Changes - By Jim Butcher Page 0,72

and real and . . . and so very, very here. My heart lurched into double time, and I started to feel a little dizzy.

Mouse’s growl rolled through the room, sudden and deep in his chest.

“Rodriguez,” Martin barked, his voice tense.

Susan’s lips lifted from mine, and when she opened her eyes, they were solid black, all the way across—just like a Red vampire’s. My lips and tongue still tingled at the touch of her mouth, a very faint echo of the insidious venom of one of the Reds. Bright red tattoos showed on her face, her neck, and winding down one arm. She stared at me for a moment, dazed, then blinked slowly and looked over her shoulder at Martin.

“You’re close,” he said, in a very quiet, very soothing voice. “You need to back down. You need to take some time to breathe.”

Something like rage filled Susan’s face for an instant. Then she shuddered, glancing from Martin to me and back, and then began disentangling herself from me.

“Sun’s out, and it’s warm,” Martin said, taking her elbow gently. “Come on. We’ll get some sun and walk and sort things out.”

“Sun,” Susan said, her voice still low and husky with arousal. “Right, some sun.”

Martin shot me a look that he probably hoped would kill me, and then he and Susan left the apartment and walked up into the morning’s light.

Molly waited until they were well away from the front door and said, “Well. That was stupid of you both.”

I looked over my shoulder at her and frowned.

“Call it like I see it,” my apprentice said quietly. “You know she has trouble controlling her emotions, her instincts. She shouldn’t have been all over you. And you shouldn’t have kissed her back.” Her mouth tightened. “Someone could have gotten hurt.”

I rubbed at my still-tingling lips for a moment and suppressed a flash of anger. “Molly . . .”

“I get it,” she said. “I do. Look. You care about her, okay. Maybe even loved her. Maybe she loved you. But it can’t be like that anymore.” She spread her hands and said, “As messed up as that is, it’s still the reality you have to live with. You can’t ignore it. You get close to her, and there’s no way for it to come out good, boss.”

I stared hard at her, all the rage inside me coming out in my voice, despite the fact that I tried to hold it in. “Be careful, Molly.”

Molly blanched and looked away. But she folded her arms and stood her ground. “I’m saying this because I care, Harry.”

“You care about Susan?” I asked. “You don’t even know her.”

“Not Susan,” she said. “You.”

I took a step toward her. “You don’t know a goddamned thing about me and Susan, Molly.”

“I know that you already blame yourself for what happened to her,” she said, spitting out the words. “Think about what it’ll be like for her if she gets lost in a kiss with you and realizes, later, that she ripped your throat open and drank your blood and turned herself into a monster. Is that how you want your story, Susan and Harry, to end?”

The words made me want to start screaming. I don’t know what kept me from lashing out at the girl.

Other than the fact that she would never believe me capable of such a thing.

And she was right. That might have something to do with it.

So I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and fought down the rage again. I was getting tired of that.

When I spoke, a moment later, my voice sounded raw. “Study with a wizard has made you manipulative.”

She sniffed a couple of times, and I opened my eyes to see her crying silently. “N-no,” she said. “That was my mom.”

I made a sound of acknowledgment and nodded.

She looked at me, and made no move to wipe the tears from her face. “You look awful.”

“I found out some things,” I said.

She bit her lip. “It’s bad. Isn’t it.”

I nodded. I said, “Real bad. We’re . . .” I shook my head. “Without the Council’s support, I don’t see how it can be done.”

“There’s a way,” she said. “There’s always a way.”

“That’s . . . sort of the problem,” I said. I looked at the hopelessly organized bookshelf nearest me. “I . . . think I’d like to be by myself for a while,” I said.

Molly looked at me, her posture that of someone being careful, as if they’re concerned that any move

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