The next three hours were eventful. The Guard, never ones to waste daylight, got bulldozers clearing streets. The Coast Guard chipped in, adding a few helicopters to the rescue effort, and by five that evening, buses and choppers were streaming into the wasted sections of Chicago, and streaming back out with injured and hungry passengers. A few buses, following in the wake of the dozers, chugged into the parking lot of St. Mary's, and more Guardsmen began to carry and escort folks out.

I was beginning to feel a little better about the whole deal. However, as darkness began to settle in, I overheard an officer telling a subordinate that there were still nearly a quarter million people to be accounted for.

Molly and her parents emerged from the back room, all looking different: Michael, sober; Charity, resigned; and Molly, inscrutable. None of them approached me, and I returned the favour. All three obviously had emotions to work through, and I knew I would only get in the way of that. When and if they needed to talk to me, they would.

Elaine kept an eye on Molly and maintained a distance.

My strength returned over the course of the afternoon, but my brother did not. I silently hoped he had found a place to catch a nibble – not a meal. If Thomas didn't keep his emotional vampiric side sated, it would eventually take control of him, and he'd be nothing more than an unstoppable, psychic rapist. I'd seen it happen, and never wanted to see it again.

I also noticed that Sanya and Murphy had disappeared. I kicked myself as I tried to figure out the last time I'd seen them, and realised it had been before we'd handed out lunch. Stupid sneaky knights.

So, when they came back in just before dusk, leading a gaggle of stunned-looking people like sheep, I was relieved. "What happened?" I asked Murph, watching as a couple of uniformed medics started checking the new arrivals over.

She didn't have her Sword out, and her face and jacket were covered in grime, but she was smiling faintly. "Tenement. Six blocks from here. Roof collapsed. I was talking to Sanya, and we both agreed something had happened nearby. So, we went looking. Would have been back a couple hours ago, if not for that aftershock. Opened a hole, pulled the first two floors right into the earth."

"Undertown?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Not a peep from anything supernatural. Which should be a relief, but under the circumstances…"

"Freaks you out more than anything else?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay." I put a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me next time you're going to vanish like that."

She knocked my hand away. "Oh, please don't tell me you were worried. I'm a big girl, Dresden."

I looked down at her five-foot-nothingness. "Not really."

Her hand went to the hilt of Fidelacchius, but her eyes were what I was suddenly afraid of. I threw up my hands and backed away, impish smile on my face.

I literally bumped into Charity. I turned around, and she was standing there, watching the crowd. I followed her gaze, out to Molly, who was talking with a stunned older man. Then her eyes shifted, and she was looking at Alicia and Kelly, who were absolutely inseparable, as they helped a medic set a woman's broken leg. "Uh, Charity. You okay?"

She took a breath, then another. I thought she wasn't going to answer, then, "I don't know what to do."

"I'm sorry?"

"I thought I knew what my life was going to be like. Then my daughters turned out just like me."

"Just like you?"

"Rebellious, strong-minded. I deserve it, I suppose, for the Hell I put my parents through."

"Your children are who they are. And they are good people. Just like their mother."

"Am I a good person? Look what's happened to them. At what they're lives have turned into."

"'Them'? I know for a fact that you're not talking about Alicia."

"What do you - ?"

"Because she is one of nature's greatest and rarest gifts: the well-adjusted teenage girl."

Charity was silent a moment. "I was uncomfortable with it, at first. I didn't know what to say or do."

We watched the woman with the broken leg cry out. We watched Kelly reel back, and we watched Alicia lean forward, gently take the woman's face in her hands, and start talking soothingly to her. We watched the woman fall into sedative-induced rest. When the medic thanked them and moved on, we watched her hug a scared and tired Kelly close, then kiss her forehead.

"Well, you must have figured it out, because she seems fine, now."

"I suppose I must have. It's just something I never expected. Michael just shrugs it off, and loves her, no matter what. I love her, of course. This is just something I'm not sure how to deal with, long-term."

"Deal with? What's there to deal with? Your daughter has fallen in love."

"Yes, but what advice can I give her? I only know how to deal with boys."

"Well, you'll both need to keep Michael involved, then."

She smiled. It was small, and sad. "I guess so. Though, I suppose this is a normal, human concern." Her eyes shifted to me again. "Molly, on the other hand…"

My voice hardened. "I'll tell you what I told her. I will get her out of it."

"She said you promised her that." Her hand found my arm, and her grip was steel. I avoided looking directly into her eyes. "Now, I want you to promise me. Swear it to me, on your life, and on your magic, wizard."

A promise made between normal mortals is a powerful thing; a binding of your word to your actions. Breaking a promise can damage or destroy your reputation. A wizard's promise, sworn on his power, can damage not just the reputation, but the power itself. Enough broken promises can lead to a broken wizard. As such, it is not something to be taken lightly.

