luciazephyr | FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [17/?] (Reply)

It happened over the phone.

I slept the sleep of the just for half a day before waking up, making some breakfast-- or, brunch, considering the hour-- and dialing Susan as I polished off my eggs and checked my wards again. For once, they weren't severely weakened, so I didn't bother with my usual reinforcement of them.

"What're you doing Sunday?" I asked when Susan picked up.

"Harry? Oh, hold on a sec." I listened to some background noise for a minute. "Sorry, trying to get some stuff together."

I sagged into my easy chair, putting my feet up. "What for?"

"Well, you know how the Arcane is affiliated with some other publications? Newspapers, magazines, some bigger names in the business."

Most names in the business were bigger names than the Midwestern Arcane. We both knew that, so I didn't remind her. "Assume I do."

"Well," her voice got breathy and excited. "There's this conference going on back in New York and one of the slots opened up."

"And... they offered it to you?"

"I know, it's crazy, but they did!" She laughed, pure joy in the sound. It was a beautiful thing to hear, and I couldn't remember the last time I had. "It's been just dropped in my lap. I'll be rubbing elbows with everyone from the New York Times to the Washington Post. Getting my name out there and meeting people, setting up connections... This could be my one big chance."

"That's... great, Susan. That's wonderful." I pushed some enthusiasm into my words. I was mostly confused, not sure how I felt about it. Obviously happy for her, but was I regretful because she couldn't come to the gala with me? Shouldn't I have been?

"Yeah, it's... I'm resisting the urge to dance in the street." She took a deep breath. "So, what'd you need?"

"Oh, nothing." I said quickly "Nothing at all, I was just... checking in. I know it's been a while since I called."

"Hm, since you had that emergency with Marcone," she noted, and more guilt hit me. I'd intended to call her, to set up a nice long talk explaining everything. Things were just moving so fast, it sometimes felt like I couldn't get my feet under me.

"Yeah, I know. I called to, uh... There's this gala he wanted me to go to tomorrow and I was going to ask you to go with me, but seeing as you'll be busy--"

"I'll be on the plane tomorrow morning, yeah," Susan confirmed. "Maybe that's... it could be for the best."

"'Course. We could always do something once you get back. Something to celebrate."

Susan went quiet for a long moment. The line was so silent, I was about to ask if she was still there. She beat me to it with a very, very soft, "We... we don't have to, you know, Harry."

I frowned up at the ceiling in lieu of her face. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just going to come right out and ask this. I need to know. Do you love me?"

I knew this was the question every guy was supposed to dread. There was this whole myth about men not having emotions. Totally untrue. Men just aren't comfortable talking about their emotions. They're private. Hell, I didn't even examine my own emotions most of the time. That direction led to scary things I didn't want to admit to myself.

There was a correct answer to the question, but I was having a hard time remembering it. "Wh-what?"

"It's not hard, Harry. Do you love me, yes or no?" She laughed, sadly. "You can say no. It's... it's okay."

"That's not..." Say it, just say it, don't fuck this up, you need something that isn't complicated or you'll go crazy, say it. "I... Susan..."

She laughed again, and my heart twisted to hear it. "It's okay, Harry. It's not the end of the world. These things happen. If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way."

"Wait, can we... can't we talk about this?"

"We are," she pointed out dryly. "You're a good man. Stubborn, too caring for your own good, and handsome to boot. You always kept things interesting." Hell's bells, past tense.

"Are you dumping me?" I sputtered.

She sighed. "I was going for amicable, mutual separation, but yeah, if that's the way you want to play it."

"Why? Did I do something... I'm sorry about that time I had to leave--"

"Harry," she said gently. "It's not that. This isn't going anywhere, and we both know it. And, you know, that's okay. Sometimes it's nice to just have someone. Not every date has to be a build up to getting hitched and turning into the Carpenters. But we've been like this for months. Your heart's not in it-- and that's okay!" She reassured me, sounding so understanding, like she had me all figured out and knew where I wanted to jump in and defend myself, to fight back. And, fuck, so far it seemed like she did. "It really is, Harry, I promise. What we had was great and I wouldn't trade it for anything, but... come on. You had to know this was coming."

Why was I always the last to know? I'm a good detective. I wouldn't have kept a roof over my head this long if I wasn't. I'd fended for myself for years before John Marcone started paying me way too much and dissolving my rent and food concerns. I'd survived because I was actually competent at my job (though having a good advertisement in the book helped).

So why did this blindside me so much?

"Yeah," I lied. "I guess so."

"Harry Dresden, I love you. You are the kindest, goofiest, most wonderfully eccentric man I've ever met. It's a cliche to say, but I do still want to be friends."

"Sure." My voice was coming out like a croak, my throat tight with barely restrained emotion. I needed to get off the line, because crying while on the phone with the woman who just dumped me would mean I could never look myself in the eye again. Which would be pretty easy considering I didn't own many mirrors, but still.

"I'll catch up to you when I get back, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye," I said, and listened to the line as it went dead. Numbly, I got up and walked the handset back to the phone's cradle and set it down.

Then I laid down on the couch. Mister, probably sensing how unhappy I now was, jumped up and curled into a giant purring ball of fur on my stomach. I petted him absentmindedly with one hand and didn't think about anything for a long time.

My blissful avoidance of the real world was ruined when someone wouldn't stop knocking on my door. I'd ignored the first series of knocks, then the second one. They'd stopped for about two minutes before a third set banged on my door.

"Dresden, I just called to check: surveillance says you're in there. Open the fucking door," Cujo said.

I sighed and rolled off my sofa, going to let him in. He took in my deathglare and unfriendly demeanor, and responded by brushing past me into my apartment, carrying a suit bag. "Tux is ready."

"I'm not going to the gala," I announced, returning to the sofa and slumping down on it.

Hendricks gave me a look, now actually taking in my bitter tone and foul mood. Anyone who worked with John on a regular basis had to be able to read people fairly well. "Who shot your dog?"

I laughed, darkly and utterly devoid of actual humor. "Susan dumped me." Hendricks' hand twitched, towards his pocket. "If you call and report that in, I'll blow up your car. I'm not kidding. My life is not gossip material for the Outfit."

