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She swallowed and nodded. "I think if I'd waited much longer... I wouldn't have been able to think of it." She looked up at me and back down. "He was changed, Harry. It wasn't him anymore."
I left nothing behind. You don't have words for the things I did to him.
Thomas.
I put the drink aside and folded my arms over my stomach. "You did good, kid."
She gave me a tired smile. An awkward silence fell. Molly seemed to search for something to say. "They're... they're going to try Morgan tomorrow," she said quietly. "I heard Mai say so."
"Yeah," I said.
"They expect us to be there."
"Oh," I said, "we will be."
"Harry... we failed," she said. She swallowed. "An innocent man is going to die. The killer is still loose. That entire battle took place and didn't accomplish anything."
I looked up at her. Then, moving deliberately, I opened the manila envelope Vince had given me.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Surveillance photos," I said quietly. "Shot through a telephoto lens from a block away."
She blinked at me. "What?"
"I hired Vince to take some pictures," I said. "Well, technically Murphy hired him, because I was worried about my phone being bugged. But I'm getting the bill, so really, it was me."
"Pictures? What pictures?"
"Of the Way to Chicago from Edinburgh," I said. "Where it opens up into that alley behind the old meatpacking factory. I had Vince take pictures of anyone coming out of it, right after I informed Edinburgh about the meeting on the island."
Molly frowned. "But... why?"
"Didn't give them time to think, kid," I said. "I was fairly sure the killer was in Edinburgh. So I made sure he or she had to come to Chicago. I made sure he didn't have time to get here by alternate means."
I drew out the pictures and started flipping through them. Vince had done a crisp, professional job. You could have used them for portraits, much less identification. McCoy, Mai, Listens-to-Wind, Bjorn Bjorngunnarson, the other Wardens were all pictured, both in a wide shot, walking in a Right Stuff group, and in tight focus on each face. "And I made sure Vince and Mouse were there to watch the only fast way into town from Scotland."
While I did that, Molly puzzled through the logic. "Then... that entire scenario on the island... the meeting, the fight... the entire thing was a ploy?"
"Wile E. Coyote," I said wisely. "Suuuuuper Genius."
Molly shook her head. "But... you didn't tell anyone?"
"Nobody. Had to look good," I said. "Didn't know who the traitor might be, so I couldn't afford to give anyone any warning."
"Wow, Obi-Wan," the grasshopper said. "I'm... sort of impressed."
"The smackdown-on-the-island plan might have worked," I said. "And I needed it to get a crack at the skinwalker on friendly ground. But lately I've started thinking that you don't ever plan on a single path to victory. You set things up so that you've got more than one way to win.
"What I really needed was a weapon I could use against the killer." I stared at the last photo for a moment, and then flipped it over and showed it to her. "And now," I said, a snarl coming unbidden into my voice, "I've got one."
Molly looked at the picture blankly. "Oh," she said. "Who's that?"
Chapter Forty-seven
Morgan's trial was held the next day, but since Scotland was six hours ahead of Chicago, I wound up getting about three hours' worth of sleep sitting up in a chair. My head and face hurt too much when I lay all the way down.
When I got back to the apartment with Molly, Luccio was gone.
I had been pretty sure she would be.
I got up the next morning and took stock of myself in the mirror. What wasn't under a white bandage was mostly bruised. That was probably the concussion grenade. I was lucky. If I'd have been standing where Lara had been when Binder's grenade went off, the overpressure would probably have killed me. I was also lucky that we'd been outdoors, where there was nothing to contain and focus the blast. I didn't feel lucky, but I was.
It could have been a fragmentation grenade spitting out a lethal cloud of shrapnel-though at least my duster would probably have offered me some protection from that. Against the blast wave of an explosion, it didn't do jack. Having gained something like respect for Binder's know-how, when it came to mayhem, I realized that he may have been thinking exactly that when he picked his gear for the evening.
I couldn't shower without getting my stitches wet, so after changing my bandages, I took a birdbath in the sink. I wore a button-up shirt, since I would probably compress my brain if I tried to pull on a tee. I also grabbed my formal black Council robe with its blue stole and my Warden's cape. I did my best to put my hair in order, though only about a third of it was showing. And I shaved.
"Wow," Molly said as I emerged. "You're taking this pretty seriously." She was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, running her fingers lightly down Mister's spine. She was one of the few people he deemed worthy to properly appreciate him in a tactile sense. Molly wore her brown apprentice's robe, and if her hair was bright blue, at least she had it pulled back in a no-nonsense style. She never wore a lot of makeup, these days, but today she was wearing none at all. She had made the very wise realization that the less attention she attracted from the Council, the better off she would be.
"Yup. Cab here yet?"
She shook her head and rose, displacing Mister. He accepted the situation, despite the indignity. "Come on, Mouse," she said. "We'll give you a chance to go before we head out."
The big dog happily followed her out the door.
I got on the phone and called Thomas's apartment. There was no answer.
I tried Lara's number, and Justine answered on the first ring. "Ms. Raith's phone."
"This is Harry Dresden," I said.
"Hello, Mr. Dresden," Justine replied, her tone businesslike and formal. She wasn't alone. "How may I help you today?"
Now that the furor of the manhunt had blown over, my phone was probably safe to talk on. But only probably. I emulated Justine's vocal mannerisms. "I'm calling to inquire after the condition of Thomas."
"He's here," Justine said. "He's resting comfortably, now."
I'd seen what terrible shape Thomas was in. If he was resting comfortably, it was because he had fed, deeply and intently, with instinctive obsession.
