“Attacked? By who?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said in an offhand tone, “the Sidhe, mainly.”

“Wait,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be their princess?”

“In the flesh, sure,” Molly said, her eyes sparkling. “In dreams, though, they can come at me anonymously, so every punk thinks he’s tough. It’s like the Internet for faeries.”

“What jerks,” I said.

“No,” she said, “not at all. Look, Harry, Maeve was a really, really awful Winter Lady. I have a job to do. The Sidhe just want to be sure I’m up for it. So they test me.”

“By coming at you?” I asked.

“Quietly, where Mab can’t see,” Molly said. “It actually kind of reminds me of when Mom used to leave me in charge of all my little brothers and sisters at home. Only more felonious.”

I blinked at that and let out a short bark of laughter.

“There, good, a smile,” she said. “They step up. I swat them down. It’s nothing personal,” she continued. “Then I get back to business. Which, by the way, is why you haven’t heard much from me. Sorry. I’ve had about a hundred and fifty years of Maeve’s backlog to deal with. What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve been sending messengers every day for the last six months,” I said.

Molly’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Mab.”

“Mab.”

“Grrr,” she said. “You need me?”

“The day before yesterday. There’s this thing in my head that’s going to kill me in the next couple of days. Demonreach says you can help. Apparently, Mab thinks so, too.”

Molly’s blue eyes went icy. “Or she wouldn’t have intercepted your messengers. That bitch. If I’d known . . .” She chewed on her lower lip. “She’s got me doing something that I can’t get out of right away.”

“What, it isn’t convenient?” I asked.

“I’m under two miles of ice at the moment,” she said. “It took me a day to get here—that’s why I’m asleep now. What’s the situation?”

I told her.

“Oh, God, Harry!” she said. “Nicodemus, really? Is Sanya there?”

“No,” I said, then amended it. “At least, not yet.”

“A Knight will be there,” she said. “That’s how it works. And I’m on the way.” Her expression became distressed, and a moment later the dream world started flickering, and I was suddenly driving in a small herd of Blue Beetles, all of them filled with slightly different versions of Harry Dresden and Molly Carpenter. I had to slalom the VW through them.

“. . . there as soon as I can . . .” came Molly’s voice, distantly, and then I was driving alone.

The traffic got worse andworse and more confusing, and then there was a loud screech of tires and twisting metal, a bright light, and a sensation of tumbling and falling in exaggerated, graceful slow motion.

The radio blared with static and a woman’s voice spoke in the tones of a news commentator. “. . . other news, Harry Dresden, Chicago wizard, blindly charges toward his own destruction because he refuses to recognize simple and obvious truths which are right there in front of him. Dresden ignored several excellently placed warnings, and as a result is expected to perish in the next forty-eight hours . . .”

* * *

I hauled myself out of the dream and sat up in bed, shaking and sweating, with my instincts keyed up for danger and certain that I was no longer alone in the room.

My instincts were half right.

Karrin shut the door behind her almost silently and padded over to the bed in the dim glow of a reflected streetlight outside. She was wearing a long, faded CPD T-shirt and her hair was back in a simple ponytail. She also had her favorite SIG in her hand, held down at her side.

“Hey,” she half whispered. She stopped at the side of the bed. “I heard noises. Are you all right?”

I rubbed at my eyes with one hand. Had my dream of Molly been just that? A dream? Or had it been something more? I knew that a lot of crazy stuff was possible when it came to dreaming, and I knew that it had felt incredibly real, but that didn’t mean that it had been real. “Dreams,” I muttered. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. You were muttering, moving around a lot.” I heard her set the SIG down on the bedside table. She was maybe a foot and a half away from me, and from that close, I could smell her. Clean laundry, some kind of vaguely floral deodorant, a hint of sunlight-warmed skin, a trace of cleaning solvent from tending to her guns. A second later, she laid her hand across my forehead.

“You’re running a temperature,” she said. “Fever dreams are the worst. Sit tight.” She went into the bathroom and came out a minute later with a Dixie cup of water and four pills. “Ibuprofen,” she said. “How’s your stomach?”

“Fine,” I muttered. “It’s the cuts and bruises that are bothering me.” She passed me the pills and the water and I swallowed both and put the cup down on the table. “Thanks.”

She picked up the cup and turned to drop it in the trash can, and the light from the bathroom highlighted the strong, curved muscles in her legs as she did. I tried not to notice how much that appealed to me.

But Karrin did.

She paused that way, looking at me obliquely, noticing me noticing her. Then she turned and reached around the bathroom door to shut off the light. The motion showed me even more of her legs. Then the light shut off and we were in sudden darkness. She didn’t move.