I'd hoped my funeral would be better than the obituary. From the look of things, it would be.

I was standing on the second story balcony inside St. Mary of the Angels, my hands on the polished mahogany bar that lined said balcony (not that I could feel anything). Father Anthony Forthill was delivering a sermon, or something, about me – I don't know the proper term, as I've never been to a proper funeral, really – to the gathered guests and well-wishers in the congregation, who sat in two long columns

Not that I could hear it; I wasn't in the same world as my friends, foes, and newfound family were. Mine was a world of shades of grey, now literally. Any other time, I may have appreciated the irony in that, but not now. Just as the world around me was dull and colorless, so too were the sounds – or lack thereof. Everything was muted, like if I was hearing it from underwater, or on the other side of a thin wall.

His speech seemed to be impacting the guests here in almost as many ways as they themselves were varied. The Carpenter family was seated in the front row of the cathedral, with Michael and his cane capping the nearer side of their row and Sanya the far seat. I had a feeling that they were accustomed to being there, though not for this reason. I felt a pang of guilt when I saw Michael's cane – it reminded me of his sacrifice for me, not the just the one that had cost him his career as a Knight of the Cross, but all of those times he'd sallied forth with me out into Old Night for no reason other than I'd asked him to be there with me. Molly – my God, Molly. The grasshopper was on crutches now, too, with a huge cast on her leg from where she'd been injured the night the Red Court died. Mouse was sitting with Sanya, regal-looking and fierce at the same time; which was only served to compliment the only official Knight of the Cross.

Another group of people were placed in the row opposite the Carpenter family – the Senior Council of the White Council of Wizards. Well. Most of them. Gregori Cristos, whom I wouldn't have thought to be there, and surprisingly, the Gatekeeper, were both absent. Ebenezar and the Merlin sat at opposing ends of their row, with a stone-faced Ancient Mai (whom I hadn't expected to show up), grim Martha Liberty, and stoic Injun Joe strung out between them. Several Wardens of the old guard were present among the Senior Council, though I only recognized Bjorn (Bjork? Beor? Beorn?) and Luccio. Ramirez and Chandler were in the row behind them, along with a handful of other Wizards and Wardens I was familiar with. Their grey cloaks were well-suited to the monotone I found myself in, and I idly thought that mine would have been, as well.

There were many other people I'd run into over the years, there – only Mab herself could have declared St. Mary's as Accorded Neutral Ground for the day. It was the only reason I could think of that could have kept them all from going at each other's throats. The entire Raith families had turned out, and were holding sway in their own apparent section near the back, chilling and beautiful. Thomas had his head bowed and Justine was clutching his jacket with one tight-fisted hand, their heads all-but touching. They were behind the Wizards.

Somehow, almost all of the Alphas had returned to Chicago, for one last time – Will, Georgia, Andi (with a tearful Waldo Butters supporting her arm). They were near the Carpenters, the ragtag group of kids I'd once dismissed as out of their league, all grown up. To my intense surprise, a lithe, shapely woman I recognized as Tera West sat in the midst of them, a long arm stretched maternally over both Will and Georgia's shoulders.

There was an empty casket, up at the front on a table from behind which the padre was preaching. They hadn't found my body, which didn't quite surprise me. Lake Michigan is deep and dark – some fish were probably having a field day down there. In place of my body there was my tattered duster, spare blasting rod, and my original force ring – and a photograph. It was a candid shot of me from one of my appearances on Larry Fowler's show, smiling awkwardly in the limelight. Appropriate.

Forthill reached his conclusion, then beckoned for the guests to stand and view the casket before proceeding for the cemetery, or leaving, if they wished. I'm not sure if that's what he said, but it's how the movies do it, and they all complied. I smiled wanly as Charity gently swatted down Michael when he tried to help Molly to her feet, when he himself was walking with a limp. She pulled them both up, and kept them both steady with the help of their family.

But Murphy beat them to the casket. She beat everyone.

She stood there for a minute, in a tasteful black dress that fell to her ankles. I imagined that it clashed badly with her hair. Murphy stretched a hand out to place something in the coffin. She stayed a moment longer, everyone lining up behind her, then hurried away, arms by her sides and head bowed. I moved down the balcony to see what it was.

It was my glove. Where'd she gotten that?

Ebenezar let the Carpenters go ahead of the Senior Council of Wizards, without turning to see their own opinions on it. The Merlin nodded his acquiescence all the same, and I felt a grudging respect for Arthur Langtry. They all took some time at the open casket. Michael openly wept into it, his family doing the same. Poor little Harry looked shellshocked, but somehow Molly managed to compose herself as she stared into the abyss. Ebenezar shook his head – in what? Disgust? Anger? Apathy, guilt? Luccio slid her hand down the side of it as she passed by. Ramirez lightly punched his thigh as he stared at my picture, then dropped a single broken Vampire fang into the plush interior.