Hendricks nodded. "Sorry. Why'd she leave you?"

"That's the thing I don't get; there was no reason. Just wanted to break up." I sighed and sagged bonelessly into my sprawl. I felt all mixed up. I was upset yet angry and I didn't even know who with. I'd thought dating Susan was a big deal. It had been for me. It'd been my longest relationships since Elaine, arguably the first important one since I was a teenager. And it'd just ended. How does that happen? How was it Susan and I were about the same age and yet she got to be so calm and mature about this while I hid in my apartment?

"Women," Cujo opined.

"Women," I agreed. It was nice to have a guy who understood. "Call John, tell him I'm not going."

"Nah, not yet." Hendricks looked at the suit bag he'd carried in, the mental wheels in his head turning. "Supposed to have you try the tux on to make sure it fits. Doubt the boss would get it wrong though..." He nodded to himself, like deciding something, then walked over to me and grabbed my arm, tugging me upward. "C'mon. You just got dumped. Need a beer."

Hendricks was getting all... autonomous on me. Always a little weird and off-putting, which was how he got me to my feet. I shuffled into my shoes and coat and let Cujo hustle me out the door, barely remembering to put up my wards as we left.

Before I knew it, I was coming out of my haze of self-pity as Hendricks parked the car in front of an edgy little bar called Typhoon. It was a notorious spot that everyone knew was a hangout ran by and for the Mob. I got out of the car and stared up at the place before telling Hendricks, "I'm not sure I'm going to be welcomed here. Not my crowd."

Hendricks snorted and beckoned me inside anyway.

Typhoon had the same classy, modern interior decorating sense that all of John's property did. It was swathed in blues and steely off-whites, the color of ocean surf. It was dark inside, the atmosphere halcyon, if not exactly welcoming. I could see a lot of tables and chairs, all filled. The only real noise was a low hum created by the mix of quiet conversation and the stereo playing some sax-heavy bluesy tune. It was hard to hear and it took me a moment to realize the acoustics of the room prevented sound from traveling. I looked around and found a table of guys talking animatedly, but I could barely hear it.

A hangout where you didn't have to worry about being overheard. Nice touch, John.

"There're no seats," I informed Hendricks.

"Don't worry about it," he said and lumbered past me, heading to the far end of the bar, away from the crowd. He approached an occupied table at an even pace. As he got close, the men sitting there simultaneously got up and moved to the bar, giving Hendricks and I respectful nods as they passed.

It hit me for the first time right then. "Oh my god, I'm in the mob."

Hendricks cracked up, deep, real laughs. It was a new thing and startled me at first. "That just now occurred to you, Dresden?"

"Maybe?" I winced and sat down at the table. "I thought I was... only mob by proxy?"

He kept chuckling softly as he sat. "You're Mr. Marcone's wizard."

"I get that now, thanks," I said, a little catty. It'd been a rough day. It got better when two Guinness were placed on the table. I snatched both and said to the bartender, "Appreciate it, but I think Hendricks is going to want some too."

Hendricks rolled his eyes and yanked one bottle back. "Ignore him." He waved off the bartender and popped the cap off his drink. "So. Wanna talk about it?"

Oh god, Hendricks wanted me to talk about my feelings? What crazy What If...? saga had I fallen into? Besides, "What, so you can report it to John? No thanks."

I had to give him credit, he looked ready to punch me, but refrained. "Fine, asshole, go back to feeling sorry for yourself."

I looked down at my bottle and started peeling the label off it. "Sorry. This whole being dumped thing is new territory for me."

He looked surprised, and I tried not to be insulted by that. "You usually the dumper instead of dumpee?"

"Well, the one other time, I didn't qualify as either," I admitted sullenly.

"One other time...?" He sat up straighter, peering hard at me, like his boss tended to do, though he lacked John's razor sharp intensity. "How old?"

"Sixteen." I took a long gulp of beer, halving the bottle's contents. "My teacher tried to mind mojo us into being his slaves. He got to her first. I killed them both."

I finished off the Guiness by the time Hendricks found the ability to speak again. Then, he only said, "Damn," and flagged down the bar for more beers.

"Yeah." And because it was nagging at me, I asked, "You going to tell John that?"

It was Hendricks' turn to avert his gaze. I probably shouldn't have put him on the spot like that. I knew where his loyalties were. Maybe he'd bend the rules enough to take me out for some commiserating instead of tuxedo-related activities, but I knew damn well he'd be reporting in as soon as I left his company. John's orders.

"He worries about you. Weirdest fucking thing," Hendricks said quietly, as if the acoustics of Typhoon weren't already masking our conversation from eavesdroppers. "You incinerate entire buildings and he still fusses at you."

"He fusses at everyone, like he's doting on the entire damn Outfit."

Hendricks shook his head. "Worse with you."

Okay, so it wasn't just me that noticed. "Yeah. No clue why."

The big guy blinked at me, like he was waiting for me to add a punchline to that. "You serious?" I nodded. "Fuck, Dresden, you can't be that dense."

"Never underestimate me," I grumbled, wondering if this was another thing I'd be last to know.

He glanced awkwardly around, then refused to look me in the face again. "You can be a moron sometimes, Dresden, but even you have to see it." His gaze flicked to me, then away again. "I gotta stand 'round and listen to it, the way you two just... cut into each other." His eyes narrowed. "You know. No one's that blind."

I thought about John's hands, the callouses that didn't belong on a businessman, the light touch of a man who could kill people in cold blood. I thought about the mix of those two opposite qualities and how they worked together to soothe me, leave me vulnerable.

Of course I knew. Maybe I refused to acknowledge it, but I could feel it to my core, how I'd gotten wrapped up in John Marcone. It should have scared the hell out of me, the realization that not only did I willingly go along with him, but I wanted to. I would let him close when I was stripped of all defenses, laying without shield or focus, and didn't attempt to stop him from treating me like some indulged pet. I wanted him to. I'd let him ply me as he needed, helped him without needing to be asked, and taken favors from him without worrying about the debt I might be racking up.

It was foolish. I'd soulgazed the man and I knew he was a tiger, predatory and territorial and lethal. As long as he thought of me as his, I was protected. The moment that changed, I would gain the most powerful enemy I'd ever faced, who knew my Name and everything else that mattered.

