Fifteen minutes later, and I was finally starting to think in terms of what I was going to do beyond the next ten seconds. We had torn out of my house like bats out of hell. Fix had apparently gone the extra mile for me after all – the Blue Beetle was parked up against the curb of my building – an impressive feat for a car that I had last seen north of the city on a vampire's estate. Now, driving around the streets populated by the early morning trash collectors and the occasional gaggle of teenage hormone bombs, I began to wonder just what the hell I was going to do next.

It was a safe bet that most of my usual hideouts were either under watch, or would be very, very soon. Furthermore – my car isn't exactly inconspicuous. My old Volkswagen is only blue in name – various run-ins with the more antisocial elements of Chicago have forced my mechanic to show a level of creativity worthy of a concert pianist. Both doors have been replaced, as has the hood and most of the interior furnishings. So the council looking for a blue/green/red/white Beetle registered to Chicago's only listed wizard wouldn't take much effort, even discounting the fact that at least one of their number had the ability to pull a satellite out of orbit and drop it precisely on a target several thousand miles away. Step one, get rid of car. Step two...not a clue. Step three is profit though, I'm sure of it.

"So, grasshopper, anyplace you'd like to see on this road trip?" I grumbled, trying to clear my mind of a million thoughts. "Personally, I'd suggest Six Flags, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to mix magic and hanging upside down at the whim of a computer." Molly gave me a smile, giggling as a Bob possessed Mister purred as she stroked his belly. At least one of us was happy.

"Forthill." She said as she quieted down. Realizing I had no idea what she was talking about, she continued. "Father Forthill, he'll help – get in touch with my dad at least." Of course – Father Forthill of St. Mary's of the Angels, one of the largest and most historic landmarks in Chicago, was a long acquaintance of mine and a good friend of Molly's father. Both men had done much for me over the last few years, and would understand my predicament. Of course, Michael was a Knight of the Cross, and had spent much of his life devoted to thwarting the Denarians and recapturing the Fallen. If he thought I had been seduced by Lasciel into taking the coin, and that I had endangered his daughter... it wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to having.

Still, Molly's plan had merit. And as time crawled forward, I began to focus on the collateral damage my actions could cause the small group of folks I considered friends. Billy and the Alphas – a gang of college students who fought crime in wolf form in their spare time, and the closest thing I had to groupies. Thomas, my half brother vampire – if what The Merlin had hinted at was true, he could very well be dead or trying desperately to contact me. If he showed up at my flat when the cavalry arrived... right, Harry – angst never looked good on your handsome self. Go to the Church, borrow the phone, and everything will be just grade A fantastic.

"Harry...Harry!" I snapped back around to Molly, heart suddenly running at a million miles a minute as shes shouted at me out of the blue. Nothing gets the blood jumping like a woman screaming out of the blue – a fact the horror industry has squeezed for every last drop. "Molly...Christ. I can do without the random heart attacks, what with all the homegrown ones I've been getting lately." She glared half-heartedly, then continued, voice quieter.

"Why did they want to...to kill us? Harry, I promise...I haven't done anything wrong. I'm not perfect, but I haven't abused magic, not again." Her voice rose, panic driving her now. Hell's Bells – as if I couldn't feel anymore terrible.

"Molly, time out." I shouted, my outburst shocking her in momentary silence. Before she could start up again, I continued, though I did my best effort to come over as softer, nonthreatening. "You haven't done anything kid, I promise. The Merlin...hell the whole council is totally out of line, and I'm not perfect either. You're the innocent one here – remember that. Once we have a minute – get to the church, settle down and call a few friends – I'll explain everything, alright?"

She nodded, though I could see suspicion forming behind her eyes, a kind of dark cloud that was forming just below the surface and it struck me deeper than I would have thought possible. Dammit, I know I'm not perfect, far from it – but some part of my soul likes to imagine I am, and it always cries out when the image is shattered. For those kids at Camp Kaboom, now for Molly... I like being the hero.

"Anyway," I continued, shifting the conversation away from my own questionable character. "Your dad has a knack for being where he's needed." I gave her a tight smile. "Not too long, and you'll have another tale for the Jawas about the time that Daddy saved the useless Wizard's ass yet again." She didn't smile back – just kept looking at Mister and scratching his ears. Great, so in addition to feeling like crap and making Molly feel any more worse, I was going to have to deal with a very smug Bob in a few hours. When it rains it pours.

