there. Think of… uh, pentangles or something, right? I'll get some water."
He reappeared a minute later with a glass of water and a couple of blue pills. "Here, take them and give them about ten minutes. You won't feel a thing."
He had to help me, but he was right. Ten minutes later I lay on my bed thinking that I should texture my ceiling with something. Something fuzzy and soft.
I got up, dressed in my dark fatigue pants, and shambled out into my living room, slash kitchen, slash study, slash den. Thomas was in the kitchen, humming something to himself. He hummed on-key. I guess we hadn't gotten the same genes for music.
I sat down on my couch and watched him bustle around—as much as you can bustle when you need to take only two steps to get clear from one side of the kitchen to the other. He was cooking eggs and bacon on my wood-burning stove. He knew jack about cooking over an actual fire, so the bacon was scorched and the eggs were runny, but it looked like he was amusing himself doing it, and he dumped burned bits, underdone bits, or bits he simply elected to discard on the floor at the foot of the stove. The puppy and the cat were both there, with Mister eating anything he chose to and the puppy dutifully cleaning up whatever Mister judged unworthy of his advanced palate.
"Heya, man," he said. "You aren't gonna feel hungry, but you should try to eat something, okay? Good for you and all that."
"Okay," I said agreeably.
He slapped the eggs and bacon more or less randomly onto a couple of plates, brought me one, and kept one for himself. We ate. It was awful, but my hand didn't hurt. You take what you can get in this life.
"Harry," Thomas said after a moment.
I looked up at him.
He said, "You came to get me."
"Yeah," I said.
"You saved my life."
I mused on it. "Yeah," I agreed a moment later. I kept eating.
"Thank you."
I shook my head. "Nothing."
"No, it isn't," he said. "You risked yourself. You risked your friend Murphy, too."
"Yeah," I said again. "Well. We're family, right?"
"Too right we are," he said, a lopsided smile on his mouth. "Which is why I want to ask you a favor."
"You want me to go back with you," I said. "Feel things out with Lara. Visit Justine. See which way the future lies."
He blinked at me. "How did you know?"
"I'd do it too."
He nodded quietly. Then said, "You'll go?"
"As long as we do it before Tuesday."
Murphy came by on Monday, to report that the investigation had determined that Emma's shooting was a tragic accident. Since no prints had been found, and the eyewitness (and owner of the weapon) had vanished, I wasn't in any danger of catching a murder rap. It still looked as fishy as a tuna boat, and it wouldn't win me any new friends among the authorities, but at least I wouldn't be going to the pokey this time around.
It was hard for me to concentrate on Murphy's words. Raith had partially dislocated her lower jaw, and the bruises looked like hell. Despite the happy blue pain pills, when I saw Murphy I actually heard myself growling in rage at her injury. Murphy didn't talk much more than business, but her look dared me to make some kind of chivalrous commentary. I didn't, and she didn't break my nose, by way of fair exchange.
She took me to an expensive specialist her family doctor referred her to, who examined my hand, took a bunch of pictures, and wound up shaking his head. "I can't believe it hasn't started to mortify," he said. "Mister Dresden, it looks like you may get to keep your hand. There's even a small portion on your palm that didn't burn at all, which I have no explanation for whatsoever. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"That's working just fine, Doc," I mumbled. "Not that it's had much use lately."
He gave me a brief smile. "More personal, I'm afraid. How good is your insurance?"
"Um," I said. "Not so hot."
"Then I'd like to give you a bit of advice, off the record. Your injury is almost miraculously fortunate, in terms of how unlikely it was that the limb would survive. But given the extent of the burns and the nerve damage, you might seriously consider amputation and the use of a prosthesis."
"What?" I said. "Why?"
The doctor shook his head. "We