Ghost Story (The Dresden Files 13)

here is not yet over.”

Mouse regarded the archangel for a moment and then huffed out a breath in a huge sigh and leaned against me.

I scratched him some more and hugged him—and looked past him, to where my daughter slept.

Maggie Dresden was a dark-haired, dark-eyed child, which had been all but inevitable given her parents’ coloring. Her skin tone was a bit darker than mine, which I thought looked healthier than my skin ever had. I got kind of pasty, what with all the time in my lab and reading and running around after dark. Her features were . . . well, perfect. Beautiful. The first time I’d seen her in the flesh, despite everything else that was going on at the time, somewhere under the surface I had been shocked by how gorgeous she was. She was the most beautiful child I’d ever seen, like, in the movies or anywhere.

But I guess maybe all parents see that when they look at their kids. It isn’t rational. That doesn’t make it any less true.

She slept with the boneless relaxation of the very young, her arms carelessly thrown over her head. She wore one of Molly’s old T-shirts as pajamas. It had an old, worn, iron-on decal of R2-D2 on it, with the caption BEEP BEEP DE DEEP KERWOOO under it.

I knelt down by her, stroking Mouse’s fur, but when I tried to touch her hand, mine passed through hers, immaterial. I leaned my head against Mouse’s big, solid skull, and sighed.

“She’ll have a good life here,” I said quietly. “People who care about her. Who love kids.”

“Yes,” Uriel said.

Mouse’s tail thumped several more times.

“Yeah, buddy. And she’ll have you.” I glanced up at Uriel. “For how long? I mean, most dogs . . .”

“Temple dogs have been known to live for centuries,” he replied. “Your friend is more than capable of protecting her for a lifetime—even a wizard’s lifetime, if need be.”

That made me feel a little better. I knew what it was like to grow up without my birth parents around, and what a terrible loss it was not to have that sense of secure continuation most of the other kids around me had. Maggie had lost her foster parents, and then her birth mother, and then her biological father. She had another foster home now—but she would always have Mouse.

“Hell,” I said to Mouse, “for all I know, you’ll be smarter than I would have been about dealing with her, anyway.”

Mouse snorted, grinning a doggy grin. He couldn’t speak, but I could effortlessly imagine his response—of course he’d be smarter than I was. That particular bar hadn’t been set very high.

“Take care of her, buddy,” I said to Mouse, and gave his shoulders a couple of firm pats with my fists. “I know you’ll take good care of her.”

Mouse sat up away from me, his expression attentive and serious, and then, very deliberately, offered me his paw.

I shook hands with him gravely, and then rose to face the archangel.

“All right,” I said quietly. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Fifty-one

Uriel extended his hand again, and I took it.

The Carpenters’ house faded from around us and we reappeared in the world of empty white light. There was one difference this time. Two glass doors stood in front of us. One of them led to an office building—in fact, I recognized it as the interior of Captain Jack’s department in Chicago Between. I saw Carmichael go by the door, consulting a notepad and fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

The other door led only to darkness. That was the uncertain future. It was What Came Next.

“I can hardly remember the last time I spent this much time with one particular mortal,” Uriel said thoughtfully. “I wish I had time to do it more often.”

I looked at him for a long moment and said, “I don’t understand.”

He laughed. It was a sound that seethed with warmth and life.

I found myself smiling and joined him. “I don’t understand what your game is in all of this.”

“Game?”

I shrugged. “Your people conned me into taking a pretty horrible risk with my soul. I guess. If that’s what you call this.” I waved a hand. “And you’ve got plausible deniability—I know, I know—or maybe you really are sincere and Captain Murphy threw a curveball past all of us. Either way . . . it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” Uriel asked.

“Because it doesn’t have anything to do with balancing the scales of one of the Fallen lying to me,”