Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"Oh, God no," I said. "That's on the list of Things One Does Not Do. It's one of the seven Laws of Magic."

"Maybe," she said. "But however it happened, a whole day just went poof. That's time travel."

"People are doing that kind of time travel all the time," I said. "We just pulled into the passing lane for a while."

She finished setting the watch and grimaced. "All the same."

I frowned at her. "You okay?"

She looked up at the children and their mother. "I'm going to have one hell of a time explaining where I've been for the past twenty-four hours. It isn't as though I can tell my boss that I went time traveling."

"Yeah, he'd never buy it. Tell him you invaded Faerieland to rescue a young woman from a monster-infested castle."

"Of course," she said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

I grunted. "Is it going to make trouble for you?"

She frowned for a moment and then said, "Intradepartmental discipline, probably. They couldn't get me for anything criminal, so no jail."

I blinked. "Jail?"

"I was in charge of things, remember?" Murphy reminded me. "I was pushing the line by laying that aside and coming to help you. Throw in that extra day and..." She shrugged.

"Hell's bells," I sighed. "I hadn't realized."

She shrugged a shoulder.

"How bad is it going to be?" I asked.

She frowned. "Depends on a lot of things. Mostly what Greene and Rick have to say, and how they say it. What other cops who were there have to say. A couple of those guys are major assholes. They'd be glad to make trouble for me."

"Like Rudolph," I said.

"Like Rudolph."

I put on my Bronx accent. "You want I should whack 'em for ya?"

She gave me a quick, ghostly smile. "Better let me sleep on that one."

I nodded. "But seriously. If there's anything I can do..."

"Just keep your head down for a while. You aren't exactly well loved all over the department. There are some people who resent that I keep hiring you, and that they can't tell me to stop because the cases you're on have about a ninety percent likelihood of resolution."

"My effectiveness is irrelevant? I thought cops had to have a degree or something, these days."

She snorted. "I love my job," she said. "But sometimes it feels like it has an unnecessarily high moron factor."

I nodded agreement. "What are they going to do?"

"This will be my first official fuckup," she said. "If I handle it correctly, I don't think they'll fire me."

"But?" I asked.

She pushed some hair back from her eyes. "They'll shove lots of fan counseling and psychological evaluation down my throat."

I tried to imagine Murphy on a therapist's couch.

My brain almost exploded out my ears.

"They'll try every trick they can to convince me to leave," she continued. "And when I don't, they'll demote me. I'll lose SI."

A lead weight landed on the bottom of my stomach. "Murph," I said.

She tried to smile but failed. She just looked sickly and strained. "It isn't anyone's fault, Harry. Just the nature of the beast. It had to be done, and I'd do it again. I can live with that."

Her tone was calm, relaxed, but she was too tired to make it sound genuine. Murphy's command might have been a tricky, frustrating, ugly one, but it was hers. She'd fought for her rank, worked her ass off to get it, and then she got shunted into SI. Only instead of accepting banishment to departmental Siberia, she'd worked even harder to throw it back into the faces of the people who had sent her there.

"It isn't fair," I growled.

"What is?" she asked.

"Bah. One of these days I'm going to go downtown and summon up a swarm of roaches or something. Just to watch the suits run out of the building, screaming."

This time, her smile was wired a little tight. "That won't help me."

"Are you kidding? We could sit outside and take pictures as they came running out and laugh ourselves sick."

"And that helps how?"

"Laughter is good for you," I said. "Nine out of ten stand-up comedians recommend laughter in the face of intense stupidity."

She let out a tired, quiet chuckle. "Let me sleep on that one, too." She pushed away from the wall, drawing her keys from her pocket. "I've got an appointment with the spin doctor," she said. "You want a ride home?"

I shook my head. "Few things I want to do first. Thanks, though."

She nodded and turned to go. Then she paused. "Harry," she said quiedy.

"Hmm?"

"What I said in the elevator."

I swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I didn't mean it to come out so harsh. You're a good man. Someone I'm damned proud to call my friend. But I care too much about you to lie to you or lead you on."

"It's no one's fault," I said quietly. "You had to be honest with me. I can live with that."

One corner of her mouth quirked into a wry half grin. "What are friends for?"

I sensed a change in tone as she asked the question, a very faint interrogative.

I stood up and put my hand on her shoulder. "I'm your friend. That won't change, Karrin. Ever."

She nodded, blinking several times, and for a moment rested her hand on mine. Then she turned to leave. Just then, Thomas poked his head in from the hallway. "Harry, Karrin. You leaving?"

"I am," she said.

Thomas glanced at me. "Uh-huh. Think I can bum a ride?"

Her car keys rattled. "Sure," she said.

"Thanks." He nodded to me. "Thank you for another field trip, Harry. Kind of bland, though. Maybe next time we should bring some coffee or something, so we don't yawn ourselves to death."

"Beat it before I kick your whining ass," I said.

Thomas sneered at me in reply, and he and Murphy left.

I ate the rest of my sandwich, idly noting that I had reached one of those odd little mental moments where I felt too tired to go to sleep. Across the room, Charity and her children had all fallen asleep where she sat on the floor, the children all leaning upon their mother and each other like living pillows. Charity looked exhausted, naturally, and I could see care lines on her face that I'd never really noticed before.

She could be a pain in the ass, but she was one gutsy chick. Her kids were lucky to have a mother like her. A lot of moms would say that they would die for their children. Charity had placed herself squarely in harm's way to do exactly that.