I felt myself smile. There might have been something merrily wolfish in it. “Things I’ve only dreamed about.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Her blue eyes glittered. “That.” She tilted her head. “That was . . . was me?”

“That was you,” I said. “Seems fair. It was your bed.”

Her hand tightened on mine and her face broke into an open grin. I lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, one at a time.

“I am on so many drugs right now,” she said.

I grinned. She wasn’t really talking about her IV.

The nurse came in while we were kissing again. She cleared her throat pointedly. Two or three times. I let her. The kiss wasn’t finished yet. The nurse went out in the hallway to complain to Rawlins, who appeared to listen politely.

Karrin ended the kiss with another little laugh.

And she didn’t even know I’d slipped her half of my diamonds in a couple of knotted-off socks when she wasn’t looking.

* * *

By about ten that night, I was back at the Carpenters’ house. The evening had turned unseasonably gentle, even if it was a little muggy. I was sitting on the porch with Michael, in one of a pair of rocking chairs that he had made himself. Both of us had a bottle of Mac’s Pale Ale in hand, having already emptied the pair of bottles at our feet.

Maggie was sitting with her legs across my lap. She’d fallen asleep with her head against my chest half an hour before, and I wouldn’t have disturbed her for the world. Or a third beer. Mouse dozed at my feet, delighted to be able to take up a station close to both of the people he most wanted to slobber on.

“So Karrin’s surgery was successful? She’s going to recover?” Michael asked.

“Probably not ever to where she was,” I said. “But the doctors told her she could get to ninety percent.”

“That’s wonderful,” Michael said. I saw him glance down at his bad leg, propped up on a kitchen chair Molly had brought out for the purpose. I could practically hear him wondering what it would have been like to get back to fifty percent. At least Nicodemus had stabbed him in the leg that was already messed up.

“What was it like?” I asked him. “Getting out into the fight again?”

“Terrifying,” he said, smiling. “And for a little while . . . like being young again. Full of energy and expectation. It was amazing.”

“Any regrets?” I asked.

“None,” he said. Then he frowned. “One.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Nick got away with the Grail.”

He nodded, his face darkening with worry.

“Hey, we went four for five on the artifact scoreboard,” I said. “That’s not bad.”

“I’m not sure this is a score that can be tallied,” he said.

“What do you think he’ll do with it?”

Michaelshrugged and took a thoughtful sip of beer. “The Grail is the most powerful symbol of God’s love and sorrow on the face of the earth, Harry. I don’t see how he could use it to do harm—but if Nicodemus sacrificed so much to acquire it, I suspect that he does.”

“I figure the Grail was a secondary goal,” I said. “He really wanted something else.”

The knife was still in the pocket of my duster, now draped over the back of my chair in deference to the evening’s warmth.

Michael glanced at my coat and then nodded. “What will you do with the other four?”

“Research them. Learn about them until I can see when and how they should be used.”

“And until then?”

“Store them someplace safe.” I figured the deepest tunnels of Demonreach should do.

He nodded and regarded his bottle. “Did you ever once consider giving them back to the Church?”

“All things considered,” I said, “nope.”

He grimaced and nodded. And after a very long silence he said, “I fear you may be right.”

That made me look at him sharply.

“The Coins we captured should not have been able to escape from storage so quickly or easily,” he said slowly. “Which suggests . . .”

“That someone in the Church facilitated their recirculation,” I said.

“I fear corruption,” Michael said simply.

I thought of the state of affairs in the White Council, and Molly’s cell phone, and shuddered. “Yeah,” I said. “Lot of that going around.”

“Then you’ll understand this.” Michael leaned his head back and called, “Hank!”

A moment later, little Harry appeared at the door. He was carrying Amoracchius in his arms, scabbard, baldric, and all. He passed them off to Michael, who ruffled the boy’s hair and sent him back inside.

“Here,” Michael said simply, and leaned the Sword against the side of my chair. “When you store the artifacts, take that as well. You’re its keeper again.”

I frowned. “Because I did such an amazing job the last time around?”

“Actually,” Michael said, “you did an excellent job. You defended the Swords from those who would try to claim them, and you issued them to people who used them well.”

“Murphy didn’t,” I said quietly. “I mean, I know it worked out in the end—but my judgment was obviously in error.”

“But you didn’t call her to be a true Knight,” Michael said. “You entrusted her with the Sword for one purpose—to help you save your little girl from Chichén Itzá. She appointed herself the Swords’ keeper after you apparently died. And this morning, you gave the Sword of Faith to the right person at the right time.”