FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [8/?]

[luciazephyr]

Title: other things the road to hell is paved with [8/?]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, potentially R or NC-17 later.
Summary: Another way the Baron rose to power. Another way the wizard became a Knight.
Word Count: This chapter: 7011. So far: 43156.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Trigger Warning for this chapter: Oblique reference to child pornography.

Notes: Yes, 7011 words. This is a big chapter, folks. And it would have been a terrible one if not for grenegome's help. I cannot thank her enough.

Marcone didn't rise to my challenge, which kind of pissed me off. I was all ready for a verbal throwdown with him. I had been running through it in my head, hearing his soft, calm voice fray in my imagination as I needled him and flawlessly got under his skin. He wore reasonable politeness like Michael wore kevlar, his perfect armor. I was putting my bets on the notion that under the armor, he was more vulnerable. If I got him mad and shook him up, maybe I could make him actually listen to me when I told him to back off the vampires.

I went through the possible variations of our fight in my head over and over until I figured I could make it work in my favor. I needed to steer the talk without losing my own cool. No simple task. I would be the first person to admit I had a temper.

But, as I said, this was all pointless because Marcone didn't show up. Instead Hendricks came by one more time to reiterate Marcone's orders.

"Dresden, just write the fuckin'--"

"No. If Johnnie can't make time for me, I won't make time for him."

"If you don't drop the wronged girlfriend act, Mr. Marcone is going to--"

I flapped a hand at him. "Please. I can handle Marcone. Don't you worry, Cujo."

Hendricks hadn't looked remotely convinced when he left. Susan didn't look convinced either when I related all of this to her over farfalla and brand name alfredo sauce.

"Do you want me to give your eulogy? You know, after Don Marcone kills you?"

I shook my head, spearing a few butterfly pasta and waving my fork at her. "People need to stop assuming Marcone's going to off me. Cujo talked me through Mafia Powerplaying 101, I get it now. Marcone is trying to see how much he can control me. If I let this slide, he's going to think he can just push me around. I got to be assertive."

Susan sighed. "I know you think you're this alpha male type, Harry, but Marcone is too. And I think he's better at it than you."

I gave her a mock glare. "Talk like this is going to make me rethink making wild monkey love to you tonight."

"Is it really?" Susan purred. And slid her foot up my pant leg.

Susan was really good at derailing my thoughts. She won a lot of arguments that way. I was gracious enough to not hold it against her.



Even though Marcone was paying me enough that rent and food weren't a major issue for me anymore, I put in some office hours next week. For one thing, doing so meant I didn't have to stay home and hear Bob call me a 'kept man' anymore. For another, I left my copy of Hogfather in the office and wanted to finish it.

I was right at the end when my office door slammed open and Hendricks walked in. Again, he was minus Marcone.

"Whatever it is, I'm busy," I said in my best disinterested voice, turning my attention back to my book.

Hendricks was living up to his nicknamesake, letting out a low growl as he rounded my desk. He grabbed my arm and hauled me out of my desk chair. Those coulda-gone-pro muscles weren't just for show. "Boss needs you. Now."

"Your boss can make an appointment! I thought we had an understanding here!" I dropped my book and lost my page as I struggled to get my feet properly under me. Hendricks half-carried me towards the door, wasting no time. Call me crazy, but I think he was in a bit of a rush.

"Not about that, Dresden. Needs you for a job."

I had actually figured that. Most people being hauled out the door by a mobster would panic about their imminent demise. Not me. For one, it was only one mobster. If Marcone wanted me dead, he'd send more goons and he'd send them when I was vulnerable. Not when I was holed up in my office, able to launch quick and dirty evocations at anyone trying to barge through the door. And he'd be sneakier about it. Get me on my way in or out, when I had no cover, or try and get close and slip those bracelets round my wrists when I wasn't expecting it.

See the logic there? Now you're thinking like a criminal scumbag. Makes you wanna take a shower, doesn't it?

Back to me, I was still trying to stand up properly as Hendricks rushed me out the door. "Hey, you can't make me work one of Marcone's jobs! It's in my contract!"

