Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"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."