luciazephyr | FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [23/24] (Reply)

I was going on a date with Gentleman Johnnie Marcone, evil overlord of Chicago, mafia don, and terrifying force of non-magical mortal will.

Or, as I kept telling myself, I was going out with John. Which was a lot less scary. John, who fancied himself a Roundworld Vetinari (or knew I thought of him that way, one or the other), who was a fastidious health nut, who liked kittens. He still had all the trappings of Gentleman Johnnie, but there was a person in there too, a person I liked a lot.

So I didn't worry about having dinner with a cold-hearted criminal scumbag. I worried about picking a place, then deciding what to wear.

In hindsight, it was obvious where I was going to take him. It was another gesture, but I was a big subscriber to actions speaking louder than words.

I dug around in my walk-in closet, trying to pick out something that hit that right balance between dressing up and not looking like an idiot considering where we were going.

"Nooooo, don't wear the black jeans. Do you know anything about fashion, boss?" Bob was awake and 'helping' me.

"You don't even have legs, Bob!"

"Black is slimming, idiot. You'll look like a pipecleaner man. Try something with color. Hey, you look pretty good in red! Got any of that?"

It was sad that I was using my spirit of air and intellect for such trivial things, but I didn't have anyone else at the moment. Hendricks had the day off, I didn't know the patrolling guards around the mansion by name yet, and John was out of the question. So Bob it was. Given his keen interest in getting me laid on the off-chance he might see some action, I didn't think he'd yank my chain about this.

I grabbed a red cashmere sweater and pulled it on, abruptly thinking about buttons. If John wanted to get my shirt off quick, would buttons or no-buttons work better?

Screw it, he had knives hidden on his person. It'd work out.

"Niiiiice," Bob said. "But lose the jeans."

"Red and black are supposed to go together."

"You and black don't mix. Like oil and water, magic and technology, Sidhe and virgins."

I retreated back into the closet and flicked through the rack of pants. "What about grey?"

"Grey's totally different, you can do grey."

"Grey it is," I proclaimed and changed into the grey slacks instead. I tugged my pentacle out so it lay on my chest, tied my shield bracelet on, and put on some of my force rings, doubling them up on some fingers, skipping others until the pattern was eclectic and random.

"Wet your hair then mess it all up," Bob commanded from the dresser. "Sexily unkempt hair just ups your chances of getting some."

I didn't actually think I needed to artificially boost my chances, but did as Bob said anyway. "Better?"

"Well, boss, you look like the mafia moll you should've been, what, a year ago?"

"I'm still not a moll."

"Not yet, but tonight?" He whistled. "If you two make it back to the mansion, you should get it on in here. Nice big bed, the candlelight..."

"And you playing voyeur?"

"I'll do it quietly! Come oooon, boss. I've had to watch your auras get all hot and bothered, I want to see the flesh get with the program too!"

I shrugged into my coat, then hesitated before grabbing my blasting rod and tying it to the inside. I grabbed my new staff too. Date night or not, there was a war going on. Better prepared than sorry. Or vamped. Or dead.

When I glanced at clock-- an antique grandfather clock old enough to withstand my magic that John snuck in there a few weeks back-- it was five-thirty-five, which meant I was late. I swore, pulled on my shoes, and headed out.

John was sitting on the main staircase, waiting for me. He looked... really good, mixing casual with formal to be ready for anything. His button-down was tucked into pinstriped slacks, but he skipped the suit coat. The suede bomber jacket that he'd loaned me was swung over his arm, waiting for the brisk January cold.

There was a slight dusting of grey stubble along his jaw, something I'd never seen before. I stared an embarrassingly long time at it, wondering how it'd feel against my face.

I'd find out later, I was sure.

"Hey, sorry I took so long," I said, coming down the steps. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting."

He stood to face me and swept his eyes over me. Unusually, his assessing check was slower, lingering on me as he took me in. A smile dawned on his face. "I daresay you're worth it, Mr. Dresden."

I thought about telling him it was Harry for tonight, but... he had this throaty baritone rumble and said my name like he was tasting each syllable as he did. It was distracting. And since we were going out on a date, it was okay he was distracting. It was allowed.

I smiled goofily at the thought. "Sweet-talker."

We headed out to the garage and John took two steps towards the limo he kept along the back wall. I caught his arm. "No. It's not exactly a black tie establishment we're heading to, John."