"Section C, page 41." He didn't even sound winded as he carried me along. He stopped to grab my rod, staff, and coat with one big hand on our way out. "In case of emergency that falls under the purview of the signed and within the scope of corporate interests, the signed may be compelled to respond to such situations within certain restrictions as outlined in subsection 1 through 6."

I stopped fighting for a moment and turned that over in my head. Since when did Hendricks have my contract memorized well enough he could rattle it off like that? "What's that when its at home?"

Hendricks slammed me against the wall, holding me up with one hand fisted in my shirt. I took the opportunity to regain my footing and avoided looking him in the eye. It wasn't easy to do with him leaning in close, face a little red with anger. "It means the boss needs your help and you're going." He shoved my wizardly gear against my chest, punctuating the command.

"I don't answer whenever Marcone snaps his fingers."

"You do now," Hendrick replied. "Our boss needs your help, and I swear to God, Dresden, if you let him die, I will sue you into the ground for breach of contract."

It was a threat. And it wasn't. It was a plea for help. I'm not so good at ignoring those. I didn't have to look in his eyes to know he would drag me all the way there if needed. Dammit. I missed the kinder, gentler Cujo I'd grown used to giving magic lessons.

I took my things out of his hand, immediately sliding into my duster and tucking my blasting rod into its folds. I tightened my grip on my staff and said, "Fine. Lead the way."



We headed for Lake Shore, one of the glitziest parts of Chicago. I wasn't very familiar with it. Not my crowd, really. I guess when you live in that area and get a haunting or lose your car keys, you just buy a new house or car. It was that kind of money, where what I got monthly would barely cover your children's weekly allowances.

Hendricks filled me in on the details as our Town Car tore through the streets. I kept one hand clenched on the Oh Shit Handle in a tight grip. At the same time, I kept just as tight a grip on my magic. I think Cujo would have pummeled me if I fried the engine before we got there.

As far as I could gather, Marcone was attending a nice social function with some Chicago elite and celebrities when someone gatecrashed the party. The mystery someone-- Hendricks had no idea who it was-- took Marcone hostage. According to the people who'd been inside, Marcone had done some smooth talking to get the other party guests released, then managed to get away himself.

The catch to all this was that the hostage-taker wasn't using a gun to hold up the place. He was using magic.

"Magic. Got anything more specific than that?" I asked, shutting my eyes as Hendricks ran another light. Last I looked at the speedometer, we were going way too fast for navigating an urban sprawl. I wondered if Hendricks had Hollywood stunt driving on his resume somewhere. Was that standard, or did Marcone have to pay extra at Thugs R Us?

"He lit the place up real good, but not with fire. Someone said he was shooting sparks."

"Great. An affinity for electricity in the middle of a high rise that's doubtlessly wired up with power enough power to keep all the big screens and on-suite jacuzzis."

"Just get him out of there," Hendrick said. He sounded very unhappy. I wondered if it was because he wasn't there for Marcone when Marcone got into trouble. Hendricks sometimes seemed oddly protective.

Lake Point Tower was already surrounded by the CPD. Red and blue lights shone into the night, throwing eerie shadows onto the walls as they spun atop the cop cars. Hendricks slid the car casually into an open spot next to the yellow tape, just beyond the barricade. There were plenty of uniformed men and women milling around.

"There," Hendricks said, pointing to a tiny door tucked away in an alcove. Elegant lettering next to it said Lake Point Tower - Receiving. "The boss was on the 25th floor when we lost contact."

I looked around. "You know, I'd like to see that Section C before--" Cujo bared his teeth and growled at me. Yikes. I gave in; I wasn't up on my rabies shots. "Hell's bells, okay, okay. How am I getting inside?"

"I'll take care of it. Come on." Hendricks climbed out of the car and I followed. He gestured towards the door and I started edging towards it, keeping my gaze on Hendricks. I hoped he had a plan, because with so many cops around, there was no way I could--

Hendricks pulled the steel rod from his belt and slammed it into the window of one of the cop cars, smashing it into bits, glass tinkling to the ground.

The effect was immediate. Every cop in a thirty foot radius fixed their attention on Hendricks, shouting at him to get on the ground, hands on his head, get on the damn ground. Hendricks let go of his rod and dropped to his knees, hands up, expression resigned.