But I didn't hesitate. "I swear it, Charity. On my power, on my life, if there is a way to get Molly out of this, I will get her out." I felt a little shiver up my back.

She looked only a little less tense, and her grip relaxed ever to slightly. "I pray you do, Harry." Coming from her, that was a promise, not a statement of hope.

When we turned to face the crowd again, Molly was standing there, not three feet from us. She gave us a wan smile; she'd heard everything. Then her eyes were on her mother. "I just spoke to a soldier. Power's down and they're having engine trouble and problems getting mobile lights to work, so they're only sending in two more buses before sundown. The injured are all cleared out." She nodded to herself. "I need you, all of you, to be on one of those buses."

Charity's arms crossed. "I beg your pardon, young lady?"

"I've thought this through, Mama. If I have to, I will pick you up and put you on the bus myself. But I can't have you here. None of you." Charity opened her mouth to protest, but Molly lifted her hands, pleading. "Please, hear me out. Something bad is coming, and I have a part to play. I don't know what, exactly, but I know it's what God has intended for me. And I won't be able to do it if I'm worried sick about my family."

Charity opened her mouth again, reconsidered, tried again, and closed it one more time. She stared at her daughter, who really was a woman now, and shrank in on herself. "I can't just leave you here," she said quietly. "This city is a disaster zone. You could die."

Molly took her mother by the shoulders, and I felt both privileged and voyeuristic to watch the moment; a child reaching maturity. In a firm but surprisingly gentle voice, she said, "Mama, don't think you were the only one who was scared for Dad all those years. Every time he took up that Sword, every time he charged off into the night, I was just as scared as you that I'd never see him again. But I knew, on some level, I knew, that if he died, it would be while doing his duty, and he would have called it a good death."

"There's no such thing as good death, Molly," Charity said, and she was starting to weep.

"Mama, if I die, it will be at a time and place of my own choosing." Then she took a breath and added something that chilled me to the bone: "While doing the right thing."

I turned to walk away, and didn't hear anything else they said to each other. Several years back, as a horrible, cruel joke, a Red Court vampire, the ones who feed on blood, had bought me a present: a gravestone, and accompanying plot. The gravestone was quite nice marble, actually, and was inscribed with a disturbing epitaph: Here Lies Harry Dresden. He Died Doing the Right Thing.

I don't know how she did it, but Molly talked her whole family into boarding the buses. Michael was even more reluctant than Charity, but their daughter had, to be frank, grown a pair. The Guardsmen didn't seem to mind; the new priority evacuees had become children and their parents, and the Carpenters had at least half a dozen minors in their brood.

Just before he limped onto the bus, Michael turned to me, a silent question on his face. Will you look out for her? I glanced at Molly, who was still looking at her father, and nodded solemnly. You bet your ass.

He sighed, embraced her one more time, then a Guardsman gently helped him limp up the stairs. The bus was moving through the twilight before he was seated. The driver probably had the creeps. Only one of his headlights was working, and his engine was making odd, clunky sounds.

It was all the magic in the air. It was heavy. But I still couldn't really feel it. There was a slightly increased pressure on my skin, an ethereal force that should have been crushing me, if it was as big as McCoy had told me. But there was only that slight tightness, like someone gearing up to sneeze, hard. Someone, or more likely, something, was holding a damp cloth over my arcane senses.

Murphy and Sanya stood beside me. I had reclaimed my staff and duster, as the temperature continued to drop. "The Guardsmen, they wish to set a watch," Sanya said. "I have volunteered for a shift."

I looked at my watch. It was not quite 7 o'clock. "I'll take a 4-hour block," I said, thinking of the Council meeting. "I can do seven-thirty to eleven-thirty."

The big Russian nodded. "Da, I will let Lieutenant know." He clapped me on the shoulder, which didn't quite knock me over, and walked off.

My eyes again found Molly, who was watching the bus carrying her family disappear into the war zone that was Chicago. "You okay?" Murph asked.

"Lot on my mind. There's a crazy amount of bad juju in the air, and I can't do anything about it. Can't even a get a taste of it."

"You too, huh? Sanya and I were talking."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And we're in agreement; whatever it is, it's coming in the next day or so. Maybe even tonight."

I nodded, took a deep breath. "I have that conference call tonight. Might be the only chance to get the Council involved."

"I hope it works. Oh, that reminds me: cell phones started working again about an hour or so ago. Talked to Rawlins. He said not to worry about that animal desecration case."

I rolled my eyes involuntarily. "He's all heart."

Sanya came back and told me my watch was 8-12, take it or leave it. I took it, then led Molly and Murphy inside to warm up and wait for my shift to begin.

I got the loading door, around back. The area was largely snow-free. I can't say I enjoyed it, but I do understand why a watch had to be set – Just In Case. It's a good, catch-all reason for things. The Guardsmen were worried about human looters; I was starting to get an itch in my brain about non-human threats; and everyone was scared of what else Mother Nature might throw at us.