But I also knew how to read his emotions in his eyes, and that he let me see more of him than possibly anyone else in the city. That every time he pushed at this... whatever it was between us, every time we wound each other up with playful sniping and significant looks, I was the one to back off. He never did. The thought of what would happen if I didn't walk away made my blood pound.

I knew all that. I just... didn't know what it meant. Half of me wanted to find out. The other half made several arguments about why that was a very bad idea.

One of those arguments had been Susan. Not the only one, mind... I still wasn't ready to think about it.

But after a few drinks, when the conversation between Cujo and I lulled to an unexpectedly comfortable silence, I shut my eyes and thought about it. Just for a moment.

Money green and that vibrant wit under layers of politesse and the maddening images that haunted my dreams, that maybe under his suits and finely tailored shirts, I'd find a tiger's stripes.

Hendricks put his hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you home. You have a party tomorrow."

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah."

The tuxedo fit perfectly. I wondered, not for the first time nor the last, if John had a dossier on me somewhere or whether all his Harry Facts were stored in the filing cabinet he called a head. I don't know much about computers, but I've read about them in magazines and the like, so I have the basic idea. When I think of computers, I think of John's mind, because that seems like an accurate comparison.

Bob wolf whistled when I gave in to the heckling and showed him. "You're going to be the prettiest girl at the prom, boss."

"Bob," I sighed, trying to work the bowtie for the umpteenth time. I couldn't keep both sides even, one loop always too small. I wondered if I could get away with a clip-on. Or maybe I could work out a spell to make the thing even. Or just a minor veil to make it look even.

"Never would have guessed that all it takes to turn you from a slob to a knockout is a tux."

"Knockout?" That sounded nice. I wished I hadn't gotten rid of all the mirrors in the apartment. Ah, the sacrifices for peace of mind.

"Well, as much as a doofy guy like you can be a knockout. Play your cards right and you might get some raunchy sex in the back of Mr. Sexy Mafia Overlord's limo." His eyelights gleamed. "Hey, bring me along, I'll make sure you get some action."

"No, thank you." I let myself smile, thinking maybe I looked good. I was dressed sharply and going to a freaking gala and maybe my girlfriend just dumped me, but I could bounce back. It wasn't the end of the world. "I can manage."

"Go, boss!" Bob whistled. "Get down with your bad self, as the kids say."

I left him down there, feeling pretty good and ready to try to enjoy myself with John.

There was a knock at my door. Think of the Devil, and he shall appear. I lowered my wards, which had survived another night of Bianca's pummeling, though they were looking a little weak. I needed to reinforce them tomorrow.

I opened the door on John's smile. It started polite and cool, but widened into something genuine as he racked his eyes up and down my body. "Mr. Dresden," he marveled. "You do cut a figure, don't you?"

I honest to god blushed. That had been forward, even for him. I guessed he'd heard about Susan. Just the way he said my name made me feel like he'd declared open season on me. Stars and stones. "I don't have a mirror, so I'll take your word for it." I hitched a thumb over my shoulder. "Just give me a moment, I have to get this thing tied..." I backed away from the door, leaving him to close it as I put some distance between us and tried the bowtie again.

John followed, watching for a moment, before pushing a chair towards me. "Here, sit for me."

I gave him a suspicious look, but did as he said. As soon as I was in the chair, he stepped behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me back. I felt the heat of him behind me before his fingers caught my bowtie and undid it, smoothing it back out against my chest. I tensed, sucking in a breath, and John whispered, "What, Harry? Don't trust me?"

"No, no, just..." I shook my head. "It's fine."

He hummed softly and obligingly got my bowtie on right, then fixed my collar around it solicitously. I stood up and backed away as soon as he was done. Hell's bells, was he going to be like this all night?

I bent over and pulled on my shoes, some black trainers that were likely the nicest pair I owned. John gave them a disapproving look. "Shoes. Why did I forget shoes?"

I snickered. He sounded so disappointed in himself. "You got me a suit that's worth more than my car--"

"What on this planet isn't?"

"--and it fits like a dream, and I didn't even have to get measured for it. You did good, John," I reassured him.

He glared at my shoes again. "Hm. Perhaps people will be so taken by your appearance, they won't notice."

"There you go, silver lining." God, I felt all bubbly and cheerful now. It felt healthy, to get out and go do things instead of moping around about Susan. I let myself have some high hopes for the evening as John ushered me out and into his limo. It was a modest one, not the stretch kind that made it impossible to navigate urban traffic unless you had the power to break the laws of physics in two.

I waved to Hendricks up front as I climbed in, and he nodded back before returning his eyes to the road. There was another goon in the passenger's seat, holding an anti-Red Court paintball gun on his lap, watching our surroundings keenly.

John noticed me peering at him and said, "It's a quiet night. No major incidents. I believe they are regrouping, perhaps reworking their strategy in wake of your removal of that hit squad."

"Won't be quiet for long," I said softly.

"No, probably not. This is merely a lull before the storm," John murmured, and I noticed right then that we'd both sat in the bench seat between the doors, ignoring the other row of seats across from the minibar. I'd forgotten that faint scent of his cologne, masculine but sweet. "We should enjoy it while it lasts."

I nodded, my mouth suddenly too dry to speak. John gave me a curious look, examining my face. After a beat, he relaxed, his mouth a contented curve, eyes dark.

I turned and watched Chicago go by around us. There was that thing I was refusing to think of again rearing its head, palpable in the energy vibrating between us. I felt John's hand rest against my leg, so fucking casually there was no way it was by accident. I twitched away and heard the rumble of his laughter in response, and it sounded far too much like a purr.

The gala was apparently a benefit for the Cook County schools and the ticket price was a big donation that went to funding after school and art programs for kids. When we arrived at the mighty fine shindig, they announced John's presence and added a bit about him being one of the most generous patrons of the charity, having attended the gala for several years running.

John's name was met with equal amounts of applause and scowling. It was easy to sweep the faces in the crowd and see who had heard "affluent entrepreneur John Marcone," and who had heard it instead as "Gentleman Johnnie, possible Antichrist."

John didn't seem to care either way, waving down the applause and grinning at those who didn't clap, all smooth, dangerous charm.