I slipped into the Tower as quietly as I could as the cops tried to find a pair of cuffs that would fit Cujo's wrists.



I ran up about five storeys before giving in and chancing the elevator. The Tower had about 70 floors, not including basements. I pressed the button for 25 and hoped the elevator wouldn't crap out on me.

Of course Marcone had to get in a jam in a skyscraper. Inconsiderate scumbag.

At around 23, I felt a swell of energy above me, a pulsing, crackling magic. The elevator lights started flickering, the ride getting a little bumpy. I considered myself lucky to have gotten up that far and hopped out at 24 before I got stuck inside the thing. That'd make for an embarrassingly bad rescue.

24 looked normal but for the lights going on and off randomly. It was like a very high-end hotel, but bigger. I could drive a small car through the hallways if I wanted to ruin the plush carpets, which were so thick I felt like I was sinking into them every time I took a step. The ornamentation was understated and actually kind of nice, reminding me of Marcone's house: plainly wealthy, but not bragging about it.

I headed up another flight of stairs, following the lingering feeling of spent magic and the smell of ozone.

The next floor up, in comparison, looked like a train had run through it. Some of the light fixtures were still working, but most were out or on fire. There were markings on the wall, dark lines that seemed burned into the wallpaper. But not with fire. The ozone smell was strongest in the main lobby of the floor, where chairs had been tipped and a refreshments table looked like Thor's hammer had come down and smashed it in two, the wood splintered and smoking from some kind of impact.

The room felt angry. Berserker fury was in the air along with the ozone and residual static. Whatever came after Marcone was mad as hell and was not going to take it anymore.

I heard the sound of gunfire and took off in its direction, duster flapping behind me.

I hate when my job involves running towards the danger, let me just say.

One of the apartment suites had its door blown off the hinges. Inside was dark, but as I got close, the hinges sent a big charge of static at me. I winced and tried not to make a sound at the jolt of pain. Instead, I leaned against the wall outside and Listened, trying to find Marcone's voice.

After a moment, I heard talking. "--nothing to do with it, I give you my word."

"You lie. You're lying, everyone knows you run the drugs in Chicago, you sonovabitch. You die, the whole thing falls apart."

Marcone scoffed. "Not only is that untrue, it's quite the opposite of what will happen. I won't deny that I control the drug trade in this city, but even my control is not absolute. Whoever did this to Natalie--"

"Don't say her name, you don't have the right!"

"All right, all right," and Marcone sounded placating and terribly reasonable. It didn't seem to the working though: at the same time, I felt the sparkling electrical energy rise to a dangerous fervor.

"You killed her, so I kill you." The other speaker was male and youthful, teenage or young adult. His voice kept breaking, pitching all over the place. "No one gets hurt like Natalie. I-it'd be doing the city a favor."

I'd heard enough. When someone starts psyching himself up to kill you, that's about the time you should be running and hiding. I brought my shield bracelet up at the ready and did my best to slide into the room as quietly as I could.

The two occupants of the room were so focused on each other, I escaped their notice. Marcone looked a little frazzled, his back pressed against a wall. His gaze was mostly calm, but his hair was sticking up like he had his hand pressed against one of those Van Der Graff balls. It would've been funny if he wasn't being crowded against the wall by Zeus' acne-ridden redheaded stepchild. The magic energy was coming from a kid who looked like he should've been in his room doing his homework, not holding up mafia bosses with lightning magic. He was lanky and pale, his face not so much freckled as one big freckle with a few splatters of white tossed in.

He was also holding a fistful of electricity.

I didn't have time for finesse. I lowered my staff to point at the kid. "Forzare!"

I caught him off guard and he went slamming into a plate glass wall on the far side of the suite, the cracking glass like a spider web from the impact.

Marcone wasted no time vaulting over an upturned sofa and heading towards me. On the way, he swept a hand down and picked up a submachine gun from where he presumably dropped it earlier. He made retreating look graceful. "What are you doing here?"

