Okay. Here it is, the last (rather longer than usual, even) part of this story. I wrote this in a white heat, and in less than seven hours. Forgive any typos, please?

For the epilogue, I stepped well away from Jim Butcher's methodology— because there were ideas I had that I wanted to share with you people, and no way to do other than to be me, not me-being-Jim-Butcher for a while. Hope you don't mind.

Thanks, everyone, for your comments and support!

Harry:

For a long moment, no one moved, no one spoke. Xander, Lash, Buffy and I— all of us that I could see right then— could only stare at the two pieces of a human body that had, until a couple of seconds before, been Elaine Mallory, the first real friend I ever had, the first person I'd ever loved besides my father, my first romantic love, first lover, first— first everything.

"No!" I barely managed to whisper the word, because I suddenly couldn't breathe. "No, you… Elaine, you can't…."

Then the anger hit me, and I could breathe, could draw in the breath to scream.

"ELAINE!" I cried.

I whirled towards Mavra even as Buffy snarled something wordless and stepped in close to the vampire bitch, grabbed her by the collar with both hands, spun her once for momentum, then threw her up in the air.

The night that Michael Carpenter had been crippled, the night I thought he'd been killed, I loosed the most powerful blast of fire I'd ever thrown, and I did it without staff or blasting rod— just me, my magic, and the sheer, blind fury I felt at the woman who had, I thought, just murdered my friend, and one of the best men I have ever known. That blast of fire had been blue-white, and barely bigger around than the two fingers that I'd used to project.

I'd been fighting with my staff alone, not wanting to have to switch back and forth between it and blasting rod, since the staff was a decent tool for fire.

As Mavra flew up into the air, I dropped my staff and reached into my duster, drew forth my blasting rod. I wanted the extra power I could get from it right now, needed that power, because I needed— more than I had needed anything since I needed to rescue Maggie from the Red Court— I needed to make Mavra hurt. I didn't think I could kill her, not this way, not with the power she had through that damned outsider stone, but I knew, right then, that I could hurt her.

Even while I'd been dropping my staff and drawing my blasting rod, I'd been gathering my will, shaping it, refining it, refining the power it would drive. Now I aimed the rod at the place where I could see that Mavra would fall, and I held my will, my magic, my pain and hate and rage— I held them ready and I waited.

Mavra fell to the ground before me, maybe eight feet away, landed on her right side, her body facing towards me. I aimed my blasting rod at the place where he blackened, shriveled heart should be, and I unleashed my spell.

"PYROFUEGO!" I screamed, and I slammed my will and my magic through the blasting rod.

The beam of fire that shot out at Mavra's chest was so brilliant a white that it dazzled the eyes— despite being no bigger around than a heavy needle, one meant for hand-stitching denim, maybe.

That beam of pure, rage-driven fire hit Mavra in the chest— and I held it while she sneered up at me from the ground, maintained the hate, the will, the magic.

Very suddenly, Mavra screamed as her tunic caught fire under the place where my blast hit her force field.

In a blind panic, Mavra rolled away from me, dropped her force field and rolled away, trying to smother the flames by pressing her chest to the asphalt.

Buffy kicked her in the ribs, sent her flying, but it was too late— the fire was out.

By the time she hit the ground again, Mavra's force field had been restored, but I didn't care. I had hurt her, had scared her, and never mind the damned power boost she had going for her. For now, that was enough.

Mavra, who had landed on her back this time, and almost back at her original position in the street, got up quickly. She turned to stare hatred at me, and I gave back as good as I got.

"I am going to kill you," I said slowly and clearly. "Nothing will stop me, not even my own death, you fucking leech. I don't care if I have to become a warlock to do it, or if I have to go beat that Denarian down myself and take up his coin.

"I am going to kill you."

"No, you really aren't," Mavra said, sounding amused. "You had your moment, Dresden— and now it's passed.

"Goodbye, wizard."

Mavra began speaking, and I hit her with another blast of fire. She didn't even notice— I couldn't sustain the rage that had given me enough power to get through her defenses, so I needed another approach.

"HARRY!" someone yelled from behind me. "LOOK OUT!"

I spun around to see that the person who'd yelled was Dawn, who stood at the back end of the tipped-over Captain Midnight. She was pointing at the sphere of Mordite, which I'd forgotten about— but which was now moving towards me again.

Even as I started to turn back to face Mavra, I heard that vampire bitch let out a squawk of surprise, and I saw the Mordite sphere again slow down.

I finished my turn, found that Buffy had picked up my staff, shoved it between Mavra's legs, and run in a fast circle, knocking Mavra to the ground again. Even as I finished my turn, Buffy tossed me my staff, and I stuffed my blasting rod in a duster pocket as I caught it. Buffy snatched the Scythe up from where she'd set it while she borrowed my staff, and took a step towards Mavra.

Mavra glared up at Buffy and snarled, "You are becoming an annoyance!

"Very well. First the old girlfriend— now the new!"

"MOVE!" I yelled, and Buffy threw herself into this sort of a spin, her torso dipping towards the ground, her legs coming up and her whole body corkscrewing sideways while parallel to the ground.

