Chapter Twenty-seven

I grabbed my staff, blasting rod, and Shiro's cane, and made a note to get myself a freaking golf bag. We took the cab to McAnnally's. The Blue Beetle was still in the nearby lot, and it hadn't been stolen, vaporized, or otherwise mishandled.

"What happened to your back window?" Susan asked.

"One of Marcone's goons winged a few shots at me outside the Larry Fowler studio."

Susan's mouth twitched. "You went on Larry Fowler again?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh-huh. And what about the hood?"

"Little holes are from Marcone's thug. Big dent was a chlorofiend," I said.

"A what?"

"Plant monster."

"Oh. Why don't you just say 'plant monster'?"

"I have my pride."

"Your poor car."

I got out my keys, but Susan put her hand on mine, and walked a circle around the car. She crouched down and looked beneath it a couple of times, then said, "Okay."

I got in. "Thank you, double oh seven, but no one bombs a Volkswagen. They're too cute."

Susan got in the passenger door and said, "Cute confetti if you aren't careful, Harry."

I grunted, revved up the car, and puttered to Michael's place.

The morning was cold and clear. Winter hadn't yet given up its grip on the Great Lakes, and where Lake Michigan went, Chicago went too. Susan got out and looked around the front lawn, frowning from behind black sunglasses. "How does he manage to make this place so nice, run his own business, and fight demons on the side?"

"He probably watches a lot of those home-and-garden shows," I said.

She frowned. "The grass is green. It's February and his grass is green. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"Sod works in mysterious ways."

She made a disgusted sound, and then followed me up the walk to the door.

I knocked. A moment later Father Forthill said, "Who's there?"

"Donny and Marie," I responded. "Salt-N-Pepa asked us to fill in for them."

He opened the door, smiling from behind his gold-rimmed glasses. He was the same short, stocky, balding old Forthill, but he looked strained and tired. The lines of his face had grown deeper than I remembered. "Hello, Harry."

"Father," I said. "You know Susan?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "By reputation," he said. "Come in, come in."

We did, and as I came in, Forthill set a Louisville Slugger baseball bat down in the corner. I raised my eyebrows, traded a look with Susan, and then put my staff and Shiro's cane beside the bat. We followed Forthill into the kitchen.

"Where's Charity?" I asked.

"Taking the children to her mother's house," Forthill said. "She should be back soon."

I let out a breath of relief. "Anna Valmont?"

"Guest room. Sleeping."

"I need to call Martin," Susan said. "Excuse me." She stepped aside into the small study.

"Coffee, doughnut?" Father Forthill asked.

I sat down at the table. "Father, you've never been closer to converting me."