Ungrateful jerk. "Well, I was in the neighborhood," I sniped, walking towards him and lifting my shield bracelet to cover his back as we left the room. Lightningbolt was slowly picking himself up from where I'd thrown him, and that static feeling in the air was rising again, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Marcone!" the kid roared, producing far more sound than I thought his gangly frame was capable of. He lifted his hand and I could see a delicate chain wrapped around it, glowing bright. Some sort of focus, I assumed, which was strange. The kid had obvious raw talent, but didn't act like he'd had formal training. Maybe he'd read a book or heard about using a focus from someone. Either way, I didn't take the time to get a closer glimpse; I was too busy backpedaling and getting Marcone out of the room.

Not a moment too soon, I leapt back into the hallway. As soon as I did, a blast of lightning hit the door frame, coloring the wood there dark with a burn. "Christ, that kid's got some juice. Who is he?"

"Gregory Vail," Marcone said as he grabbed the sleeve of my coat and pulled me away.

"Looks angry."

"He believes I killed his sister. The boy's in the second stage of mourning, I believe."

Vail tumbled out of the room behind us and let out another scream of rage. He was glowing like a Christmas tree, walking steadily towards us. Electricity flickered and snapped around him, the power coming off of him almost tangible. Marcone was right, the kid was furious and it was fueling his magic nicely. I knew that feeling, how magic could just come so easily if you tapped into it just right. And Vail seemed to be very determined to keep it up.

I took a look back at him as Marcone and I ran for cover in the lobby. The focus around his hand, the necklace shone brightly with his magic. It was a simple gold chain with a pink rhinestone gem cut into the shape of a heart. It was very much a girl's piece of jewelry.

Ah. So he'd inherited it. I could relate to that.

I let Marcone drag me down behind a table that had been knocked over.

"Did you?" I asked, peeking around the edge of the thick walnut table to watch Vail.

"Did I what?"

"Kill his sister."

"No."

"Sure now?" I thought Vail seemed pretty convinced. The few lights that had survived Vail's presence before burst as he entered this time. Lots of teenage angst in that kid. It was dark in the room now, and I was a little relieved. It was harder to aim for a target in these conditions.

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Mr. Dresden," he said, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me until I was looking him in the eye. "I had nothing to do with Natalie Vail's death."

I examined his face for a long moment before deciding I believed him. I nodded curtly. "Okay, do we have a plan?"

Marcone gave me a sardonic look. "We? You are the one doing the rescuing, Mr. Dresden. I would have hoped you had the foresight to actually think of a plan before barging in and making yourself a target." I rolled my eyes. He wasn't wrong, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Then I suggest we retreat to the stairwell and get the hell out of here."

"Agreed." I nodded curtly.

Marcone readied his gun before jumping up and heading for the far door that would lead to the stairwell. I followed, bringing my shield up to block the ball of electricity Vail flung at us.

"Out of your league, kid!" I called across the room. "Give up while you can!"

Vail grabbed a metal platter off the ground. The dish started to shine with his magic. "The cops said accidental overdose, like it was her fault! No one blames him!" Vail yelled, and flung the platter at us like a frisbee.

"Ventas!" I blew the projectile off course before it could get close enough to fry us.

"You are attacking the wrong man, Mr. Vail!" Marcone caught the mantle of my duster with one hand and started to lead me backward. "I didn't do anything to hurt your sister and killing me will bring you no solace!"

"Dunno, I think I want to find out for sure!" Vail sent another bolt at us.

I flung up my shield, but the magic glanced off it and arced to Marcone's MP5. He made a pained noise and threw the gun aside. The metal flickered with electricity even as it slid along the floor away from us.

"Shit, John!" I threw myself at him, knocking him to the ground and covering him with my body. As I expected, I heard the magazine in the gun give way, the lightning setting the bullets loose. I heard one whiz past my head and two embed in the table we'd taken cover behind.

Marcone exhaled shallowly against my check. "Harry..."

I lifted my head. "Coat's bulletproof," I explained briskly. I didn't mention that, like my refined shielding spell I'd used with Toot, I wasn't sure it would work. Hard to test new upgrades like that without nearly killing myself.

"Ah." He looked at my duster with new respect. "That explains why you persist in wearing it when it makes you look like an reject from the Dollars trilogy. Do you do commissions? Something a less ostentatious?"

