I snorted. "You missed out on the end. I hit that thing with my best shot, and I barely made it uncomfortable. It didn't leave because I hurt it. It left because it didn't expect me to fight clear of its whammy, and it didn't want to take any chances that I might get lucky and prevent it from reporting to its superiors."

"Still ran," Thomas said. "Yeah, that mind-meld thing was awful, but the bastard wasn't all that bad."

I sighed. "That little creep Peabody dropped one Outsider on a meeting of the Council. The best wizards in the world were all in that one room and took it on together, and the thing still managed to murder a bunch of them. It's hard to make magic stick to Outsiders. It's hard to make them leave. It's hard to hurt them. It's hard to make them die. They're insanely violent, insanely powerful, and just plain insane. But that isn't what makes them dangerous."

"Uh," Thomas said. "It isn't? Then what is?"

"They work together," I said quietly. "Near as we can tell, they all work together."

Thomas was silent for a moment as he considered the implications of that. "Work together," he said. "To do what?"

I shook my head. "Whatever they do. Their actions are not always predicated on rationality-or at least, that's what the Council thinks."

"You sound skeptical."

"The White Council always assumes that it's at least as smart as everyone else all put together. I know better."

"Because you're so much smarter than they are," Thomas said wryly.

"Because I'm on the street more than they are," I corrected him. "The Council thinks the Outsiders are just a giant box of crazy that can go rampaging in any random direction."

"But you don't think that."

"The phrase 'crazy like a fox' leaps to mind."

"Okay. So what do you think these Outsiders are doing?"

I shrugged. "I'm almost certain they aren't selling Girl Scout cookies. But don't quote me."

"Don't worry; I hardly ever want to sound clueless. But the fact that they're working together implies a purpose. A goal."

"Yes."

"So?" my brother asked. "What do they want?"

"Thomas, they're aliens. I mean, they're like super-mega-uberaliens. They might not even think, at least not in the way we understand it. How the hell are we supposed to make even an informed guess about their motivation-assuming that they have one?"

"Doesn't matter how weird they are," Thomas said. "Moving together implies purpose. Purpose implies a goal. Goals are universal."

"They aren't from this universe. That's the point," I said. "Maybe you're right; I don't know. But until I have a better idea, it's smarter to keep reminding myself that I don't know, rather than assuming that I do know, and then translating anything I learn to fit my preconceptions."

"Here's a fact that is no assumption," Thomas said. "They wanted you."

"Yeah," I said.

"Why?" he asked.

"All I can do is guess."

"So guess."

I sighed. "My gut says they're planning a jailbreak."

Thomas grunted. "Might have been smarter for them to have left you alone. Now you know something."

I made an exasperated sound. "Yes. Those fools. By trying to kill me, they've revealed their very souls. I have them now."

Thomas gave me a steady look. "Being Mab's bitch has made you a pessimist."

"I am not a pessimist," I said loftily. "Though that can't last."

That made Thomas grin. "Nice."

"Thank you."

At the door, Mac looked up suddenly and said, "Dresden."

Thomas tilted his head, listening. Then he said, "Cops."

I sighed. "Poor guys. Bet last night's watch hasn't even been released to go home yet. They're going to be cranky."

"The explosion thing?" Thomas asked.

"The explosion thing."

We didn't need to be detained and questioned all day, and I didn't need to get into an altercation with the police, either-they've got no sense of humor at all for such things. You always hear about there being no rest for the wicked, but I'm pretty sure cops aren't racking up much extra hammock time, either. Thomas and I traded a look and headed for the door.

I paused by it, and looked at Mac.

"It knew you."

Mac stared at nothing and didn't answer.

"Mac, that thing was dangerous," I said. "And it might come back."

Mac grunted.

"Look," I said. "If my guess is right, that twit and its buddies might wipe out a big chunk of the state. Or possibly states. If you know something about them, I need it."

Mac didn't look up. After several seconds, he said, "Can't. I'm out."

"Look at this place," I said quietly. "You aren't out. Nobody is out."

"Drop it," he said. "Neutral territory."

"Neutral territory that is going to burn with all the rest of it," I said. "I don't care who you are, man. I don't care what you've done. I don't care whether or not you think you're retired from the life. If you know something I need it. Now."

"Harry, we need to move," Thomas said, urgency tightening his voice.

I could hear the sirens now. They had to be close. Mac turned and walked back toward his bar.

Dammit. I shook my head and turned to leave.

"Dresden," Mac called.

I turned to look back at him. Mac was standing behind the bar. As I watched, he took three bottles of beer from beneath the counter and placed them down in a straight line, one by one, their sides touching. Then he just looked up at me.

"Three of them," I said. "Three of these things?" Hell's bells, one of them had been bad enough.

Mac neither nodded nor shook his head. He just jerked his chin at me and said, "Luck."

"We're gonna talk," I said to Mac.

Mac turned a look on me that was as distant and as inaccessible as Antarctic mountains.

"No," he said. "We aren't."

I was going to say something smart-ass. But that bleak expression made it seem like a bad idea.

So instead, I followed my brother up the debris-strewn stairs and into the rainy morning.

* * *

We passed the first police car to arrive at the scene on our way out, driving at the sedate pace of upright citizens.

"I love evading representatives of the lawful authority," Thomas said, watching the car go by in his rearview mirror. "It's one of those little things that make me happy."