"Why?" she said, finally, her voice very quiet, pitched only for me. "Why would you do this to yourself, Harry? I don't understand."

"I didn't think you would," I said. "There are people who need me. People who are in danger because of me. I have to help them."

"You cannot help them if you are dead."

"Nor if I am taken by you."

"You would give your own life in place of theirs?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because no one else can do this. They need me. I owe it to them."

"Owe them your life," Lea mused. "You are mad, Harry Dresden. Perhaps it comes of your mother."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lea shrugged. "She spoke as you do. Near the end." She lifted her eyes to Michael and straightened on the horse. "A dangerous play you made tonight, wizard. A bold play. You cut the traditions of my people very close to the bone. I accept your bargain."

And then, with a casual flick, she removed the lariat from me. I stumbled back, away from her, gathered up my fallen staff and rod, and Bob in his net sack, and made my way to the bridge. Once there, Michael gave me the vial. I unstoppered it and drank. The liquid within tasted gritty, a little bitter. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, after swallowing it down.

"Harry," Michael said, watching Lea. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"If I get to the hospital soon," I said. "I've got somewhere between six and eighteen hours. Maybe a little longer. I drank all that pink stuff before we left to line my stomach. It might slow down the rate of digestion on the mushroom, give the extract a chance to beat it to my guts."

"I don't like this," Michael muttered.

"Hey. I'm the one who ate the deadly poison, man. I don't much care for it myself."

Thomas blinked at me. "You mean, you were telling her the truth?"

I glanced at him, nodding. "Yeah. Look, I figure we'll be in there and out again in an hour, tops. Or else we'll be dead. Either way, it will happen in plenty of time before the first round of symptoms sets in."

Thomas just stared at me for a moment. "I thought you were lying," he said. "Bluffing."

"I don't bluff if I can help it. I'm not too good at it."

"So you really could die. Your godmother is right, you know. You are mad as a hatter. Nutty as a fruitcake."

"Crazy like a fox," I said. "All right. Bob, wake up." I shook the skull, and its empty eye sockets kindled with orange-red lights, somehow too far back inside them.

"Harry?" Bob said, surprised. "You're alive."

"For a while," I said. I explained to him how we'd gotten me away from my godmother.

"Wow," Bob said. "You're dying. What a great plan."