He scanned the selection. He had way too many cars, most non-descript black sedans, but a few luxury European cars as well as a few off-road vehicles. Ready for any occasion, as usual.

Then, of course, was my Beetle, parked between the massive military Hummer and the heavy duty pick-up. Every day it was a scavenger hunt to find where the goons tucked my car. I was fairly sure they were on John's orders to hide it from me in hopes I'd give up on it and let him buy me another one. He didn't understand my car had personality, which was much better than functionality.

"We could take my car," I suggested, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Mike's got most of the issues fixed and I got new seats put in." Disposable income was a new, exhilarating experience for me.

John's sour expression deepened, so I decided to show some mercy. "Okay, not my car then. But nothing flashy, all right?"

He let out a faint sigh of relief and nodded, leading me over to a sleek, sexy Lexus. It was still way too high-end for what I had in mind, but I had a sudden rush of car envy that silenced any protests I might've lodged. I didn't even say anything when John got the door for me, flipping my chivalry on me, before getting in behind the wheel himself.

It was like being in the Batmobile. I took a few deep breaths, calming my magic, pulling it tight to my chakra points to avoid frying the mess of complicated equipment on the dash. "So is this car a status symbol or a penis extension?"

John laughed, turning the car on with a button-push instead of a key. "Why don't you let me know?"

Oh hell yeah. I made a show of checking John out. "Aren't we confident."

"Don't let me pressure you, Harry." His tone was deceptively light, but I caught a flash of light green as he stole a look at me.

I sagged low in the seat, shaking my head. "You're not." The extra bite and promise to our banter didn't scare me. "Don't worry, if you push me too much, you'll know it. I hear I have a habit of setting things on fire when I feel threatened."

"Duly noted," he replied wryly. "Where are we going then?"

I smiled. "Head for Lake Shore Drive. Going to the Loop."

John frowned. "At this hour, it'll be gridlocked..."

I shrugged. "We have time."

"Still. Would you object to a scenic route?"

"Is the car going to mysteriously break down once we're all cozy and alone?"

"You have the car-killing capabilities, Harry. You tell me." He pulled us out of the estate and off we went into the late afternoon. The sun was in the process of setting, the eastern sky darkening as the west started to burn orange and purple and red. It was freezing outside, but the car was well-heated and I wanted to curl up like a cat and let the drive lull me to a doze. Except for how much I didn't because I had steak dinner, the best beer in the city, and a movie on the itinerary.

Once John got us on our way, driving parallel to Lake Shore Drive on side roads, he asked, "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Close to my old apartment. Place I go to all the time. McAnally's."

John looked perturbed. "I've... never heard of it."

I looked at him, at the slightly upset expression on his face, and laughed. "Of course you haven't, John. It's a Accorded Neutral Zone. Vanilla mortals aren't supposed to know about it."

"If it exists in Chicago, I should know about it," he complained.

I just laughed. I knew he took his dominion over Chicago seriously, but he really expected to know everything about the city. I loved the city and I knew a lot about it, but John had a nigh-symbiotic relationship going on. He was almost a physical extension of it. Not knowing something about Chicago offended him on some deep level. "Well, now you'll know, okay?"

Before he could whine about his lack of omniscient knowledge of Chicago some more, there was a buzzing sound. He shifted, got his hand to his back pocket, and pulled out a pager.

"Really, John?"

"I left my Blackberry, if that makes you feel better," he muttered, gaze flicking between the road and the page display. "Hm."

I straightened in my seat. "Problem?"

"The road is tied up ahead." He sounded puzzled and I could see why. We were on a mostly deserted little two-laner. There was no traffic to cause an accident to get it tied up.

"That's... not normal."

"No." He slowed the car, looking around with a sudden hawk-like keenness. "Under your seat is a Red Court rifle."

I wasn't surprised at that precaution; I think every one of his vehicles along with every Outfit car had a few stashed somewhere in reach. I ducked down and grabbed it. Just in time too. The car suddenly sputtered and died. John slammed on the break as the power steering went out, cursing under his breath.

I felt something building in the trees to the east and turned to look. "John." The something built fast, a power converging on a figure in shadows. "John, out of the car now." I didn't wait for him to move, opening my door and grabbing his sleeve, yanking him with all my strength.

He crawled over the gear shift and fell inelegantly on top of me on the ground next to the car. As soon as he was out, I threw my hand up and pushed my will into a shield around us. I knew the power threatening us. I could remember the icy, morbid feeling of the magic. I knew it very well.

