FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [13/?]

[luciazephyr]

Title: other things the road to hell is paved with [13/?]
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: 5276. So far: 70676.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

And then there was this time John Marcone got my house firebombed and left me homeless.

No, no, wait. Let me go back and explain just how truly insane Marcone is. You can take this as a cautionary tale, true believers, a valuable lesson about life: anyone who invites you out to a lovely French restaurant to wine you and dine you only to inquire? over dessert about your thoughts on taking on Bianca St. Clair and her Red Court House is crazy. It's the kind of crazy they don't have medication for. Your only chance is to run the hell away and never look back.

I, of course, didn't do this. I am now short one apartment.



I expected Marcone to call me the day after saving my skin if not sooner to set up a meeting. To my surprise, he didn't. He didn't contact me at all that week. Halfway through the next week, I looked at the calendar and groaned.

I've probably said this before, but it bears repeating: Marcone is an asshole.

When he finally called on the one-year anniversary of the day I signed his contract, I picked up the phone and answered, "You sentimental scumbag."

He laughed, a low, throaty, pleased sound over the line. "Good afternoon to you too, Harry. I'm sending a car for you, be ready in ten minutes," he said. "Please dress somewhat nicely."

"I'm going to be in a dirty t-shirt and raggedy jeans. I may be barefoot."

"Harry," Marcone rumbled. "I saved your life. Indulge me?"

I wore jeans, my boots, but also put a nice red button-down shirt on. Our relationship was one of compromise. When Hendricks arrived to pick me up, he looked up and down my body, a quick evaluation of my attire, then nodded. "Okay."

"Good, because it's what he's getting either way." I grabbed my staff and followed Cujo out to the car. He opened the back door, but I climbed into shotgun, just to be contrary. "Not my job to amuse him," I said. Cujo made a choked sound that sounded like a covered laugh. "Shut up."

Hendricks drove me to the far end of the Gold Coast, placing me squarely back in that kind of neighborhood where you didn't really belong if you didn't make at least six figures a year. In between some of the skyscrapers were some shorter, more modest buildings, and Fournier was one of them. It was a brick, octagonal building with a courtyard out front with umbrellaed cafe seats and immaculately trimmed greenery. The pathway up to the French doors was lit by lanterns, giving off a softer light than the usual electric lamps would.

Hendricks pulled up to the place, then stopped. "Go in, tell them your name, they'll take you to see him. Got to park this."

"They have valets." I pointed.

"Mr. Marcone's cars don't get touched by valets. Too dangerous."

"Oh, his paranoia thing again."

Hendricks gave me a cold look. "Someone put some plastic explosives under his car a few years back. Not paranoia if it's justified, Dresden."

I couldn't argue with that. I got out of the car and waved Hendricks off before heading inside.

A doorman was waiting just inside, all prim smile and eager hospitality. His smile slipped when he spotted my staff. It obviously wasn't a walking staff, but he didn't seem to want ask if he could store it in the coat room for me. I saved him the indecision by walking right past him and to the woman in charge of reservations, bringing my staff with me. "Hi, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here, my name's Harry Dresden."

The woman made a little gasping noise before nodding. "Of course, sir. We have you in the first VIP room. If you'll follow me?" She beckoned me along, leading me to the back of the restaurant and up a small flight of stairs. The top level was a long, curved hallway that seemed to loop around the entire building. It had a few doors to enclosed rooms in the middle. The woman walked me to one such door and opened it for me, giving me a half-bow as she waited for me to enter.

I did, and quickly, feeling even more out of place. "You don't have to, that's..." As soon as I was inside, though, she closed the door and left me alone.

Well, alone with Gentleman Johnnie, anyway. He was sitting at the far side of a small, circular table, swirling something in a wine glass as he watched me with dark eyes. "Harry. My apologies, I should have remembered how being treated with respect upsets you."

I glared at him. "It doesn't upset me."

"All right," he agreed, obviously indulging me. He stood up, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Will you sit?"

I looked at the table again. It was... tiny, maybe six or seven feet across. At the moment, there was just a bottle of wine, some crystal glasses, and a few candles on the red linen tablecloth, but even then there wasn't much room. It was going to be an... intimate meal, for want of a better word.

