I swallowed and tried not to think of a pretty, dark-haired woman bleeding to death while the hold of her boat slowly filled with water. She'd made enough bad choices to get herself into trouble. But I hadn't been able to protect her from the creature that had taken her life.
"If he's in trouble we're going to help him," Billy said.
"Yes," Georgia replied. "But think about this, Billy. Getting involved might not be the best way to do it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that he didn't want us to take him to the apartment," Georgia said. "Do you know why?"
"No, I don't. Neither do you."
She made a disgusted sound. "Billy, he's afraid the apartment is being watched."
"By who?"
"By what" Georgia said. "We haven't seen or heard or scented anything. If there's magic at work here, it could be more than we know how to handle."
"So what are you saying?" Billy said. "That we should just abandon him if he's in trouble?"
"No." She sighed. "But, Billy, you saw what he was capable of doing. We saw him mow through an army at the faerie battleground. And you tell me tonight that he flipped a car onto one of these other wizards, and that the man blew it off. I don't think we're weak, but running off ghouls and trolls and the occasional vampire is one thing. Mixing it up with wizards is something else. You've seen what kind of power they have."
"I'm not afraid," Billy said.
"Then you're stupid," Georgia replied, her voice blunt but not cruel. "Harry isn't what he used to be. He's been hurt. And I don't care what he says, his injured hand bothers him more than he lets on. He doesn't need any more handicaps."
"You want to just leave him alone?" Billy asked.
"I don't want to weigh him down. You know him. He'll protect other people before he takes care of himself. If he's operating so far out of our league, we might not be anything but a distraction to him. We have to understand our limits."
There was a long silence.
"I don't care," Billy said then. "I'm not just going to stand by if he's in trouble."
"All I want," Georgia said, "is for you to listen to him. If he doesn't want our support, or if he thinks it is too dangerous for us to be involved, we have to trust that he knows what he's doing. He knows things that we don't. He's trusted us before, and he's never led us wrong. Just promise me that you'll return the compliment."
"I can't just... turn away," Billy said.
"I wouldn't want you to," Georgia said. "But... sometimes you think with your fangs and not with your head, Will." There was the soft sound of a kiss. "I love you. We'll help him however we can. I just wanted you to consider the idea that he might not need us for violence."
Billy took a couple of heavy steps. One of the kitchen chairs creaked. "I don't know what else we can do."
"Well," Georgia said. She opened the fridge. "What about these masked wizard types. Did you get close enough to scent them?"
"I tried," Billy said. "And I was closest to them. But..."
"But?"
"I couldn't get a scent. Harry did something. He flipped the car over. There was a flash of red light and after that all I could smell was..."
I heard Georgia take a couple of steps, maybe to touch him. "What did you smell?"
"Sulfur," Billy said, his voice a little weak. "I smelled brimstone."
There was silence.
"What does it mean?" Georgia asked.
"That I'm worried about him," Billy said. "You should have seen the look on his face. The rage. I've never seen anyone look that angry."
"You think he's... what? Unstable?" Georgia asked.
"You're the psych grad," Billy said. "What do you think?"
I put my hand on the door. I hesitated for just a second and then pushed it open.
Billy and Georgia both sat in a rather roomy kitchen at a small table, with two bottles of beer set open but untouched on the table. They blinked and straightened, staring up at me in surprise.
"What do you think?" I asked Georgia quietly. "I'd like to know, too."
"Harry," Georgia said, "I'm just a grad student."
I went to the fridge and got myself a cold beer. It was an American brand, but I've got no palate in any case. I like my beer cold. I twisted the cap off, then walked over to the table and sat down with them. "I'm not looking for a therapist. You're a friend. Both of you are." I swigged beer. "Tell me what you think."
Georgia and Billy traded a look, and Billy nodded.
"Harry," Georgia said, "I think you need to talk to someone. I don't think it's important who it is. But you have a lot of pressures on you, and if you don't find some way to let them out, you're going to hurt yourself."
Billy said, "People talk to their friends, man. No one can do everything alone. You work through it together."
I sipped some more beer. Georgia and Billy did, too. We sat in silence for maybe four or five minutes.
Then I said, "About two years ago I exposed myself to a demonic influence. A creature called Lasciel. A fallen angel. The kind of being that turns people into... into real monsters."
Georgia watched me, her eyes focused intently on my face. "Why did you do that?"
"It was in a silver coin," I said. "Whoever touched it would have been exposed. There was a child who had no idea what it was. I didn't think. I just slapped my hand over it before the child could pick it up."
Georgia nodded. "What happened?"
"I took measures to contain it," I said. "I did everything I could think of, and for a while I thought I'd been successful." I sipped more beer. "Then last year, I realized that my magic was being augmented by a demonic energy called Hellfire. That's what you smelled tonight, Billy, when I flipped the car."
"Why do you use it?" Billy asked.
I shook my head. "It isn't my choice. It just happens."
Georgia frowned. "I'm not an expert on magic, Harry, but from what I've learned that kind of power doesn't come for free."
"No. It doesn't."
"Then what was the price?" she asked.
I drew in a deep breath. Then I started peeling the leather glove off my scarred hand. "I wondered that too," I said. I slid the glove off and turned my hand over.
The scarring was the worst on the insides of my fingers and over my palm. It looked more like melted wax than human flesh, all white with flares of blue where some of the veins still survived-all except for the exact center of my palm. There, three lines of pink, healthy flesh formed a sigil vaguely suggestive of an hourglass.