The rest of the ride was spent in uncomfortable silence, and despite the dread of facing Molly's parents knowing that my actions had ,however unintended, led to the doom being brought down upon us, it was a relief to get out of the confines of the car. Molly and I stepped out, and after a moment to give Bob a meaningful look, I ushered her quietly into the building.

I wasn't really surprised to see that Father Forthill was up and about. The Godly types seem to have a sixth sense about when they're needed. Or by the grim expression he gave me at our entrance, word travels fast amongst those with an ear to the ground and an idea of what to look for. It had been...just over six hours since I'd been bludgeoned unconscious for the first time. Obviously, a Warden being turned upon and executed for treason was news that traveled. First Class, Gold Medallion even.

"Mr. Dresden. Ms. Carpenter – to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at this early hour?" As if that wasn't a bullshit question. Thankfully, I was spared answering as Molly let out a yawn that made me momentarily wonder if her jaw wasn't part snake. "Gracious Child, do sit down. Rest. Mr. Dresden...if I might have a word in private?" I nodded, too tired to argue at this point, and placing my trust in the hands of God – or at least one His proxies on earth.

Molly's last reserves of energy were all but gone entirely, and I half led, half dragged her to the first row of pews – patting her shoulder awkwardly as she curled up, dead to the world in less than thirty seconds. It was a relief to see – for the first time in what felt like forever, the poor kid seemed to be in a state resembling peaceful.

"Right then," I said softly, turning back to the Father, "I suppose you'd like to hear how we ended up at this particular happily ever after?" Father Forthill nodded, gesturing to a small office tucked into the corner. It was perfect, I wasn't about to let Molly out of my line of sight for a second, but I was more than willing to be out of earshot. I may be hunted by the most powerful wizards on earth, as well as by vampires, Fallen angels, and a unbelievable amount of bad luck, but don't say things don't fall into place once in a while.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, explaining to your would be savior just how badly you've missed the can. "A few years back, I took a Denarian coin...Lasciel." I looked up, meeting the eyes of a man at least a good foot shorten than myself. I expected to see condemnation, but determined to meet his gaze – to at least prove to myself that I had made the right decision. Surprisingly, his face betrayed nothing. "I know. Lasciel, the Seductress."

"You know? How?" A moment's pause and it clicked together. "Ahh, Michael." Father Forthill nodded, then spoke once more – again in that controlled, calming voice that lends itself to being heard and respected. "I have talked with Michael many times about your unique situation, and the circumstances that led to it. I will assist you anyway I am able, provided that evil intent does not rest within your heart. However, ultimately it is you who must forsake the coin, as everyday you fall in greater danger of falling to the allures of temptation."

Stars and stones, but it felt good to have somebody in my camp for once! Team Dresden – at this rate, I might survive long enough to field my own baseball team. "Since that day, I've never touched the damned thing. Locked it within a circle in my basement, then under a great slab of concrete. I'm not going to become one of them."

"Perhaps..perhaps not. The road to hell is paved with the bestest of intentions. Still, the Shadow of Lasciel lives within you, buried into your soul – does it not? Time is a valuable commodity for mankind, yet there are those for whom it is nothing but a single drop amongst an ocean of eternity. You must never let your resistance fall, and ultimately, Harry Dresden, you cannot hide such a force, bury it under stone. You must purge your very soul, reject the empty promises and give up the coin."

Dammit, I know this. Problem is, she might be a soulless fiend with a determination for my sould that would put the coyote to shame but... I like Lash. She's fun, powerful... and sex concentrate. And on top of which, there's a dark corner of my conscious that wants the power she offers, on top of the appreciation of it that even I can admit to myself I admire. But that corner, it wants more, craves that which I could have for only the low, low cost of my soul.

And on top of that, is the noble-to-the-point-of-death part of me that honestly believes that day by day, Lash is becoming her own entity, no longer a tool of the angel resting inside the coin. Two polar opposites within myself, both in agreement to protect Lash, even if their motivations are entirely at odds.