Mavra had sent a bolt of force at Buffy, a bolt like the one that had killed Elaine, but it missed, and I used the opportunity to give Mavra a little present. I figured she might have put her force field back up in a hurry, since she'd been badly burned, and either I was right or she just needed to be upright for certain effects to work.

I leveled my staff at Mavra's center mass and said, "Forzaré!"

Mavra skidded away like a hockey puck kicked by an NFL quarterback. Or something.

She ended up fetched up against the side of a parked car, and Buffy came to stand beside me.

"What now, Harry?" Buffy asked.

"I don't know." My voice came out harsh and raspy. "I can't think of a way to stop her, Buffy, let alone actually kill her."

"We'll think of something," she said, her voice quiet. "Harry… I liked Elaine. A lot. So I'm right there with you.

"Whatever it takes, we kill Mavra. Now. Tonight."

I nodded, tried to think of a way to do it— when Bob shouted across the battlefield and gave me a possible answer.

Bob:

"Let's see," Bob muttered to himself as he watched Buffy make Mavra crazy by dodging her, and the boss send the evil bitch skidding across the street into a car. "Lightning she'll be ready for. Fire… I doubt Harry can hurt her with it again unless she kills someone else, and I know Harry's not about to let that happen… there has to be something I'm missing."

"Think fast, Bob," Dawn said. She ignored the tears on her face, just watched for a chance to distract Mavra or otherwise help. "This is getting ugly."

"It passed ugly a while back," Bob muttered. He turned sideways, glanced at the woman who'd warned Dawn and Lash, who now knelt at the other end of the car. She was whispering a prayer for the dead from one of the old religions, one many wizards and other practitioners believed in. Bob didn't know if it would do any good for Elaine Mallory's soul, but he appreciated the gesture on Harry's behalf. "This is at least as ugly as that mess in Kiev where Harry had to kill all the Outsiders, even if there aren't as many combatants and oh, good grief I'm an IDIOT! Harry's an idiot! We're all a bunch of idiots!"

"Bob, whatever it is, tell Harry!" Dawn ordered.

Obligingly, Bob yelled, "HEY! BOSS! WE'RE AN IDIOT!"

Dawn sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

Harry:

"HEY! BOSS! WE'RE AN IDIOT!"

I glanced over my shoulder, saw Bob sitting on the back passenger door of the tipped-over Captain Midnight, his eyelights bright with excitement.

"HARRY!" Bob shouted, and spun a little so that the orange beams from his eyelights rested on the momentarily still Deathstone sphere. "YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS, HARRY!"

"It's Mordite, Bob!" I called back. "Deathstone. I'll deal with it after—"

"NO, YOU IDIOT!" Bob yelled at the top of his voice. "THAT'S AN OUTSIDER, HARRY!"

It took me a second to get it— then I almost let myself hope. "It's not alive, Bob!"

"WHO CARES!" Bob cried. "IT'S FROM THEIR UNIVERSE, SO IT'S AN OUTSIDER SO FAR AS YOUR POWER IS CONCERNED!"

Holy shit. If Bob was right— hell there was one easy way to find out. I leveled my staff at the hissing, crackling, tentacle-studded sphere of blackness and sent a pulse of will through the wood with a muttered "Forzaré."

The Mordite sphere moved maybe a foot back from where it had been— and I knew that Bob was right, that this could be beaten.

"Holy crap," I muttered. "Buffy, we have a chance!"

"I knew that," Buffy said calmly. "So what's—"

A gunshot interrupted her, and I glanced around to see Mavra stumble to the ground again, managed a small smile, and called, "Nice shooting, Murph!"

Then I heard a horrible cacophony, a mix of every sound that goes through the nervous system of human beings like a frozen scalpel, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Arahnaviel, the Denarian monster that Lash and Xander were still trying to deal with, covering his ears and doubling over.

"Likewise, Jedi Carpenter!" I called, then looked back at Buffy. "Listen, do you know where Karrin is?"

"Yes, I have her picked out," the slayer said, looking up at me. "What's the play, Harry?"

"Get to Murphy, tell her to concentrate her fire on the hand that Mavra's holding that Outsider-stone in." Buffy grinned suddenly, and I nodded. "If she drops it, we unleash on her. I take the first shot, you go in after, nail her once, then get clear for my second shot, and so on— until that murdering bitch is nothing but ashes and a bad memory!"

"Good plan," Buffy said, and nodded. "Okay, let's—"

"GIVE UP YOUR COIN!" Xander bellowed. "We have proven that we can end you, so just for the love of god, GIVE IT UP!"

"I CAN'T!" cried a voice, higher and more desperate than that of the Denarian, and I knew I was hearing the voice of the host body. "I can't, he won't let me!"

"It's not his choice!" Xander said. He stepped closer, keeping Amoracchius between him and Arahnaviel's form. "The choice is yours, it's always been yours— if you choose to drop the coin, he can't stop you!

"Please. I don't want to have to kill you.

"Drop it."

Suddenly, the Denarian stood up straight and started clawing at his chest. "No!" cried the host's voice. "No, you lied! You LIED! I won't do this, I WON'T!"

A patch of skin came loose, and by the light of the holy blades I saw something drop from the middle of the demonic form's chest— and immediately, the form dwindled to that of a man, so fast that it almost seemed instantaneous. Even as Lash moved to take the coin, unfolding one of the silver-trimmed, white, blessed kerchiefs that would enable her to do so without risking possession, I looked back towards Mavra.

