I looked in the direction of the den, where Maggie and the youngest Carpenter children had fallen asleep watching movies.

“Sometimes,” I said, “I can’t believe how arrogant I am. If it wasn’t for the kid . . .”

Molly leaned down and rapped me sharply on the crown of the head with one knuckle. I eyed her and scowled. “Hey.”

“Stop it,” she said. “You didn’t choose for things to fall out the way they did. You did everything in your power to stop anyone from being harmed. And you risked an awful lot getting in everyone’s face after the battle. It helped a whole lot of people.”

“People who might not have gotten hurt in the first place if—”

Molly rapped me on the head again and said, “You’re like a broken guilt record.” She sighed. “Can I give you a piece of advice, Harry?”

I squinted at her. “What?”

“When I was a kid, my mom spent a whole lot of time telling me how I should behave.”

“And that worked out,” I said.

She smiled, a flash of warmth that vanished into a little sadness. “Looking back, mostly what I did was whatever my dad did.” She put a hand on my shoulder, leaned over, and pressed a cool, sisterly kiss against my cheek. “Maybe you should think about what you want to teach Maggie.”

I scowled and looked down.

“You can forgive yourself, Harry,” she said gently. “The world won’t end. And it would be good for your daughter.”

“Cheap shot,” I said.

She nodded. “But no less true.”

I looked down at the half-assembled bike. “That . . . is something I never learned to do,” I said.

“Then I guess you’ve got some work ahead of you.”

Dammit.

I hate it when the grasshopper has me dead to rights.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Good enough for me,” said the Winter Lady. She laid her cold hand against my cheek for a moment and then rose.

“You’re not staying?” I asked.

Molly shook her head. “Still trying to get my cohorts back to full strength. I’ve got pickups in Japan, Norway, and Siberia tonight. I’ll be back in time for morning presents.”

“Good,” I said. I wanted to see her face when she saw the Hoth-gear Princess Leia action figure I’d gotten for her. “You made some enemies last summer. Watch your back, Molls.”

Molly gave me a brilliant smile that was just a little too toothy to be warm. “I don’t watch my back, Harry,” she said. “I make other people watch theirs.”

“All the same.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be dead!” we both shouted together, and grinned like fools.

We traded another quick hug, and Molly left.

As soon as she was gone, I let the smile drop. Mouse made a soft, pained sound and leaned against me.

Six months was not a long time in which to say so many goodbyes.

My dog leaned against me and I stared at the fire and wept for a time. But I was tired of tears. I was so damned tired of them.

I picked up the piece of paper. If you left off the decimal points, it was a prime number. It represented the costs of medical care for tens of thousands, and funerals for thousands more. On a rational level, I knew Molly was right. It could have been worse. Much worse.

But in my heart, all I could see was blood on asphalt, and all I could feel were empty places inside me where people should have been.

I got up and walked quietly to the den, where my daughter, Maggie, was asleep with the other kids, her cheeks pink. She was a tiny girl, the lowest percentile for height and weight in her class, and she’d come back from her first semester of school with a GPA higher than 4.0. All I had was a GED. I didn’t even know how to calculate GPA. But I think I had a good idea of what the letters stood for.

I watched her chest rise and fall for a little while, and the pain receded. I took a deep breath.

I’ve fallen apart before. I’ve let the madness have me.

But I was a father now.

I no longer had that luxury. Thank God.

Nothing you ever do can change the past. Can’t live your life looking backwards or you’ll spend it walking in circles.

That little girl was the future.

I nodded. And then I went back to the bicycle.

Mouse was fluffy and faithful, but he was also pretty much just a kid himself. He helped out valiantly for another half hour or so and then just sort of fell over sideways and started snoring. I smiled at him. He’d done enough. I could muddle through the rest on my own.

I cleared my mind of everything except solving the problem in front of me and anticipating Maggie’s happiness. The fire crackled. I added more wood. A deep and peaceful warmth settled somewhere between my chest and my stomach.

And then I understood why Michael hadn’t helped.

I was just putting the extra bullet-hole stickers I’d picked up onto the bike when the fire crackled and popped and flared up.

“Merciful Heaven, what is this?” I mused aloud.

There was a sound that can only be described as a foomph, and a sudden flood of soot from the fireplace and then . . .

Well. Then.

He had a round face. And a little round belly. That shook when he laughed. Underneath all the chain mail.

Kringle was a tall, burly man with long silvery white hair and a magnificent snowy beard. He wore hunting leathers under a mail shirt, and over that was a heavy, magnificent crimson hooded robe trimmed in white fur. He carried an enormous sack over one shoulder—and there was no sword at his hip.

He looked at me and let out a low, rumbling laugh.

“Hey,” I said quietly.

Kringle looked down at the bike I’d put together. He knelt by it, examining it closely.

“This was done properly,” he said, a calm note of approval in his voice.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m not your vassal. We’ve worked together on some things, but I’m not even your friend. So if you’re here to give me a gift, I’m not sure why.”

“Because tonight,” Kringle said, “that is what I do.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “And because you’re on my list, lad.”

I snorted. “Please.”

Kringle eyed me for a moment. Then he winked and said, “Call Kris Kringle a liar on Christmas Eve one more time.”