My shield raised over us. Two seconds later, a dark dome of black magic fell across the road.

The same black magic the Reds had used when they burned my house down.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

The thick morass of darkness pushed down on my shield, trying to engulf us. The shield burned as I fought back. It was claustrophobic, like being in a small bubble of air at the bottom of the ocean floor where no sunlight reached. The setting sun was blocked out and the white-blue of my shield seemed to be the only light.

Fear caught my breath in my chest. I remembered how that darkness hurt, the lethal cold of it. Given the amount of pressure on my shield, we were smack dab in the middle of it. If I couldn't keep us protected...

I heard John slam a magazine of holy water-filled capsules into his rifle and looked at him where he sat next to me. He had the rifle braced against his arm, finger laying against the trigger as he squinted into the darkness, trying to find our assailants.

Neither of us said anything.

So Bianca St. Clair was the first to speak.

"What a delight!" Bianca crowed from behind us, past the car and in the treeline somewhere. "I had hoped to catch the mortal, but his wizard too?" Her laugh was gorgeous and thick as the dome. "I have dreamed of this chance. I told you, John Marcone, I would have you on your knees."

"Someone didn't learn the 'don't gloat until you've actually won' rule," I muttered to John.

"How long can you keep that shield?" he asked instead. No banter. That wasn't good.

"Don't know. Not for long. Where're the goons?"

His teeth ground together, loud enough I could hear it. "The road blockage, it'll slow them down. That's if they even realize what's happening."

"Just us then," I breathed. Not good at all. I lifted my head to look through the car's windows at where Bianca's voice had come from. It was hard to see even a few feet away, but I thought I could see Bianca's willowy, curvy figure flanked by a number of other man-shaped things.

More importantly, I felt the dark magic coming from her.

"Hell's bells," I whispered. "She's casting the spell."

"Fix that soon enough," John said and turned to take aim over the hood of the car.

I grabbed him. "Magic shield, scumbag. It's two way!"

He looked over his shoulder at me. "You cannot fire through your shield."

"Haven't gotten to that upgrade."

John's face pulled into a snarl, frustration leaking through the resolute soldier's mask. "Then what do you propose?"

"If I may make a suggestion?" Bianca called out to us, malevolent laughter curling her words. "Simply lower your shield, wizard. You can wear yourself down and die tired, but come to me now and you will die in rapture." The dark figure taunting us held out her arms, invitingly. "Why make this more difficult than it must be?"

"You know me, Bianca!" I shouted back. "Never take the easy way out!"

"Harry," John snapped. "Ideas, now."

"Nothing yet!" I looked around. "We can make a break for it, hope for the best?"

"The Margravine is no fool. I expect she has us well pinned down." He shook his head.

He was right. I twisted to examine the open space behind us. I couldn't see anyone, but that meant nothing. It was just too easy an escape route. Something had to be there, but if it was something I could take on...

"Hold on a moment," I said and shut my eyes, Listening.

I heard racing heartbeats, something big shifting in the dead grass. It snorted, snuffled, so it was some kind of animal, maybe. It was just one creature, which was not as comforting a thought as you would think. One big thing could cause as much trouble as ten little things. Or, considering Bianca was slinging some heavy, sustained magic around, fifty little things.

I opened my eyes and looked at John again. He read my face and grimaced. "Bad?"

"Yeah. Something big. Probably with teeth. Could be a construct." Constructs, beings crafted from magic, random raw material, and ectoplasm, could come in any variety of nasty flavors. But if this one was Bianca's, that gave us one sole advantage. "If Bianca's animating it, then it's based off her magic, so it'll have her weaknesses."

John thought about that and nodded, setting his rifle against his shoulder again. "Holy water."

"Yeah. She's going to try to run me low on magic, make me do something awesome and heroic like holding her off while you escape--"

"More like idiotic and suicidal," he muttered.

"-- and let the construct gobble you up while she grabs me. She'll want to enthrall me; wizards are a hot commodity."

"Oh, I know." He gave me a small, tight grin.

"But we can turn that against her. You can take out the construct, I'll take out Bianca." Easier said than done. John arched an eyebrow at me, which meant he was thinking the same thing. It was one thing to say we were going to do it this way, but without any specifics, we were still sitting under my shield, waiting for my will to fade and let the dome of black magic take us.