Harry Dresden 101 – if you aren't mad now, it's only a question of when.

"Father... not to be a potential foot soldier for Satan and also, heaven forbid, a bad guest, but could I borrow your phone? There's a few people I need to talk to – make sure they don't get caught up in the crossfire." Much, much safer topic of conversation, and bless him, Father Forthill stood up, gesturing to the phone on his desk. "Of course. I'll go check on Ms. Carpenter – we have blankets and cots in storage here – no doubt that would be much more comfortable for the poor girl. Take your time."

He closed the door behind him, and I picked up the phone – an old model with a rotating dial. Obviously, Father Forthill recognizes a certain benefit to older technology, especially in a city that seems to act as the magical hub for all things supernatural in the Midwest.

Of course, old technology is better than new technology, but that doesn't necessarily make it good. The phone hissed and popped, and I tried to reign in my magic as much as possible, muting my emotions as much as I could. The static faded slightly, enough that I could accurately hear my brother's deep 'hello'.

"It's me." I blurted, cutting to the heart of things. "Don't go to my house, it's not safe."

'You've reached Thomas Raith, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.'

...Answering machines. I hate answering machines. And typical of my brother, even mechanized his voice oozed with promises of sex. The phone hissed again, spluttering a moment before I hung up, not wanting to completely destroy the one tool I had at the moment. Taking a deep breath, I called back, keeping down the anxiety of his not actually being there. True, I never really call him at four in the morning on a regular basis, but given the evening, it was a safe bet that if he wasn't picking up, it wasn't because he was busy with a rowdy game of orgy or the inevitable post sexathon nap.

"Don't come after me. Don't come to my home. It's not safe." I left out names entirely, I'm not paranoid about faceless robots tracking phone lines for important names and words. After all, it's not paranoia if experience means there's a fifty-fifty chance you're right. Short and sweet, I like my phone messages like I like my women.

One down, one to go. I'd done all I could for now to get in touch with Thomas, I just had to hope like hell that he was alright, and get in touch with him as soon as I had a moment to do anything but stay one step ahead of shitting myself.

Picking up the phone again, I called up Billy's apartment near the university. C'mon...live the stereotype...be up and awake yet magically sober enough to have a conversation...

"Harry, do you have any idea what time it is."

I don't think I've ever felt so much pleasure at a woman nagging at me. Ever.

"Georgia, thank god you're there. Something's come up...how'd you know it was me?"

She yawned down the phone, and I could here Billy grumbling as Georgia woke him up. "They came up with the thing called caller ID a few years back. Crazy huh?" Another muffled yawn. "And only you could do something so insane that would require our help at god knows what hour."

"Well," I responded, slightly miffed – I like to think of myself as a modern guy, even if the new toys hate me. "I was only calling to make sure you guys don't end up missing your heads. But if now isn't a good time..."

Alright, so I was more than a little miffed, but I was running on an empty tank, and my nerves had been shot to hell. Georgia once said that my snide attitude is a defense mechanism when I'm uncomfortable due to a sense of distrust I cultivated as a child. Course when she told me that, I told her she'd be better off making me a sandwich, so who's to say who's right?

"Right, right...sorry just a little tired. We had a night out and only got in a few hours ago – not really a morning person. What's up?" Georgia sighed, muttering to Billy in a voice too muffled for me to hear, but if his barked laughter was any indication, it wasn't very flattering.

"Ah look...I know when I've been an ass. I can't really go into it right now, but I'm kinda on the run. Don't try and contact me or come over to my house – odds are its already being watched, and you'd get in more trouble that you could bail yourselves out of."

"Harry, what kind of trouble are we talking here?" Georgia had passed the phone on to Billy, de facto leader of the Alphas. For a guy who a moment ago was mumbling in his sleep, he was remarkably on the ball.

"The White Council thinks I'm the traitor they're after...and at first glance, the evidence is kinda on their side." It hurt like hell to admit that, but Billy's gang has saved my life more than once – I'd be damned if I was going to be anything less that straightforward with them.

"Well...shit." Speaking of candor, Billy's response summed up the evening perfectly. "Right, I'll spread the word – nobody goes looking for you or tries to get in touch until you get back to us. Anything else we can do on this end?"