Elaine brought me hot chocolate at 8:30. The rectory was out of coffee. It was in a paper cup, so it didn't stay hot for very long, but it was nice for a while. She'd also forced me to put on a sweater under my duster, which she dug out of the lost-and-found. She even dug out a pair of worn leather gloves that fit me.

"I know you don't really need any of this, but I worry."

I smiled. "I love that you take care of me."

She shook her head. "Someone has to." She gave me a kiss, and headed back inside.

On instinct, I turned around, and Lash was there, as I guessed she would be. She was a blonde this evening, wearing her usual robes and had her hands crossed politely in front of her. Her face was unreadable. "You've been quiet all day." I started pacing, and sipping my oh-so-delicious, yet perilously low-caffeine, beverage.

She looked up at the church. "It seemed… improper for me to speak much inside."

"Don't be silly. Far as I'm concerned, you're halfway down Redemption Road."

She glanced away, smirking and blushing, just a little. It was very human, and very endearing. "I spent several millennia tempting, corrupting, killing and destroying human lives and souls. I think I have a great deal longer to go. But, thank you, Harry."

"Something on your mind, or you just here to keep me company?" I glanced out in to the eerily quiet and dark night. "I'm glad, either way."

"Actually, I had a suggestion for you."

"About what?"

"The… stillness, that has settled over your senses."

I nodded. Stillness. It fit. "I like that. Should have thought of that myself, really. What's your thought?"

"A simple detection spell, laced with Soulfire."

I rocked back on my heels. Soulfire was a gift I'd picked up from an archangel. It was a powerful and versatile force, increasing the strength and substance of any spell I stitched it into. Unfortunately, it used my soul as fuel.

"Why, exactly?" I sipped my rapidly cooling chocolate.

"Soulfire is a power of creation. A raw and essential force, it is more basic and more powerful than any complicated magic, human or immortal."

"You're saying it might cut through this stillness?"

"I believe it has the potential to do so."

I considered. So far as I knew, I was the only wizard around with access to Soulfire. If it could cut through this whatever-the-hell-it-was, I might be the only one who could do it. And it would be nice to finally get a feel for the supernatural nastiness in the air, that I could tell was there but couldn't quite define.

Anything I could say to the Council tonight would be helpful in convincing them Chicago needed back up. And after what Murphy had said about the impending doom…

I looked around again, to make sure no vanillas were in line of sight. Non-magical people always say they want to see magic, but they always get a little freaked out when it actually happens. I drained the dregs of my cold chocolate, then leaned my staff against the back door. "What the hell."

Pulling a piece of chalk out of one of my duster's cavernous pockets, I cleared what little snow there was by the door with my foot. Bending down, I drew a good sized circle around myself on the blacktop, investing a little of my concentration and willpower in it as I completed it, accompanied by a mental image of a barrier snapping into place.

I pulled my coat tight, then sat down, legs crossed, and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head. "You said a detection spell. What should I be detecting?"

She knelt down and looked me in the eye. "Magic."

"Magic? What, all of it?"

"In general. It is, after all, what you seek."

"Uh. I've never done anything so… broad before."

"It would have to be a broad spell, to counter such a pervasive force weighing down upon you. Magic is what you cannot find." She put an illusory hand on my arm, and I felt the weight of it. "You must seek it out, and you must use the strength you have been given to do so. A spell driven by Soulfire is capable of more than any spell on its own; You know this."

I did know it, though I'd always known it in an abstract way. I'd only ever really used Soulfire as a strength boost; as an old friend had once said, rebar in my concrete. Any usual spell with so broad a target would likely fizzle, just burn itself out trying to focus. But with added angelic strength…

"Okay. I'll give it a go. Nothing to lose." I rubbed my hands together, took a few crisp breaths, closed my eyes, and started to concentrate. I thought of everything magic was to me; a tool, a muscle, a gift, a curse, a way of life, a friend. Then I thought of all it allowed me to do, all it kept me from, and all I had seen because of it, good and bad.

I'll spare you the details, but let me be clear: it was not a short list.

When the concept of magic itself was a solid object in my mind, I formed the spell I would use, a spell I had used hundreds of time over the years, finding lost wedding rings and car keys. Then, mentally, I reached back to the corner of my mind where I kept two boxes; one labelled Hellfire, and the other labelled Soulfire. One was black-red, the other was blue-white, and I touched the nicer-looking one.

Then I reached out with my right hand, and broke the circle, at the same time releasing the energy I had shaped in my mind and whispering a word of nonsense.

The effect was instantaneous and explosive. At least, from behind my eyes. I hadn't realised how much I had been missing the last few weeks, it had been taken away so gradually. With sudden, vicious clarity, I could feel the flow of energy over my skin, the tingle of life in the air around me, the raw power of existence itself thudding in my head.