"A third of those people were giving you the Evil Eye," I said as he put a hand on my shoulder and drew me with him into the crowd.

"Any truth to that superstition?"

"Yeah, it's called a malocchio. Form of entropy curse."

"Will you tell me about it sometime?"

I said I would, because it was the truth. Morgan's empty threats didn't scare me and besides, I'd put reflective wards in John's office to fight off curses like that anyway. He might as well know what I was guarding him from.

John gave me an unmistakably fond look before letting his eyes sweep the room. Some people shied away from his gaze when it hit them. It was weird, like everyone in the room was constantly aware of where John was. Or maybe I was just hyperaware of everyone's attention.

I belatedly realized John's hand had drifted down to my upper back. I gave him a capital-L Look, which he cheerfully ignored. I sighed and turned to Hendricks, opening my mouth to make a joke, get some support. John grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Leave Mr. Hendricks to his work tonight, Harry," he whispered to me. "Large crowds make him anxious." He grabbed my hand, pulling it away from my neck to my side. "And leave your tie alone."

"Sorry," I muttered. I still had that nice glow of happiness about me, but I suddenly felt like... not the center of attention, but the guy next to the center of attention. I'm not a self-conscious person, but standing in a tux in the middle of a ballroom with the Chicagoan socialites was making me anxious. I hadn't given a thought to it before because I'd planned to take Susan as my date, but now I wondered if I was John's date. Wasn't that dangerous, the Chicago Don showing up with a man on his arm? I saw periodic flashes of cameras, so what were the tabloids going to say? That was, if the film developed. Magic had a habit of ruining photographs.

And why was I worrying about that instead of the fact I was probably John Marcone's date and that was exactly what he wanted?

John's eyes narrowed at someone across the room, a man in a very handsome military dress uniform of some sort. "Excuse me a moment, Harry, won't you?" He gave a quick hand gesture to Hendricks before striding over the room.

As I watched, the uniformed man caught sight of John approaching and took a startled step back, but John reached him too quickly, a disarming smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes as he offered his hand to Uniformed Guy, who shook hands briefly before crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

I tilted my head to the side, watching curiously. I'd rarely seen John in this capacity, so casually threatening. Uniformed Guy looked like he wanted to run and hide under one of the tables.

"New head of the local Coast Guard," Hendricks said sotto voce, still scanning the crowd for threats. "Took a bribe from the boss, then didn't deliver on his end later."

"Hell's bells," I muttered, feeling a pang of sympathy for the guy. Take a bribe, don't take a bribe, it was your business if you didn't have the integrity to turn down the Outfit. Yet I was taken aback that someone would take the bribe and not follow through. Maybe working with John got me accustomed to a certain amount of honor in dishonorable negotiations.

We played spectators as John managed to smile mirthlessly, laugh, and scare the pants off Mr. Coast Guard. In just two minutes, the man paled to the exact shade as his dress whites. It was so fast, so effortless.

"Where did he come from?" I asked.

Hendricks shrugged one shoulder. "Everybody's got a theory. Bony Tony says he's a robot Emmanuel created to run the city while he was in D.C."

I thought about that. Seemed possible except, "John could kick Rahm's ass."

"Rahm's a dick," Hendricks said with feeling.

I laughed. "What Chicago politician isn't?"

"Maybe they're the same person. You never see 'em in the same room together."

I shook my head. "Nah. Rahm's shorter."

Cujo's stopped surveying the crowd to stare at me. "You met Rahm?"

"Client. Wanted a talisman to ward off Republicans." I tried to look nonchalant about it. "I think he was drunk when he came in. Or maybe he's like that all the time..."

I got an arched eyebrow. "So... did you make him the thing?"

I put a hand on my chest, acting dramatically affronted. "Cujo! I'm a professional! That would be a misuse of my powers."

In truth, I'd tried, but couldn't figure out how to make the damn thing work. I'd been sad to see that two thousand dollars walk away. At least the crazy bastard didn't knife me.

John returned as Cujo chuckled and refocused on his job. A diligent man was Hendricks. John sighed deeply, and it was like his mafia boss mask slid off as he did, revealing a faint smile underneath. "Apologies."

"Sizing up his cement shoes?" I asked.

"Oh, Harry, you know how I hate the cliches," John replied, putting his hand on my elbow.

I looked down at his hand, then at his face. "John."

"Harry."

I couldn't make myself just come out and say, stop hitting on me, so I just took a step away, out of reach. "Am I supposed to be doing something, or am I just arm candy?" I layered the remark in sarcasm, insulating the honesty of the question as best I could.

John grinned, so openly I worried someone might see, might look over and notice John Marcone was acting so damn unguarded. There was my weird urge to protect him again. How mortifying. "The music's rather nice."

"No," I put a hand out, warding him off. It took conscious effort not to give into my instincts and fling up a shield. "Don't even suggest it."

"You are the antithesis of fun, Mr. Dresden."

My nerves were fraying, my control along with them. "Are you going to be like this all night?"

He edged forward until my palm pressed against his chest. "Do you object?"

I gulped and stuffed my hand in my pocket. Stars and stones, "I need a drink," I blurted out and walked away to steal some champagne from one of the servers. I lurked around the outside of the room for a few minutes, trying to find a spot where I couldn't feel John's eyes on me like he was calculating exactly what it would take to make me stop panicking and reciprocate. I had the impression it would take something big to distract him. If nothing came up... I didn't know what would happen.

Or, I had some inkling what would happen, but the thought of it made me want to down another flute of champagne and I really needed to keep a clear head tonight. It wouldn't do to make things too easy for him. I let myself smirk at my own besuited, nicely dressed reflection in the floor.

If John Marcone wanted me, he could damn well work for it.

John took a cocktail to the face about two hours in.

Take a moment to imagine what it would be like to be sitting in a ballroom in your fanciest threads, making conversation with your personal wizard (that might be a stretch for some of you, I imagine, we hardly grow on trees) and the deputy mayor. Out of nowhere, a woman walks up and throws her drink at you.

What's your reaction? That snap-back recoil? Instant anger and indignation? Numb shock?

