“Ah,” I said quietly.

“Maggie doesn’t need to feel that pain again. Don’t let her down.”

I chewed on my lip and nodded with my watery eyes closed. “Right.”

“And . . . please remember that Michael has children who need him, too. Please.”

“I’ll bring him back or die trying,” I repeated.

Charity exhaled a shaky breath, and then touched my shoulder gently. “Thank you. God be with you and bring you home safe, Harry. Both of you.”

Thirty-three

At three thirty a.m., we rolled up to the evil lair in a soccer mom’s minivan with a MY KID IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT . . . bumper sticker on the back. It is worth noting that by the standards of my life, this was not a terribly incongruous entrance.

Michael regarded the slaughterhouse for a moment after he had killed the ignition and said, “This is a bad place.”

“Yeah,” I said. I rubbed at the small of my back. I’d gotten a few hours’ worth of sleep before we’d left, on the futon mattress on the floor beneath Maggie’s bed. Mouse had been happy to snuggle up to me. The lummox likes to pretend he’s still a tiny puppy that will fit on my lap if he tries hard enough, and I’d been too tired to argue with him. As a result, I’d had to practice defensive sleeping, and it had left my back a little twitchy.

On the upside, even the modest amount of sleep I’d gotten had done wonders to restore me, or at least the power of the Winter mantle. I felt practically normal, broken arm, gunshot wound, and all.

Michael was dressed in his old mail, which he had kept clean and scoured free of rust despite his retirement. He wore body armor beneath it. He’d put his big white cloak with its bright red cross on the left breast over it.

“You sure you couldn’t just put something black on?” I asked him. “You’re going to clash with all the bad-guy robbery wear.”

“That’s the idea,” Michael said.

“You don’t get it, man,” I said. “This building we’re going to hit belongs to John Marcone. We’re supposed to go in without taking down their electronic systems. That means there will be cameras and pictures. The blindest security tech in the world could identify you—and your guardian angels won’t protect you from Marcone’s people.”

Michael shook his head. “It won’t come to that.”

“You say that,” I said, “but you don’t know what Marcone is like.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I do know what the Almighty is like, Harry. And He wouldn’t give me the strength to do this only to have it result in harm to my family.”

I grimaced. “Seems to me it would be polite of you to take a couple of prudent steps—like wearingdark clothes and a mask—so that the Almighty wouldn’t need to go out of His way to arrange things for you.”

He barked out a quick laugh and gave me a rueful smile. “So you have been listening to me, all this time.” He shook his head. “Nicodemus and his ilk operate in the shadows, in secret. The Swords aren’t meant for that. I have nothing to hide.”

“Hey,” I said, letting my voice be annoyed, “as shadowy ilk myself, I think I resent that statement.”

Michael snorted. “You destroy buildings, fight monsters openly in the streets of the city, work with the police, show up in newspapers, advertise in the phone book, and ride zombie dinosaurs down Michigan Avenue, and think that you work in the shadows? Be reasonable.”

“I will if you will,” I said. “At least wear a ski mask.”

“No,” Michael said calmly. “The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me. Trust Him, Harry.”

“Probably not in the cards,” I said.

His smile widened. “Then trust me.”

I threw up my hands. “Fine. Whatever. Are you sure your people can find someplace safe to keep the Grail if we get it back? Because apparently they go out and use the Coins to get snacks out of the vending machine, the things go back into circulation so fast.”

“Part of the nature of the Coins is to be in circulation, as you put it,” Michael said. “They can only be contained for so long. The Grail is a different proposition entirely. They’ll keep it safe.”

“And you know the rules I have to play by, right?” I asked.

“You have to help Nicodemus recover the Grail,” he said. “After that, you can go weapons free.”

“Right. And you’ll respect that?”

“I will do what is right,” Michael said.

I licked my lips. “Yeah, but . . . could you maybe put off doing what is right until we get clear of Mab’s restrictions?”

“All things considered,” Michael said, “no. I’m not taking chances.”

Translation: He wasn’t going to do anything—or not do anything—that might screw up Uriel’s grace, no matter what.

Thank you, Mab, for this wonderful, wonderful game. Maybe next time we can play pin the tail on the wizard.

“I’m pretty sure Nicodemus is going to play it straight, at least until right before we get back to Chicago,” I said.

“Why would he?”

“Because I’m going to say please.”

Michael arched an eyebrow at me.

“I’m going to say it in his native tongue,” I said.

“Power?”

“Bingo.”