She was staring across the way at the two Knights of the Cross, Xander now moving to hug the man who had given up Arahnaviel, her eyes wide with realization and fear.

"Go," I said to Buffy. "Move it, she may try to escape now that she's got two Knights to deal with on top of the rest of us."

Buffy turned and ran down the street, and Mavra turned to her.

"SLAYER!" Mavra screamed. "YOU WILL DIE NOW!"

With that, she pulled something about the size of a baseball from a pouch on her belt and threw it at Buffy.

Buffy didn't think, she just caught the white, faceted stone— some sort of crystal, though I don't know what kind— in her left hand just before it hit her in the face.

Immediately, Buffy froze in place, staring at the now-glowing, faceted sphere in her hand. I saw a tiny spot of darkness appear on the side that rested against her palm, and I yelled, "BUFFY! DROP THAT THING! NOW!"

"I CAN'T!" she cried. "I CAN'T MOVE, HARRY!"

I started towards her, but stopped when I heard the hissing rasp of Mavra's laughter.

"You cannot stop what's happening, Dresden," Mavra said, a smug little smirk on her face. "It will not kill her— though I will when the process is done— it will only make her an ordinary woman again.

"The stone? It drains the power of the slayer from her. When it is through… any of your enemies will be able to kill her, if I should fail."

I stared in horror for a moment, then roared, "DAMN YOU, MAVRA!" and began gathering my will for a strike.

Before I could even get my power together, before I could do anything else, light flooded the world.

It came from the direction of Captain Midnight, and it spilled over everything in the area, illuminated everything in clear, sharp light that, while mostly white, had just a touch of pink to it.

Mavra hissed in either displeasure or pain— both, if I was lucky— and raised her hands before her face, so I looked down towards my wrecked car.

A young woman stood in front of Captain Midnight's hood, her fisted right hand raised over her head, and the light poured forth from her fist, or from something she held or—

"My god," I said softly. "My god, after all these years!"

—Or from something she wore.

Fourteen years before, I had been working for Nick Christian at Ragged Angel Investigations, doing the three years of apprenticeship I needed to get my own PI license under Nick because I liked and respected the man. He specialized in finding lost or stolen kids, and he worked for cheap when the parents didn't have the cash, for free if they were that poor. He did the job because he believed in the job, and that made him a boss I could and did respect the hell out of.

He'd taken the case of runaway ten year-old Faith Astor some six months before my apprenticeship ended, and I'd found the girl magically, using hairs from a hairbrush her mother had used on her. Faith had been in a bad part of town, and when I'd called Nick to come get us (the Blue Beetle had broken down that day and I didn't even have fare for the El), he'd told me that Faith's rich parents had changed their minds about paying us the twenty-five thousand they'd promised us for finding the kid— and reported her kidnapped by two guys who fit Nick's and my description.

I hadn't been willing to leave the kid in the bad part of town, so Nick agreed to come get us, and we'd drop her off at a cop station and leave. Of course, it hadn't been that simple. In trying to cross a bridge on foot to meet Nick, I'd discovered that said bridge was the territory of a troll, and that he considered naughty children— like runaway girls who fought, kicked and even bit their rescuers— his rightful prey.

I'd bluffed the troll off with a ring I wore back then, a plain silver ring that I'd enchanted to produce light. Faith had been amazed and interested to discover that magic was real— but despondent about going back to her wealthy, uncaring, disinterested parents. To drag her out of that dark mood, I'd put the ring on her finger and taught her to make it light up by calling up a truly happy memory.

Before the night was out, I faced down the troll with the aid of a young uniformed police officer named Karrin Murphy (first time I met her, and she attacked a troll with her nightstick— that's Murph for you!), turned Faith (who swore that she ran away, keeping me and Nick out of jail) over to Murphy… and let her keep that ring.

Now in her twenties— twenty-three, twenty-four, somewhere in there— Faith Astor was standing in front of my car, and the ring on her right index finger was pouring out enough light to turn night into day.

"Harry!" Faith called. "Harry, help her! Quickly! I don't know how long I can keep up this output!"

I turned back to Buffy, saw that the crystal in her hand was filling rapidly with darkness, took a step towards her— and raised my hand as the light from Faith's ring flared off of the silvered edge of the Scythe, blinding me for a second.

And I saw. In that moment of blindness, of white light tinged with just a hint of pink reflected back to me from the weapon that had been made for the slayer, I saw the solution.

"It's all right, Buffy," I called softly. "It will be all right. I promise."

I heard Mavra take a step behind me, then more light flared as I heard the rasp of a sword being drawn. I saw Lash out of the corner of my eye, the pure white light of Fidelacchius burning as she drew the sword.

"Lash, I need you to hold her," I said, my voice calm. "I need you to keep Mavra here, but please… don't attack her."

"I… are you sure?" Lash asked.

"Positive." I took a deep breath and said, "There's something I have to do first— then she's mine.

"Where are Xander and Molly?"

"With Dawn, taking care of Arahnaviel's former host," Lash replied. "And I see Karrin coming, too."

