She lifted her eyebrows expectantly.
"What?" I stammered.
"It's only practical," Molly stated firmly. "And hey, you've already got the handcuffs. If she can't move while the two of you are bleeping, she can't drink your blood, right?"
I stood up and started climbing down the ladder. "This conversation has become way too bleeping disturbing."
Molly laughed at me and followed me back to the ground. She unlocked the back door with another key, presumably from the same ring, and that was when Charity's light blue minivan turned into the driveway. Molly opened the door, darted into the house, and returned without her backpack. The minivan ground to a halt and the engine died.
Charity got out of the van, frowning at me and at Molly in more or less equal proportions. She wore jeans, hiking boots, and a heavy jacket. She was a tall woman, only an inch or so under six feet, and carried herself with an assurance that conveyed a sense of ready strength. Her face had the remote beauty of a marble statue, and her long blond hair was knotted behind her head.
Without being told, Molly went to the rolling side panel door, opened it, and reached inside, unloading children from safety seats, while Charity went to the rear of the van and opened the rear doors. "Mister Dresden," she said. "Lend a hand."
I frowned. "Uh. I'm sort of in a hurry. I was hoping to find Michael here."
Charity took a twenty-four-pack of Coke from the van in one arm and a couple of bulging paper grocery sacks in the other. She marched over to me and shoved them at my chest. I had to fumble to catch them, and my blasting rod clattered to the ground.
Charity waited until I had the sacks before heading for the van again. "Put them on the table in the kitchen."
"But- " I said.
She walked past me toward the house. "I have ice cream melting, meat thawing, and a baby about to wake up hungry. Put them on the table, and we'll talk."
I sighed and looked glumly at the groceries. They were heavy enough to make my arms burn a little. Which probably isn't saying much. I don't spend much time working out.
Molly appeared from the van, lowering a tiny, tow-headed girl to the driveway. She was wearing a pink dress with a clashing orange sweater and bright purple shoes and a red coat. She walked up to me and said, words edged with babyish syllables, "My name is Amanda. I'm five and a half and my daddy says I'm a princess."
"I'm Harry, Your Highness," I said.
She frowned and said, "There's already a Harry. You can be Bill." With that, she broke into a flouncing skip and followed her mother into the house.
"Well, I'm glad that's settled," I muttered. Molly lowered an even smaller blond girl to the driveway. This one was dressed in blue overalls with a pink shirt and a pink coat. She held a plush dolly in one arm and a battered-looking pink blanket in the other. Upon seeing me, she retreated a couple of steps and hid around the corner of the van. She leaned out to look at me once, and then hid again.
"I've got him," said an accented male voice.
Molly hopped out of the van, grabbed a grocery bag from the back, and said, "Come on, Hope." The little girl followed her big sister like a duckling while Molly went into the house, but Hope glanced back at me shyly three or four times on the way.
Shiro emerged from the van carrying a baby seat. The little old knight carried the walking stick that concealed his sword on a strap over one wide shoulder, and his scarred hands held the chair carefully. A boy, probably not yet two years old, slept in it.
"Little Harry?" I asked.
"Yes, Bill," Shiro said. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses
I frowned and said, "Good-looking kid."
"Dresden!" snapped Charity's voice from the house. "You're holding the ice cream."
I scowled and told Shiro, "Guess we'd better get in."
Shiro nodded wisely. I took the groceries into the Carpenters' big kitchen and put them on the table. For the next five minutes, Shiro and Molly helped me carry in enough groceries to feed a Mongol horde.
After all the perishables got put away, Charity fixed a bottle of formula and passed it off to Molly, who took it, the diaper bag, and the sleeping boy into another room. Charity waited until she had left, then shut the door. "Very well," she said, still putting groceries away. "I haven't spoken to Michael since you called this morning. I left a message with his cell phone voice mail."
"Where is he?" I asked.
Shiro laid his cane on the table and sat down. "Mister Dresden, we have asked you not to get involved in this business."
"That isn't why I'm here," I said. "I just need to talk to him."
"Why are you looking for him?" Shiro asked.
"I'm dueling a vampire under the Accords. I need a second before sundown or I get disqualified. Permanently."
Shiro frowned. "Red Court?"
"Yeah. Some guy named Ortega."
"Heard of him," Shiro said. "Some kind of war leader."
I nodded. "That's the rumor. That's why I'm here. I had hoped Michael would be willing to help."
Shiro stroked a thumb over the smooth old wood of his cane. "We received word of Denarian activity near St. Louis. He and Sanya went to investigate."
"When will they get back?"
Shiro shook his head. "I do not know."
I looked at the clock and bit my lip. "Christ."
Charity walked by with an armload of groceries and glared at me.
I lifted my hands. "Sorry. I'm a little tense."
Shiro studied me for a moment, and then asked, "Would Michael help him?"
Charity's voice drifted out of the cavernous walk-in pantry. "My husband is sometimes an idiot."
Shiro nodded and said, "Then I will assist you in his stead, Mister Dresden."
"You'll what?" I asked.
"I will be your second in the duel."
"You don't have to do that," I said. "I mean, I'll figure out something."
Shiro lifted an eyebrow. "Have the weapons been set for the duel?"
"Uh, not yet," I said.
"Then where is the meeting with the emissary and your opponent's second?"
I fished out the card I'd gotten from the Archive. "I don't know. I was told to have my second call this number."
Shiro took the card and rose without another word, heading for the phone in the next room.
I put my hand on his arm and said, "You don't need to take any chances. You don't really know me."
"Michael does. That is enough for me."