Murphy didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she said, “Everyone loses, Harry. The law is there to protect everyone. It’s supposed to apply equally to everyone.”
I sighed and paid attention to the road. I’d drive for a few minutes to be sure we were in the clear, and then circle back to Michael’s place. “That’s wishful thinking, Murph, and you know it. Pretty sure Marcone’s lawyers love that attitude.”
“The law isn’t perfect,” she replied quietly. “But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try to make it work.”
“Do me a favor,” I said.
“What?”
“Hold your nose shut, put on a Philadelphia accent, and say, ‘I am the law.’”
Murphy snorted and shook her head. I glanced aside at her. Her face was pale with pain, her eyes a little glassy. Her left arm was wrapped up in what looked like strips torn from Molly’s T-shirt.
I checked the rearview. My apprentice was, indeed, wearing nothing but a green lace bra under her winter coat. She was crouched down with both arms around Mouse, her face buried in his snow-frosted fur.
“Hey, back there,” I said. “Anyone hurt?”
Mouse yawned, but Molly checked him over anyway. “No. We’re both fine.”
“Cool,” I said. I looked over my shoulder for a second to give Molly a smile. “Nice veil back there. Fast as hell. You did good, grasshopper.”
Molly beamed at me. “Did my face look like that when you did that little ball-of-fire thing to me?”
“I prefer to think of it as a little ball of sunshine,” I said. “And you were stoic compared to that guy, grasshopper. You did a good job too, furface,” I told Mouse. “I owe you one.”
Mouse opened his mouth in a doggy grin and wagged his tail. It thumped against Molly, scattering a little snow against bare skin. She yelped and burst into a laugh.
Murphy and I traded a look. If the gunman had squeezed the trigger a hundredth of a second sooner or later, Murphy would be dead. The blast could have taken her in the head or neck, or torn into an artery. Without Mouse I’d probably be dead, too. And if they’d gotten me and Murphy, I doubted they’d have left Molly behind to testify against them.
That one had been close—no supernatural opposition necessary. Molly might not realize that yet, but Murphy and I did.
“How’s the arm, Murph?” I asked quietly.
“Just hit muscle,” she said, closing her eyes. “It hurts like hell, but it isn’t going to kill me.”
“You want me to drive you to the emergency room?”
Murphy didn’t answer right away. There was a lot more to the question than the words in it. Doctors are required by law to report any gunshot wound to the authorities. If Murph went in for proper medical treatment, they’d report it to the cops. And, since she was a cop, it would mean that she had to answer all kinds of questions, and it would probably mean that the truth of what happened behind us would come out.
It was the responsible, law-abiding thing to do.
“No, Harry,” she said finally, and closed her eyes.
I exhaled slowly, relieved. That answer had cost her something. My hands had started shaking on the wheel. Generally speaking I’m fine when there’s a crisis in progress. It’s afterward that it starts getting to my nerves. “Sit tight,” I said. “We’ll get you patched up.”
“Just drive,” she said wearily.
So I drove.
Chapter Twenty
“This is getting awfully murky, Harry,” Michael said, worry in his voice. “I don’t like it.”
Snow crunched under our feet as we walked from the house to the workshop. The daylight was fading as a second front hit the city, darkening the skies with the promise of more snow. “I don’t like it much either,” I replied. “But nobody came rushing up to present me with options.” I stopped in the snow. “How’s Murphy?”
Michael paused beside me. “Charity is the one who’s had actual medical training, but it seemed a simple enough injury to me. A bandage stopped the bleeding, and we cleaned the wound thoroughly. She should be careful to monitor her condition for the next few days, but I think she’ll be all right.”
“How much pain is she in?” I asked.
“Charity keeps some codeine on hand. It isn’t as strong as the painkillers at a hospital, but it should let her sleep, at least.”
I grimaced and nodded. “I’m going to hunt up the Denarians, Michael.”
He took a deep breath. “You’re going to attack them?”
“I should,” I said, a little more sharply than I’d meant to. “Because there are people who don’t deserve a second chance, Michael, and if these losers don’t qualify for the permanent shit list, I don’t know who does.”
Michael gave me a small smile. “Everyone does, Harry.”
A little shiver went through me, but I didn’t let it show on my face. I just rolled my eyes. “Right, right. Original sin,
God’s grace, I’ve heard this part before.” I sighed. “But I’m not planning to assault them. I just want to learn whatever I can about them before we square off.”
Michael nodded. “Which is why we’re standing out in the snow talking, I take it.”
“I need whatever information you can give me. And I don’t need another philosophical debate.”
Michael grunted. “I already got in touch with Father Forthill. He sent over a report on who we think might be in town with Tessa.”
I spent a couple of seconds feeling like an argumentative jerk. “Oh,” I said. “Thank you. That…that could help a lot.”
Michael shrugged. “We’ve learned to be wary of even our own intelligence. The Fallen are masters of deception, Harry. Sometimes it takes us centuries to catch one of them lying.”
“I know,” I said. “But you must have something solid.”
“A little,” he said. “We are fairly certain that Tessa and Imariel are the second-eldest of the Denarians. Only Nicodemus and Anduriel have been operating longer.”
I grunted. “Are Tessa and Nicodemus rivals?”
“Generally,” Michael replied. “Though I suppose it bears mentioning that they’re also husband and wife.”
“Match made in Hell, eh?”
“Not that it seems to mean much to either of them. They very rarely work together, and when they do it’s never good. The last time they did so, according to the Church’s records, was just before the Black Plague came to Europe.”
“Plagues? The Nickelheads did that last time they were in town.” I shook my head. “You’d expect a different tune or two in a husband-and-wife act that had been running that long.”
“Variety is the key to a happy marriage,” Michael agreed solemnly. His mouth quivered. “Nickelheads?”
“I decided their name gave them too much dignity, given what they are. I’m correcting that.”
“Those who underestimate them generally don’t survive it,” Michael said. “Be careful.”
“You know me.”
“Yes,” he said. “Where were we?”