"Okay. Listen, get someone to keep an eye on the Mordite, and feel free to keep Mavra from manipulating it— but remember, that blood-sucking bitch belongs to me!"

"I… yes, Harry," Lash sighed.

I heard Lash calling to Murphy to watch the sphere of energy around the Deathstone, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was focused on Buffy, who was staring in hate and fear at the stone in her hand, a stone that was rapidly filling up with the blackness that was the core of the original slayer power, something called up by wizards in the prehistory of her world, something that was, in some ways, as dark and dangerous as the vampires it existed to oppose. The Dracula of her world had even told her that their powers came from a similar source, and she'd believed him.

But the power of the Scythe, the power that Willow had managed to pass on to every other potential slayer on Buffy's Earth? That had been a bright, brilliant power that emulated the dark— but was not of it.

Faith's light, shining on the blade of the Scythe… it had reminded me that the Scythe was the source of power for literally thousands of girls on Buffy's earth. Yes, it had taken Willow Rosenberg, the most powerful witch on that Earth, to activate that power, and I wasn't the most powerful wizard on my world.

But I was in the top twenty or so, when it came to raw power, and I was seriously motivated. It would be enough.

It had to be. I'd promised Buffy, so it had to be.

I looked at the woman I love, and I tried very hard to let go of all of the bad things that had happened since Mavra appeared. The hurt, the scared, the angry… and Elaine's death, the source for much of those feelings and other bad ones besides. I tried to think of only good things.

For me, magic is about emotion. I needed to let go of the negative emotions I was feeling if I was to have any chance at what I was about to try.

I thought about the people who were here with me, facing a monster as terrifying as Mavra because they cared about me.

Karrin Murphy. My oldest friend in Chicago, a woman who had trusted me when maybe she shouldn't have, who had stood by me when no one else would, and who had, in the end, given up her career, her identity as a police officer, to help me— and never looked back. A pure mortal, she often stood up to those who wielded magic or other supernatural power— like she was doing tonight— and did so successfully. Hell of a woman, my friend Murph.

Molly Carpenter, the daughter of another of my best friends, a wizard and a Warden. She had grown from a near-warlock who thought that magic was the best answer for every problem into a woman whose wisdom shone forth in her every unorthodox magical attack, in her decision to move home because her family needed her— and she needed them, an admission she couldn't have made when I first accepted her as my apprentice. She'd grown up— and I couldn't have been more proud of having had a hand in that process.

Lash. Lash, who had once been nothing but a mental construct, the shadow of the fallen angel Lasciel, but had grown into something more, something… wonderful. She had found her own existence— and promptly given that existence up to save me and my friends from the machinations of the Circle and the White Court vampire Vittorio Malvora. In the afterlife, she had found me, helped me, given me time to recover and her counsel, and had never asked for anything in return. Then she had found a way to live, truly live, and had promptly risked her life to save me and mine— again. She had accepted the Sword of the Cross I'd offered her knowing full well that she wasn't likely to die of old age if she accepted it. That I'd had a hand in the creation of such a being… it was enough to put my pride at risk of being a sin.

Dawn, who had come into her own as not just a Watcher, but something more, something new, new and potentially wonderful. Who'd decided to help not just her sister, but me, and not just me, but all the people I wanted to help. I hadn't had a lot to do with who she was— but she called me family, stood by my like we'd known each other for years.

Xander. Xander, whose friendship had often been the rock that Buffy clung to, who had followed his friends into one kind of hell after another just because they were his friends. The man who had saved his world by loving one of his best friends and refusing to stop loving her, even when she had turned away from the light and was trying to destroy the world. Who had done his best to make me see that I wasn't the bad guy I sometimes worried that I was, and who had mostly succeeded. Xander, whose ability to love had earned him the burden of one of the Swords of the Cross— and who had taken up that burden gladly and with a will. He was my friend, my brother in all the ways that counted.

And finally, Buffy. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the woman who had, even as a girl, been so strong that she went to her death at the hands of the vampire called the Master— simply because it was what she was supposed to do. Who had fought off the end of the world so many times that even I lost count. The woman who had found a way to stand against things that couldn't be stood against, the warrior who never gave up, even after she had been yanked out of Heaven itself by well-meaning friends. The woman who had given her life for her sister, who had found a way to save her world even though she thought it would mean the end of her power, but who had thought to make sure that the lines of slayer and watcher endured past her even then. Who had led her best friend and her sister successfully through the Nevernever for over three months, who had been there to help me, to insure that I could come back to life successfully, who had become my friend, my employee. Who had stood beside me against the little things like John Marcone's goons, against the bigger threats of Glenn Corwin and his menagerie of monsters. Who had been there to help me, to help my friends and family, when Charity Carpenter died. Who had helped me save the lives of hundreds of wizards, who had stood with me against Outsiders and abominations, who had helped me bring Charity's killer to justice, helped me save my daughter and my friend's daughter—

—the woman I loved.

These six amazing people were here with me, fighting beside me. They were my friends, my family, the woman I loved— and I loved them all.

There. That was it. That was the feeling that had to drive this spell.

Spirit magic is (and this shouldn't surprise you) both a subtle magic— and one as direct as a hammer. It can be used for raw force, as I most often used it, or to make illusions, as Molly did. It could produce light, and every wizard I'd ever known had used it for that simple purpose.

