Molly clambered in and tossed a bulging backpack down on the wooden floor. "You lurk in tree houses a lot, Mister Dresden?"
"I’m looking for your dad."
Molly wrinkled up her nose, then started removing the stud from it. I didn’t want to watch. "I don’t want to tell you how to investigate stuff, but generally speaking you won’t find him in tree houses."
"I came over, but no one answered the door when I knocked. Is that normal?"
Molly took out the eyebrow ring, dumped the backpack out onto the floorboards, and started sorting out a long skirt with a floral print, a T-shirt, and a sweater. "It is on errands day. Mom loads up the sandcrawler with all the little snot-nosed Jawas and goes all over town."
"Oh. Do you know when she’s due back?"
"Anytime," Molly said. She hopped into the skirt, and wriggled out of the tattered skirt and tights in that mystifyingly modest way that girls always seem to manage to acquire sometime in their teens. The shirt and pink sweater went on next, and the ripped up sweater and, to my discomfort, the bright red bra came out from under the conservative clothes and got tucked back into the backpack.
I turned my back on the girl as well as I could in the limited space. The link of handcuff Anna Valmont had slapped onto my wrist chafed and pinched. I scratched at it irritably. You’d think I’d been cuffed enough times that I should have gotten myself a key by now.
Molly took a wet-wipe from somewhere and started peeling the makeup from her face. "Hey," she asked a minute later. "What’s wrong?"
I grunted and waved my wrist vaguely, swinging the cuff around.
"Hey, neat," Molly said. "Are you on the lam? Is that why you’re hiding in a tree house, so the cops won’t find you?"
"No," I said. "It’s kind of a long story."
"Ohhhh," Molly said wisely. "Those are fun-time handcuffs, not bad-time handcuffs. I gotcha."
"No!" I protested. "And how the hell would you know about fun-time handcuffs anyway? You’re like ten."
She snorted. "Fourteen."
"Whatever, too young."
"Internet," she said sagely. "Expanding the frontiers of adolescent knowledge."
"God, I’m old."
Molly clucked and dipped into the backpack again. She grabbed my wrist firmly, shook out a ring of small keys, and started trying them in the lock of the cuffs. "So give me the juicy details," she said. "You can say 'bleep' instead of the fun words if you want."
I blinked. "Where the bleep did you get a bunch of cuff keys?"
She looked up at me and narrowed her eyes. "Think about this one. Do you really want to know?"
I sighed. "No. Probably not."
"Cool," she said, and turned her attention back to the handcuffs. "So stop dodging the issue. What’s up with you and Susan?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I like romance. Plus I heard Mom say that you two were a pretty hot item."
"Your mom said that?"
Molly shrugged. "Sorta. As much as she ever would. She used words like 'fornication' and 'sin' and 'infantile depravity' and 'moral bankruptcy.' So are you?"
"Morally bankrupt?"
"A hot item with Susan."
I shrugged and said, "Not anymore."
"Don’t move your wrist." Molly fiddled with one key for a moment before discarding it. "What happened?"
"A lot," I said. "It’s complicated."
"Oh," Molly said. The cuffs clicked and loosened and she beamed up at me. "There."
"Thanks." I rubbed my sore wrist and put the cuffs in my coat pocket.
Molly bent over and picked up a piece of paper. She read it and said, "Ask Michael about duel? Whiskey and tobacco?"
"It’s a shopping list."
Molly frowned. "Oh." She was quiet for a moment and then asked, "So was it the vampire thing?"
I blinked at the girl again. "Was there a PBS special or something? Is there some kind of unauthorized biography of my life?"
"I snuck downstairs so I could listen to Dad tell Mom what had happened."
"Do you eavesdrop on every private conversation you can?"
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the edge of the platform, her shoes waving in the air. "No one says anything interesting in a public conversation, do they? Why did you guys split up?"
I sat down next to her. "Like I said. It was complicated."
"Complicated how?"
I shrugged. "Her condition gives her … an impulse-control problem," I said. "She told me that strong emotions and uh, other feelings, are dangerous for her. She could lose control and hurt someone."
"Oh," Molly said, and scrunched up her nose again. "So you can’t make a play for her or—"
"Bad things could happen. And then she’d be a full vampire."
"But you both want to be together?" Molly asked.
"Yeah."
She frowned. "God, that’s sad. You want to be with her but the sex part—"
I shuddered. "Ewg. You are far too young to say that word."
The girl’s eyes shone. "What word? Sex?"
I put my hands over my ears. "Gah."
Molly grinned and enunciated. "But the bleep part would make her lose control."
I coughed uncomfortably, lowering my hands. "Basically. Yeah."
"Why don’t you tie her up?"
I stared at the kid for a second.
She lifted her eyebrows expectantly.
"What?" I stammered.
"It’s only practical," Molly stated firmly. "And hey, you’ve already got the handcuffs. If she can’t move while the two of you are bleeping, she can’t drink your blood, right?"
I stood up and started climbing down the ladder. "This conversation has become way too bleeping disturbing."
Molly laughed at me and followed me back to the ground. She unlocked the back door with another key, presumably from the same ring, and that was when Charity’s light blue minivan turned into the driveway. Molly opened the door, darted into the house, and returned without her backpack. The minivan ground to a halt and the engine died.
Charity got out of the van, frowning at me and at Molly in more or less equal proportions. She wore jeans, hiking boots, and a heavy jacket. She was a tall woman, only an inch or so under six feet, and carried herself with an assurance that conveyed a sense of ready strength. Her face had the remote beauty of a marble statue, and her long blond hair was knotted behind her head.
Without being told, Molly went to the rolling side panel door, opened it, and reached inside, unloading children from safety seats, while Charity went to the rear of the van and opened the rear doors. "Mister Dresden," she said. "Lend a hand."
I frowned. "Uh. I’m sort of in a hurry. I was hoping to find Michael here."
Charity took a twenty-four-pack of Coke from the van in one arm and a couple of bulging paper grocery sacks in the other. She marched over to me and shoved them at my chest. I had to fumble to catch them, and my blasting rod clattered to the ground.