"Chapter One," Elaine started.

There are reasons I hate to drive fast. For one, the Blue Beetle, the mismatched Volkswagen bug that I putter around in, rattles and groans dangerously at anything above sixty miles an hour. For another, I don't get along so well with technology. Anything manufactured after about World War II seems to be susceptible to abrupt malfunction when I get close to it. As a rule, when I drive, I drive very carefully and sensibly.

Tonight was an exception to the rule.

The Beetle's tires screeched in protest as we rounded a corner, clearly against the NO LEFT TURN sign posted there. The old car growled gamely, as though it sensed what was at stake, and continued its valiant puttering, moaning, and rattling as we zoomed down the street.

"That must have been a sight to see," Marcone said with a genuine chuckle. "That multicolored monstrosity you call a car, speeding the wrong way down a one-way street. Most ordinary citizens of Chicago would have had a double take."

"I would have paid to see that," Thomas agreed with a chortle.

"What was the occasion?" Ms. Gard asked lightly.

"I was racing to stop a rabid ghost from killing a hospital nursery filled with newborns," Harry said flatly, having a very good idea which case this book recorded.

That killed the humorous mood right quick.

"Can we go any faster?" Michael drawled. It wasn't a complaint. It was just a question, calmly voiced.

"Only if the wind gets behind us or we start going down a hill," I said. "How far to the hospital?"

The big man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He had that kind of salt-and-pepper hair, dark against silver, that some men seem lucky enough to inherit, though his beard was still a solid color of dark brown, almost black. There were worry and laugh lines at the corners of his leathery face. His broad, lined hands rested on his knees, which were scrunched up due to the dashboard. "I don't know for certain," he answered me. "Two miles?"

I squinted out the Beetle's window at the fading light. "The sun is almost down. I hope we're not too late."

"We're doing all we can," Michael assured me. "If God wills it, we'll be there in time. Are you sure of your ..." his mouth twisted with distaste, "source?"

"Bob is annoying, but rarely wrong," I answered, jamming on the brakes and dodging around a garbage truck. "If he said the ghost would be there, it will be there."

"You got a problem with me, Mr. Knight o' the Cross?" Bob asked cheerfully.

"I have a limited understanding of the Nevernever. At the time, I was of the belief that you were a demon of some sort that Harry had bound to him in service," Michael replied readily. "I have since come to understand that there are a great many beings of a variety of flavors apart from angels and demons."

"Ah, you thought I was his familiar, gotcha," Bob nodded. "Welp, you're safe there. Not a demon, just your garden variety spirit of intellect."

"Who knows a secret I would cheerfully destroy you to prevent being spread to the wrong ears," Mab added.

Bob gulped.

"Ah, so that's why you've been hiding from her," Harry realized. "Dare I ask?"

"Tell you what: if it comes up in the books, then you all can know. Otherwise, I'll keep my mouth shut in the interest of self-preservation," Bob said, his werelight 'eyes' flicking at the lounging Mab.

"Um, what exactly is a spirit of intellect?" Molly asked.

"Non-corporeal entity from a fairly neutral section of the Nevernever. We're living libraries, we literally can't forget anything unless we choose to or we're ordered by our master. The more we know, the more power and magic muscle we have. Left to my own devices, I'd possess a willing host, throw a weekly orgy for fun, and otherwise spend every waking hour studying and expanding my knowledge until I rival the freaking Archive. As it is, I'm stuck in this skull acting as research assistant to whatever lucky bastard owns the thing," Bob answered.

"Archive?" Molly tilted her head.

"I run into her at some point, actually, you can wait until that particular book to get your answer," Harry cut in.

"Lord be with us," Michael said, and crossed himself. I felt a stirring of something powerful, placid energy around him - the power of faith. "Harry, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Don't ask me to Mass again," I told him, uncomfortable. "You know I'm just going to say no." Someone in a red Taurus cut me off, and I had to swerve around him, into the turn lane, and then ahead of him again. A couple of the Beetle's wheels lifted off the ground. "Jerk!" I howled out the driver's window.

"That doesn't preclude asking," Michael asked. "But no. I wanted to know when you were going to marry Miss Rodriguez."

Susan blinked. "Um, what? That was your idea to start with?"

"Michael here has a very binary attitude towards marriage," Harry said with an eye roll. "Do you love her? If yes, marry her."