To me, light is the symbol of good. That's all. Light equals good, dark equals bad, at least in my head.

I gathered up my will, gathered up all the magic I could release at one time, and I crafted it as carefully as I've ever crafted any spell on a battlefield, and then some.

Most of that magic I used for light. A little became fire, but not enough to even heat the Scythe to an uncomfortable-to-hold temperature— just enough to purify the spell, because fire is a great force for purifying things, and to improve my control of the spell, because fire is the element I use more often than all others combined, and I understand it best of all the forces I wield.

Then, around all of that energy, around that carefully imagined construct in my head… around this, I wrapped all of the Soulfire that the spell could hold.

I pointed my staff at the Scythe and I said in a clear voice that somehow rang, "Creo validus!"

Light poured forth from my staff, gorgeous white light with little flickers of white flame and flashes of the silver of Soulfire all through it— and when it hit the Scythe, the blade of the slayer's weapon seemed to just suck it up, pull it in, make my power a part of itself. For a long moment, I simply poured magic forth into the Scythe with no visible effect—

—then the Scythe lit up from inside, flared white and silver— and for just a moment, I saw seven women standing between me and Buffy, figures as solid as I was. They ran in age from teenager to crone, in height from under five feet to almost six.

The one in front, a thirty-something woman with wild brown hair who wore rough tanned leather and carried a staff of her own, spoke to me.

"Wizard," she said, and she bowed her head my way in respect. "You have done well— and better than you hoped.

"As before, so now— but this time, we will be more careful. You have my word, wizard— and the thanks of all of us who strove to make this weapon, to make those in the Slayer line safer and more capable.

"You have done very well."

I wasn't really sure what she was talking about— but I bowed to them anyway, because they were obviously the women who had made the Scythe, so deserved my respect.

They vanished— and the light of the Scythe went out.

Buffy stood as she had before, but her head moved, looking back and forth between the now-jet-black ball of crystal in her hand to me, down to the Scythe, then back to the crystal. Finally, Buffy turned to look at Mavra.

"Hey, Mumm-Ra," Buffy called, and Mavra, looking back and forth uneasily between Lash and Faith Astor, looked her way. "This crystal… is it fragile?"

"No, girl," Mavra snarled. "You might have broken it at your full strength, but now? You cannot break it.

"You're a mortal, now. Get used to it!"

"Well, if you say so," Buffy said— and she grinned and tossed the crystal up in the air in front of her. As it came down, Buffy called, "Batter up!"— and swung the flat of the Scythe at the crystal.

The crystal shattered into a jillion pieces or so, and the blackness within hovered in front of Buffy for just a second— then sped off to the north and vanished from sight in a flicker of shadow.

"Mortal my ass," Buffy snickered. She smiled at me. "Thanks, honey— you kept your promise." Then she looked at Mavra, smiled maliciously, and said, "You know, Mumm-Ra, I'm pretty sure that you're just all around screwed— and it does my heart good to know that you know that you screwed everything up before Harry killed you."

"I am not dead yet!" Mavra screeched— and she raised the stone in her left hand to eye level, began chanting.

I was tired. Really tired, and almost out of magic— I'd dumped a lot in that spell I'd used to kickstart Buffy with the Scythe's version of the slayer power. But I still had enough left for one moderately serious spell— and I used it.

I looked over my shoulder, found the floating orb of Mordite, aimed my staff that way and called "Ventas servitas!" as I flipped my staff from pointing at the sphere— to pointing at Mavra.

"NO!" Mavra shrieked as she saw the sphere of pure destructive energy sailing at her, propelled by the wind I had called up. "NO, YOU CAN'T POSSIB—"

The sphere slammed into the vampire at about chest height, and started eating her away with a speed that was terrifying to think about.

I just had time to snarl, "That's for Elaine Mallory, you BITCH!" before Mavra screamed one last time— and the disintegration process accelerated. In only a couple of seconds, the last bit of Mavra— her left hand, still clutching the Outsider-powered stone— vanished into the Mordite.

As soon as the stone disintegrated, the sphere of deadly matter and energy popped like a soap bubble, vanished into nothingness.

Then Buffy took my hand, pulled me to face her, and said, "Harry. Thank you. You saved me, just like you promised. But next time? It's my turn to save you, okay?"

"Yeah," I said. I tried a smile, but it didn't take. "Okay, Buffy." I turned and started walking towards where Elaine's body lay, and Buffy kept hold of my hand and came with me.

"I'm so sorry about Elaine," Lash said as she followed us. "I wish we could have saved her, Harry."

I didn't answer, couldn't answer.

Instead, I went and knelt beside Elaine's body. Lash had covered her as best she could in the cloak that she usually wore, but one hand, still clutching the end of the chain Elaine used— had used— as a focus for her magic stuck out from under the cloth.

I took her hand with the one of mine that Buffy wasn't holding, whispered, "Goodbye, Elaine," and waited there with her until the police arrived.

I woke up the next morning bleary and confused— it had been after three when we were allowed to leave the scene of the battle, and only then because John Stallings of Special Investigations pretty much made it happen.

