idiocy again.”
“But I—”
She thrusted her swollen stomach at me like the ram on a Greek warship. “Every time you come nosing around, you get Michael into some sort of trouble. And now into jail! What will the children think?”
“Look, Charity, it was really imp—”
“ Missus Carpenter,” she snarled. “It’s always really important, Mr. Dresden. Well, my husband has engaged in many important activities without what I dubiously term your ‘help.’ But it’s only when you’re around that he seems to come back to me covered in blood.”
“Hey,” I protested. “I got hurt too!”
“Good,” she said. “Maybe it will make you more cautious in the future.”
I scowled down at the woman. “I’ll have you know—”
She grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged my face down to hers. She was surprisingly strong, and she could glare right at me without looking me square in the eyes. “I’ll have you know,” she said, voice steely, “that if you ever get my Michael into trouble so deep that he can’t come home to his family I will make you sorry for it.” Tears that had nothing to do with weakness made her eyes bright for a moment, and she shook with emotion. I have to admit, at that particular moment, her threat scared me, waddling pregnancy and all.
She finally released me and turned back to her husband, gently touching a dark scab on his face. Michael put his arms around her, and with a little cry she hugged him back, burying her face against his chest and weeping without making any sound. Michael held her very carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking her, and stroked her hair.
I stood there for a second like a floundering goob. Michael looked up at me and met my gaze for a moment. He then turned, keeping his wife under one arm, and started walking away.
I watched the two of them for a moment, walking in step beside one another, while I stood there alone. Then I stuck my hands into my pockets, and turned away. I hadn’t ever noticed, before, how well the two of them matched one another—Michael with his quiet strength and unfailing reliability, and Charity with her blazing passion and unshakable loyalty to her husband.
The married thing. Sometimes I look at it and feel like someone from a Dickens novel, standing outside in the cold and staring in at Christmas dinner. Relationships hadn’t ever really worked for me. I think it’s had something to do with all the demons, ghosts, and human sacrifice.
As I stood there, brooding, I sensed her presence before I smelled her perfume, a warmth and energy about her that I’d grown to know over the time we’d been together. Susan paused at the door of the waiting room, looking back over her shoulder. I studied her. I never got tired of that. Susan had dark skin, tanned even darker from our previous weekend at the beach, and raven-black hair cut off neatly at her shoulders. She was slender, but curved enough to draw an admiring look from the officer behind the counter as she stood there in a flirty little skirt and half-top which left her midriff bare. My phone call caught her just as she’d been leaving for our rendezvous.
She turned to me and smiled, her chocolate-colored eyes worried but warm. She tilted her head back toward the hallway behind her, where Michael and Charity had gone. “They’re a beautiful couple, aren’t they?”
I tried to smile back, but didn’t do so well. “They got off to a good start.”
Susan’s eyes studied my face, the cuts there, and the worry in her eyes deepened. “Oh? How’s that?”
“He rescued her from a fire-breathing dragon.” I walked toward her.
“Sounds nice,” she said, and met me halfway, giving me a long and gentle hug that made my bruised ribs ache. “You okay?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“More ghostbusting with Michael. What’s his story?”
“Off the record. Publicity could hurt him. He’s got kids.”
Susan frowned, but nodded. “All right,” she said, and added a
“But I—”
She thrusted her swollen stomach at me like the ram on a Greek warship. “Every time you come nosing around, you get Michael into some sort of trouble. And now into jail! What will the children think?”
“Look, Charity, it was really imp—”
“ Missus Carpenter,” she snarled. “It’s always really important, Mr. Dresden. Well, my husband has engaged in many important activities without what I dubiously term your ‘help.’ But it’s only when you’re around that he seems to come back to me covered in blood.”
“Hey,” I protested. “I got hurt too!”
“Good,” she said. “Maybe it will make you more cautious in the future.”
I scowled down at the woman. “I’ll have you know—”
She grabbed the front of my shirt and dragged my face down to hers. She was surprisingly strong, and she could glare right at me without looking me square in the eyes. “I’ll have you know,” she said, voice steely, “that if you ever get my Michael into trouble so deep that he can’t come home to his family I will make you sorry for it.” Tears that had nothing to do with weakness made her eyes bright for a moment, and she shook with emotion. I have to admit, at that particular moment, her threat scared me, waddling pregnancy and all.
She finally released me and turned back to her husband, gently touching a dark scab on his face. Michael put his arms around her, and with a little cry she hugged him back, burying her face against his chest and weeping without making any sound. Michael held her very carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking her, and stroked her hair.
I stood there for a second like a floundering goob. Michael looked up at me and met my gaze for a moment. He then turned, keeping his wife under one arm, and started walking away.
I watched the two of them for a moment, walking in step beside one another, while I stood there alone. Then I stuck my hands into my pockets, and turned away. I hadn’t ever noticed, before, how well the two of them matched one another—Michael with his quiet strength and unfailing reliability, and Charity with her blazing passion and unshakable loyalty to her husband.
The married thing. Sometimes I look at it and feel like someone from a Dickens novel, standing outside in the cold and staring in at Christmas dinner. Relationships hadn’t ever really worked for me. I think it’s had something to do with all the demons, ghosts, and human sacrifice.
As I stood there, brooding, I sensed her presence before I smelled her perfume, a warmth and energy about her that I’d grown to know over the time we’d been together. Susan paused at the door of the waiting room, looking back over her shoulder. I studied her. I never got tired of that. Susan had dark skin, tanned even darker from our previous weekend at the beach, and raven-black hair cut off neatly at her shoulders. She was slender, but curved enough to draw an admiring look from the officer behind the counter as she stood there in a flirty little skirt and half-top which left her midriff bare. My phone call caught her just as she’d been leaving for our rendezvous.
She turned to me and smiled, her chocolate-colored eyes worried but warm. She tilted her head back toward the hallway behind her, where Michael and Charity had gone. “They’re a beautiful couple, aren’t they?”
I tried to smile back, but didn’t do so well. “They got off to a good start.”
Susan’s eyes studied my face, the cuts there, and the worry in her eyes deepened. “Oh? How’s that?”
“He rescued her from a fire-breathing dragon.” I walked toward her.
“Sounds nice,” she said, and met me halfway, giving me a long and gentle hug that made my bruised ribs ache. “You okay?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“More ghostbusting with Michael. What’s his story?”
“Off the record. Publicity could hurt him. He’s got kids.”
Susan frowned, but nodded. “All right,” she said, and added a
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