I was quiet for a minute. Then I asked, “How’d you pull out of it?”
“Took time,” she said gently. “And I got the person I lost back. I was able to forgive myself.”
“Never been very good at that,” I said.
“Then learn,” she said.
“How?”
She smiled faintly. “Talking to the wrong person in my family. Dad’s the expert on forgiveness.”
The car pulled up in front of Raith Manor. Bear promptly got out and walked around to the passenger door.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Do,” she said. “We need you back, Harry. And I need to know. Are you going to throw yourself to the lions tonight?”
“Well,” I said lightly, “itisthe third date.”
Her lips formed a hard line and she spoke as if the words were being dragged out of her. “Mab instructed me that I was to order you to do so,” she said. “Consider yourself so ordered.”
I scowled at the manor. “You’d think she’d know how I react to being ordered around by now.”
Bear, in her usual biker leathers, opened the door. I got out, my staff and the thick grey robes and cloak making it awkward, and offered Molly my hand, assisting her out as well. My beard slipped, and I hooked it back around my ears a bit more firmly.
“I still think you should have been Gandalf the White,” she murmured.
“The original iteration is always better,” I said firmly. “Coke.Star Wars. Red Dawn. Robocop.Every single Disney animated film.”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” she countered.
“Hmph,” I said, frowning.
And we turned to walk into the lions’ den, the White Court Halloween party.
—
Raith Manor looks like the summer home of one of those nobles the Crown is always worried about but still has to smile at. It’s a sprawling place of brick and marble, about an hour north of town, surrounded by its own aged forest. It has multiple driveways, and you wouldn’t have to run too many laps of the place to get a good workout. I’d been inside several times, and with the exception of the entry hall, I’d never been in the same room twice.
Red festive lights painted the whole place, giving it a volcanic glow. I’d have had no idea where to go, but the line of limousines stretched out behind our car as Bear pulled away to park, and a steady stream of guests was flowing into the gaping grand double doors of the manor like sacrifices to some dark Vesuvian god.
Laughter and chatter drifted through the air as we entered, and an automated moving spotlight tracked across my face, and suddenly I was standing before a furious, wounded Titan again, the Eye of Balor gathering energy and power and madness into a concentrated burst that would strip the flesh from my bones before blasting them to ash.
I stopped in place, closing my eyes and bowing my head. I leaned on my staff. I smelled the faint scent of woodsmoke and fought to catch my breath.
I felt Molly’s cool hand settle on my right wrist.
“Harry,” she said gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
I opened one eye a crack. The runes in my staff were glowing with a sullen green-gold light, and I realized that I had drawn power into it, ready to unleash havoc. I straightened, forced my shoulders back, and took a slow, deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I did that maybe half a dozen times and slowly relaxed my grip on the staff, while simultaneously releasing the gathered power out into the night air.
“There,” she said gently. “There.”
“Thanks,” I rasped quietly.
“We can stay right here,” she said. “I honestly don’t care at all if we’re late.”
“A wizard is never late,” I muttered. “He arrives as soon as he’s dealt with his PTSD.”