"It's not that simple," Murphy sighed, a divorcee twice over.

"It can be," Michael said, not batting an eye at the looks the rest of the group were throwing at him.

"Maybe in your Hallmark postcard of a life, but most of us aren't lucky enough to save a lady from a dragon and earn her undying love and loyalty," Harry said, no real heat or bite to the words.

"Wait, that story about you saving Mom from a dragon and that's how you met is real?!" Molly gaped.

"Which one?" Ebenezer asked with interest.

"Siriothrax," Michael replied.

"Moving on," Mab growled, annoyed at the break so early in the chapter.

"Hell's Bells, Michael," I scowled. "You and I have been chasing all over town for the past two weeks, going up against every ghost and spirit that has all of a sudden reared its ugly head. We still don't know what's causing the spirit world to go postal."

"I know that, Harry, but - "

"At the moment," I interrupted, "we're going after a nasty old biddy at Cook County, who could kill us if we aren't focused. And you're asking me about my love life."

Michael frowned at me. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?" he said.

"Not often enough," I growled, and shifted lanes, swerving around a passenger bus.

"Oh? As I recall, we were hooking up about once or twice a week before things fell apart," Susan said with a chuckle.

"I didn't know at the time since we were each other's firsts, but Harry has a very above average libido," Elaine said, in that utterly unembarrassed way only women can talk about sex. "Even accounting for us being teenagers, four or five times a night every night gave me a rather skewed idea of what to expect from other men."

Thomas whistled. "Damn, Harry. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Elaine, please go back to reading," Harry said, blushing like a carnation.

The knight sighed. "Do you love her?" he asked.

"Michael," I said. "Give me a break. Where do you get off asking questions like that?"

"Do you love her?" he pressed.

"I'm trying to drive, here."

"Harry," he asked, smiling. "Do you love the girl or don't you? It isn't a difficult question."

"He's serious, isn't he?" Murphy asked in disbelief.

"What?" Michael asked guilelessly, truly not getting it.

"Mr. Carpenter, it seems you lack perspective, likely due to your rather blessed introduction to love and marriage," Marcone said, polite and direct. "But not everyone is as honest with themselves as you are. Nor so free with their emotions. Falling in love, recognizing that fact, and admitting it to the object of your affections is a long, complex process for the vast majority of humanity. Nor is everyone so lucky to have that love reciprocated. You fell in love once, and have yet to fall out of it. Which is wonderful, and I congratulate you. But most everyone else on the planet has much less success. And with each failure, it becomes a case of 'once bitten, twice shy'. So, back to the original point, for Mr. Dresden it is a difficult question, as it would be for most men and women."

"Daddy, I love you, but you do realize you got the one-in-a-million fairy tale love story with Mom, right? You don't seriously expect me and Daniel and all the rest of us to fall in love, have babies, and grow old with the person we lose our virginities to, right?" Molly asked her father.

"Well," Michael started with a rather leading tone.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," Molly groaned.

"Language!"

Ms. Gard covered her mouth with her hand, but her laughter was still audible.

"He's like a character from a G-rated movie or something," Thomas cackled to himself.

"Miss Mallory," Morgan spoke up, prompting Elaine to keep reading.

"Speaks the expert," I grumbled. I went past a blue-and-white at about twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, and saw the police officer behind the wheel blink and spill his coffee as he saw me go past. I checked my rearview mirror, and saw the blue bulbs on the police car whirl to life. "Dammit, that tears it. The cops are going to be coming in right after us."

"Don't worry about them," Michael assured me. "Just answer the question."

I flashed Michael a glance. He watched me, his face broad and honest, his jaw strong, and his grey eyes flashing. His hair was cropped close, Marine-length, on top, but he sported a short, warrior's beard, which he kept clipped close to his face. "I suppose so," I said, after a second. "Yeah."

"Then you don't mind saying it?"

"Saying what?" I stalled.

"Harry," Michael scolded, holding on as we bounced through a dip in the street. "Don't be a child about this. If you love the woman, say so."

"Why?" I demanded.

"You haven't told her, have you. You've never said it."

I glared at him. "So what if I haven't? She knows. What's the big deal?"

"Harry Dresden," he said. "You, of all people, should know the power of words."