My senses had been denied the touch of magic for weeks, and the rush of its return drove the air from my lungs like a sucker punch. I collapsed onto my back, my legs still twisted into a odd pretzel shape.

I gasped, and the cold air Niagra-ed down my throat. My neck found frozen asphalt, and added to the discomfort in its own special way.

I cracked one elbow on the ground during my convulsion, tweaking my funnybone.

And I didn't care about any of that. I could feel again. I could taste again. The rush to my senses was almost painfully orgasmic, and after a moment, I felt a couple of tears on my cheeks; I was weeping, in a minor ecstasy.

I just lay there, breathing, letting the simple sensation of magic wash over me. Like a hug from a friend you haven't seen in years, it was so comforting.

And then, like a shot, I felt the opposite. To deny me this much of my perception… someone was trying to blind and deafen the magical community of Chicago. But who would want to do that? And how much power would have to have access to? Blocking this much perception was just unnatural…

I felt the cold prickling sensation all along my back, and it had nothing to do with the cold ground.

My magical radar was working again. I sat up, untangled my legs, and stood. Near. It was near. My eyes searched the darkness, lit only by the tiny light directly over the door I was ostensibly guarding. Without turned, I extended my right hand, whispered, "Ventas servitas," and felt my staff leap into my palm.

With my best weapon in hand, I felt a touch more secure, and let my eyes relax, letting them glide over the shadows. Lash, notice anything different?

Yes. At the corner to your right.

And there, at the edge of the parking lot, where the street lights were completely out, standing in front of the abandoned wreck of a t-bone crash, was a lone figure. It was just one more shadow among many, but Lash's eyes and memory cannot be fooled.

I considered for a moment, glancing around to be sure there weren't any more dark figures skulking nearby. The figure did not move. I weighed my options, took a deep, invigorating breath, and started forward, feeling better than I had in weeks.

I walked with little purpose, deliberately not looking at the figure, stopping several times to inspect cars and drifts of snow, and twice, to look at the stars. They really were beautiful tonight. I got almost to the edge of the church's property, then stopped again and rubbed my hands. Only then did I look at the figure.

She hadn't moved an inch. But then, Black Court vampires don't move unless they have to. Her clothing was simple, if eclectic; slacks, an old blouse and dark vintage jacket, modern hiking boots, and a Shakespearean-style cap she seemed to favour. I met her eyes – what there was of them – and inclined my head, slightly. "Mavra."

Some of the vampire's rotten flesh flaked off her face as she gave me a grotesque parody of a smile. "Wizard." Her voice was dry and somehow dirty. The Black Court of vampires are the very picture of the old-school, walking-corpse image that Stoker painted, mostly because they are walking corpses. They rot, they flake, they creak.

But they are also vulnerable to the stereotypical weaknesses, too. Black Court vampires, just like the Red Court, don't much care for sunlight, what with how it kills them so much. They also don't like garlic, holy water, most symbols of faith, or running water… nor hallowed ground. So, I knew I was safe so long as I remained on the consecrated land of St. Mary's.

I kept my expression neutral, but didn't keep the disgust out of my voice. "It's been years."

She regarded me, still without moving. "I recall."

"Last time we met, I made it clear I didn't want you in my city."

"You did. And I respected that, though you dared threaten me."

"I was just honest. You know what power I have access to."

There was a slight blur of motion, and she was standing less than a foot from me. "And you know what I am capable of."

It took a lot of effort to not flinch, but I managed to do nothing but blink. "Careful. You know you don't want to get us mortals scared. Think of everything that happened to the rest of your Court." Her head turned just a few degrees. "You remember. After Stoker published his how-to kill you manual."

Supernatural creatures are impressive, yes, but they're also rare. Humans have survived the millennia for one pretty good reason: there are a hell of a lot of us. And when we're threatened, we have a habit of throwing ourselves at the problem until we overwhelm it.

A dry rasp escaped her throat. It repeated. She was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Mortals," she said, and there was little but disdain in it. "The Court had become bloated with fools and the insane. Who do you think gave the author his information?"

Star and stones. Mavra had helped wipe out most of her own Court.

"I can smell the fear on you, wizard. And I will tell you, I am not in your city."

Now my face darkened. "Could have fooled me."

"That is because you are a fool. Chicago is no longer a place for mortals. That has been seen to." Something in her phrasing caught my attention. Was she taking credit for the earthquake? "This city will be my domain."

"Domain? First of all, over my dead body. Second, even you couldn't take a whole city on your… own." Even as I finished speaking, my voice trailed off, because I knew what was coming. It was a cliché, after all.

She smiled again, and even the pale, slightly mossy skin around her rheumy eyes crinkled. Then I blinked, and she was gone.