Not if you are Gentleman Johnnie. He clearly earned his nickname, simply shutting his eyes against the splash of alcohol and syrup, leaning down to wipe the cocktail out of his eyes, and patting his face dry.

On the other hand, I reacted with a violent start. Stupid protective urges. I got up, left hand and shield bracelet coming up. Hendricks, standing behind me, clamped a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down in my chair.

John silently allowed the drink thrower to shout at him and call him some very unladylike words for a full minute before standing and walking away. I jumped up to follow while Cujo hung back, one big paw on the woman's shoulder, keeping her from following.

“John--”

“Restroom,” he said curtly, and lead us in the direction of the big, opulent corridor that passed as a bathroom.

I watched him wash his face and neck, unbuttoning his shirt a little and undoing his silk tie. He then grimaced at said tie, sticky and ruined, and threw it in the trash. “Question for you, Harry.”

“Hm?”

“Is it possible to turn a rude person who resorts to drink throwing into a toad? Or is that witches only? Sorry,” he waved a hand, “wizardesses.”

I choked a laugh, wondering if John had eidetic memory or something. “Possible, but against the Law.”

“Law?”

“No transforming humans against their will,” I explained shortly. “Law of Magic.”

John stared at me through the mirror, and I got the feeling I'd just misstepped somehow. “Law of Magic. Is that an inherent law enforced by the Art itself or one arbitrated by some form of governing body?”

Shit.

He took in the look on my face. “Interesting.”

“John, no, don't.” My voice was shaking. Shit, why did he have to be so fucking astute? “You'll get me killed for treason, don't--”

He turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder, saying in a hushed tone, “All right, all right. We'll talk about this later.” His touch shifted to my chest and he pushed me away a little, simultaneously pulling his Blackberry PDA thing out of his pocket. “I have to have someone bring me a new shirt and tie. Go back out, make sure Mr. Hendricks hasn't gotten overzealous in handling the superintendant.”

“You okay?”

John blinked at me, then smiled slowly. “I'll be fine. Go, I'll be out soon.”

I got out of there fast, before he somehow read the set of my eyebrows and figured out the Doom of Damocles or something. Hell's bells.

Cujo was still talking to the woman who'd given John a rum facial, and I left him to it. The ballroom was a massive, round affair with staircases along the edge, leading up to enclosed balconies overlooking the city. I loosened my tie as I headed to the upper level, a ring overlooking the ballroom. It was quieter up there, above the hum of music and chatter. I needed to think.

John was going to ask me about the White Council. He could be patient about it, wait for the best opportunity like he had with the Red Court, but in the end he'd do it. The problem was I didn't know if I'd tell him or not. The White Council was supposed to be a shadow organization to the mundanes. I'd never considered sharing the information before. It just wasn't done. I'd shrugged off Morgan's threats because of that.

Now that John had that blood-in-the-water thing going on, that was easier said than done. Last time I vehemently refused to tell him something about the supernatural, I ended up entering into a mutual oath of partnership with him to take Bianca St. Clair to the cleaners. I couldn't have failed discretion harder. It was like setting out to make a sandwich and subsequently getting radiation poisoning. It almost took concentrated effort to screw up that much. And I did it flawlessly, without even trying.

I leaned on the banister overlooking the ballroom, putting creases in my fine tux as I watched the crowd. The warm, cheery feeling I'd had most of the day was still lingering in my mind, resilient even through seeing John getting called out in front of the upper crust of Chicago. I've always been a pretty anti-establishment guy. Orphanages, getting the Doom, and being harrassed by figures of authority since childhood saw to that. That said, I was oddly sanguine about the evening. I felt less like a monkey wearing a tux and more like a respectable.... Heh. A figure of the community.

Cujo spotted me from downstairs and looked annoyed at how far I'd managed to run off. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of him. I laughed openly at the suggestion and shook my head. He glared some more for some reason-- oh. He was meant to be guarding me. Yes, he was John's bodyman, his second in command, but he was also supposed to keep an eye on me as well.

That was an unexpected shift in the power dynamics. I thought I'd been the magical version of Cujo, guarding John from the supernatural threats. Apparently no, John still saw me as someone to be watched over.

Stars and stones, how many buildings did a guy have to burn down before people took him seriously?

I didn't need or want Cujo to play babysitter for me, so I backed off the barrister and started to head around the upper ring, just stretching my legs.

And that's where I saw her again. Like the ghost of failures past, she stood at one of the balconies, looking out at the River. She was out of her uniform, not even in the usual civvies, which was probably why I hadn't spotted her sooner. That or she'd been avoiding me which was smack dab between 'possible' and 'more than likely'. Her hair was up in a pearl clip, golden curls wisping out around it and framing her face. Her dress-- yes, dress-- was a dark blue, feminine and perfect with her big baby blues. She looked beautiful but powerful, the lack of sleeves on her dress making the strength in her arms more obvious. She was a pretty flower, but one with readily apparent thorns that would cut you if the messed with her.

She was looking right at me.

I stopped midstep and nearly overbalanced before I remembered to put my foot back down to avoid toppling over. The room suddenly seemed very loud, but that could have just been my pulse pounding in my ears.

Maybe I should have stayed downstairs with Cujo.

No. No. I was Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, wizard of the White Council and bane to any Red Court vampire that dared to step foot in my city. I was just as powerful as she was, my repertoire spells expanding, my will becoming more focused. In two months, I built what had to be one of the safest rooms in North America. My benefactor was one of the most powerful men in the country. With the exception of my cat, I feared no one.

Not even Karrin Murphy.

I walked over to her, “Murphy, you... that dress suits you.”

Murphy stared up at me, expression blank, and sipped her champagne. “Dresden.”

I floundered a bit. I wasn't scared, just... well, you try talking so someone you haven't seen in over a year after having departed on bad terms. Getting the ball rolling wasn't easy, but I was determined to do this and not to chicken out again. “So... how's SI? How've you been?”

“I don't make a habit of discussing police matters with criminals.”

Oh no. I licked my lips and said, “I'm not... Murph, it's not like that.”

She smiled in an ugly, disgusted way. “We keep an eye on Gentleman John Marcone, you know. You're on the list of his known associates.” She went on, sickly sweet, “Why don't you tell me what it's like?”

