Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

He smiled. "I'll know when I get there."

I shook my head. Michael was entrusted to wield one of the blades of the Knights of the Cross. He was one of only two men in the world who were entrusted with such potent weapons against dark powers. As such, he had a lot of planet to cover. I wasn't clear exactly how his itinerary was established, but he was often called away from his home and family, apparently summoned to where his strength was most needed.

I don't go in big for religion-but I believe in the Almighty. I had seen a vast power at work supporting Michael's actions. Coincidence seemed to go to insane lengths, at times, to make sure he was where he needed to be to help someone in trouble. I had seen that power strike down seriously twisted foes without Michael so much as raising his voice. That power, that faith, had carried him through dangers and battles he had no business surviving, much less winning.

But I hadn't ever thought too much about how hard it must be for him to leave his home when the Archangels or God or Whoever sent up a flare and called him off to a crisis.

I glanced aside at Molly. She was smiling, but I could see the strain and worry beneath the surface.

Hard on his family, too.

"Haven't you left?" called a woman's voice from upstairs. The house creaked again and Michael's wife appeared at the top of the stairway, saying, "You'll be-"

Her voice cut off suddenly. I hadn't ever seen Charity in a red silk kimono before. Like Michael, her hair was damp from the shower. Even wet, it still looked blond. Charity had nice legs, clearly defined muscles in her calves shifting as she stepped to the head of the stairs, and what I could see of the rest of her looked much the same-strong, fit, healthy. She bore a sleeping child on one hip-my namesake, Harry, the youngest of the bunch. His arms and legs splayed in perfect relaxation, and his head was pillowed on her shoulder. His cheeks were pink with that look very young children get while sleeping.

Blue eyes widened in utter surprise and for just a moment she froze, staring at Molly. She opened her mouth for a second, words hesitating on her tongue. Then her eyes shifted to me and surprise fell to recognition, which was followed by a melange of anger, worry, and fear. She clutched her kimono a little more tightly to her, her mouth working for a second more, then said, "Excuse me for a moment."

She vanished and reappeared a moment later, sans little Harry, this time covered in a long terrycloth bathrobe, her feet inside fuzzy slippers.

"Molly," she said quietly, and came down the stairs.

The girl averted her eyes. "Mother."

"And the wizard," she said, her mouth hardening into a line. "Of course he's here." She titled her head to one side, her expression hardening further. "Is this who you've been with, Molly?"

The air pressure in the room quadrupled, and Molly's face darkened from pink to scarlet. "So what if it is?" she demanded, defiance making the words ring. "That's no business of yours."

I opened my mouth to assure Charity that I had nothing to do with anything (not that it would actually alter the nature of the conversation), but Michael glanced at me and shook his head. I zipped my lips and awaited developments.

"Wrong," Charity said, her stance belligerent and unyielding. "You are a child and I am your mother. It is precisely my business."

"But it's my life" Molly replied.

"Which you clearly lack the discipline and intelligence to manage."

"Here we go again," Molly said. "Go go gadget control freak."

"Do not take that tone of voice with me, young lady."

"Young lady," Molly singsonged back in a nasal impersonation of her mother's voice, her fists now on her hips. "What's the point? Stupid of me to think that you might actually be willing to talk with me instead of telling me how to live every second of my life."

"I fail to see the error in that when you clearly have no idea what you're doing, young lady. Look at you. You look like... like a savage."

My mouth went off on reflex. "Ah, yes, a savage. Of the famous Chro-motonsorial Cahokian Goth tribe."

Michael winced.

The look Charity turned on me could have withered the life from small animals and turned potted flowers black. "Excuse me, Mister Dresden," she said, words clipped. "I do not recall speaking to you."

"Beg pardon," I said, and gave her my sweetest smile. "Don't mind me. Just thinking out loud."

Molly turned to glare at me, too, but hers was a pale imitation of her mother's. "I do not need you to defend me."

Charity's attention shifted back to her daughter. "You will not speak to an adult in that tone of voice so long as you are in this house, young lady."

"Not a problem," Molly shot back, and then she whirled on her heel and opened the door.

Michael put his hand out, not with any particular effort, and the door slammed shut again with a sharp, booming impact.

Sudden silence fell over the Carpenter household. Both Molly and Charity stared at Michael with expressions of utter shock.

Michael took a deep breath and then said, "Ladies. I try not to involve myself in these discussions. But obviously your conversation this evening is unlikely to resolve the differences you've had." He looked at them in turn, and his voice, while still gentle, became something more immovable than a mountain's bones. "I don't have any feeling that my trip will be an extended one," he said, "but we never know what He has planned for us. Or how much time is left to any of us. This house has been upset long enough. The strife is hurting everyone. Find a way to resolve your troubles before I return."

"But..." Molly began.

"Molly," Michael said, his tone of voice inexorable. "She is your mother. She deserves your respect and courtesy. You will give them to her for the length of a conversation."

Molly set her jaw, but looked away from her father. He stared at her for a moment, until she gave him a brief nod.

"Thank you," he said. "I want you both to make an effort to set the anger aside, and talk. By God, ladies, I will not go forth to answer the call only to come home to more conflict and strife. I get enough of that while I'm gone."

Charity stared at him for a second longer, and then said, "But Michael... surely you aren't going to leave now. Not when..." She gestured vaguely at me. "There will be trouble."

Michael stepped over to his wife and kissed her gently. Then he said, "Faith, my love."

She closed her eyes and looked away from him after the kiss. "Are you sure?"