"Look, she knows," I said, tapping the brakes and then flattening the accelerator again. "I got her a card."

"A card?" Michael asked.

"A Hallmark."

He sighed. "Let me hear you say the words."

"What?"

"Say the words," he demanded. "If you love the woman, why can't you say so?"

"I don't just go around saying that to people, Michael. Stars and sky, that's ... I just couldn't, all right?"

"Mr. Carpenter," Elaine stopped reading to look at Michael. "Did you ever stop to consider that, as far as Harry knew at the time, every single person he'd those words to ended up dead? His dad, me, Justin? Harry doesn't admit he loves people because everyone he loves leaves him."

Dead silence.

"I didn't mean to be insensitive," Michael said, genuinely contrite.

"But you were," Elaine fired back before looking back at the book.

"You don't love her," Michael said. "I see."

"You know that's not - "

"Say it, Harry."

"If it will get you off my back," I said, and gave the Beetle every ounce of gas that I could. I could see the police in traffic somewhere behind me. "All right." I flashed Michael a ferocious, wizardly scowl and snarled, "I love her. There, how's that?"

Michael beamed. "You see? That's the only thing that stands between you two. You're not the kind of person who says what they feel. Or who is very introspective, Harry. Sometimes, you just need to look into the mirror and see what's there."

"I don't like mirrors," I grumbled.

"I thought you were just cheap or paranoid about things that can use them as windows or even doors. But you have a genuine deep-seated hang-up with your own reflection, don't you?" Thomas said, turning to his brother and roommate with concern.

"Look, it's really not that big–" Harry tried to brush off.

"You never pose for photos either," Susan chimed in with a thoughtful frown. "And whenever I did manage to get you to take one, you never kept a copy."

"You guys are blowing this way out of–" Harry said, in rising panic.

"Hoss," Ebenezer cut in. "Why don't you like looking at yourself?"

Harry grit his teeth. But after five minutes of tense silence, he finally forced himself to speak when he accepted they wouldn't let this go. "Because I'm a freak. I look like Dad, and that hurts. But I don't want to see how I'm not aging. I don't want to see myself and know I'll still look mostly the same 50 years from now while everyone else I know will be gray and wrinkled. I look human, but I'm not. So I hide like a coward instead. Happy?"

Even Mab was affected by that. "When I make you my Knight, you will be mandated to attend weekly therapy sessions. You clearly need them," she said, and while her words lacked any human empathy or concern, they still recognized the obvious pain Harry was suffering from.

Mouse whined and went to lick Harry's face.

"Harry," Elaine said, not sure what to say.

"We can get me psychiatric attention or whatever the fuck I need once we're out of here. And we can't do that until we finish the books. So read, Elaine. Please," Harry said, voice worryingly empty.

"Regardless, you needed to realize that you do love the woman. After Elaine, I thought you might isolate yourself too much and never - "

I felt a sudden flash of anger and vehemence. "I don't talk about Elaine, Michael. Ever. If you can't live with that, get the hell out of my car and let me work on my own."

Michael frowned at me, probably more for my choice of words than anything else. "I'm talking about Susan, Harry. If you love her, you should marry her."

"I'm a wizard. I don't have time to be married."

"I'm a knight," Michael responded. "And I have the time. It's worth it. You're alone too much. It's starting to show."

I scowled at him again. "What does that mean?"

"You're tense. Grumpy. And you're isolating yourself more all the time. You need to keep up human contact, Harry. It would be so easy for you to start down a darker path."

"Michael," I snapped, "I don't need a lecture. I don't need the conversion speech again. I don't need the 'cast aside your evil powers before they consume you' speech. Again. What I need is for you to back me up while I go take care of this thing."

"Is he this preachy off the clock at home?" Susan asked Molly, trying to break the heavy mood.

"He doesn't try as hard, but that's because we're already half-brainwashed from absorbing the whole thing every day growing up," Molly said with a weak chuckle.

Cook County Hospital loomed into sight and I made an illegal U-turn to get the Blue Beetle up into the Emergency entrance lane.

Michael unbuckled his seat belt, even before the car had come to a stop, and reached into the back seat to draw an enormous sword, fully five feet long in its black scabbard, from the backseat. He exited the car and buckled on the sword. Then he reached back in for a white cloak with a red cross upon the left breast, which he tossed over his shoulders in a practiced motion. He clasped it with another cross, this one of silver, at his throat. It clashed with his flannel workman's shirt, blue jeans, and steel-toed work boots.