“Well, it's kind of like there's an underground war going on with the vampires and I'm trying to keep this city safe.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “You even sound like him.”

I grit my teeth, fighting down the surge of anger that flooded my system. Like she had any idea what John and I were going through... "I know he's a criminal scumbag, okay? I didn't wake up and think, hey, I'll sign up with John Marcone today. I didn't exactly have a choice when he came after me with a contract."

“Oh? So did he hold a gun to your head and tell you to dress up and hang onto his arm all night? Or did you do that pro bono?” She drew her lips back in a sneer. “You're not looking too forced right now, Dresden.”

I glowered. “How about you, Murphy? You never liked these fancy parties and yet here you are? Catch the short straw?”

“Something like that. We all drew lots to see who had to make nice with the lowlifes that hang around these parties. I thought it was bad enough that Marcone was going to be here, but...” She waved vaguely to me before knocking the rest of her glass back.

“Murphy, enough,” I growled. “You don't approve of Jo-- of Marcone,” she arched an eyebrow at my slip, “but he's got the resources to help and he wants to drive the vampires out of the city. How is that a bad thing? All those kids being killed or turned, we can stop that.”

“No, you know what you don't get? It's blood money.”

“At least we have a chance now! God, Karrin, you have no idea what it's like-- I've been standing aside, attempting damage control in the wake of these monsters my entire adult life. For the first time I think there's a real shot at hitting them back, hitting them first and hard enough they'll think twice before snacking on some innocents.” I ran my hands through my hand, resisting the urge to reach out and shake her until she listened to me. “If the chips fall right, John's going to get rid of Bianca's people altogether. And you don't know how much it needs to be done. They established an HQ in the city, they're just going to keep coming unless we send them packing!”

Murphy didn't look convinced. In fact, she looked even more pissed. “Hitting them first... Harry, that spike in SI's caseload... The fires, the bodies that are almost but not quite human we've been getting... That's your fault, isn't it?”

I gaped at her. It didn't make sense. I must have been so entrenched in this secret conflict that I forgot what it was like to not know what was going on. I heard the reports of the damage and what was going on from John and Hendricks, but we were holding ground. So I burnt down a building-- I'd taken out one of Bianca's best hit squads, sent after me specifically. We armed John's goons well and there had been some losses, but they were by some order of magnitude less than the number of Reds we took out in the process.

Murphy was SI. She had to know this was needed. Why else did her department exist but to be in the know?

“No, that's not what it's like,” I protested.

“Did you throw the first stone? Did you start this?” She was getting louder, just below shouting now. My voice rose in concert with hers.

“No, Bianca did when she celebrated her new House by trying to kill me and vamp out a bunch of idiot kids! I am not going to act guilty over this! She has to be stopped and I'm sorry, but John Marcone can pull it off. We can't sit on our hands and play by the book with a threat like this!”

“You think we sit on our hands?” She snarled at me, getting up in my face, standing on her toes and crowding into my space. “My people are trying, Dresden, dealing with things no one else understands. We do our best, but it's gotten difficult. See, this guy I knew who helped us out so we didn't have to go in blind, he abandoned all his friends for a cushier job being John Marcone's bitch."

My calm snapped like a rubber band pulled too hard, sudden and painful. "I didn't abandon my friends, I abandoned you! Funny how it's hard to stick around when your quote-unquote friend would rather rough you up and arrest you instead of listening!"

"You could have asked me to listen before I found your card at a murder scene. You were a goddamn suspect!"

"Do you always chip your suspects' teeth, or was I just that special?" The lights around me were starting to flicker wildly, my emotions out of control. I should have tried to calm down but how dare she, like she knew what I'd been through in the last year. "You know what, Murphy? John may be a criminal, but he still puts more trust in me than you ever did. I only ever tried to help you and you threw it back in my face."

Murphy bristled. "You did nothing but tell half-truths, how could I trust you?"

"I was trying to protect you!" My nails were biting into my palms, my hands fisted tightly. I felt myself shaking, I felt sick to my stomach. Under all my rage, I was raw and disappointed. This wasn't what I wanted for Murphy and me. I hardly expected to be making friendship bracelets or anything, but this... this wasn't supposed to happen. We were supposed to be on the same side. Where in my life did I make the wrong decision, sending us into this? Where should I have turned right instead of left?

Her eyes flicked past my shoulder. "Good job there, Dresden. I wish you and the Don nothing but happiness."

I looked behind me to see what she was looking at. I saw John coming up the nearest staircase fast, his coat on and billowing up behind him like a cape. I did not need him joining the conversation, and put my back to him before turning back to Murphy. She gave me a dark, bemused look that pissed me off. I started snapping at Murphy, "You know what, Karrin--"

Hands grabbed my arm. God, he reached me fast. "Harry, we need to leave," John said in my ear.

"No, shut up, I'm not finished!" I tried to yank my arm out of his grip.

It didn't work. Instead, John's fingers dug in hard. "Harry, calm down. I need you--"

Murphy snorted. I glared at her, growling almost ferally. "Not now, John!"

In one fast motion, John seized my shoulders, flipped me around, and slammed me back against the wall. "Listen to me, the Margravine's making another move. We need to go."

My anger popped like a soap bubble, over in the span of a second as my mind launched back into Get Rid of Bianca mode. "Stars, where?"

John didn't say anything, mouth a thin, white line. He stepped away, hands falling from my shoulders, and looked at Murphy. "If you'll excuse us, Lieutenant."

She looked at me. "Yeah. Sure." She turned on her heel and walked away, right back out of my life.

Oh god, I felt ill. I bent over, leaning on my knees, and took a few deep breaths against the bile rising in my throat. All my anger vanished, leaving me feeling hollow. "Where.... where's she hitting?" I gasped, trying not to drown in the... everything. It was all too fucking much.

"Come with me," John said, and helped me out the side doors. Moving was good, the effort to keep one foot in front of the other calming.

I slid into the car, John beside me. It pulled away into the street before the door even closed, accelerating fast.

"The Margravine is gunning for you again, Harry," John said quietly as he got ready. He tugged his crucifix out of his collar, stripped off the outer layers of his tuxedo, and started loading one of the holy water paintball guns.

I looked sideways at him, not comprehending. "What do you mean?"