There was an extra person in the bed with me. I opened my eyes and saw Buffy's head on the pillow next to mine, facing me, her eyes open and looking at me. Right— she'd come and lay down with me— nothing romantic happened, but she stayed with me, and I suspect that her presence was what had kept the nightmares at bay.

"Hi," she said, and kissed me lightly. "How do you feel, Harry?"

"I… okay." I took a deep breath. "I'll be okay. Right now… I feel pretty much like a pile of jigsaw pieces from about six different puzzles."

She nodded. "That's understandable.

"Hey. I love you, mister."

I smiled, just a little, and said, "Love you, too, lady."

We just lay there for fifteen minutes or so, her snuggled up to me— then the phone rang.

I looked at the clock before I answered it and saw that it was after eleven. I grabbed the phone and said "Dresden."

"Harry." It was Michael's voice, and he sounded… worried. Not really upset, but definitely worried. "Harry, I'm sorry to call you, I know that you had a bad night, but… Harry, something's happened to Alicia."

I sat bolt upright and snapped, "Is she hurt? What's wrong?" Buffy's hands immediately took my free one and squeezed gently. I squeezed back, but no more.

"It's not that, Harry, she's fine," Michael assured me hastily. "It's just… her school called me and had me come get her, there was… an incident.

"I think it would be best if you could come over, Harry. I hate to ask after the things that happened last night, but… I need your help."

"All right, Michael," I said, and scrubbed my face. "I need to get a quick shower, dress, and call a cab. Be there as soon as I can." Buffy squeezed my hand again, and I corrected, "As soon as we can— Buffy's coming with me."

"Thank you, Harry."

Buffy went down to her place while I showered and dressed in my apartment, then we met in the office. Karrin was actually there, though she was locking the door as I came down.

"Hey, Murphy, what's—"

"I'm coming with you," Murphy said. "Buffy told me that something's wrong with Alicia Carpenter, and I'm coming— it'll save you cab fare, so don't gripe."

"We're all going," said Xander from the elevator, where he and Dawn were just stepping into the office.

I didn't gripe.

We arrived at the Carpenter house at a little after noon. Michael's truck was here, and he opened the door for us before we even reached it. Only he and Alicia were here— Molly had gone to Edinburgh that morning to file her report and mine with the wardens, bless her— and Alicia looked fine. Nervous, but fine.

"What's up?" I asked as soon as we were all in the family room. "What happened?"

"Alicia, would you tell Harry what happened?" Michael asked. He sat right next to his second-oldest daughter, one hand covering hers.

"Yes, Daddy," the girl said, and looked at me, her dark eyes serious, but not frightened. "Uncle Harry, there's a girl in my classes at school who's a bully. Her name is Shelly, she's bigger than any of us, and she's mean. The teachers know she's a bully, but they can't be everywhere, not all the time, and she's smart enough that she's never been caught doing anything really serious.

"In PE class this morning… she started picking on my friend Jackie." Alicia sighed and shook her head. "Jackie's very small, Uncle Harry, and she's… well, she's no kind of aggressive, the opposite, really. But she's brilliant, she skipped a grade, and that's just one more reason that Shelly uses to pick on her.

"This morning it got physical. The teacher was in the locker room helping a girl who'd twisted her ankle, and we were playing basketball. Jackie got the ball and went for the basket, but she tripped— and ran right into Shelly."

I winced and nodded in sympathy. There'd been enough bullies at the orphanage I'd spent years in that I knew what came next.

"Shelly grabbed Jackie and threw her down," Alicia said, her voice steady, but her eyes bright with anger. "Then she stepped towards her and pulled her foot back to kick Jackie while she was down, and I… I grabbed Shelly and tried to pull her back— and she flew twenty-five feet at least, Uncle Harry, and slammed into the wall hard enough that it knocked all the breath out of her, and I don't know how it happened, but all the sudden I'm really, really strong, and I didn't get tired at all in PE, and—"

Buffy interrupted then, threw back her head and let out a shout of laughter, then grabbed me and kissed me. "Harry, you GENIUS! You— you wonderful WIZARD, you!"

I didn't get it— but Xander did, and he laughed, too. "Holy— Harry, that's great!"

"What's great?" I asked, honestly confused.

Buffy didn't answer, just stood and said, "C'mere, Alicia."

Alicia looked at her father for permission, then stood and moved to stand opposite Buffy where we could all see them both. Buffy held her arm up like she wanted to arm wrestle without benefit of a table, and Alicia obligingly took her hand.

"I'm going to shove your arm down," Buffy said, smiling hugely. "You try to stop me."

"I'm strong, but not that strong," Alicia demurred— but she nodded.

Buffy shifted her weight a little, and she started pushing on Alicia's arm, trying to force it.

Alicia didn't move. She stood there, completely immobile, and resisted Buffy without any visible strain.

"Okay, have I made my point?" Buffy asked after a moment, and let go of Alicia's hand. Alicia stared at Buffy in shock, and Buffy grinned. "You're bigger than me, so you're stronger. I'm probably faster, and I may be more agile.

"Either way— Harry's training Amanda, so I'll train you."

"Train me…?" Alicia said, looking puzzled. "I don't understand, Buffy."

"Let me short form it," Buffy said with a grin so wide it must have hurt. "Last night, Harry pulled a Willow."

I got it, then.