I sat down, tucking my staff through the arm of the chair, trying not to feel like making an excuse and running away. Private room at one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city, what was this costing Marcone? All just for a meeting? Stars and stones.

Marcone poured me a glass of wine before settling back in his seat. He seemed content to just sip his wine and watch me, so I struck up the conversation with, "Okay, what do you want?"

"Mm, I don't know... World peace, an end to hunger, the usual things. You can drink the wine, Harry. I find poisoning drinks tacky." He kept his face a blank slate, all business, but his eyes were bright with humor. That was usual, though. Everything you needed to know about John Marcone was in his eyes if you cared to look. Sadly, I don't think most people dared.

"Ha ha, scumbag," I muttered, taking a sip. I wish I could sound sophisticated and say it tasted like it came from the hills of south France or that it was woody and well-aged, but it just tasted like red wine. What can I say, I lack the palate for this stuff. "What'd you want to talk about?"

"I make it a rule not to discuss business on an empty stomach."

"I had lunch. We can talk."

Marcone shook his head and slouched sideway in his chair, wineglass on his knee and head resting on his fist. "Allow me to rephrase. What I want to discuss is sensitive and I'd rather eat first, then talk. Less likely one of the staff will walk in at a bad time that way."

I leaned forward on my folded arms. "So you want me to just sit here and make chit-chat with you?"

"Is that so hard?"

"Well, let's see, you're a--"

"--criminal scumbag, yes," Marcone finished. "Yet we worked together for a month and a half, as you recall. We did develop something of a rapport in that time."

I shook my head. "That's different."

"How so?"

"You were trying to charm me. Get me to like you so I'd go along with whatever scheme you cooked up." I gave him an angry look, still sore from my realization of what Marcone was doing to me during our time in the Opal Office. "It's not going to work again."

Marcone stared at me for a long moment. Behind his eyes, I could see his calculating mind ticking away at me, running the numbers again. Then he drained the rest of his glass and shook his head. "Harry... Oh, Harry, what am I going to do with you..."

I dug up the words like a half-forgotten memory. "Don't call me that."

Marcone narrowed his eyes at me. "No, I think I will. It doesn't seem much to ask, given our relationship."

"We don't have a relationship."

Now he actually rolled his eyes. "Yes, because I often send helicopters and aid to people I don't know."

I was about to snap at him about how I didn't ask for his help, nor did I need it, but the door opened. A few waiters with silver trays walked in and started bustling around. Plates of steaming hot food were placed on the table, a new bottle of wine was poured, and dinner was served. Marcone said a few words to them before shooing them out of the room.

Marcone had some rich salad with a sweet-smelling dressing, piled with vibrant, fresh vegetables and grilled chicken. I had a hearty dish with braised duck in a heavy wine sauce that tasted even better than it looked. "You ordered for me?"

Marcone nodded. "Yes. Because I know you prefer duck to other types of meat though you don't get to eat it often. Just like you know how many languages I speak and that I require a latte in the morning before my higher brain functions can kick in. I know your decorating style is severely colorblind, but centered around comfort since you fill your home with rich, warm textures. You know that I am fastidious to a degree that would lead many to call me a 'neat freak.' You once knew nothing about me except my reputation and were fearless in my presence. Now that you've seen the sort of man I am in private, something about me scares you." He picked his fork and speared some spinach and tomato onto it. "What I don't know is why."

The silence after that was deafening. It lasted throughout the meal, as we each worked our way through our food. He didn't push, and I was glad since I needed the time to think.

I hated that he always knew when I needed him to back off.

He was right, of course. We did have a relationship. And, yes, he did scare me. I didn't want to admit that, but it was true. Maybe it was the fact that he would kill a man in cold blood then turn around and save both Susan and I from vampires. Maybe it was the fact he was the most dangerous man in the city who knew where I was and what I was doing at any given time, but sent people like Franklin to tail me when he was worried. Maybe it was the fact he worried, fretted over his people and me like some unholy mix of a CEO and a den mother. Maybe it was that look he got when he looked out over Chicago. Maybe it was the fact I'd caught him looking at me in a similar fashion.

