. On polite speaking terms and hugging again, at least.”
His eyebrows shot up, and then his mouth curved into a wide grin. “Glory to God, I wasn’t sure it would ever happen.”
I buffed my nails on my shirt. “Sometimes I amaze even myself.”
Michael smiled at me, then looked over his shoulder again and frowned. “My Molly. Magic. Isn’t that sort of thing passed through blood-lines?”
“Usually,” I said. “But it doesn’t have to be. Some people are just born with it. We don’t really understand the how and why.”
He shook his head. “But how could I not have realized what was happening to her?”
“I dunno. But if you find out, make sure to tell Charity. She asked me the same question.”
“I suppose we’re all blind to what is closest to us,” he said.
“Human nature,” I agreed.
“Is Molly in danger?” he asked me, his tone frank.
I frowned and thought about it. “Some. She’s got real power. And she’s abused it a little. She’s going to be real tempted to use it again when she starts running into problems that look unsolvable. Not only that, but learning to harness the kind of strength she’s got can be pretty tricky all by itself. But she’s smart and she’s got all kinds of guts. If her teacher keeps from making any stupid mistakes, I think she’ll be all right.”
“But if she isn’t,” Michael said. “If she abuses her power again…”
“Then clemency is revoked. They execute her.”
“And you,” Michael said softly.
I shrugged. “Isn’t like I haven’t lived with that over my head before. As far as the Council is concerned, I’m responsible for her now, until she either makes full wizard or sets her talents aside.”
“Greater love hath no man,” he said quietly. “Nothing I can say would be enough. She’s my daughter, Harry. Thank you.”
I felt my cheeks heat up. “Yeah, yeah. Look, don’t make a big deal out of this. No one will enjoy that.”
He let out a rumbling chuckle. “And this apprenticeship. What will it entail?”
“Lessons. Every day, at first, until I’m sure she’s got herself under control. We’ll have to practice some of it away from anything combustible. Trees, houses, pets, that kind of thing.”
“How long will you need to work with her?”
“Until we’re finished,” I said, waving a vague hand. “I don’t know yet. I’ve never been on this side of an apprenticeship.”
He nodded in acceptance. “Very well.” We rode in silence for a moment. Then he said, “You remember the professional discussion I wanted to have?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Shoot.”
“Fidelacchius,” Michael said. “I was wondering if you found any candidates for a new wielder.”
“Zippo,” I said, frowning. “You think I should be looking?”
“Hard to say. But with only two of us in the field, Sanya and I are getting a little overworked.”
I scratched my chin. “Shiro told me that I would know the wielder. There hasn’t been anything like that. At least, not yet.”
“I’m concerned that it may take more than simply patience,” Michael sighed. “I’ve consulted our records. This is not the first time one of the White Council has been asked to be the custodian of one of the Swords.”
I arched my eyebrows and looked at him. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Me and who?”
“Merlin.”
I snorted. “You sure? Because the Merlin is kind of a jerk. Even you would think so, trust me.”
“No, Harry,” Michael said, his tone patient. “Not the Merlin of the Council. Merlin. The original.”
I sat there with my jaw suavely flapping in the breeze for a minute. Then said, “Wow.” I shook my head. “You think maybe I should find a big rock or something? Stick the sword in and leave it on the White House lawn?”
Michael crossed himself. “Heaven forbid. No. I just have an…” He scrunched up his nose. “An instinct.”
“You mean like when you get sent out on a mission from God?”
“No. I mean a regular old human hunch. I think that perhaps you should investigate the history around how Amoracchius was passed on, back then.”
Said sword now rested at a slant across Michael’s chest, safely in its scabbard, point between the knight’s boots.
“Wow. You mean…that sword right there. Your sword is…” I left it unsaid.
“Probably,” he said, nodding. “Though the Church’s records are fragmented, we’ve managed to establish that the other two Swords have been reworked from time to time, through the years. This one hasn’t.”
“That’s interesting,” I mused quietly. “That’s interesting as he—uh, as heck.”
Michael gave me a faint smile and nodded. “It’s an intriguing mystery, isn’t it?”
“You know what?” I said. “I can do mystery.” I chewed my lip for a minute and said, “But I hope you’re not in a hurry. You may have noticed that the Council is having a busy year. I’ll have time sooner or later, but for now…” I shrugged.
“I know.” He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “But knowing the sword’s history could become important. Sooner is better than later.”
Something odd in his tone made me look at him. “Why?”
His hand moved unconsciously to Amoracchius’s hilt. “I don’t think I’ll have the sword for much longer.” His voice was very soft.
When the Knights of the Sword retired, they did it feetfirst from the inside of a box.
“Michael?” I asked. “Did the, uh, office send you a memo?” I carefully didn’t say Like they did with Shiro.