I had to figure out something. A way to protect John and get myself out alive too. I had to think of something fast while I still stood a chance.

"You know how to make a magic circle?" John shook his head. "Right inside pocket," I told him, and he leaned in close to get there. He pulled out a chunk of chalk. "Make a circle around yourself, perfect as you can."

"Just me?"

"I got a shield bracelet, you don't. Do it, now."

He set the gun down and dragged the chalk across the asphalt, spinning cleanly on his heel and arching his body like a giant compass, drawing the line in the cleanest arc I'd ever seen done without a guide. Sometimes John's minor case of OCD was brilliant.

"Okay, when I tell you to, you need to prick your finger and put it on the circle. Imagine yourself pouring water into the lines, but the water is your will, your spirit. Picture a wall coming up around you," I instructed tersely. "And it will work. You have to believe it will or the whole thing's going to fail and I won't be able to..." I shut my eyes, took a breath, then looked at him again. "It'll work."

John nodded. "And you? What's your plan?"

I didn't have one yet. My brain was still flicking through the tools I had at hand, the factors around me. I was coming up dry. "When I go for Bianca, the construct will probably come for you. When you shoot it, the bullet will break the circle. The black magic's going to hit you and it'll hurt, but keep shooting. If I break Bianca's concentration, the dome should falter and you can run for it."

"How'll you break her concentration?" Because of course he had to ask that.

I didn't say anything because I had nothing yet. The dome almost completely negated my magic and protected Bianca. She was a creature of the night, and I of the day. I didn't have any idea how to fight back effectively.

But I had to try. I had to save John. He could replace me, maybe, but I couldn't... Especially not now.

It wasn't fucking fair. I just got my shit together, I finally knew what I wanted, and even worked up the courage to reach out and get it. And then this. I just wanted to take John to Mac's, to see whatever stupid pretentious movie he picked out, and then kiss him until that hot ache in my chest spread through me, lighting me up like I was channeling a lightning storm. I knew it would, and I wanted that.

But my life was never fair, I was learning. So I'd have to save John and be content with that.

I bowed my head, feeling so overwhelmed. My voice was thready and fragile when I said, "I don't regret asking you out."

John's hand twitched toward me, then stopped. Then he seemed to change his mind and reached out, cupping my face and making me look him in the eyes. "I'm glad," he murmured. "But I wish you'd picked another day."

Day.

Day.

Hell's bells, it was right there waiting for me.

"What time is it?"

John blinked. "Three minutes to six."

That was... exact. "Really, you can just--"

He frowned at me. "Focus. You just had an idea. What is it?"

Right. My idea. I was going to roast Bianca St. Clair alive. Just not with fire.

"Shut up, I need to focus." I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his. I was scared and feeling drained from maintaining my shield under the onslaught. I was disappointed in not getting my date. I was furious Bianca had decided taking my home wasn't enough, she was going to try to make me her slave as well. I was even more angry that she'd dare to make an attempt on John's life. He was under my protection as much as I was under his. I was filled with hate for how she operated, taking innocent people and turning them, addicting them, drinking them dry.

It was a lot of emotion. But I was missing the one I needed.

"I'm going to do something stupid again," I whispered to John. "But go with it, okay?" I opened my eyes, staring directly into his. "Another leap of faith?"

John swallowed hard and this close I could see he was afraid under that mask of his. Afraid for me.

I didn't need fear.

I shut my eyes and dug back into my own memories. I remembered the last time he trusted me with his life and leaped out that building with me. The Council meeting, feeling his aura entwined with mine so intimately that the loss of it woke me up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Standing next to him in his old office, watching the unbridled passion he had for his home, this White City.

It wasn't enough, so I thought of his hands on my back, soothing up and down. He had me completely vulnerable and reacted with tenderness. I thought of being broken down and lost, and how his lips against my temple acted as a balm to my hurts.

There.

I caught onto the warm, welcome emotion that stirred. I thought about the lingering glances over wine and home-cooked dinners. I thought of the bright gleam his eyes got when our plans came together. I thought about that-- that smile, the sad one that told of so much sorrow and loss and ruefulness, that made him look so damn weary and how I just wanted to kiss him whenever I saw it.

There.

I opened my eyes, took John's face in my hands, and kissed him.