Maybe the answer was D, all of the above.

I held out my glass to him, letting him pour me more to drink. As I sipped the wine, he moved to a covered platter the staff had left for us and lifted the top. He sliced the pastry cake inside and dished out a slice for each of us, mine twice as big as his. "Mille-feuille," he murmured, whatever that meant, before taking his seat again.

I took a few bites of my cake. Then I said, "What do you want from me, John?"

He set down his fork and laced his fingers together, resting his chin there. He regarded me quietly for a moment, eyes half-lidded and greener than usual. When he spoke, it was a quiet rumble that abruptly reminded me of the tiger he'd been in my dream, the tiger he was even as he sat there in front of me. "I want you to help me save Chicago. I want to drive Bianca St. Clair and her kin from this city and salt the Earth where they once stood."

"That's--"

He kept going. "I want you to teach me about the threats to my city. I want you to help me contain them. I want to help you become stronger and add your strength to mine in safeguarding this place. I want you, as my advisor and my partner in this. I want your trust, and to place mine in you in return." Marcone reached across the small table and put his hand over mine. "I want you to stop fighting me and realize what we'd be capable of together."

Hell's fucking bells. Marcone's gaze was boring into mine and I couldn't look away. It was all laid bare in his eyes, the pure honesty and the lethal determination. I'd seen his soul, and I knew now he was telling the truth, the spirit and the letter.

He wanted to get rid of the Chicago Red Court. And, unless I was misunderstanding, he didn't want to stop there.

My mouth was very dry. I croaked out, "You have no idea what you're asking."

"Then tell me, Harry."

"It's not possible, that scale of... whatever the hell you're suggesting."

"Tell me why."

"It's not that simple, John."

He smiled, not happily. "Neither was taking over the Outfit."

Okay, reason obviously wasn't going to work with him. Marcone was apparently some kind of crazy, obsessive about this in a way I hadn't seen before. So, yeah, scary. I tried to pull my hand back, but he tightened his grip. It wasn't enough to stop me, but it was a silent request.

I left my hand there, under his. I had a million questions, but one was both the shortest and the most important. "Why?"

Marcone hummed quietly, thinking. His gaze dropped to our hands, and his thumb started to rub circles into my wrist as he contemplated. "It... is something you should understand. After all, why do you help people as you do, a nearly thankless job done for people who consider you a fraud and con-artist, who have no idea what remarkable things you are capable of?"

"Because..." I shrugged. "I have to. People don't know what's out there, and the world's getting darker, more dangerous. Mysterious deaths, people gone missing without a trace, some driven mad because they messed with the wrong resident of the Nevernever... Someone has to do something."

Marcone nodded. "Exactly."

"You want me to believe Don Marcone, the most powerful man in the city, is just altruistic?"

"You gazed upon my soul. Don't be purposefully obtuse."

I used my free hand to take a gulp of wine. Nice drink, when it wasn't poisoned. "I'm not. Congrats, you're not a complete monster, but you still make money off of humanity's weaknesses and addictions. Why would I help you do this?"

There was a flash of something like doubt in Marcone's face then. I don't think he anticipated my reluctance. "Because..." His fingers toyed with one of the charms on my shield bracelet, a nervous gesture I never expected to see from him. "Because I have the ability to succeed here. And while you disapprove of what I do, you approve of how I go about it. I minimize collateral damage and follow certain rules."

"Doesn't make you a saint."

"No, but Harry," his eyes snapped back to mine. His words came faster, with more confidence, like he knew he had me. "I'm the best option. Just like you are the best option for me. If I wanted, I have another magical contractor waiting in the wings if you won't help me with this. She's just as capable as you are, but I would much rather have you."

"And why is that?"

"Because you will fight me. You have a moral code that, while it permits some grey areas, will not allow you to do anything you consider evil. And if I go too far in this, you will not hesitate to usurp me. And I want that. I need you to be my equal in this, to help me, even if that means going against me. And you are the only person I know who is both capable and willing to do that. I need you."

