Michael leaned back in the chair, as he considered Father Forthill. Harry leaned forward. "So they're all gone?"

Forthill looked grave. "We gambled and lost Mr Dresden. There's nothing we can do about it now."

Michael placed a hand over his chest, fiddling with the bandages there, under his shirt. Charity had done them a little tight. He coughed and laid a constraining hand on Harry's arm, whose anger was beginning to build.

"Harry. It's not your fault."

For a second Harry looked like he was about to punch him, then the tension in his shoulders relaxed and he slumped back into his chair. He sighed. "Well some good has come from all this, at least."

Forthill stood up and moved round the crowded kitchen to the kettle, tripping over the hulking mass of Mouse lying spread across the floor at Harry's feet.

"The Lord does works in mysteries ways, but I don't understand how any good could have come from this." His eyes briefly flickered to where Michael was sat, his eyes scanning the bandages, the gaze covering his injured eye, before turning back to the cups he was preparing.

"Well, the mettle heads may have all the coins, but since this little spilt between them has developed, they'll be too busy fighting amongst themselves to do much damage. They're going to be fighting over whose on whose side, whose got what coins. It gives us a bit of time."

Michael shook his head, and immediately stopped as a wave of pain brought on a following wave of nausea that left him breathless. He took a deep breath and said "I doubt it will make much difference, Harry. The Dana… the mettle heads," a small smile flickered across his lips "will be looking for more humans to give there coins to. Each side of this new rift will be looking for foot soldiers, and in the pursuing battles, innocents will be hurt. Soon coins like Lasciel's will be loose."

Harry jumped up, and pulled his legs onto the chair he was sat on. He crouched low in the seat and started to wring his hands and shift nervously. Harry spat out the words in a deep grating voice "But we must regain the precious, we must!

Michael's heart stopped and the prickle of fear that had sparked to like on the back of his neck turned to fury.

Harry withered a little in Michael's glare. He barely whispered "Harry Copperfield Dresden. That. Is not. FUNNY!" Michael roared the last words and Harry slumped back into the chair with the stance of a sulking child.

"I thought it was funny." He murmured.

And Father Forthill burst out laughing.