"She's attacking your home, apparently trying to get through your wards," he explained. "We think she was under the impression you were home and planned to take you out of the equation."

The emotional rollercoaster just kept going. I did a one-eighty, from exhausted and bereft to furious again. It made me dizzy, actually, and I saw John's eyes widen as he looked at me. He set his paintball rifle aside and grabbed my face and neck, pulling me down and pushing my head between my knees. "Breathe," he commanded, voice broking no argument. "We'll be there in five minutes, get yourself under control."

His tone was harsher than usual, but I needed that. His direction cut through the miasma of turmoil in me. And as tough as he was on me, his hands were gentle against the back of my neck as they held me down. I stayed like that until the wave of nausea passed. By then, we were pulling up to my street.

I drew my blasting rod, wishing I hadn't left my staff at home, and shook out my shield bracelet. Then it was my turn to give an order. "Stay here."

"No, we're going to need the firepower until back-up arrives."

"I'm not taking you into a fight with vampires with me, John," I snapped testily. We didn't have time to argue.

"I am more combat capable than most people you've--"

"No, shut up," I reached out and put my hand over his mouth, and the physicality of the act quieted him. "You get taken out, this entire stupid thing is over and will have been for nothing, and I'm not going to give Murphy the satisfaction of being right about this. You can replace me, I can't replace you. Stay. Here." The car was slowing and I didn't wait for it, opening the door and tumbling out. Hendricks got out a second later, armed and dangerous, along with the other goon who'd been riding shotgun.

The area around the converted complex I lived in was masked in a translucent dome of darkness. The night got thicker in the dome, the light from the moon and the nearby lamps useless. I had to squint to see inside.

There was a group of Reds inside the dome. One was a tall, dark-skinned woman in a scarlet robe with a metal staff in her hand. The other three were barely visible, hidden at the far end of the dome, by my basement apartment. They were armed as well with canisters of something I couldn't identify. I didn't get the chance to get a good look-- the female Red screeched inhumanly and started flinging spells.

Great. A magic-capable vampire. Exactly what I needed. Bianca hauling out the big guns.

I stepped up and pulled up a shield, letting her dark magic bounce away. As she wound up to send another bolt of malicious force, the window of the car rolled down and John unleashed a string of shots. The sorceress drove out of the way, and I took the opportunity to level my rod down on her and scream, "Forzare!"

Invisible force soared towards her, but as soon as it hit the dome, it lost momentum and power, sputtering out. It barely glanced her. The darkness was thick enough to effect my spells, like trying to throw a punch underwater.

Many things about this were not good.

"John, stay in the fucking car," I yelled over my shoulder.

"I am in the car! What is that?" He replied.

"Dark magic, cancelling out my spells. Cujo, new guy!" I whistled and threw up another shield as they got out from behind the car and joined me. "Focus fire on the sorceress. I can't get in there until her dome is down."

"Can't we just charge into that thing?" Cujo asked. He listened to me though, taking aim at the Red woman.

"If it can do that to my magic, it'd be bad to make contact. Seriously bad juju."

The sorceress lashed out, shouting in some rough tongue I didn't recognize. A beam of dark magic came at me and I put all my will into my bracelet to hold it off. Normally I would tilt my shield, sidestep out of the way, but it'd hit the newbie if I did. Instead, I held it off with a wall of magic. Where our magicks met, blue sparks and black-red sparks showered down to the ground. The dead grass they landed on shriveled and blackened.

Cujo and Newbie put some pressure on her, firing in tandem with each other. When a few shots hit her, she shrieked in pain, her concentration weakening. The dome lightened somewhat, and I peered at the other vampires. They were doing something at my door, I couldn't see what. Probably nothing good.

Behind me, John joined in again with some supplementary fire. His rifle snapped off shots with all the accuracy of an accomplished sniper. One bulb of holy water hit the sorceress in the face, and she reeled from it. The dome shrunk instantly, its diameter cut down by several feet. I stepped forward to take up more ground.

The sorceress's fake, human skin hung off her face grotesquely, revealing the shiny, leathery black skin beneath. I heard Newbie suck in a breath, mutter, "Fucking hell," at the sight. "They're ugly."

The sorceress heard him and let out an unholy rodent-like squeal before sending a rage-filled bolt at me. The dome re-solidified at the same time, smaller but just as dense.

Inside the darkness, there was a light, a burst of bold yellow and red fire. A boisterous explosion came from my door as the three other vamps ducked and covered.

"No, no, NO!" I batted aside another bolt of magic, hot fury powering into me. Not my house, not my home, it may have been a hole in the ground but it was mine and Bob and Mister were in danger and I was going to shove my boot so far up Bianca's ass--

I heard John shout behind me, but it didn't quite register with me. I brought up a strong shield around myself, a sphere around my body, and walked right into the dome. It was less like moving through water and more like molasses. Molasses that slowly ate at my magic, forcing me to bring all my will to bear to keep myself separated from the darkness.

The sorceress's batty eyes widened as I got close, looking as scared as such a beastly face could. She probably didn't expect me to do something so stupidly reckless.

I did something even more reckless. I dropped my shield, lifted my hand to her face, and discharged the force stored in the ring around my finger.

The darkness wrapped around me and I screamed. It burned, not with heat but with stale, deathly cold, like magical frostbite. But it only lasted a second. I'd been wearing that ring for a few weeks without using it, saving it for an occasion like this. I didn't know how much bang it had, but it was enough to kill the Red in one fell swoop. Even with a Red Court Vampire's supernatural strength, there was only so much blunt force trauma one could take.

As the Red died, its dome went with it. I fell to the ground, overspent by the torrent of magic I just used with that shield. I felt blind from the stinging pain clinging to my aura, the darkness that wanted so very much to snuff me out. I dimly saw Cujo and Newbie stalk past me, guns blazing as much as paintball guns could.

John knelt on the ground by me, hand finding my neck, checking my pulse, then laying down some more cover fire as I gasped weakly, "Told.... told you to--"

"Don't talk," he snapped at me.

I turned my head against the dead grass until I faced my apartment. There was fire, and it was spreading quickly along the wall. It shouldn't have done that, it was concrete... Maybe they used napalm?