I rolled my eyes and started to get up. "Blow me."

"I'd prefer to pay in cash. It's easier on my accountants."

I had no rejoiner for that, so I looked over to check on Vail. The boy was leaning on the wall, breathing hard and shaking slightly.

"We need to get out of here," I murmured, watching him.

"He seems to be tiring," Marcone noted as he got to his feet as well.

"No. He's not using incantations. Throwing this much magic around without the insulation of spellwords, that's going to hurt him. He has no idea what he's doing." I nudged Marcone towards the stairwell. "Come on."

Vail opened his eyes and locked onto our movement. "No. No! I am not finished!" He staggered to his feet and started chasing after us. As he did, his whole body lit up again with energy. He was turning himself into a human battering ram.

Marcone got the door to the stairwell open and I fell through it after him. As soon as I was clear, I shoved him right, out of the way.

Vail came tearing through, looking like a blur of red hair and lightning. In front of him was the down stairs and with his momentum, there was no way for him to avoid them. He tumbled down half a flight and slammed into a wall.

I watched Vail slid to the ground, wondering if that had finally done the trick. To my shock, the kid put a hand against the wall and started to stagger back to his feet. As a guy who could take a few hits and keep going, I was kind of impressed. Vail seemed stunned, but recovering fast.

We didn't have time to lose. "Come on!" I snapped, heading up the stairs. I wanted as much distance between myself and Vail as possible. It wasn't like I couldn't put the kid down with some of my own magic, but I'd been playing it mostly defensive so far. If I wanted, I could swat the untrained mage down, but I sure as hell didn't want to open fire on a grief-stricken teenager who didn't know what he was doing. Marcone was right; Vail was rocketing through the 'anger' part of the Five Stages of Grief and it was hard to hold his actions against him. But things were getting a little too dire for me to keep to my shield. I needed an out, and fast, before one of us broke the First Law.

After a few flights of stairs, I couldn't keep going. My heart was pounding hard enough that I could hear it in my head, loud in my ears. I led us out of the stairwell around floor 40. Below us, I could feel Vail's magic. He wasn't out of the game, but we had some time, I hoped.

I picked a room at random in the hallway, lifting my foot and driving it into the door right next to the handle. With a splintering sound, the door swung open and we went inside.

"I hope you have a plan of escape, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said snappishly. In the distance was the sound of our upstart mage's approach. it was slowly getting louder and it seemed to be grating on Marcone. I had to admit, the guy looked tired. I guess hostage situations did that to everyone, even generally unflappable mafia bosses. "You seem to have led us in the exact opposite direction we'd want to be going in."

As he spoke, he reached behind him, under his suit jacket, and pulled out another MP5. I gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

"I always consider my ability to defend myself when making my sartorial choices," he replied coolly.

I whistled under my breath. "And people think I'm paranoid." I looked around the deserted penthouse, scanning for anything that could help. Marcone was right, running up the stairs instead of down was a mistake on my part, but hey, he didn't have to follow me, did he? "Working on it." I went over to one of the walls, which was entirely glass, the window overlooking the inky-black water of Michigan.

An idea was forming. One of my crazy schemes that just might work.

"Work faster, Harry." I heard him loading the last magazine into his gun. He was getting ready for a showdown.

I was thinking about air currents.

"I got an idea," I said finally, starting to smile.

"Let's hear it then."

"You're not going to like it." I turned back to him. "Hey, you're wearing a belt, right?"

Marcone looked at me levelly. If the question startled him, he didn't show it. "Yes."

"What kind?"

"Leather."

"Great, gimme." I snapped my fingers at him before getting myself ready. I tucked my blasting rod into my duster and pulled the collar of my coat up. Marcone handed me the belt and I looped it around my left shoulder. It was going to hurt, but it would do. "Shoot out the window."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

I smiled cheekily at him.

"No. Absolutely not." Marcone actually took a step away from me, as if my crazy was contagious. "Think of another plan."

There was a crash nearby, outside the room. Similar sounds followed. It seemed Vail was checking every door on his way down the hall. "No time! Come on, window, now!"

