Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"Yeah," I said. "You have a couple of choices to make, Molly. Starting with whether or not you want to turn yourself in to the Council."

She rocked back and forth, a nervous motion. "Why would I?"

"Because they're going to find you, sooner or later. If that happens, if they think you're trying to avoid them, they'll probably kill you out of hand. But if you're willing to cooperate and face up to what you've done, and if someone intercedes on your behalf, the Council might withhold a death sentence."

"Aren't you just going to turn me in anyway?"

"No," I said. "It's about choices, Molly. This one is yours. I'll respect what you want to do."

She frowned. "Would you get in trouble with them for that?"

I shrugged. "Not sure. They might kill me for being in collusion with an evil wizard."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"They aren't exactly overflowing with tolerance and forgiveness and agape love," I told her. "They've almost pulled the trigger on me a couple of times. They're dangerous people."

She shivered. "You'd... you'd risk that for me?"

"Yep."

She frowned, chewing that over. "And if I turn myself in?"

"Then we'll explain what happened. I'll intercede for you. If the Council accepts that, then I'll be held responsible for your training and your use of magic."

She blinked. "You mean... I'd be your apprentice?"

"Pretty much," I said. "But you have to understand something. It would mean that you agree to accept my leadership. If I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions, no delays. What I can teach you is no damn game. It's the power of life and death, and there's no room for anyone who doesn't work hard to control it. If you go to the Council with me, you're accepting those terms. Got it?"

She shivered and nodded.

"Next, you have to decide what you want to do with your power."

"What are my choices?" she asked.

I shrugged. "You've got the juice to make the White Council, eventually, if that's what you want. Or you can find something worth supporting with your talents. I've heard of a couple of wizards who have made stupid amounts of money with their skills. Or hell, maybe after you learn to control yourself, you just set them aside. Let them fade." Like your mom did.

"I could never do that last one," she said.

I snorted. "Think about it, kid. You join up with the wizards now and you wind up in the middle of the war. The bad guys won't care that you're young and untrained."

She chewed on her lip. "I should talk with my parents. Shouldn't I?"

I exhaled slowly. "If you want to, you should. But you've got to realize that this is going to be your choice. You can't let anyone else make it for you."

She was quiet for a long time. Then she asked, in a very small voice, "Do you really think I could... could like, join the dark side?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "There are plenty of things out there who would be happy to help you along. Which is why I want to give you a hand-so that I can steer you away from that type until you know enough to handle them on your own."

"But..." Her face scrunched up. "I don't want to be a bad guy."

"No one wants it," I said. "Most of the bad guys in the real world don't know that they are bad guys. You don't get a flashing warning sign that you're about to damn yourself. It sneaks up on you when you aren't looking."

"But the Council... they'll see that, right? That I don't want to be like that?"

"I can't guarantee you that they'll believe that. And even if they do, they might decide to execute you anyway."

She sat very still. I listened to her breathe. "If I go to the Council... can my parents come with me?"

"No."

She swallowed. "Will you?"

"Yes."

She met my eyes again, this time without fear of a soulgaze beginning. That ship had sailed. Tear-stained cheeks gleamed and curved into a little smile that could not hide the fear behind it.

I reached out and put my hand over hers. "I'll promise you this, Molly. I don't intend to let them hurt you. Period. The only way anyone will lay a finger on you is over my dead body." Which would not be difficult for the Council to arrange, but there was no sense in mentioning that to the girl. Her day had been scary enough. "I think going with me is your best chance to get out of this," I continued. "If you decide that it's what you want, we'll sit down with your parents. They won't be thrilled with the idea, but they can't make the call on this one. It's yours. It has to be, or it won't mean anything."

She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Poor kid. She looked so damned young. I was fairly sure I had never been that young.

Then she drew in a deep, shaking breath and said, "I want to go to the Council."

Chapter Forty-two

I talked Molly into staying at the church with her family until everyone had gotten some rest and we could talk things out with her mother. Any sane man would have hopped a bus for Las Vegas or somewhere rather than wait around and tell Charity Carpenter he wanted to haul her first baby in front of a gang of powerful wizards for trial and possible execution.

I found an unused cot and flopped onto it. My shins hung off the end of the undersized thing, and I didn't care a bit. Nails clicked in unsteady rhythm on tile, and I felt Mouse's warm, silent presence limp carefully to the floor beside my cot. I reached out, ruffled his ears, and laid my hand on the thick ruff of far across his shoulders. I was asleep before he settled himself down to sleep beside me.

I woke up later, in the same position I'd fallen asleep. I had a crick in my neck, and one hand dangled over the side of the bed. It had lost enough circulation to feel numb and floppy, and I had to squint over the side of the cot to see that it was still resting on Mouse's furry back. The room was unlit, but the door to the hallway was open, and afternoon-flavored sunlight lit the hall.

I wanted to go back to sleep, but I hauled myself to my feet and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, Mouse limping along beside me without complaint. I availed myself of indoor plumbing, and found myself wishing that they had a shower. I made do with a birdbath in the sink, and shambled back down to Forthill's guest room.

The cots were all but empty. Nelson slept in one of them, faint twitches randomly stirring his limbs. His closed eyes rolled back and forth, and he had broken into a light sweat. Nightmares, I supposed. Poor kid. I wished I could have helped, but realistically there wasn't anything I could do for him.