Butters appeared in the kitchen doorway, ghostly somehow in his pale blue scrubs. His hair was a mess, all muddy and mussed. His glasses were gone, and he had his eyes squinted up as he looked at us. He had a cut on his lower lip that had closed into a black scab, and he had one hell of a shiner forming over his left cheekbone, presumably where Grevane had struck him.

"Let me wash up," Butters said. "Then I'll see to it. You'll want to make sure that stays clean, Harry."

"Go sit down," Thomas said. "Butters, are you hungry?"

"Yes," Butters said. "Is there a bathroom?"

"Hall, first one on the left," I said. "I think Murphy keeps a first-aid kit under the sink."

Butters moved silently over to one of the candles, took it, and left just as quietly.

"Well," I said. "At least he's clear now."

"Maybe so," Thomas said. He was moving things from the fridge to the kitchen counter. "They know he doesn't know anything. But you risked your life to protect his. That might start them to thinking."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You were willing to die to protect him. You think Grevane understands enough about friendship to comprehend why you did it?"

I grimaced. "Probably not."

"So they might start wondering what made him so valuable to you. Wondering what you know that they don't." He rummaged in a cupboard and found some bread, some crackers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything. But it might. He should be careful."

I nodded agreement. "You can keep an eye on him."

Thomas glanced at me. "You think you're going out now?"

"Soon as I eat something," I said.

"Don't be stupid," Thomas said. "Your leg is hurt. You can barely walk straight. Eat. Get some sleep."

"There's no time," I said.

He glared at me for a second, then pressed his mouth into a line and said, "Let's talk about it after we eat something. Everyone's angry when they're hungry. Makes for bad decisions."

"Probably smart," I said.

"Take the coat off. Go sit down. Let Butters look at your leg."

"It just needs a new bandage," I said. "I can do that myself."

"You're missing my point, dummy," Thomas said. "A friend would let Butters deal with a problem that he's capable of handling. He's had plenty of the other kind tonight."

I glared at Thomas, shrugged out of the duster, and limped for the living room. "It's easier to deal with you when you're a simple, selfish asshole."

"I forget how limited you are, brain-wise," Thomas said. "I'll be more careful."