Marcone grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw popping angrily. He lifted the semiauto and unleashed a sweep of bullets on the windows. The glass couldn't handle multiple impacts and dissolved into tiny chucks of glass along the floor. "He'll have heard that," he said.

"Probably." I shifted my shield bracelet to my right wrist, then gripped my staff, focusing my will. This was going to be tricky. "Come on, John, time for a daring rescue."

I got Marcone to hold onto me, one of his hands wrapped tightly in the belt for purchase, his other arm around my neck. We walked stiffly to the threshold of the broken glass, the wind whipping my hair into a bigger mess and mussing up Marcone's a bit.

"Harry," Marcone said loudly over the howl. "In case this doesn't work--"

"It will!"

"In case it doesn't," Marcone went on, ignoring my optimism, "I'd like you to know I appreciate you trying to save my life. I'm now convinced forcing you into a contract was one of the better decision I've made and I don't regret it."

"Well. Thanks. I guess..." What was I supposed to say to that? Was that Marcone Speak for 'it's been an honor'? I was confused. "You're still a criminal scumbag, but you haven't killed me yet, and I know that takes restraint. So, thanks for not being a complete dick."

Marcone smirked and nodded once. His face slipped back to solemn determination as the door behind us blasted open and Gregory walked in, glowing like a sunset and looking ready to throw down.

"Time to go. Hold on!" I wrapped my free arm around Marcone as he tightened his hold on the belt and on me. He moved with me as I took a big step over the side and into the open air.

As I mentioned, we were about 40 floors up. They went by a lot faster than I expected. I mean, yeah, 'freefall' kind of says it all, but the ground was coming up fast. Too fast. We were speeding up and the whiplash was going to hurt, but I knew I wouldn't have the focus to use my magic for long, so I had to wait until we were closer if my plan was going to work.

It was strange. The sensation of falling to your death while waiting for the right moment, it felt like things were going really quickly and really slowly all at once. I just tried to focus on the fact I had more than my own life to save. Marcone was a real weight against me, his presence impossible to forget.

I could have used a bit of wind magic to send him flying. Or just kick him away from me. Or...

Yeah, right. He'd just trusted me enough to let me throw us out of skyscraper with just my word that we'd make it. Merciless bastard who treated me like property or not, I couldn't do that.

I threw my hand up and forced as much power as I could into a shield over our heads. The trick was, I wasn't trying to ward anything off. I was trying to hold the air in. My bracelet was working as a magical parachute, catching the air and slowing our descent.

It was, predictably, like holding a parachute with only one arm. My shoulder made a popping sound so loud, I could hear it easily over the roaring wind. Thankfully, the shield held as I poured most of my will into it through the pain of having done something extremely not good to my shoulder.

Marcone's arm around my neck tightened and I looked down. Likely, no more than a few seconds had passed, but we were still 40 or so feet above the ground. Too fast.

"Ventas, ventas, ventas," I chanted, drawing more wind towards us, up into my shield. It was working, we were slowing down.

The two of us hit the ground at an angle and rolled. I found myself pulled in by Marcone, my shield dissipating and my arm drawn in by his. Like a barrel down a hill, we circled over and over, the velocity from our fall continuing. I would have expected to go flying like a ragdoll, but Marcone held onto me, transferring our momentum into a tumble in a very controlled way.

Eventually, we slammed into a cop car and came to a stop.

"Oh, ow, fuck, ow, get off my arm, ow." I swore up a storm until Marcone shifted off of me and landed with a tired thump on the asphalt next to me, breathing as hard as I was.

There were people looking at us, two guys who had literally fallen out of the sky. A few cops, the EMTs, the bystanders, and I think I could see a handcuffed Hendricks in the distance, frowning at us like he wasn't quite sure we were real.

Gingerly, Marcone got to his feet, dusting himself off primly as he did. He was still a mess from the unforgiving wind we'd just been blasted with, but when he straightened and surveyed our surroundings, there was no doubt he was still every bit Gentleman Johnnie Marcone. Sometimes it stunned me that he was a vanilla human. Most of the Fae didn't have that kind of poise.