So it was, as they filed past. Some took longer than others. Some couldn't stand to look into it, and just hurried past. Thomas was one of the latter.

It was over sooner than I'd thought it would have been. Then the pallbearers stepped up. Thomas took point, unnaturally still. Ebenezar stood next to him, taking another side. Michael, with his oldest son and Sanya supporting him, took his place with a resolved steadiness I hadn't seen from him in years. Forthill closed the casket, and beckoned for Will to lift the fourth corner. Butters appeared out of nowhere and took a spot between Eb and Michael.

Gentleman Johnny Marcone lifted the sixth, last handle. His face was blank and expressionless, but his green eyes were utterly fierce.

Together the six men carried my empty coffin out of the cathedral.

I looked around at the guests, some of whom were already making way to follow my friends out to the hearse I presumed to be outside.

I myself made my way down to the ground floor, and followed them outside.

There was an unmarked hearse outside, just like I'd thought. The pallbearers gently lowered my casket into the back and climbed in themselves, silent, regardless of any personal enmities they may have shared. The car cranked to life and slowly turned off of the curb.

I followed it to the cemetery.

There was a police escort, courtesy of Stallings and whatever influence Murphy'd had left, I guess. They were joined en route to the home of my already-open grave and tombstone by a myriad herd of vehicles. I saw Mac's Trans-Am, a conspicuous Rolls Royce Silver Wraith housing its eponymous owners, and multiple motorcycles, one of them carrying a young man and woman, both unworldly beautiful and dressed in green. I recognized Kincaid behind the wheel of an unmarked sedan, and a young girl riding shotgun more out of tradition than not being able to reach the peddles.

It didn't take as long for the motorcade to reach Graceland as I'd thought it would. Most of the vehicles turned into a nearby parking garage, and filled it quickly. Others didn't – the Raith family being a notable exception, and Eb's dinosaur of a Ford pickup another.

They lowered my coffin into the open grave soon after, the black-clad crowd gathered around it. It was the first time I'd seen Thomas or his older sister wearing just black, not counting life-or-death situations.

The closing ceremonies ended without a hitch, and almost everyone made their way back to their cars before the sun was going down.

I watched several people with keen interest. Eb walked up to Thomas of his own accord, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder in a gesture far more intimate than would normally befit simple acquaintances. It was more akin to one of family. They walked away to their cars talking quietly.

Murphy also approached Michael and Sanya, resolute and broad-shouldered. This was a conversation long in the coming, I knew, and wished I could hear it. Sanya managed to contain himself despite his personal exuberance, which I wouldn't have expected. They too left together, the trio joining up with the rest of the Carpenters shortly after. Molly looked terrible on crutches.

Fix and Lily talked with the remaining Alphas for a little while. Butters was still wet-eyed, with Andi holding his shoulder, now. A red-haired beauty among all the other beautiful people here showed up and offered something consoling to the group of them. I wouldn't have pegged my Godmother for the sentimental type, but there you have it.

Marcone and Kincaid shared a chat which ended in them swapping business cards. Ivy ignored them both as she watched the pallbearers fill my grave. I saw her pick up Mister from somewhere and carry the huge cat out of the cemetery with her.

When almost all of the guests had left, I turned around and saw a single man standing alone in the distance. He was on top of a hill, standing the shade of a tree – the setting sun should have sent his shadow in front of him, but it stretched out to his side as if it had its own will. I recognized the frayed noose hanging around his neck, and then he vanished.

Mouse was looking as sad as a dog could be, and howled mournfully when the last shovelful of dirt was thrown on my grave. He left with Forthill to wherever Maggie was, just as I'd asked of him, I assumed.

Everyone was gone, then, and I myself made to leave for who knew where – when two figures, one tall and dark, the other on the short side, stepped out from behind opposing tombs and walked together to my grave to talk amongst themselves. The pair was the black-swathed Gatekeeper, and an elderly black man – Uriel, the Archangel, in disguise.

They both turned around at the exact same moment to look straight at me. Talk about creepy. Then they were gone.

I walked over to the lonely grave and sat down on the freshly-turned earth. I stared at the words on the aging stone:

HARRY DRESDEN – HE DIED DOING THE RIGHT THING

I reached a hand out, tentatively, and ran my outstretched fingers along the pentacle engraved into the granite. I couldn't feel it.

I stood up and ran away, duster billowing in my wake. I had someone to talk to.

I knocked on the old oak door, which Mortimer Lindquist opened. He had a gun in his hand, and said, "Whose there?"

I put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Morty. We've got to have a chat."

He hardly registered surprise at my voice as he responded, "Of course. Come on in, Harry," he waved beyond him, to reveal a few figures I couldn't identify in the gloom. "We've been waiting for you."