He stiffened under my hands, but only for a second. Then he got desperate, fast, and grabbed my shoulders, dropping his rifle, and dragged me down until I was leaning against him, chest to chest. He kissed, fittingly enough, like a man about to die would. It was hard and rough, our teeth clicking together once before he tilted my head and ran his tongue over my lips, asking.

Then, because he was John, he didn't wait for me to say yes. He pushed into my mouth, fisting one hand in my hair to hold me still.

He was bossy and took absolute control of my mouth, sweeping his tongue in like a fucking conquest, a lord mapping out what he knew was rightfully his. It was indelicate and completely unlike kissing Elaine or Susan or anyone else had ever been. It was perfectly him.

He tasted like hazelnut, like I always suspected, and something about that filled me up with a ridiculous, bubbly joy. Even his five o'clock shadow, that silver stubble scratching my jaw felt good.

God, yes.

I could've gone on like that for hours, but there was still something I had to do.

I had to push him off me. He didn't want to stop either. He looked dazed when I smiled at him, taking in his mussed hair and the wet red of his lips. Happiness swelled in me.

Perfect.

I stood up, grabbing my staff with my left hand, my blasting rod with my right. John was still in the scope of my shield. I grinned at him and said, "Pull up the circle."

"Harry--" His voice was strained and hot and yes.

"Circle. Come on. Let's go kill some monsters."

He frowned, but flicked a knife out of his sleeve, cut his finger, and bloodied the chalk line. I felt the snap of his will bringing up the shield.

I took a few steps back, then ran forward and vaulted up onto the car, my shield still around me. It left John, but enough energy of it was still trapped in his circle, it protected him. His little ring of will glowed with mine as well.

I nodded, satisfied my plan had worked, and stood up on the roof of the car. "Bianca St. Clair! This is your last chance! Get out of this city and take your fucking House with you!"

From my new perch, I could see her and her lackeys in front of me. She was expelling dark magic like a fountain, red hair a darker, bloodier shade in the lack of light. "Or you'll do what, wizard?"

"Light you up like a Roman candle," I retorted, joyfully confident. "Whaddya say?"

She smiled at me. "I will see you bowed at my feet before this night is over."

I laughed, a little crazily, but I was running hot. "Bit preemptive there, honorable Margravine. After all," I tossed my staff up and grabbed it by the very end so a full five feet of oak lay above my hand, "the night hasn't even begun yet."

I dropped my shield and lifted my staff straight up.

For those who missed it... I'm tall. I'm six-foot-nine, to be precise. I was standing on the roof of a Lexus that reached about four and a half feet at its apex. My arm's length I'm not sure of but it's gangly and long, and my staff rivaled my own height.

So when I lifted my staff up as high as I could, it easily cleared the shell of the dome and broke into the light of the setting sun.

I drew it down, the warmth and light and raw energy of life that came from the sun. It filled me, pure radiant power pooling in my body as I coaxed it down. The darkness of Bianca's magic wrapped around me, but I hardly felt it. I was simmering with sunlight and affection and happiness, the kind that only came from a phenomenal first kiss.

To fold sunshine into a napkin, you had to be happy.

To wield sunlight like a hammer of the gods, you had to be blissed out.

I pointed my blasting rod at Bianca and laughed as I said, "Soli, lucis soli!"

Light flew from the tip of my rod like a solar flare. It sliced through the darkness like a hot knife through butter and hit the Reds. Bianca, standing front and center, got it first, and screeched in unadulterated agony as the force of it tore into her fake flesh. It shrived and blackened as she threw herself out of the way, still screaming.

The dome dropped and I could see the group of Reds she'd brought with her, all armed and ready for combat.

I soaked up more of the sun's rays and leveled both my rod and staff at them. "Soli servitas!"

The light thickened and plumed, firing at them like a cloud. I saw the fear in their eyes as they tried to beat a retreat, but I just poured more at them.

To the left, I saw movement and turned to look. A fleet of Outfit cars was tearing toward us. The cavalry, plenty of John's goons ready to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and they were probably all out of bubblegum.

I spun around to check on John. He... I'd never seen him truly fight. Not before then. But he fired shot after shot into the construct which might've once been recognizable as something, but was currently a steaming lump of furry ectoplasmic flesh, writhing as the holy water did a number on it.

John walked staidly towards it, steps measured and even as he emptied his magazine. He tossed the gun aside and reached up his back, under his shirt, and drew out a knife. Not a sleek little throwing knife that fit in your palm, no. When Dundee said 'That's a knife,' he was talking about this kind of knife.

