“Sorry.”

“I’ll live. What can I do to help?”

“Get back in your car and give me a ride to my place.”

Thomas gave me a level look. Then he muttered something under his breath, pulled his keys out of his pocket, and stalked back out into the snow.

“You’re horrible,” Molly said, grinning.

“What?” I said. “I’m expressing my brotherly affection.”

I shrugged into my coat and picked up my staff. “Remember the plan?”

“Man the phone,” Molly said, ticking off each point on her fingers. “Keep my eyes open. Make sure Mouse stays in the same room as me. Check on Kincaid every fifteen minutes.”

At one time she would have been sullen about the prospect of being forced to sit at home when something exciting was under way—but she had grown up enough to realize just how dangerous things could be out there, and to respect her own limitations. Molly was extraordinarily sensitive when it came to the various energies of magic. It was one of the things that made her so good at psycho-mancy and neuromancy. It also meant that when violent personal or supernatural events started happening, she experienced them in such agonizing clarity that it would often incapacitate her altogether, at least for a few minutes. Combat magic was never going to be her strong suit, and in a real conflict she could prove to be a lethal liability to her own allies.

But at least the kid knew it. She might not like it very much, but she’d applied herself diligently to finding other ways to help fight the good fight. I was proud of her.

“And don’t forget your homework,” I said.

She frowned. “I still don’t understand why you want to know about our family tree.”

“Humor me, grasshopper. I’ll buy you a snow cone.”

She glanced out the window at the world of white outside. “Goody.” She looked back at me and gave me a small, worried smile. “Be careful.”

“Hey, there were almost twenty of these losers at the Shedd. Now we’re down to six.”

“The six smartest, strongest, and oldest,” Molly said. “The ones who really matter.”

“Thank you for your optimism,” I said, and turned to go. “Lock up behind me.”

Molly bit her lip. “Harry?”

I paused.

Her voice was very small. “Look out for my dad. Okay?”

I turned and met her eyes. I drew an X over my heart and nodded.

She blinked her eyes quickly several times and gave me another smile. “All right.”

“Lock the door,” I told her again, and trudged out into the snow. The lock clicked shut behind me, and Molly watched me slog through the snow to the street. Thomas’s military moving van came rumbling through the snow, tires crunching, and I got in.

He turned the heater up a little while I stomped snow off of my shoes.

“So,” he said, starting down the street. “What’s the plan?”

I told him.

“That is a bad plan,” he said.