Hell's bells. That sounded... It wasn't the sort of thing you'd hear from a mafia lord. It seemed risky to me, to be giving me so much apparent power over him. Unless I was really mishearing him, I had permission to strike his ass down if I didn't agree with what he was doing. I... had no idea why he'd do that. Because he had to know I would. I really would take the opportunity if I felt I needed to. When you were dealing with Marcone, you were also dealing with Chicago at large by extension, and a lot of lives were at stake.

Marcone stood up and circled to my chair. Standing behind me, he put his hands on my shoulders. I stiffened at the touch, too keyed-up at the moment not to. He stayed there, and his warmth behind me made me have to suppress a shiver. "At this point I should give you another warning. This is the last chance I'll give you to walk away from me, Harry. Take on this vampire threat with me, and I swear to you we will win. And I will not end there."

I tipped my head back to look at him. "You sound like you're asking me to be your Merlin."

He smiled faintly. "I believe it'd be more accurate to say I'm asking to be your Arthur."

I don't know how long we both stayed there like that, me sitting and Marcone with his hands on me. I didn't give him an answer right away, and once again he didn't push me. But he remained where he was, making it impossible for me to think of anything else but his offer.

I couldn't believe I was considering this. This was big, and would mean my life would be filled with even more trouble than it usually was. I'd have to tell Marcone... everything. There was much more than just vampires in Chicago. The White Council would be furious at me, not just for enabling a mundane with knowledge of the supernatural, but this particular mundane. Even with all of Marcone's sources, there was plenty he had no idea about.

This wasn't a short-term deal. He was making that clear. It all made sense. That contract he had me under made arrangements for long-term employment. But given what Marcone wanted to do, it might take that long. This could be my life.

I got a wave of claustrophobia all of a sudden. "Hey, can't breathe," I gasped.

Marcone squeezed my shoulders and walked away. He wandered over to a sidebar along one wall of the room. He pulled down two tumblers. "Jack and coke?"

"Yeah, but you can hold the coke."

He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. "Liquid courage, Harry?"

"Fuck off," I said amicably, watching him pour me a whiskey on the rocks and mix himself another drink involving lemon juice and rum. "You realize you're crazy, right?"

"I do. Most people don't notice. I think wearing well-tailored suits helps."

"Pay no attention to the lunatic behind the pinstripes."

"Something like that." He handed me my drink. "Cin cin," he murmured, clinking out glasses together.

I sipped the whiskey, set it down, then said, "Okay."

"Hm?"

"I'm saying yes."

He froze, mid-drink, staring at me.

"But you have to listen to me when I tell you about what's what. I'm not just an underling you can order around. And I'm taking you at your word about being allowed to overthrow you if you get too megalomanic. And I will do it." I could barely believe I was saying this. I was signing on for the long haul. John and I versus whatever supernatural nasty showed its face in Chicago. I had no idea how to even go about that. I barely kept myself alive as it was. "I'm your partner in crime, without the crime because I'm signing on with you, not the Outfit, okay? And I reserve the right to piss you off without having to worry about you killing me." A thought struck me. "Or using those damn cuffs on me, that too."

"Yes, yes, of course," John whispered, sounding so happily surprised. He put a hand on the table, like he thought he might fall otherwise. His eyes were so very bright, and I could see him clamping down on his elation, his maddening control reining it in as best it could.

God, I was even crazier than he was. Hell's stars and bellstones, he was going to be the death of me and I had no one to blame but myself.

He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly over the collar of his dress shirt. "I can- I can draw up another contract. For myself. It’s fitting that I’m bound to you in return."

Huh. I was under the impression I would be essentially swearing my service to him, not the other way around. “We’ve moved way past mortal laws here, John. And no offence, but I don't trust your army of lawyers. A blood oath?”

He grimaced. "I'd prefer not. And I’m afraid I can’t give you my Name, either.”

I shrugged. "Handshake?"

"A little underwhelming, perhaps"

I smiled, hit by the obvious solution. I knew what I’d ask for from another wizard, from any one of my peers crazy enough to join me in something like this. John had no magic, there couldn’t be any metaphysical repercussions for his broken oath, but symbolically, I knew this would matter to him. “Then swear to me on your power, John Marcone. Swear on Chicago.”

