"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?"