“No. Instinct,” he said, and smiled at me. “But I suppose I could be beginning my midlife crisis. But I’m not planning to change the way I live my life, and I certainly have no intention of an early retirement.”
“Good,” I said, though it came out more somber than I’d intended.
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” Michael said.
“I’m way too busy to answer rhetorical questions.”
He grinned for a second and nodded. Then he pursed his lips and took his time about choosing his words. “Harry, you’ve avoided me for some time. And you seem…well, somewhat more dour than I’ve seen you before.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you, exactly,” I said.
He regarded me with calm, steady eyes.
“All right,” I said. “Yeah. But I’ve been avoiding most everybody. Don’t take it personally.”
“Is it something I’ve done? Or perhaps someone in my family?”
“Enough with the rhetoric. You know it isn’t.”
He nodded. “Then maybe it’s something you’ve done. Maybe something you should talk about with a friend.”
The fallen angel’s sigil on my left palm throbbed. I started to say “no,” but stopped myself. I drove for another block or two. I should tell him. I really should. Michael was my friend. He deserved my trust and respect. He deserved to know.
But I couldn’t.
Then my mouth started moving, and I realized that what was bothering me the most had nothing to do with coins or fallen angels. “Last Halloween,” I said quietly, “I killed two people.”
He drew in a slow breath and nodded, listening.
“One of them was Cassius.
Once he was beaten, I had Mouse break his neck. Another was a necromancer called Corpsetaker. I shot her in the back of the head.” I swallowed. “I murdered them. I’ve never killed, man…not like that. Cold.” I drove a while more. “I have nightmares.”
I heard him sigh. For a moment, his voice was bleak. Pained. “I’ve been in this business longer than you have. I know some of what you’re feeling.”
I didn’t answer him.
“You feel like nothing is ever going to be right again,” he said. “You remember it perfectly, and it won’t leave you alone. You feel like you’re walking around with a sharp rock in your shoe. You feel stained.”
Stupid damned streetlights, getting all blurry like that. I blinked a lot and stayed quiet. My throat was too tight to speak, anyway.
“I know what it’s like,” he said. “There isn’t any way to make it disappear. But it gets better with time and distance.” He studied me for a moment. “If you had it to do again, would you?”
“Twice as hard,” I said at once.
“Then what you did was a necessity, Harry. It might be painful. It might haunt you. But at the end of the day, so long as you did what you believed right, you’ll be able to live with yourself.”
“Yeah?” I asked, chewing on my lower lip.
“I promise,” he said.
I darted a glance at him. “You don’t…think less of me? Knowing that I’m a murderer?”
“It isn’t my place to judge what you’ve done. I regret that those lives were lost. That their owners never found redemption. I worry for the pain you’ve inflicted on yourself in retrospect. But I don’t for an instant think that you would choose to take a human life unless you absolutely had to.”
“Seriously?”
“I trust you,” Michael said, his voice calm. “I would never have left my family in your protection if I didn’t. You’re a decent man, Harry.”
I exhaled slowly and my shoulders loosened. “Good.” And then, before my brain could get in the way, I added, “I picked up one of the Blackened Denarii, Michael. Lasciel.”
My heart skipped several beats as I made the admission.
I expected shock, horror, outrage, maybe with a side order of contempt.
But instead, Michael nodded. “I know.”
I blinked at him. “You what?”
“I know,” he repeated.
“You know. You knew?”
“Yes. I was taking the trash around the house when Nicodemus’s car went by. I saw the whole thing. I saw you protecting my youngest.”
I chewed on my lip. “And…I mean, you aren’t going to slug me and drag me off to a private suite in the Asylum for Wayward Denarians?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Michael said. “Remember that the Knights of the Cross were not founded to destroy the Denarians. We were founded to save them from the Fallen. It is therefore my duty to help you in whatever way I can. I can help you discard the coin if that is what you wish to do. It’s best if you choose to do it yourself.”
“I don’t need to discard it, actually,” I said. “I haven’t really taken the coin up. I buried it. Never used it.”
Michael looked surprised. “No? That is good news, then. Though it means that the Fallen’s shadow is still attempting to persuade you, I take it?”
This time the mental chuckle was a little more clear. I thought Oh, shut up very hard and sent it in Lasciel’s direction.
“Trying,” I said.
“Keep in mind that Lasciel is a deceiver,” he said quietly. “One with thousands of years of practice. It knows people. It knows how to tell you lies you want to believe are true. But it exists for a single purpose—to corrupt the will and beliefs of mankind. Don’t ever forget that.”
I shuddered. “Yeah.”
“May I ask what it’s told you?” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “No, wait. Let me guess. It’s appeared to you as an attractive young woman. She offers you knowledge, yes? The benefit of her experience.”
“Yeah.” I paused and added, “And Hellfire. Makes my spells hit harder when I need them to. I try not to use it much.”
Michael shook his head. “Lasciel isn’t called the Temptress for nothing. She knows you. Knows what to offer you and how to offer it.”
