"Have you read Revelations?"

"Not in a while," I admitted. "But I just can't buy that you really think you're touching off the Apocalypse."

Nicodemus shook his head. "Dresden, Dresden. The Apocalypse, as you refer to it, isn't an event. At least, it isn't any specific event. One day, I'm sure, there will be an apocalypse that really does bring on the end, but I doubt it will be this event that begins it."

"Then why do this?"

Nicodemus studied me for a moment before smiling. "Apocalypse is a frame of mind," he said then. "A belief. A surrender to inevitability. It is despair for the future. It is the death of hope."

Michael said quietly, "And in that kind of environment, there is more suffering. More pain. More desperation. More power to the underworld and their servants."

"Exactly," Nicodemus said. "We have a terrorist group prepared to take credit for this plague. It will likely stir up reprisals, protests, hostilities. All sorts of things."

"One step closer," said Michael. "That's how he sees it. Progress."

"I like to think of it as simple entropy," Nicodemus said. "The real question, to my mind, is why do you stand against me? It is the way of the universe, Knight. Things fall apart. Your resistance to it is pointless."

In answer, Michael drew his sword.

"Ah," said Nicodemus. "Eloquence."

"Stay back," Michael said to me. "Don't distract me."

"Michael-"

"I mean it." He stepped forward to meet Nicodemus.

Nicodemus took his time, sauntering up to meet Michael. He crossed swords with him lightly, then lifted his blade in a salute. Michael did the same.

Nicodemus attacked, and Amoracchius flared into brilliant light. The two men met each other and traded a quick exchange of cuts and thrusts. They parted, and then clashed together again, steps carrying each past the other. Both of them emerged from it unscathed.

"Shooting him hardly seems to inconvenience him," Marcone said quietly to me. "I take it that the Knight's sword can harm him?"

"Michael doesn't think so," I said.

Marcone blinked and looked at me. "Then why is he fighting him?"

"Because it needs to be done," I said.

"Do you know what I think?" Marcone said.

"You think we should shoot Nicodemus in the back at the first opportunity and let Michael dismember him."

"Yes."

I drew my gun. "Okay."

Just then Demon-girl Deirdre's glowing eyes appeared several cars ahead of us and came forward at a sprint. I caught a glimpse of her before she jumped onto our car-still all supple scales and hairstyle by the Tasmanian Devil. But in addition she had a sword gripped in one hand.

"Michael!" I shouted. "Behind you!"

Michael turned and dodged to one side, avoiding Deirdre's first attack. Her hair followed him, lashing at him, tangling around the hilt of his sword.

I acted without thinking. I stripped Shiro's cane from my back, shouted, "Michael!" and threw the cane at him.