"Do you have to call me Monty?" I asked, grimacing at the popping radio set clipped to Murphy's belt.

Murphy's mouth quirked just a fraction at the question. It was the most animation I'd seen on her face in a long time. She'd cut her hair military short since starting training with the einherjar at the Chicago Alliance building. Her hair had been pulled one too many times, so she'd shaved it, daring any dead Northman to try to fist a hand into the bristles. It made her look starker. Colder. She felt that way too. Pain bound by a layer of cool steely anger. It was brittle in places. One good tap and the whole thing would unravel. The dark, insidious part of me wrought by black magic was tempted. I'd broached stronger defenses before.

But that was the madness talking. I'd learned to lock it down. For the most part. My shoulder devils had never led me to anything good.

"If you didn't want the radio handle, you shouldn't have chosen such a ridiculous name. The Black Knight, really?"

I blew out a breath, ducking my chin so she wouldn't spot the color rising in my cheeks. The name was a little ridiculous if you were comedically literate.

"I didn't choose it," I said defensively. "You kill one slime demon, get the blood all over your gambeson, and suddenly people are plagiarizing."

I'd stolen the gambeson from home a few months ago, forfeiting most of my magic to sneak into the place. It had taken what little power I had to keep up a steady veil long enough to steal some of Dad's old things from mom's forge. It hadn't been one of my best moments, but I just couldn't bring myself to face my parents and ask for his old weapons and armor. They'd already lost one kid to attempted heroism. Mom would no doubt wrap me in cotton and lock me in my room in an effort to keep me safe. And honestly? I couldn't handle the aching emptiness that pervaded the house for more than minutes at a time. They didn't need to force smiles onto their faces and stuff their grief down deep when they saw me. They didn't need to look at the face of their brother's murderer. It was bad enough I was forced to look at it every day.

Daniel was dead, and I'd killed him. I didn't want to face them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"Better than 'The Dark Knight,'" Butters said from his place on the couch. "I think DC would sue."

That drew a handful of wispy laughs from the assembled crowd. I wasn't among them. It wasn't that I didn't want to laugh. I really did. But it was difficult to convey anything through the rigid, masklike tone my face had taken. Blunted affect was beginning to loosen its hold on me, but I was far from recovered. The laugh would have sounded off, and without an expression to accompany the sound, it would probably have come off as mocking. I was already on their bad side without adding condescension to the mix.

They didn't like me. Well, it was more accurate to say that they didn't trust me. And on the one hand, I could understand that. These people were Harry's friends and allies, not mine. No one, aside from Abby, knew me well, and even she was behind the times. So much had happened since my days with the Ordo that I was pretty much a different person entirely. I might as well have been a stranger. Some of them knew me in passing, like Karrin, but her exposure to me had been during the Bad Old Days when I'd been playing sock puppet to the fallen angel Lasciel. I imagined that had left a sour taste in her mouth. Now I was working for another bad guy, albeit one with less ambition. Marcone hadn't set his sights on world domination—yet.

On the other hand, it pissed me off. I hadn't done anything that warranted this level of mixed animosity and concern since returning to Chicago. I patrolled, sometimes switching off with Gard when I needed a shower and a rest, and did my damndest to keep Chicago safe. It wasn't easy. So much scary shit went down these days. I wasn't Harry. I couldn't send the filth scurrying back into the shadows with a blast of flame and a witty one-liner. I had to fight smarter, not stronger. It wasn't enough, most of the time. People were dying. I'd learn how many tonight. The Brighter Future society kept a grim tally of the ones we'd lost. It felt personal, like they blamed me for every death and disappearance. If I was better, smarter, faster, there would be fewer names. It was just my own guilty conscience talking. Probably.

"Still filling in for Childs?" Karrin asked mildly.

I nodded. I had more productive things to do than sit in on these get-togethers but letting Childs sit in the middle of a circle of Harry's friends seemed like tempting fate. He was one of Marcone's most effective troubleshooters. Meaning, that if the boss thought you were trouble, he shot you, no questions asked. Murphy and the others were trouble. Better an hour or two with people who gave me the side-eye than letting that creep in their midst.

Karrin grunted a singularly masculine sound, an affectation leftover from her days as a police detective. I wanted to smile. I didn't.