"Excuse me, but I think my friend Mr. Dresden has dislocated his shoulder," he said in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried over all the white noise around us. "If someone could look him over, I would appreciate it."

Well, if Marcone wanted to take over, I wasn't going to stop him. I shut my eyes and lay my head back on the ground, relaxing. It was foolish and dangerous, but with my employer rescued and back in his nigh-omniscient leadership role, I felt like I could relax.

And I had just saved his ass from a teen wizard on a rampage with some really clever spellwork. I deserved a break.



My arm was popped back into place, I had a sling around my shoulder, and I was waiting. Marcone had gone over to talk to Hendricks about his arrest. I was sure Marcone was going to take care of that in his usual casually magnanimous way. Maybe he'd make a few bribes, get Cujo out before the weekend. I couldn't imagine it'd be a hardship for him.

As they talked, I leaned on the Town Car, watching my surroundings idly. I kept an eye on things and managed to catch a glimpse of Gregory Vail as they brought him out of the building in handcuffs. The kid's head was low, his face out of sight, but I could see his shoulders were shaking. Poor kid looked exhausted after all that spellwork. I wondered how long he'd get for what he'd done.

Crazily enough, I thought Marcone would probably do something to abate whatever sentence Vail got. Most of the time, I had a hard time reading Marcone just because the man hid his emotions so flawlessly. Yet, when they put Vail into a cop car, I saw Marcone turn to watch and there was a hint of pity in his green eyes. It was so slight, I didn't think I'd notice if I hadn't soulgazed with him.

Kids in bad situations make mistakes. Kids in bad situations who also happen to know the Art make really big mistakes, but they were still mistakes.

I considered trying to see if I could get Vail to join my little group of mentees, but decided I wasn't qualified to solve a problem like Gregory Vail. He needed proper instruction. I'd send word to my own teacher, Ebenezar, see if he knew anyone up for the task. Vail had too much raw power to let him continue without any education.

I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. Between this and everything else, I was looking forward to going home and sleeping. That and some food. Cujo had grabbed me before I could get any dinner and I was suffering for it now. I just saved Marcone's life, I could probably get him to...

My thoughts derailed as I saw her across the crowd. She wasn't turned towards me, but I'd know her anywhere. Her height made her stand out.

She'd cut her hair since last year. And, Hell's bells, October wasn't that far away, it really had been nearly a year since last saw her. It felt like yesterday she was kicking my ass and arresting me. At the same time, it felt like a lot longer than a year.

I watched Karrin Murphy from afar, and it was like looking back on what my life had been. It hadn't been great and sometimes it even sucked, but I understood where I stood back then. Life was simpler, in a way.

I stared at her as she talked to her fellow cops and a few of the hostages. I should have gone over to her, said hello or something equally asinine.

But I didn't. I was scared to. At that moment, I had no idea how she would react to me, and not knowing hurt less than some of the alternatives. It made me a coward, I know, but I didn't want to take the chance of approaching her only to see hate or disgust twist her lovely face.

I have no clue how long I stood there watching her like a creeper, but eventually Marcone touched my arm, drawing my attention away from her. "We should leave while we can. The police want to take us in for questioning and I'm certain the truth isn't what they want to hear."

"Uh..." I looked back over and found that I had lost Murphy. She'd gone somewhere, vanishing from my line of sight. I quashed the disappointment that hit me. I could've gone to talk to her but hadn't, it was my own damn fault. So I just nodded once and let Marcone usher me into the car. There was a driver already inside, waiting for us, not any lackey I recognized.

A few moments passed in silence. I slumped against the car door, forehead pressed to the tinted window, watching Chicago go by. "Gonna give me a ride home, Johnnie-boy?"

Marcone gave me a sideways glance, most of his attention on his Blackberry. I was surprised he was daring to use it in my presence, but I was tired and aching and working up the will to do any magic would have taken a large amount of effort I just wasn't up for at the moment. "I'll ignore the diminutive only because your work tonight was exceptional." He paused, then added quietly, "I'd prefer to keep you somewhere safe until you've recovered."