The apparent leader of the women who'd appeared when I channeled magic into the Scythe had said to me, "Wizard. You have done well— and better than you hoped.

"As before, so now— but this time, we will be more careful. You have my word, wizard— and the thanks of all of us who strove to make this weapon, to make those in the Slayer line safer and more capable.

"You have done very well."

I looked at Buffy, and she nodded.

"I… I empowered more than just you?" I asked softly.

"Pretty sure, yeah." Buffy smiled and added, "Couldn't have been the original power, it vanished north, and this place was south of where we fought.

"You activated slayers, Harry. No way of knowing how many— but I'd bet on a lot more than just Alicia, here."

"Oh." I thought about that. "When I did it… I saw these women, and one of them said, 'as before, so now— but this time we will be more careful.'

"What do you think she meant?"

"Well, I hope she meant that this time there won't be any like Simone Doffler and her merry band of sociopaths," Dawn said. "That'd be nice."

"Amen," Buffy said. She looked at Michael, then, and asked, "Michael… will you let me teach her how to use the power? If that's what she wants?"

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at his daughter. "Alicia? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alicia replied, her voice steady. "I want to make the world a safer place."

Michael stood slowly, looked at Buffy, and said, "All right. But Alicia—"

"No fighting until Buffy says I'm ready," Alicia said, and stepped into her father's arms, hugged him tightly. "I promise, Daddy."

An hour later, I was sitting on the back deck, enjoying a moment of quiet and the last bite or two of a sandwich when Michael came out and sat in the chair next to mine.

"Hey," I said softly. "You okay?"

"Worried," Michael admitted. "I trust Buffy like I trust you, Harry, but I'm a father. I can't help but worry."

"I understand." I snorted a little and added, "But that's what you get for raising your kids absolutely right, Michael. They want to help, and when the power to help more comes their way… they take it, just like you did. Like Charity did."

"Thank you," Michael said, taking my words for the compliment I'd meant them as.

For a while, we just sat there and looked at the sky, then Buffy and the others all came out, and the next thing you know, Buffy and Murphy were working together to teach Alicia the basics of falling and getting back up right there in the back yard.

I watched, and I kibitzed, and when the rest of the kids came home, I took Amanda Carpenter aside and I started teaching her the basics of magic. And I'll swear to you that, while I did so… I could feel Elaine watching me. Watching me… and smiling.

Epilogue:

Wow. It's been five years since I even opened this journal, let alone wrote in it.

Hey, I've been busy, okay?

This thing needs some sort of ending, I guess, in case I never get around to updating it— or at least something to tell me where I was when I left off.

About a year after the mess with Mavra, the news started reporting that crime in the beleaguered city of Detroit was finally starting to diminish— though no one knew why. The trend kept up for a while, and I got suspicious and had Dawn do some checking. Sure as hell, John Marcone had moved to Detroit not long after our last confrontation. Hell, if he's taming the criminals there, it's an improvement that the citizens probably would give him a medal for if they knew. It's far enough away from me and mine that, so long as he stays clear of magic… I'll leave him alone.

Let's see… okay. Faith Astor. She became a part of my circle of friends after she rode to the rescue. Nowadays, she's in charge of the Midwest branch of the Paranet, and she does a great job of keeping track of the gossip and grapevine of the supernatural world. I managed to help her out some magically, and while she's not powerful enough for the White Council, she's learned to do a lot with what power she has.

Dawn is the head of the Watcher's Council, of which the Paranet is a part. She's trained a dozen Watchers from among the "in the know" crowd in Chicago, including a couple of retired members of Chicago PD's SI squad. (Rawlins isn't retired, but he swears that when he gets there, he's gonna be a Watcher. I'm all for it.) Dawn and Lash got married in February of 2012— Illinois legalized same-sex marriage in the summer of 2011— and they're as happy a married couple as I've ever seen.

Lash is still wielding Fidelacchius, still doing the formerly-thought-impossible with her magic, and occasionally giving me lessons. I waste a lot less power these days, thanks to her. She still won't join the White Council, but that's no problem. She's also been teaching Molly magic, and pretty much anyone of my friends among the Council who ask her nicely— when she's not off fighting Denarians or some other monsters, that is.

Molly… she married Carlos eighteen months after her mom died, and they're living in LA, though they spend a lot of time here— enough that they've got an apartment here, too— what with her family being here, and most of her friends. Carlos doesn't mind— he's completely gone over Molly, hasn't even looked at another woman since they were married, I don't think. They're expecting their first kid any day now— and Carlos has already promised me that no male child will be saddled with the name Harry. (Of course, Molly hasn't promised, so it's really not a sure thing….) Sometimes I miss the old days, when I could make Carlos back down by threatening to toss around "the V-word," but I'll get over it.

Xander is knighting and being a house-framer and a best friend to practically everyone he knows. He's never dated much— claims he doesn't have the time— but he recently met a wizard who came around to ask for my help with something, and he and Jane Halstead have gone out a time or three. Maybe something will come of it. I hope so— Xander Harris deserves to be happy, and I'm pretty sure he'd be a Michael-worthy father.

