Yikes.

Thousands of years of survival meant thousands of years of accumulated experience. It meant that Shagnasty was smart and adaptable. The old skinwalker wouldn’t still be around if it wasn’t. I upgraded the creature, in my thoughts, from “very tough” to “damned near impossibly tough.”

But since it still had my brother, that didn’t change anything.

“Don’t suppose there’s a silver bullet we can use?” I asked.

“No, boss,” Bob said quietly. “Sorry.”

I grimaced, did a half-assed job of cleaning up the mess I’d made, and began to leave the lab. I paused before I left and said, “Hey, Bob.”

“Yeah?”

“Any thoughts as to why, when LaFortier was being murdered by a wizard, no one threw any magic around?”

“People are morons?”

“It’s damned peculiar,” I said.

“Irrationality isn’t.” Bob said. “Wizards just aren’t all that stable to begin with.”

Given what I had done with my life lately, I could hardly argue with him. “It means something,” I said.

“Yeah?” Bob asked. “What?”

I shook my head. “Tell you when I figure it out.”

I went back up into my living room through the trapdoor in its floor. The door was a thick one. Sound didn’t readily travel up from the lab when it was closed. Luccio was loaded with narcotics and asleep on my couch, lying flat on her back with no pillow, and covered with a light blanket. Her face was slack, her mouth slightly open. It made her look vulnerable, and even younger than she already appeared. Molly sat in one of the recliners with several candles burning beside her. She was reading a paperback, carefully not opening the thing all the way to avoid creasing the spine. Pansy.

I went to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. As I did, I reflected that I was getting really tired of sandwiches. Maybe I ought to learn to cook or something.

I stood there munching, and Molly came to join me.

“Hey,” she said in muted tones. “How are you?”

She’d helped me bandage the fairly minor cut on my scalp when I had returned. Strips of white gauze bandage were wound around my head to form a lopsided, off-kilter halo. I felt like the fife player in Willard’s iconic

Spirit of ’76 .

“Still in one piece,” I replied. “How are they?”

“Drugged and sleeping,” she said. “Morgan’s fever is up another half of a degree. The last bag of antibiotics is almost empty.”

I clenched my jaw. If I didn’t get Morgan to a hospital soon, he was going to be just as dead as he would be if the Council or Shagnasty got hold of him.

“Should I get some ice onto him?” Molly asked anxiously.

“Not until the fever goes over one hundred and four, and stays there,” I said. “That’s when it begins to endanger him. Until then, it’s doing what it’s supposed to do and slowing the infection.” I finished the last bite of sandwich. “Any calls?”

She produced a piece of notebook paper. “Georgia called. Here’s where Andi is. They’re still with her.”

I took the paper with a grimace. If I hadn’t let Morgan in my door half an eternity ago, he wouldn’t have been in Chicago, Shagnasty wouldn’t have been tailing me to find him, Andi wouldn’t be hurt—and Kirby would still be alive. And I hadn’t even tried to call and find out how she was. “How is she?”

“They still aren’t sure,” Molly said.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Did you find Thomas?”

I shook my head. “Total bust.”

Mouse came shambling over. He sat down and looked up at me, his expression concerned.

She chewed on her lip. “What are you going to do?”

“I . . .” My voice trailed off. I sighed. “I have no idea.”

Mouse pawed at my leg and looked up at me. I bent over to scratch his ears, and instantly regretted it as someone tightened a vise on my temples. I straightened up again in a hurry, wincing, and entertained wild fantasies about lying down on the floor and sleeping for a week.

Molly watched me, her expression worried.

Right, Harry. You’re still teaching your apprentice. Show her what a wizard should do, not what you want to do.

I looked at the paper. “The answer isn’t obvious, which means that I need to put some more thought into it. And while I’m doing that, I’ll go look in on Andi.”

Molly nodded. “What do I do?”

“Hold down the fort. Try to reach me at the hospital if anyone calls or if Morgan gets any worse.”

Molly nodded seriously. “I can do that.”

I nodded and grabbed my gear and the key to the Rolls. Molly went to the door, ready to lock it behind me when I left. I started to do just that—and then paused. I turned to my apprentice. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She blinked at me. “Um. What did I do?”

“More than I asked of you. More than was good for you.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Molly.”

She lifted her chin a little, smiling. “Well,” she said. “You’re just so pathetic. How could I turn away?”

That made me laugh, if only for a second, and her smile blossomed into something radiant.

“You know the drill,” I said.

She nodded. “Keep my eyes open, be supercareful, don’t take any chances.”

I winked at her. “You grow wiser, grasshopper.”

Molly started to say something, stopped, fidgeted for half a second, and then threw her arms around me in a big hug.

“Be careful,” she said. “Okay?”

I hugged her back tight and gave the top of her head a light kiss. “Hang in there, kid. We’ll get this straightened out.”

“Okay,” she said. “We will.”

Then I headed out into the Chicago night wondering how—or if—that was possible.

Chapter Thirty

I don’t like hospitals—but then, who does? I don’t like the clean, cool hallways. I don’t like the stark fluorescent lights. I don’t like the calm ring tones on the telephones. I don’t like the pastel scrubs the nurses and attendants wear. I don’t like the elevators, and I don’t like the soothing colors on the walls, and I don’t like the way everyone speaks in measured, quiet voices.

But mostly, I don’t like the memories I’ve collected there.

Andi was still in intensive care. I wouldn’t be able to go in to see her—neither would Billy and Georgia, if they hadn’t arranged for power of attorney for medical matters, a few years back. It was long after standard visiting hours, but most hospital staffs stretch rules and look the other way for those whose loved ones are in ICU. The world has changed a lot over the centuries, but death watches are still respected.

Billy had come to me on the down low to set up power of attorney for me, in case he should be hospitalized without Georgia being nearby to handle matters. Though neither of us said so, we both knew why he really did it. The only reason Georgia wouldn’t be there is if she was dead—and if Billy was in no shape to make decisions for himself, he didn’t want to hang around and find out what his world would be like without her in it. He wanted someone he could trust to understand that.

Billy and Georgia are solid.

I’d spent some endless hours in Stroger’s ICU waiting room, and it hadn’t changed since I’d been there last. It was empty except for Georgia. She lay on the sofa, sleeping, still wearing her glasses. A book by what was presumably a prominent psychologist lay open on her stomach. She looked exhausted.

I bypassed the waiting room and went to the nurses’ desk. A tired-looking woman in her thirties looked up at me with a frown. “Sir,” she said, “it’s well after visiting hours.”

“I know,” I said. I took my notepad out of my pocket and scribbled a quick note on it. “I’ll go back to the waiting room. The next time you go past Miss Macklin’s room, could you please give this to the gentleman sitting with her?”