He smiled at me slowly, approvingly, like I’d found the answer to a complex riddle. "Yes. I give you my allegiance, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, in return for your own. I swear by my power, and my city."

I had to remind myself this wasn't magically binding, not from a vanilla mortal. It couldn't be. But the part of me that could feel the hidden currents of power in the world, the part that was tied up in the energy around us, it was drawn towards him in a way that was almost physical. He was a mundane, but damn if he didn't feel like something else entirely, something I'd never encountered before. I had an urge to reach out and take hold of him, to get close, to see some physical representation of our allegiance.

“I accept.” I said, and then I picked up my drink, because I desperately needed something to occupy my hands. “Happy Anniversary, John,” I toasted him, and drained it down.



I woke up the next day in my own bed with a glorious hangover thanks to my overindulgence in wine and whiskey, and an unexpected lack of dread despite what had happened.

I drank a few glasses of water, popped some aspirin, and tried saying it aloud. "I'm teaming up with John Marcone to take on the supernatural world at large."

Nope. No panic, no urges to pack my things and move out of town, nothing. Well, besides the thought that this was all insane and John was going to get the both of us killed. That went without saying. I didn't know what I was getting into, but neither did he, really. At least I wasn't alone in being completely out of my depth.

I cooked up an actual breakfast, complete with bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast, which was something I only rarely did, even now that I could afford real food. I needed the fuel. It was the first day of the rest of my life, and I wanted to get started on it.

Okay, maybe this was going to end with both of us dead because we got in over our heads. But some little voice inside my said, hey, maybe not. I wasn't one for optimism, but I could be a little hopeful at the moment. Just a little.

First order of business was information. John already decided on Bianca as the biggest threat to Chicago at the moment, and he was right, considering her new position as Margravine. But John didn't even know about the Red Court and the different types of vampires. Time to fix that.

I tapped Bob's skull with a fingernail. "Wakey-wakey, Bob. We've got work to do."

"Mmmmhaaaaa," Bob yawned, and sleepily blinked his eyes on. "Boss, do you know what time it is? It's like..." He trailed off. "Boss."

I arched an eyebrow. "Aura looking weird?"

"You did something with Mr. Sexy Mafia Overlord! Was it sex? Please say it was sex."

"I made a deal. Not binding, but." I shrugged and sat down at my work table. I cleared a space to work, pulling over a spiral notebook and a pencil to write with.

"Oh." Bob sounded very disappointed. "Just a deal? That's all? Well, what sort of deal? Must've been a doozy to mix up your auras like that in the span of one evening."

I told him.

"Whoa."

"Yep." I nodded.

"Boss, you realize that's a little-- how to put this nicely..."

I offered, "Crazy?"

"I was going to say you just found the most roundabout way to form a suicide pact, but sure, crazy works too." Some humor dropped out of his voice and if I wasn't imagining it, I'd say there was some concern there. "You sure about this, Harry?"

I inhaled through my nose, held the breath, and exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

"'Kay." He peered at me for a long moment. "So. What's on the agenda for today?"

I smiled. "A crash course in vampires." I set my pencil to paper. "Talk to me, Bob. Tell me everything we need to know to take them out."



When you make a deal with the devil, it's good to talk it out with an expert on such things.

The Carpenter children were raking up all the fallen autumn leaves into piles under Charity's supervision. Even eight months pregnant, she commanded a stern presence, overseeing the work. The older kids had heavy duty rakes, building up big piles of leaves while the smaller ones had colorful plastic toy versions. They mostly staged swordfights, with the losers being tossed into the leaves. Michael and I sat on the back porch, observing.

"What's your heart tell you about this arrangement?" Michael asked in the tone he used when acting as parental therapist to his brood. I'm wasn't sure what it meant that he was using it on me.

"Hell, Michael, I don't know," I sighed. Michael reached behind him and grabbed an empty jar with a hole in the lid and handed it to me. I dug a dollar out of my wallet and tucked it inside. Uncle Harry's Ice Cream Fund was a big hit with the kids. "I mean, what was I supposed to do with an offer like that?"

"You could have told him no," Michael suggested. He didn't give me any indication that he had an opinion either way, just playing Devil's advocate. Heh.

