“Harry, I’m sorr—”

I lifted a hand. “Don’t apologize. Maybe I’m the one who let you down. Maybe I should have taught you better.” I petted Mouse’s head gently, looking away from her. “It doesn’t matter at the moment. People have died because I’ve been trying to save Morgan’s life. Thomas might still die. And now, if we do manage to save Morgan’s crusty old ass, he’s going to report that you’ve violated your parole. The Council will kill you. And me.”

She stared at me helplessly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Get caught,” I said quietly. “Jesus Christ, kid. I trusted you.”

She wept more heavily now. Her face was a mess. She bowed her head.

“If Morgan goes down for this,” I said, “there’s going to be trouble like you wouldn’t believe. And even more people are going to die.” I stood up slowly. “So. I’m going to do everything in my power to save him.”

She nodded without looking up.

“So you’ve got a choice to make, grasshopper. You can come with me, knowing the cost if we succeed. Or you can go.”

“Go?” she whispered.

“Go,” I said. “Leave now. Run, for as long as you can. Hell, it looks a lot like I’m going to get myself killed anyway. Probably Morgan, too. In that case, things will go to hell, but the Wardens will be way too busy to chase you. You’ll be able to ignore what’s right all you want, do whatever you like—as long as you don’t get caught.”

She pressed her arms against her stomach. She sounded like she was about to throw up, through the sobs.

I put a hand on her head and said, “Or you can come with me. You can do something right. Something that has meaning.”

She looked up at me, her lovely young face discolored in anguish.

“Everyone dies, honey,” I said, very quietly. “Everyone. There’s no ‘if.’ There’s only ‘when.’ ” I let that sink in for a moment. “

When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you’ve done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?”

She stared at my eyes for a minute and a half of silence broken only by the sound of her muted weeping. Then her head twitched in a single tiny shake.

“I promise that I’ll be beside you,” I said. “I can’t promise anything else. Only that I’ll stand beside you for as long as I can.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She leaned against me.

I put my hand on her hair for a minute. Then I said gently, “We’re out of time. The Wardens will know Morgan is in Chicago within a few hours at most. They might be on their way already.”

“Okay,” she said. “Wh-what are we going to do?”

I took a deep breath. “Among other things, I’m going to attempt a sanctum invocation,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “But . . . you said that kind of thing was dangerous. That only a fool would take such a chance.”

“I agreed to help Donald freaking Morgan when he showed up at my door,” I sighed. “I qualify.”

She wiped at her eyes and nose. “What do I do?”

“Get my ritual box. Put it in the car Murphy’s cuddling up with outside.”

“Okay,” Molly said. She turned away but then paused and looked back over her shoulder at me. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I know it was wrong, but . . .”

I looked at her sharply and frowned.

She shook her head and held up her hands. “Hear me out. I know it was wrong, and I didn’t get much of a look but . . . I swear to you. I think someone has tampered with Captain Luccio. I’d bet my life on it.”

I ignored the little chill that danced down my spine.

“Could be that you have,” I said quietly. “And mine, too. Go get the box.”

Molly hurried to comply.

I waited until she was outside to look at Mouse. The big dog sat up, his eyes gravely concerned. He wasn’t favoring his shoulder at all, and his movement was completely unimpaired.

Mouse got hit by the driver of a minivan once. He got back up, ran it down, and returned the favor. The Foo dog was very, very tough. I doubted he’d really needed the medical attention to recover, though I was also sure it would help speed things along. But I hadn’t been completely certain the injury wasn’t as serious as it looked.

In other words, the freaking dog had fooled Molly and me both.

“You were acting?” I said. “To make it hit Molly harder?”

His tail wagged back and forth proudly.

“Damn,” I said, impressed. “Maybe I should have named you Denzel.”

His jaws opened in a doggy grin.

“Earlier tonight,” I said, “when I was trying to figure out how to find Thomas, you interrupted me. I didn’t think about it before now, but you helped him track me down when Madrigal Raith was auctioning me off on eBay.”

His tail wagged harder.

“Could you find Thomas?”

“Woof,” he said, and his front paws bounced a couple of inches off the floor.

I nodded slowly, thinking. Then I said, “I’ve got another mission for you. One that could be more important. You game?”

He shook his fur out and padded to the door. Then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me.

“Okay,” I told him, walking to the door myself. “Listen up. Things are about to get sort of risky.”

Chapter Thirty-five

I looked at Luccio’s still-unconscious form. The stress of coordinating the search for Morgan for who knows how long before he showed up, coupled with the pains of her injuries and the sedative effect of the painkillers I’d given her, meant that she’d never stirred. Not when the gun went off, not when we’d been talking, and not when we’d all had to work together to get Morgan back up the stairs and out to the silver Rolls.

I made sure she was covered with a blanket. The moment I did, Mister descended from his perch atop one of my bookcases, and draped himself languidly over her lower legs, purring.

I scratched my cat’s ears and said, “Keep her company.”

He gave me an inscrutable look that said maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t. Mister was a cat, and cats generally considered it the obligation of the universe to provide shelter, sustenance, and amusement as required. I think Mister considered it beneath his dignity to plan for the future.

I got a pen and paper and wrote.

I folded the note and left it on the coffee table, where she’d see it upon waking. Then I bent over, kissed her hair, and left her sleeping safe in my home.

I parked the Rolls in the lot next to the marina. If we hurried, we could still get there before the witching hour, which would be the best time to try the invocation. Granted, trying it while injured and weary with absolutely no preritual work was probably going to detract more than enough from the ritual to offset the premium timing, but I was beggared for time and therefore not spoiling for choice.

“Allow me to reiterate,” Murphy said, “that I feel that this is a bad idea.”

“So noted,” I said. “But will you do it?”

She stared out the Rolls’s windshield at the vast expanse of Lake Michigan, a simple and enormous blackness against the lights of Chicago. “Yes,” she said.

“If there was anything else you could do,” I said, “I’d ask you to do it. I swear.”

“I know,” she said. “It just pisses me off that there’s nothing more I can add.”