Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

"I can get to Faerie," I said. "But you've got to understand something. We're talking about opening a path into deep Winter. If I'm strong enough to open the way, and if I'm strong enough to hold it open while simultaneously running a rescue operation against at least one ancient fetch who ate my magic like candy earlier tonight, we're still talking about defying the will of Queen Mab. If she's there, there's not a damned thing I can do. I don't have enough power to challenge her in the heart of her domain. The whole damned White Council doesn't have enough power. On top of that, I'd have to know precisely where to cross over into Faerie, because I'd have only minutes to grab her and get out. And I have no idea where she is."

"What are you saying?" she asked quietly.

"That I can't do it," I told her. "It's suicide."

Charity's back stiffened. "So you're willing to leave her there?"

"No," I said. "But it means that I'm going to have to find help wherever I can get it. Maybe from people and things that you won't much like." I shook my head. "And it's possible I'll get myself killed before I can even make the attempt. And even if I get her out... there could be a price."

"I'll pay it," she said. Her voice was flat, strong, certain. "For Molly, I'll pay it."

I nodded. I didn't say the next thought out loud-that even if we did get the girl back, there might not be much left of her mind. And she'd broken one of the Laws of Magic. She could wind up on the floor of some lonely warehouse, a black bag over her head, until Morgan's sword took it off her shoulders. Or, maybe worse, she could already have been twisted by the power she'd used.

Even if I could find Molly and bring her home, it might already be too late to save her.

But I could burn that bridge when I came to it. First, I had to find her. The only way to do that was to learn where the fetches had carried her through to the Nevernever. Geography in the Nevernever isn't like geography in the normal world. The Nevernever touches our world only at certain points of sympathetic energy. The portion of the Nevernever that touched an empty and abandoned warehouse might not be anywhere near the area of the spirit world that touched the full and busy child-care center across the physical street from the warehouse. To make it worse, the connections between the mortal world and the Nevernever changed slowly over time, as the world changed.

There could be a thousand places in Chicago where the fetches might have dragged Molly back to their lair. I had to find the correct one. And I had to do it before dawn, before the rising sun scattered and dispersed the residual traces of her presence that would be my only trail.

I had about two hours, tops, to get my aching body back to my apartment to bathe and prepare for a spell that would have been dangerous had I been rested and entirely whole. Tired, hurting, pressured, and worried as I was, I would probably kill myself on Little Chicago's trial run.

But my only other option was walk away and leave the girl in the hands of creatures that made nightmares afraid of the dark.

"I'll need something of hers," I said, rising. "Hair or fingernail clippings would be best."

Charity said, "I have a lock of her hair in her baby book."

"Perfect," I said. "I'll pick it up from your place. Where's the book?"

She rose. "I'll show you."

I hesitated. "I don't know if that's wise."

Chapter Thirty-three

"This is Thomas," I told Charity, waving a hand at my brother, who had fallen into step beside me as I left the church. "He's more dangerous than he looks."

"I have a black belt," Thomas explained.

Charity arched an eyebrow, looked at Thomas for about a second, and said, "You're the White Court vampire who took my husband to that strip bar."

Thomas gave Charity a toothy smile and said, "Hey, it's nice to be remembered. And to work with someone who has a clue." He hooked a thumb at me and added, sotto voce, "For a change."

Charity's regard didn't change. It wasn't icy, nor friendly, nor touched by emotion. It was simply a remote, steady gaze, the kind one reserves for large dogs who pass nearby. Cautious observation, unexcited and deliberate. "I appreciate that you have fought beside my husband before. But I also want you to understand that what you are gives me reason to regard you with suspicion. Please do nothing to deepen that sentiment. I do not remain passive to threats."

Thomas pursed his lips. I half expected anger to touch his gaze, but it didn't. He simply nodded and said, "Understood, ma'am."

"Good," she said, and we reached her van. "You ride in the rearmost seat."

I started to protest, but Thomas put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head. "Her ride, her rules," he murmured to me in passing. "I can respect that. So can you."

So we all got in and headed for the Carpenters' house.

"How's Mouse?" Thomas asked.

"Leg's hurt," I said.

"Took one hell of a shot to do it," he noted.

"That's why I left him back there," I said. "Could be he's pushing his luck. Besides, he can help Forthill keep an eye on the kids."

"Uh-huh," Thomas said. "Am I the only one who is starting to think that maybe Mouse is something special?"

"Always thought that," I said.

"I wonder if he's an actual breed."

Charity glanced over her shoulder and said, "He looks something like a Caucasian."

"Impossible," I said. "He has rhythm and he can dance."

Charity shook her head and said, "It's a dog bred by the Soviet Union in the Caucasus Mountains for use in secured military installations. It's one of the only breeds that grows so large. But they tend to be a great deal more aggressive than your dog."

"Oh, he's aggressive enough for anybody, when he needs to be," I said.

Thomas engaged Charity in a polite conversation about dogs and breeds, and I leaned my head against the window and promptly fell asleep. I woke up briefly when the van stopped. Charity and Thomas spoke, and I dozed as they loaded some things into the van. I didn't wake up again until Thomas touched my shoulder and said, "We're at your apartment, Harry."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Okay." I blinked a couple of times and hopped out of the van. "Thomas," I said. "Get in touch with Murphy for me, and tell her I need her at my place, now. And... here..." I fumbled in my duster's pockets and found a white napkin and a marker. I wrote another number. "Call this number. Tell them that I'm calling in my personal marker."