Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"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."

She blinked at me, then twitched and pulled her hand sharply away.

"I'll give you an amulet that will let you get through, until I'm sure you can disable them, go in, and start them up again. But for tonight, just don't try to open the door. In or out. Okay?"

"Okay," she said quietly.

We went in. My cleaning service had come through. Molly had left a bag with clothes and sundries spread over half of one of my apartment's couches. Now the bag was neatly closed, and suspiciously nonbulgy. I'm sure the cleaning service had folded and organized the bag so that everything fit in without strain.

Molly looked around, blinking. "How does your maid get in?"

"I don't know what you mean," I said, because you can't talk about faerie housekeepers or they go away. I pointed at the couch next to her bag and said, "Sit."

She did, though I could tell that my peremptory tone did not thrill her.

I sat down in a chair across from the couch. As I did, Mister drifted in from the bedroom and promptly wound himself around one of Molly's legs, purring a greeting.