"Can't you leave the cloak off, at least?" I complained. I opened the door and unfolded myself from the Beetle's driver's seat, stretching my long legs, and reached into the backseat to recover my own equipment - my new wizard's staff and blasting rod, each of them freshly carved and still a little green around the edges.

Michael looked up at me, wounded. "The cloak is as much a part of what I do as the sword, Harry. Besides, it's no more ridiculous than that coat you wear."

I looked down at my black leather duster, the one with the large mantle that fell around my shoulders and spread out as it billowed in a most heavy and satisfactory fashion around my legs. My own black jeans and dark Western shirt were a ton and a half more stylish than Michael's costume. "What's wrong with it?"

"It belongs on the set of El Dorado," Michael said. "Are you ready?"

"You and Murph have told me that on separate occasions. Guess it's true," Harry said with a shadow of his usual humor.

I shot him a withering glance, to which he turned the other cheek with a smile, and we headed toward the door. I could hear police sirens closing in behind us, maybe a block or two away. "This is going to be close."

"Then we best hurry." He cast the white cloak back from his right arm, and put his hand on the hilt of the great broadsword. Then he bowed his head, crossed himself, and murmured, "Merciful Father, guide us and protect us as we go to do battle with the darkness." Once more, there was that thrum of energy around him, like the vibrations of music heard through a thick wall.

"What's the difference between magic and faith?" Molly asked.

"There's whole books that dive into that. Get any expert started, they'll lecture for hours," Ebenezer answered. "The way I understand it, magic comes from life, natural forces working in harmony and put to use by human will. Faith is something distinct, though maybe related. Like different parts of the EM spectrum, I suppose. It's a special energy that seems to surround anything to do with total and complete trust in something greater than one's self, a Higher Power, so it tends to be attached to religious articles. And certain creatures from the Nevernever are attracted or repelled by it. Angels and pagan gods draw power from the faith of humans, while vampires and demons are actually harmed if they come into contact with it. Your father, apart from being a Knight of the Cross, is a devout Roman Catholic and has a truly impressive level of faith in the White God. No magic that I can sense, but I suspect even without Amoracchius things out of the ordinary would happen to and around him due to the aura of faith that surrounds him."

Molly tilted her head. "So what happens if you mix magic and faith? Like, if you threw my Dad and Uncle Harry into a blender? A wizard who had absolute devotion to God or anything really?"

"There are wizards who mix religion and magic," Elaine spoke up. "Since magic is shaped by your beliefs, some wizards genuinely believe their magic comes from their spiritual practices or rituals and can't function without them. Generally, it supercharges certain spells but cuts the knees out from any that go against the tenets of their personal doctrine, that contradict the faith that forms the backbone of their magic or vice versa."

"I have faith in the power of magic, but I don't worship magic the way Michael worships the Capital 'G'. If I did… well, interesting things would happen, I'm sure," Harry shrugged.

I shook my head, and fetched a leather sack, about the size of my palm, from the pocket of my duster. I had to juggle staff, blasting rod, and sack for a moment, and wound up with the staff in my left hand, as was proper, the rod in my right, and the sack dangling from my teeth. "The sun is down," I grated out. "Let's move it."

And we broke into a run, knight and wizard, through the emergency entrance of Cook County Hospital. We drew no small amount of stares as we entered, my duster billowing out in a black cloud behind me, Michael's white cloak spreading like the wings of the avenging angel whose namesake he was. We pelted inside, and slid to a halt at the first intersection of cool, sterile, bustling hallways.

I grabbed the arm of the first orderly I saw. He blinked, and then gawked at me, from the tips of my Western boots to the dark hair atop my head. He glanced at my staff and rod rather nervously, and at the silver pentacle amulet dangling at my breast, and gulped. Then he looked at Michael, tall and broad, his expression utterly serene, at odds with the white cloak and the broadsword at his hip. He took a nervous step back. "M-m-may I help you?"

I speared him into place with my most ferocious, dark-eyed smile and said, between teeth clenched on the leather sack, "Hi. Could you tell us where the nursery is?"

Marcone reached for the book, and Elaine handed it over.