Will Borden stood with his back to the wall, muscled arms folded over his broad chest. He was wearing baggy sweats and a cutoff t-shirt, the loose clothing lending itself well to a rapid shape change if need be. It had been a surprise to learn that Harry had run around with a literal pack of werewolves once upon a time. The more you knew. Will liked me the least of all of them. He sensed in me one of his own kind. Something with sharp teeth and little compunction about using them when faced with an enemy. He was a predator. So was I. We'd tangled once since I'd returned to Chicago. He hadn't liked the outcome.

"How many did we lose?" I asked at last when no one appeared willing to broach the topic. The ones who weren't staring me down were busy chowing down on the plate of brownies Murphy had prepared.

"Five," Murphy said with a sigh. "All minor talents. Three are still missing, two are..."

Dead. Slaughtered, probably. With Chicago's resident wizards gone, every chump sorcerer thought he had a chance to set up shop, summoning a demon or two from the Nevernever to play their flunkies. I'd put a stop to most of it. Word of gruesome murders tended to curb that sort of thing. Some of the damage had been done post-mortem to play up the viciousness of Marcone's dog. Some of it hadn't been.

Those still gave me nightmares.

"I don't know what else we can do," Abby said, stroking Toto's fur, eyes distant. "It's in all the literature. They know better."

She'd spoken just before Murphy could open her mouth to say, "What the hell do we do about this? We've been clear. Anyone going out should use the buddy system."

"At least the number is lower than this time last month," Butters said, trying to inject some optimism into his voice. It fell woefully flat. "Marcone was right about one thing. The presence of a perceived wizard-level talent is keeping most of it out. It's a lot worse in other cities."

Which wasn't much of a comfort. Chicagoans were being picked off slowly instead of dropping like flies. That was still dozens of dead practitioners, and even more vanilla mortals. It made me sick to even contemplate. There were nights when I lay staring up at the ceiling, weakness, and doubt stealing into my thoughts. I needed more power and I knew exactly where I could get it. Six words were perched on the tip of my tongue almost every day. The incantation was simple. She'd come if I called. She'd help, after a fashion. I could use her to save more people. And I'd damn myself in the process.

There were nights when I almost convinced myself it would be worth it.

I tuned most of the meeting out. I didn't really want to hear how many more people I was failing. I'd call Marcone if any of it became relevant. He'd have the same figures, and I knew he wouldn't penalize me in his thoughts for them. In his estimation, we were firmly in the black. A few people here and there were acceptable losses in what I had been able to accomplish. We were keeping the Fomor from gaining a foothold here, and that was enough. For now.

Murphy's voice pulled me out of my morose musings and back into the present. It took me a second to realize most of the others had cleared out. Only Abby lingered by the door, offering me a tentative wave before she and Toto disappeared out the door as well. It left me alone with Murphy in the old-fashioned living room. She'd drawn in tighter, more guarded than before. She didn't like being alone with me. Good. The feeling was mutual. It was hard to warm up to people who didn't trust you.

"Molly?"

"Huh?"

She frowned. "I asked if you were available tomorrow morning. Rawlings has something you need to see. He says it's urgent."

Henry Rawlings. He was one of the senior detectives with Special Investigations, the department Murphy once headed. They were close, as far as I could tell. She warmed a little when she talked about him, and he about her. We'd met a few times when cases got too hot for SI to handle, which was happening more often these days. They didn't like doing it. He didn't trust me any more than Karrin. Working for a mob boss does tend to sour the police's opinion of a person, so I didn't hold it against him. It wasn't exactly fair, but I understood it.

I sighed. "I'll make time. Where are we meeting?"

Murphy gave me the address. I raised an eyebrow.

"Mac's?"

Karrin shrugged. "The situation you're walking into is probably going to get messy. A beer isn't a cure-all, but it's something, at least."

"I'd need more than one to cope," I said flatly. "I'd drink myself under the bar to blot out the images. I'll stay sober, thanks."

She shrugged again. "Suit yourself. He'll be there at ten. Don't be late."

I nodded and disappeared under a veil, fleeing out the back. All the better to escape the worried, frustrated stare she tried to fix on my back.