Murphy leaned a little closer to Molly. “You could tell. Couldn’t you?”

Molly shot her a wide-eyed glance and looked down again. She muttered something before she said, “Yes. But… not with so many people in the room.”

“Why not?”

Molly’s voice turned into a bitter snarl. “Do you want my help or not?”

Murphy folded her arms for a long moment. Then she said, “Time for another stroll in the evening air, people. Mr. Lindquist, please stay. Everyone else, out.”

Mort was trying very hard not to look like a man who wanted to run for the door, and getting mixed results. “I… Of course, Ms. Murphy.”

Murphy had to urge the werewolves to leave and help Marci get untangled from her dress. Forthill and Abby looked at each other and left the room without a murmur. Molly sat completely still during this, staring down at her folded hands.

“You don’t have clue one, do you?” she asked Murphy quietly. “You don’t have any idea what you’re asking me to go through.”

“If I could do it myself, I would.”

Molly looked up sharply at that. Her smile was unpleasant. Bordering on creepy.

“Easy words,” she said. “Easy words. They leave little trails of slime on your lips when they pass them. But it doesn’t make them go down any more smoothly.”

“Molly…” Murphy sighed and sat down and spread her hands. “You won’t let us help you. You won’t talk to us. But this is something I literally cannot ask of anyone else.”

“You always asked him,” Molly said, her tone spiteful.

“There’s a boiler about to burst,” Sir Stuart murmured to me.

“Shut your mouth,” I said quietly, coming automatically to her defense. But he was right. The kid was teetering on a cliff as I sat there looking at her.

I stared at Molly and felt absolutely wretched. She was my apprentice. I was supposed to have taught her to survive without me. Granted, I hadn’t planned on taking a bullet in the chest, but then, who does? Or was her condition simply symptomatic of the world she lived in?

Murphy regarded the younger woman for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes. I know enough to know when I’m out of my depth. My instincts say Mort isn’t trying to con me, but we’ve got to have more than just my intuition. I need your help. Please.”

Molly shook her head very slowly, shivering. She wiped at her face with her grimy gloves, and clean streaks appeared on her cheeks. “Fine.” She lifted her head, looked at Mort, and said calmly, “If you’re running a con, I will peel the skin off your brain.”

The ectomancer spread his hands. “Look. Dresden’s shade came to me. If it isn’t him, that ain’t my fault. I’m operating in good faith, here.”

“You’re a roach,” Molly said pleasantly. “Runs and hides from any threat, but you survive, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mort said frankly.

“Maybe I should have been a roach, too,” Molly said. “It would be easier.” She took a slow, deep breath and said, “Where is he?”