"And let someone else take on the role? He's a stubborn son of a-- jerk." I didn't need to contribute to the swear jar any more today. "At least with me, I can hold him accountable and keep him on the straight and narrow."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "Harry."

"Okay, the less crooked and narrower."

Michael nodded. "That may be so. But he can't be a good influence on you."

"It's not like I'm a paragon of virtue in the first place."

"You're a good man."

"So's John," I said.

Michael didn't reply, just staring at me. I rewound the conversation and noticed belatedly what I'd said. "I mean, if we're using me as a point of comparison. He's not..."

"He is a criminal."

"It's more complicated than that."

"He kills."

"So have I," I murmured, quietly.

Michael looked back to his children. He did that a lot when he needed to think. I didn't understand it, having no frame of reference for that kind of companionship. I was a solitary person. The only 'people' I shared my apartment with were a cat and a talking skull and it'd been that way for a long, long time. Michael had a support system, and everything he did had to be what was right for all the Carpenters. I wondered if that was a burden or a relief for him. Probably the latter, for some reason I couldn't fathom.

Eventually he said, "You're an adult, Harry. I don't need to tell you what you're getting mixed up with. I cannot give you absolution for what you are doing."

"But should I be wanting absolution?"

"Do you?"

I groaned. "That's what I'm asking."

Michael gently grinned and patted my arm. I glared back at him. What was the point of the whole paragon act if you weren't going to help the less virtuous masses? Clearly Michael thought I had to figure things out myself. That seemed unfair to me, since he always had Charity to help him out. I wanted a Charity of my own.

Erm. So to speak. I watched Charity heave two of her quarreling children apart and start telling them off. I had over a foot of height on her, but I was certain she could knock me around easily. Fierce was Charity Carpenter, wife of the Fist of God.

"If I may?" Michael asked.

"Please."

"You seem content with your decision, but are trying to find justification not to be. You know what you've gotten yourself into and feel like you should feel shame or guilt. But you don't."

I nodded. "Sounds about right."

"Are you willing to go back on your deal with Marcone?"

"No." I'd sworn on my name and power. Even if I hadn't... I didn't want to. That was it, my issue with the whole thing.

Michael nodded in that sagely, zen way he had. "Did you want me to tell you what you're doing is wrong and you should stop?"

I shifted, looking away, out at the kids, who were back to diligently raking under Charity's watchful eye. "That would be selfish and an abuse of our friendship." Which meant 'maybe a little.'

He patted my shoulder again, the gesture comforting in that fraternal way that was almost completely foreign to me. Michael and I were more different than we were alike, but I considered him the closest I had to family. I assumed this was what having an older brother would feel like. All I could do was guess.

"What'll you do now?" Michael asked.

"Go see John. Brief him on vampires. Figure out how he expects us to do this."

"I don't approve of him, Harry." His voice was quiet, managing to pass judgement without sounding judgemental. "I don't know what this is going to mean for you. But if I can help you in any way..."

"Thank you." It was more than I hoped for, when I decided to tell my Knight of the Cross friend that I was voluntarily working with John. I still had to tell the Alphas, but I was waiting until our next game night for that. I was fairly sure if I explained the situation, they'd be okay with it. Susan.... that was another story entirely. I didn't know how or when I was going to tell her. So far, that had me more nervous than the vampires.

Speaking of. "Well, I've got to run. Need to go find John's new office." I stood up and grabbed my staff. "Thanks, Michael."

He wished me godspeed and I accepted a group hug from the younger Carpenters before heading off into the Chicago night.

Chapter Fourteen

Comments

[cimorene]

This is still just as brilliant as before, wow! I haven't commented in a couple of chapters because of fear of repeating myself, but I don't want to leave off entirely, either. Your handling of character development is so smooth, seamless, and deft that I hardly notice the ways in which they're moving away from canon until I consciously stop and look back. Quite an accomplishment!

[luciazephyr]

Heee, thank you! I'm thrilled that the development is working so well, you have no idea. It's probably the hardest part of writing this, keeping it believable. ♥ Thank you so much.

[samjohnsson]

so awesome. and harry still has no clue...