"You're a real mother hen sometimes, you know that? This," I tapped my sling with my free hand, "isn't worth the worry. I'm fine. Anyway, considering how exceptional I was," and I didn't have to smother a grin because his praise definitely wasn't making me all warm and fuzzy inside, honest, "you owe it to me to let me sleep in my own bed."

"If you insist." Marcone put the phone to his ear and his attention shifted away from me, his face growing somber. "This is Marcone. Alert all ground-level personnel to spread word that I want the person responsible for selling heroine to Natalie Vail. V-A-I-L. Standard reward for bringing them in alive." He listened to the other end of the call patiently for a beat. "Yes. Yes. Keep me informed." He ended the call and wisely shut his Blackberry back off.

I stared at him for a moment. "Wait. What did I just listen to?" I wasn't privy to any of Marcone's business, especially not the criminal aspects of it, and that call sounded more than a little sketchy. The Chicago Outfit apparently just got new orders. "Did you just put out a hit?"

"Considering I specifically requested the culprit alive, no." Marcone frowned at me, his expression mildly worried, like he thought I had a concussion or something because I was being extra stupid. Asshole.

I turned to face him, then winced as my shoulder brushed the seat. I'd been given some pain meds, but damn if it didn't still hurt, a dull throb radiating from my injury. Marcone's look shifted from 'Mr. Dresden, were you dropped on your head as a child?' to 'I am considering locking you in a glass case forever.' It was all in the eyebrows.

I put on a brave face, trying to look less like a vulnerable marshmallow of a man that Marcone would want to save from himself. "What're you going to do once you get him? Shake him down for ruining your evening? Recruit him to your evil empire?"

Marcone fixed me with a stare that would have undoubtedly caused a soulgaze if we hadn't already had one. "I'm going to kill him, Harry."

I didn't move for a moment. I was almost certain I'd misheard because... I mean, obviously my crime lord of an employer dealt in these kind of things, but he never told me, never like this, never to my face. "What?"

The grim look on Marcone's face faded into something else, matched with the oddly tolerant and benevolent tone that colored his words. "I have taken precautions to insulate you from my more morally questionable business ventures to allow you to adapt more readily. You are unaware that I have enforced certain rules since succeeding the Vargassi famiglia." He grimaced as he mentioned the name of his predecessor.

"Well, I know one," I mumbled, thinking of Hendricks.

Marcone nodded. "Granted. But there are others, and one pertinent to the fate of Natalie Vail. Anyone doing business in Chicago knows that to involve children in drugs or prostitution or any other vice trade is a death sentence." His gaze finally shifted away from mine. He turned to look out the window, expression almost regretful under the stoicism. "No children. Violators are executed. No exceptions."

I knew that Marcone had rules like that. Everyone said that he imposed order on the chaos of the Chicago Underworld, that things were better with him in charge. But I had no idea that this, of all things, was a rule, and one so rigorously enforced. You included children and you were punching your own card.

I suddenly remembered, over a year ago, back when Murphy and I still, you know, talked. She'd mentioned a case with a man who'd been shooting pornography with underage kids. The guy had vanished before his court hearing and was found weeks later with a double tap-- two quick, clean gunshots to the head. No bullets were found, no clues to who'd done it. The case went cold.

Now I knew what happened to that guy.

If I took the time to dig through old copies of the newspapers and old CPD case files, how many would I find like that? How many had Marcone taken out because of this rule?

"Hell's bells," I breathed out shakily.

Marcone's eyes snapped back to mine. "Does that bother you, Mr. Dresden?"

"I..." I had no idea.

Marcone stared at me measuringly for a long moment. "Or perhaps bothers you is that it doesn't bother you. I'm going to kill the person who tried to make an easy profit by dealing to a minor and neither of us are going to lose any sleep over it." There was such conviction in his voice, as though he could will this to be true even if it wasn't already.

I sunk back against the seat carefully, not wanting to jostle my shoulder, and blew out a long breath. I didn't say anything to confirm what Marcone had said, but he didn't need me to. Natalie Vail's death had driven her brother into a berserker-like rage Marcone and I only barely survived. Who else did she leave behind who loved her and mourned her?

I shut my eyes and rested my head against the window again. "Wake me when we get home."

Chapter Nine (soon)