The White Council is fully engaged in a war with the Circle and its allies, nowadays— that's most of why I've not had time to write in this journal— and things are run in a way I approve of a lot more than I have in years. See, three years ago, Arthur Langtry, the Merlin, died in battle against the Circle. (I never liked the son-of-a-bitch— but he went out defending a small Welsh village against an assault by warlocks and ghouls, and he took every last one of the enemy combatants with him. For that, he gets my respect.) His replacement… is my grandfather, Ebenezar McCoy. Of course, that meant that Ebenezar had to give up the Blackstaff— the Merlin having the power to break the Laws of Magic with impunity is a scary combination— but he didn't mind at all.

Anastasia Luccio is the Blackstaff now. She tried to refuse it— but her sense of duty eventually got her to take it. If anything, she's more cautious about using the Blackstaff than my grandfather was, so it's all good.

Sanya? Still a knight, still claiming to be an agnostic— but still fighting the good fight.

Murphy… Karrin still works for me, is still a partner, but she's working a lot fewer hours, now, what with the family and all.

Yeah. Family.

See, over the year after I finally paid Mavra back for killing me, Murphy started spending more and more time at the Carpenters' house. A little over a year after that ugly night that cost the world Elaine Mallory but eradicated the bitch Mavra, Karrin and Michael got married. Two hundred and eighty-five days later (five over the two hundred and eighty average— I counted because I wanted to tease them [well, him anyway] about sex-before-marriage, if I could), Murphy gave birth to a perfect little boy that they named Michael Alexander. (Over the father's protests. I could have told him not to bother— Murph's stubborn!)

So now Murphy works from nine to three, then goes home and plays wife and mother. I don't dare tease her about it, though— she can still kick my ass without breaking a sweat.

Amanda Carpenter recently got admitted to the White Council herself— and to the Wardens. She's damned near as powerful as me, and can do things with water magic that make her sister Molly raise her eyebrows.

Alicia lives here in Chicago, and often works with me and Buffy— she's one hell of a slayer, and I know what I'm talking about. After all, I married the best slayer that ever was or will be.

Michael's other kids… no more surprises (at least not yet— give little Michael a few years), which I think was a relief to him. He's proud of all his children, especially the four who are a part of the fight (Molly, Amanda, Alicia— and Daniel, who's a Watcher, these days), but he worries about them, too.

There are about three hundred slayers around the world, near as we can tell— and every year, on the anniversary of the day I accidentally-on-purpose activated more than just Buffy, more are called, between five and twelve new girls each year. They are allied with the White Council, and let me tell you, those girls have more than merely pulled their weight. They're a large part of why the Circle is on the losing end of the war…. I do good work, even when I don't mean to, I guess.

Three days after Michael and Karrin's son was born, Buffy came to me and said, "Harry, there's something I have to ask you. Will you marry me?"

I was flabbergasted. We'd been living together for a year by then, and I'd been ready to ask her when she did that. Of course I said yes— after I showed her the ring I'd bought her and made her cry happy.

Once we'd calmed down, she said, "Well, I'm glad we're getting married, Harry— because I want our child born to married parents."

I think they heard my whoop of delight over in Iowa.

We talked about it a lot, and we talked with Maggie about it, and she was okay with us raising the kid as our own— she babysits for us now pretty often, now, and both kids love her.

Yeah. Both kids. First came Joyce Elaine Dresden (we flipped a coin for which name would come first), then, about six months ago, she got herself a little brother. Malcolm Giles Dresden looks more like Buffy than me, but that's fair, because Joyce has dark hair, and is already showing signs of being tall.

You know, we never had to buy one of those baby alarm things, which is good, it probably would've broken with me around. But we didn't need it- Mouse slept in the kids' room, and he would come and get one of us when they fussed long enough to make it plain they needed attention. He even kept track of whose turn it was to get up. That's my super-dog!

Buffy? More gorgeous and more dangerous than ever. She's not showing her age much at all— she's almost thirty-five, and still looks younger than Dawn— which makes me think that maybe she's going to age like wizards do— or maybe more like we don't, if you get me.

That's fine with me. Every day with Buffy is worth a year of being alone. (Yes. I love my wife, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Much. At least not in here. Now shut your yap!)

Maggie is apprenticed to Anastasia Luccio, who comes around regularly to teach the kid. Maggie manifested her magic this year, and I wasn't about to make the mistake of trying to be her mentor. I'm her father, and sometimes, you need to put mentoring first, which… I don't fool myself into thinking I could do. I love my kid too much to be the kind of harsh that I had to sometimes be with Molly— and Ana's one hell of a teacher.

I'm probably forgetting somebody, but it's late, I'm tired, and Malcolm is finally asleep (I've been rocking his cradle with my foot while I write this).

The world is still dangerous, still weird. Sometimes, the dark comes alive, the shadows grow fangs, and all hell breaks loose, all too often on those who aren't equipped to fling hell back at the problem. When that happens, me and my family and friends, we help if we can. We're pretty good at what we do, so if you need help, let someone know. Find someone with no cell phone, no digital watch. Look in a bookstore that sells real books, and has a cash register, not a computer. Talk to the weird people, the oddballs— the ones who listen, who believe you. Word might get back to us, and we'll do what we can. If all else fails, and you're in the Chicago area, check the yellow pages. I'm in there, under "wizards."

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure with it at your own risk— because if you try it, my wife will probably kick your ass.

~Finis~