Michael had smashed things by the time I trudged back inside.

The Carpenter's kitchen table had been upended, though there had thankfully been no food on the surface. There was a sizable dent in a door leading into the space. Things had been thrown. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the place, scattering junk everywhere.

Sanya leaned against one wall, then casually reached over to retrieve one of the utensil caddies that Charity used to hold all her fancy spoons and spatulas and offered it to Michael, who threw it. Not hard. Not enough to break anything. But it was enough to keep the rage from exploding outward in a destructive and pointless charge toward his enemy. I knew the feeling. I'd been there.

But it was another thing entirely to watch Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross, and the closest thing I'd ever come to meeting a saint, lose his cool so entirely. He was muttering darkly, words I couldn't make out and probably didn't want to. They didn't sound like any curses I'd ever heard, but I'd have bet my meager savings it was some sanitized form. Even angry Michael was a better man than me.

They weren't the only ones in the kitchen. My brother had responded to my call after our little war council had come to its decision. We needed all hands on deck, and even if I was pretty much the one who knew enough to trust him, it was still a necessary evil to most of them. Nicodemus had Ivy. He had Molly. There was no telling what he was doing to them both while we waited.

He'd arrived about ten minutes before our confrontation with Nic. The last I'd seen him he'd been sitting awkwardly in a chair opposite Luccio, both of them eyeing each other with suspicious dislike. Nothing catastrophic had gone down inside the house while we traded jabs with Nicodemus, so I counted that as a tally in the plus column.

Now Thomas had a hand curled lightly around the handle to the fridge like he was anchoring himself to the appliance for our safety. Or maybe his. His eyes had faded to a lighter sheen of silver while he tracked Michael's frenzied movements. His Hunger was rearing its ugly head after the aquarium battle. I wasn't sure if Michael was really Thomas' type, but the ambient energy I could sense coming off of him was intense. It must have been more so for the demon inside Thomas.

"We're a go," I announced on a heavy sigh. "We're meeting their representative in the next hour, so we need to get going. Nic wants to keep the White Council mostly out of things, so Luccio's on the bench. I'm going to need you, Sanya, Thomas, and Murphy. Autobots, roll out."

"I can't," Michael said quietly. "I can't, Harry. I nearly unmade the sword. I was blind. Nicodemus...he beat me, Harry."

"Like hell," I snarled. "He hit you where it hurt and you tried to hit back. But you know better now. And you've got me there to knock your ass into the mud if you try to do stupid again. Sanya to do it if I'm not strong enough. And Karrin to whip all our asses into shape if all else fails."

Sanya smiled brightly. "As I have told you, Michael."

Michael had adopted a tamer version of his thousand-yard stare. The hundred-yard eyeballing. He'd fixed it on the partially open blinds that offered a view of the backyard.

"She's working in tandem with it," he said, rolling the words around, almost talking to himself. It looked like notion tasted pretty vile.

"Who's Lasciel? Might help if we know who we're dealing with."

"She has many aliases. The Seducer, the Webweaver, and the Temptress. A rebel angel amongst rebel angels. She doesn't often work with the others. She doesn't follow Anduriel's lead. So I'm not sure why he thought to put her coin into your hands." He swallowed thickly. "Or my daughter's. Not when there were more pliant members of the Order he could choose."

"She's bad news?"

"Very. Intensely charming, more so than almost any of the other Fallen. Skilled in arcane magic. An illusionist of the highest caliber, again, standing out from a host of Fallen in that regard."

"So you're saying Molly could be seeing, hearing, feeling whatever Lasciel wants?"

"Precisely." He shook his head and muttered; "She enjoys Lasciel, more often than not..."

"Yeah, the road to hell is paved with sex, drugs, and rock and roll, Michael, or so all the sources tell me. And teenagers love a party. She's just a kid. We don't know what's going on in her head. What that thing has done to her. What it's making her feel."

"I do."

The words dropped into the quiet of the kitchen and it took me a few seconds to realize it wasn't Sanya that had spoken but...Thomas. I turned my body to face him, squinting suspiciously at his unreasonably striking profile. He wouldn't meet any of our eyes and he looked...guilty.

"Thomas?" It came out in the same low warning tone I used with Daniel. "What did you do?"

"Empty Night, Harry. I didn't know...Not until we met again in the kitchen. And even then..."

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Thomas blew out a breath. "I want a promise from the Knight not to skewer me first. I'm pretty sure that I'm about to make his day worse."

"Not possible," Michael grumbled. "But you are welcome to try."

"I was going over the books at Zero-"

"White Court Nightclub," I interjected for Michael's benefit.

"And I came across her nearly under the thrall of my cousin Madrigal. He wouldn't normally have gone for the doe. Not his type. He's sick, trends more toward fear than lust when feeding. But she's..." Thomas' eyes flashed entirely silver for a second as his Hunger showed through. He couldn't keep the thick edge of longing from his voice either. "God, she's the perfect storm. Young. Powerfully magical. Emotions unstable and close to the surface. And she was a virgin on top of it all. Enough to make any of us drop our preferences for a night. Just to get a taste."

I expected another explosion from Michael. Attempted homicide. Instead, he let out a shaking breath.

"She was...Nicodemus didn't...?"

I was still mad as hell Thomas had fallen off the wagon and with Molly of all people, but I was glad that Thomas could put Michael's mind at ease about the fact she had at least not been raped repeatedly by his enemies.

"Nothing. Pure as the driven snow. Well...some minor fooling around, so far as I can tell. But not sex. At least...until that night." Thomas dropped his gaze sheepishly. "I am sorry. If I'd known...I may have still. She was..."

He shook his head once more. "She's not well, that's for damn sure. I don't normally see psychic damage of that caliber in someone so young. Not outside of war zones, anyway. And it's not an inaccurate description. We shared a soulgaze. My Hunger touched her. I probably know her inner workings better than anyone but the Fallen itself. She's...incredibly angry. Grieving. Lonely. Desperate. Her insides are like an open, festering wound. She's seen and done a lot that's mangled her soul. And that's what the thing is using against her. The feeling she's gone too far. That there's no coming back from the lines she's crossed. That she's damned. When she approached Madrigal she knew he'd kill her. She wanted it. She'd have let him."

Breath hissed out of me. "Suicide by vampire?"

"She would have preferred it. She was too out of it to remember it the first time, but she actually screamed at me when it was through and she was still breathing. She wanted an easy out. Something that spared you all and ended her pain. It really is one of the more painless ways to go, too. She might not have known until it was too late. She reminded me some of Justine...beautiful, hurting, a little bit mad. I skimmed off the top. Enough to give her some control. I'm not claiming it was right. It may have made things worse, in the end. But it was the only thing I could think to do at the time. But whatever that thing makes her say to the contrary? She doesn't want to be doing what she's doing. She wants redemption. Even if she doesn't feel like she's worthy of it."

I seized Amoracchius from the corner where it had been propped out of the way. I hefted the heavy sword up and held it out to Michael.

"She needs you, Michael," I said quietly. "Now more than ever. Leave Nicodemus to Sanya and I. You find Molly. You bring her back home."

Michael's expression cleared. He drew himself up to his full and considerable height. His fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of Amoracchius and he lifted it from my grasp. He closed his eyes. He muttered a prayer. I wasn't sure what was said and that was fine. It was between him and his God. When his eyes snapped open, they were filled with steely resolve.

"We're on a mission from God?" I checked.

"Yes."

"Excellent. I'll be Aykroyd and you can be Belushi."

"What?"

"Ah...never mind. Let's go."