“Damn right she does.” I paused a moment, then added, “It scares me sometimes.”
“You’ve got to get rid of the coin,” he said with gentle urgency.
“Love to,” I said. “How?”
“Give up the coin of your own will. And set aside your power. If you do, Lasciel’s shadow will dwindle with it and waste away.”
“What do you mean, set aside my power?”
“Walk away from your magic,” he said. “Forsake it. Forever.”
“Fuck that.”
He winced and looked away.
The rest of the trip to his home passed in silence. When we got there, I told Michael, “Molly’s stuff is back at my place. I’d like to take her back there to get it. I need to have a talk with her, tonight, while everything is fresh. I’ll have her back here in a couple of hours, tops.”
Michael glanced at his sleeping daughter with a worried frown, but nodded. “Very well.” He got out and shut the door, then leaned back in the window to speak to me. “May I ask you two things?”
“Shoot.”
He glanced back at his house and said, “Have you ever considered the possibility that the Lord did not send me out on my most recent mission so that I could protect my daughter? That it was not His intention to use you to protect her?”
“What’s your point?”
“Only that it is entirely possible, Harry Dresden, that this entire affair, beginning to end, is meant to protect you. That when I went to the aid of Luccio and her trainees, I did so not to free Molly, but to prevent you from coming to blows with the Council. That her position as your new apprentice had less to do with protecting her than it did protecting you?”
“Eh?” I said.
He glanced at his daughter. “Children have their own kind of power. When you’re teaching them, protecting them, you are more than you thought you could be. More understanding, more patient, more capable, more wise. Perhaps this foster child of your power will do the same for you. Perhaps it’s what she is meant to do.”
“If the Lord was all that interested in helping out, how come he didn’t send someone to help me against Cassius? One of old Nick’s personal yes-men? Seems to be a solid rescue scenario.”
Michael shrugged and opened his mouth.
“And don’t give me any of that mysterious ways tripe.”
He shut his mouth and smiled. “It’s a confusing sort of thing,” he said.
“What is?”
“Life. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
He offered me his hand. I shook it.
“I don’t know of another way to end Lasciel’s influence, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one out there. If you should change your mind about the coin, Harry, if you want to get rid of it, I promise that I’ll be there for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
His expression grew more sober. “And if you should fall to temptation. If you should embrace the Fallen or become ensnared by its will…” He touched the hilt of the great sword, and his face became bedrock granite, Old Testament determination that made Morgan’s fanaticism look like a wisp of steam. “If you change. I will also be there.”
Fear hit me in a cold wave.
Holy crap.
I swallowed, and my hands shook on the Beetle’s steering wheel. There wasn’t any attempt at menace in Michael’s voice, or his face. He was simply stating a fact.
The mark on my palm burned, and for the first time I gave serious consideration to the notion that maybe I was overconfident of my ability to deal with Lasciel. What if Michael was right? What if I screwed something up and wound up like that poor bastard Rasmussen? A demonically supercharged serial killer?
“If that happens,” I
told him, and my voice was a dry whisper, “I want you to.”
I could see in his eyes that he didn’t like the thought any more than I did—but he was fundamentally incapable of being anything less than perfectly honest with me. He was my friend, and he was worried. If he had to do harm to me, it would rip him apart.
Maybe the words had been his own subconscious way of begging me to get rid of the coin. He could never stand aside and do nothing while bad things happened, even if meant that he had to kill his friend.
I could respect that. I understood it, because I couldn’t do it, either. I couldn’t stand aside, abandon my magic, and cut myself loose of the responsibility to use it for good.
Not even if it killed me.
Life can be confusing. Good God, and how. Sometimes it seems like the older I get, the more confused I become. That seems ass-backwards. I thought I was supposed to be getting wiser. Instead, I just keep getting hit over the head with my relative insignificance in the greater scheme of the universe. Confusing, life.
But it beats the hell out of the alternative.
I went back to my place. I let the kid sleep until we got there, and then touched her shoulder with one hand. She jerked awake at once, blinking in weary confusion.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My place,” I said. “We need to talk.”
She blinked her eyes several more times and then nodded. “Why?”
“Because you need to understand something. Come on.”
We got out of the car. I led her down the steps to my door and said, “Come stand next to me.” She did. I took her left hand and told her, “Spread your fingers and close your eyes.” She did that too. I held her left palm up about two inches from the door. “Now, focus. See what you can feel.”
Her face scrunched up. “Um,” she said, shifting her weight back and forth restlessly. “There’s…pressure? Um, or maybe a buzzing. Like high-power lines.”
“Close enough,” I said, and released her wrist. “What you’re sensing are some of the energies that I used to ward my apartment. If you try to come in without disabling them, you’ll take a jolt of electricity that wouldn’t leave much more of you than a smudge on the ground.”