I must be the most bipolar person in the world. It seems that the vast majority of people I run into make it their life's mission to kill me. My official comrade in arms had tried to kill me now no less than three times, and my adopted parent after my father had died had tried as well. I've been chin deep in shit stemming from this war now for years, and on two seperate occasions I've had an arrest warrant with my name on it from the Chicago PD.

And yet, those that were close to me, really close to me, seemed to have an unswerving loyalty that shocked me to the core. Hell, even with the power and prestige of the Summer Knight, Fix still semi-reverted back to his awkward self in my direct presence. Toot-toot and his army of Wyld Fae, Molly...and her entire family really, and now, with nothing more than my word, Billy and Friends were once more willing to stick their necks out for me. Fuck those bastards on the council, if they knew me half as well as they thought they did, they'd realize I had far too much to willingly betray those I considered my friends.

"Actually...yeah, if you don't mind, there is something that would do a hell of a lot towards restoring my peace of mind. Mouse...I don't know what's happened to him – whether the Council caught him or if he managed to escape when the shit hit the fan. But keep an eye out for him, would ya? See if you can track him down and take care of him. I'd appreciate it."

"Right," he responded. "That we can do, no problem."

"Well yeah," I replied, eager to clamp down on the sudden lovey dovey monologue I'd just played through my head. Not good for the image of a tough-as-nails wizard. "One mutt to the next, figure you'll get along fine."

Billy barked out another one of his short, deep laughs, before sobering up once more. "Alright Harry, you take care though. Despite being you, try not to do anything stupid."

"Well, that's like telling the tide not to rise," I tried for a joke, though the silence on the other end told me it had gone flat. Sighing, I continued, "I will be, I promise. Just take care of Georgia and your gang, and stay out of trouble – we'll get through this, just like last time and the time before."

I looked up as a knock rapped on the outside of Father Forthill's door. "Anyway, gotta run – you know how it is, a minute of preemptive fleeing is worth an hour of hiding in a corner begging for mercy. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright. Bye Harry." In the background, I heard Georgia whisper take care before I hung up. There, done. The only other numbers I knew off my head that weren't late night pizza delivery were the Carpenter's and Murphy's, and I couldn't risk contacting either. Murphy already put up with enough crap by associating with me and she was likely already a person of interest. I've learnt the hard way a time or two what happens when Murphy is kept in the dark, but I just didn't see any other way. And the council would have to be dumb as well as blind to not have hightailed it to Michael's house the moment I escaped, if not beforehand. Time to go back out and face the music. A tiny corner office never looked so inviting.

I stood up though, rubbing my eyes. I'm sure I looked like an extra from a Zombie B-movie. I don't keep mirrors at home – too many things that go bump in the night can use them as portals between dimensions – but it's not terribly difficult to know my face was caked in dirt and dried blood, bruised and swollen from my capture and no doubt haggard by the lack of sleep. Just the type of guy you'd love to see in your neighborhood church.

Opening the door, I nodded to the Father, before looking out at the greater hall. A moment later, any remaining hopes of a peaceful five minutes vanished. Sitting next to the now bundled up Molly was Michael Carpenter. I wasn't really surprised – in all the years I've known him, he always seems to show up where he's needed. On top of which, I've never met a more fair or decent person and more than once his nonjudgmental approach to everything has frustrated me almost as much as the fact my sex life was last seen during the Clinton administration.

The point I'm trying to make is he's a good guy. And bonus – he already knew I had picked up the coin, and that I hadn't succumbed. And that I'd done it, at least a good part of me had, to save his son from touching the damned thing. So yeah, as much as I wasn't looking forward to the conversation, I could deal with it.

Standing just beyond Michael though, eyes boring into me and literally bristling, was Charity. The woman who'd always had it out for me, had woken up at the giddy hour of four in the morning for an early morning stroll to the church... right, where do I change religions? I'd like to cross out 'don't know' and replace with 'angry and vengeful God, with a very poor sense of humor'.

On the plus side, if worst came to worst, I'd already have on hand a guy to give me my last rites.

It's a sad state of affairs when that makes the world look just a little bit brighter.