I wasn't going to get a chance to ask. In moments, the last Red went down. Cujo went up to the fallen bodies and pumped more rounds into each one, to be sure they were dead.

Meanwhile, my house was burning down.

"Bob," I croaked. "Oh, empty night." I struggled to my feet and headed for it.

"Harry, stop!" I heard John behind me.

My rod was gone somewhere. It didn't matter. I held up my right hand and focused as much as I could. "Ventas. Ventas!"

The wind picked up, a tunnel of air blowing down the steps and killing some of the flames. More fire was crawling up the side of the building. God, my neighbors. "John, get the place cleared! I'll be back in a moment!"

"Don't you dare, Harry," he growled, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. "You're not going in there--"

"I have to! Bob and Mister are in there and if the flames get to my lab, this entire block is going to go up, and that's if we're lucky," I told him. He looked hesitant for a moment. The numbers were ticking in his head but I didn't have time. I shook his hand off and jumped down the stairs.

My door was metal and hot as hell after so much time engulfed in flame. I tried to open it and got some burns on my hand for my trouble. I tried to kick it down instead, but I was too debilitated by my earlier stunt against the darkness.

Cujo walked up next to me and kicked it in with one shot. I blinked at him, and he just said, "What're we grabbing?"

"Thank you," I said and lead him in with me. I quickly took stock. The right wall was alight, the fire having worked through the outside wall and down into my apartment. My bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen were going to be a loss momentarily. My staff, which had been leaning against that wall, was half-burned already.

I didn't have time to mourn it. I found Mister on the top of the sofa on the far end of the room, hissing at the flames. I grabbed him, and he clawed into me to say thanks. I passed my terrified cat off to Hendricks and headed to the corner of the room. The rug over the entrance to the sub basement was heavy in my feeble grip, but I managed to flip it away. Cujo helped me heave the trapdoor up.

There was a crunch behind us and we both turned to watch the other side of the apartment cave in as the support burned away. "Fuck, we can't stay here, Dresden!" Cujo shouted over the din of noise.

"Give me a sec," I called back before heading down the stairs.

Bob's orange eyelights were bright and awake. "Boss, what's happening?"

I scooped him up under one arm. "Fire, Reds torched the place. We don't have time!" I looked around at my very, very well-stocked lab. "I can't get this stuff out of here!"

"Magic fire or mundane fire?" Bob asked, all business for once, thank the stars.

"Mundane."

"Crap, we could have used a circle otherwise."

"We have to keep this place out of the fire, Bob, think fast!"

Bob went quiet under my arm. "Earth magic," he finally said.

"I don't have that kind of power," I told him, a frantic edge creeping into my voice. I wanted to get out of there. Nightmarish images of the apartment caving in and trapping me down there filled my head.

"Don't need much. Just bring the whole thing down," Bob said.

"What?"

"You want to keep this place from going up like a box of magical fireworks, you have to make sure it won't light up!"

I scanned the room desperately, hoping some solution would jump out at me. Anything better than Bob's suggestion. I could do it. It wasn't a large sub basement and if I took out some support near the entrance, it'd seal it off.

Seal it off from the fire and likely from any chance of recovery. In my lab was years and years worth of work. Components and notes and projects, my rarest ingredients and my silver ring in the floor. Artifacts and the memories of hours spent down here, tucked into the work I loved so dearly.

"Dresden!" Cujo hollered. "You're out of time!"

I couldn't help it; a scream started deep in my chest and tore its way out of my mouth, despairing and forlorn. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fucking fair. I shifted Bob under my arm, took a precious few seconds to grab a worn box off one of my shelves, and climbed out of the basement and into the piping hot apartment. "Get out of the way," I thundered at Hendricks, pushing Bob and the box into his hands and him towards the door.

I didn't have words for the spell I needed, so I made some up, chanting, "Terra, terra, terra servitas," under my breath. I reached out with my magic, seeping it down into the earth around me. I felt the structure of the sub basement, gliding my magic along it until I found the corner of it. I curled my fingers, miming grabbing something, and pushed all my frustration and sorrow and anger into the motion.

Then I pulled, my arm sweeping down, my magic doing the same.

There was a low crunching sound and the floor shifted unsteadily. Under me, the earth moved, one corner of my lab giving in. It was inelegant, to say the least, but it had to do the trick.

Hendricks came back then as my overexertion caught up with me and sent me to my knees. He seized me bodily, pulling me up until I was in a-- ha ha-- a fireman's carry before he jogged out of the building.

I was disoriented and not quite following what was happening. It was all motion and sound until Cujo put me down on the ground, several yards away from my burning home.

"Bob," I managed before coughing, smoke in my chest making it hard to breathe. "Bob, where are you?"

"Here, boss," Bob said quietly. I looked wearily around and found John kneeling next to me, holding my skull out to me. I grabbed him, hugging the smooth old bone to my chest. I felt like I was sixteen all over again, my home turning to cinder as I clutched one familiar item to me like if I protected this one thing, everything would turn out. It'd all be okay.

I lifted my eyes to my current home and watched it go up in smoke.

"You're shaking." John put his hands on me, one on my shoulder, the other around my neck so his thumb lay on my pulse. "Harry, can you hear me?"

I nodded numbly but didn't say anything. John was touching me so lightly, like I was made of candy glass and liable to break any moment. Which was a funny coincidence since that's exactly how I felt too.

"Cat," I muttered. "Mister, where--"

"Safe, in one of the cars, along with that box," John said.

I glanced around wildly, looking for a grey cloak. "Can't stay here, Morgan might show up, see Bob. Have to--"

"All right, it's all right." John got me to my feet and led me along to the street before bundling me into a waiting car. I sagged against the seat, eyes closing. I held Bob tightly on my lap, my fingers splayed over the curve of his brow. John rubbed my arm soothingly, speaking softly. I couldn't make out the words through the mess that was going on in my head, but he was there, and it helped. He took my hand, the one I'd burned grabbing the door, and murmured about aloe vera, contact burns, and other things I didn't care about.

I shuddered as I quashed a surge of panic that tried to take hold of me. Not yet. Not just yet.

Hugging Bob's skull like some incredibly morbid worry stone, I drifted mercifully into sleep.