Like a predatory jungle cat, John descended on the thing and wrecked it with a few fast, agile strikes.

Stars and stones.

About then, my body remembered I just lit up a score of Reds, including their Margravine, and my knees went out from under me.

Bianca was a mess when two goons carried her over. She put up no resistance to being manhandled. Between the huge stretches of sun-crisped not-skin and the Stonehenge bracelets we'd slapped on her, she didn't have much fight to put up.

Goons One and Two tossed her at our feet. Well, John's. He stood tall and regal, feet spaced apart, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back like a Gentleman.

I was sitting behind him across the car seat, a blanket around my shoulders and bottle of water in my hands. I might have gotten a little shaky after pulling that trick on top of the car. But, hell, I wielded light like a sun god and saved the day. I was entitled to a little shaking.

Bianca looked up at John and flinched away from the look in his eyes, hissing quietly like an upset cat. She looked less scared than she should have, more shocked than anything, like what happened hadn't quite sunk in for her.

"Margravine St. Clair," John said in that commanding, steely tone of his. "Do you concede defeat?"

She said nothing.

John nodded to Goon Two, who put two paintball shots into her. She screamed, shrill and inhumane as she writhed. "Yesssss, yessss!"

"Say it."

"I-I conceeede defeat."

John nodded. "Then you will respond as an Accorded entity should."

She gasped, a broken gurgling sound, and looked up at John. "You... you are not an Accorded entity!"

"No," I said in a slow, lazy drawl. "But I am. And you attacked me directly."

"And he defeated you. And I speak for the Wizard Dresden of the Accorded White Council," John added.

Bianca ducked her head, just hissing quietly to herself on every exhale, like whatever humanized her voice had been broken in the fight. John let her do that for a minute, then kicked her in the chest with one sure blow. She landed on her back, screeching again until he stepped forward and put his heel against her throat. She quieted, staring up at him, then at me, glassy black eyes bright with wonder, like she'd never seen anything like us.

"What do you want?"

John nodded. "A deal. You have twenty-four hours to remove yourself and the rest of your Court from this city. Take any longer, and we will react with overwhelming force. I have a very powerful wizard and the detonator to the C4 I had installed in the foundations of your House. Do not test me." He pressed down harder, until Bianca squirmed under him. "And you will swear upon your House and your power that the Red Court shall never enter or hunt in my domain again."

"And-" she coughed until John lessened the pressure on her throat. "And if I refuse?"

"You'll die here."

Bianca didn't answer right away. She and John just stared at each other, two monsters in their own right.

Something passed between them, and John stepped back so she could sit up. Then they stared some more.

"Do you know what you are doing, mortal?" she asked him. "Do you have any clue what terrors you are stirring up?"

"Yes or no, Margravine, I don't have all night."

She chuckled softly to herself. "The honorable thing would be to say no and die a martyr of my people so they may come back to claim Chicago as theirs." She shook her head. "But for the sake of one city, I think I shall agree to your terms, John Marcone. I want to live to see the day someone destroys you and lays your little human empire to ruin."

Slowly, she staggered to her feet, clutching her arm where the sunlight had damaged her worse. "I agree to your terms. I swear upon my power and upon my House, your domain will be free from our influence."

John nodded his head. "Acceptable." He held out his hand. Bianca looked at him with that sense of awe again, and took it with both of hers. John's other hand came up and swept over her wrists. The Stonehenge bracelets fell off her, clinking on the ground where they landed. "You have twenty-four hours. Get out."

She inclined her head to him before turning and leaving, stumbling into the night.

John watched her go, gaze on her until she disappeared from sight. Then he turned to me, hard expression melting into something softer. "Mr. Dresden."

I raised my water bottle to him. "John."

"I believe our evening's been thoroughly derailed."

I shrugged. "Vampires. What're you going to do."

He smiled, quicksilver and bright in the moonlight. A nod to the goons sent them off, and John moved to me. "Mind your legs," he said before shutting the door. He stooped to grab the bracelets before circling the car to get in behind the wheel. "We could still go out, if you wanted."

I shook my head. "Nah. Let's go home."

John turned on the car, put it in gear, and drove us back to the mansion.

This car was a different model, one with a sunroof that happened to be open at the moment. I leaned back in my seat, tipping my head back against the rest, and let my eyes go half-lidded, watching John Marcone washed in the blue-white of the moon.