Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I don’t know how most people find out about the Holy Grail War, but for me it was the dream that started it.

The world swam around me, distorting at the edges, and I blinked to try to clear my head. Wherever I looked the room came into focus, but the blurring and warping stayed in the corners of my vision, and I had to let out a slow exhale and force myself to ignore it to continue scanning my surroundings. I was in a place that looked like the living room of my basement apartment, or at least it did when it was in focus— the old, worn-out bookshelves next to the wall were there, and so were my myriad rugs and second-hand furniture, in the exact same places as I remembered them being. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. At first glance, nothing but the way it warped seemed out of the ordinary.

At first glance. But I’m a wizard, and we’re prone to paying a little more attention to things than most folks. And plus, the distortion had already tipped me off to the unreality of this place. Knowing I was dreaming gave me a little bit of an edge playing spot-the-difference.

I turned in a circle, then settled my eyes on the fireplace and focused as hard as I could. I drew my will up through my body, the room got even sharper and clearer— and I finally caught on to what was bothering me.

I wasn’t warm.

I took a step forward, then another, bringing me right to the brickwork in front of the hearth and confirming my suspicions. A normal fire would have made the room warmer as I moved towards it, but here the temperature stubbornly refused to change as I got closer. It was like it was only a semblance of a fire, one that gave off no heat.

I squinted down at the fire, then squatted down next to it, staring into the flames. The skin of my left hand seemed to tingle as I did, but it was less a physical feeling and more a remnant of remembered pain—a vampire’s lackey with a flamethrower had left me with a withered, melted-wax sculpture for a hand not too long ago, except for one perfectly healthy patch of skin in the shape of an hourglass in the middle of my palm. I was hard-pressed to feel anything anymore, fried as my nerve endings had been. It had been bad, bad enough that my doctor had wanted me to amputate, but I refused. It acted as a reminder of what could happen to me if I slipped up just the tiniest bit.

I pushed the thoughts of my injury away and concentrated on the fire with all of my senses, narrowing my gaze until it was practically all I could see. There was the slightest trickle of energy coming from it, but the nature of the magic—if it was magic and not just stray energy— was hard to determine. As I focused harder on it, I started to see how different it was from usual. There was a little bit too much green in the colors, a little too much blue, and some colors flickered that wouldn’t usually be found in a domestic fireplace. The dance of the flames swam before me, drawing my eyes in hypnotic patterns. I wanted to to reach in there and see if this fire burned, too. I wanted to just stick my hand in and—

I wrenched my slowly-moving good hand away from the fire and stood, deliberately not looking back down and trying to ignore the terrified little voice that had just started gibbering in fear within me. This clearly wasn’t a normal dream, which meant the compulsion and the danger were both real and both bad news for me. Compulsions that strong don’t usually get to me in my dreams… unless someone else is in there with me. Unfortunately, I knew exactly who that someone would be.

See, a little while before I had made a mistake that had gotten a carbon-copy of a fallen angel’s consciousness imprinted in my psyche. Since then she had been trying to get me to go full Dark Side, tempting me with anything she thought would work; generally with power, but sometimes with… other things. I hadn’t given in yet, but I knew she took the view that it was just a matter of time.

Could have been worse, I guess. The thing currently residing in my head was dangerous as hell, but she was nothing compared to the real deal, which was currently sealed in a silver Roman denarius and buried under some concrete in my sub-basement lab. She could twist my perceptions all she wanted, but she didn’t truly have power over me.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

As I thought more about that fact, I felt anger begin to bubble and rise inside me. She might not have had power over me, but she sure as hell showed no qualms about warping as much of my mental state as I let her.

“Lasciel,” I said. I didn’t raise my voice, but the sound echoed more than it should have in the tiny space, hard anger underlying it like bedrock. “Get over here. Now.”

There was a puff of cool, dry air against the back of my neck, and then a smooth, melodic voice came from next to my ear. “Yes, my host?” Only three words, but Lasciel somehow made them sound like they were wrapped in silk.

It only served to piss me off more. “What,” I said, “the hell do you think you’re doing?” The end of my sentence came out as a barely-intelligible snarl, and I clenched my one good fist so hard I could feel my knuckles turn white. I turned to look at her.

Lasciel tilted her head, her wavy, strawberry-blonde hair cascading down her bare shoulder as she did. She appeared as she usually did, a fresh-faced and gorgeous woman dressed in an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a statue of a Greek goddess but sure as hell looked out of place against the backdrop of my home. Her blue eyes were normally wide and sincere, but now they were narrowed in confusion. She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” I spat, gesturing towards the fire. Her eyes followed my hand, then widened. “What makes you think that I’m going to fall for that? And for that matter, what makes you think that burning my other hand off would be more likely to make me walk down your path? I—“

She cut me off. “This is not my doing.” Lasciel stepped closer, looking directly up into my eyes.

She was one of the few who could do that without fear; anything with a soul that spends more than a second or two looking into a wizard’s eyes triggers what’s called a soulgaze automatically, and both of you get a peek into each others’ psyche. (When people get a good look at mine, they tend to go pale. I don’t know what they’re looking at in there, but I don’t envy them. It can’t be pleasant.)

The difference between them and Lasciel was that Lasciel didn’t have a soul.

I looked down into her eyes, still sparkling in the strange firelight despite her suddenly serious demeanor. “I,” she repeated, “am not responsible for this dream. Which means that something else is reaching out to you. Do you truly believe that I, one who has seen the breadth of the damage your injury has done to your mind, would believe that harming you in that same traumatic manner again would turn you to my side?”

“You know, that’s exactly the kind of the thing I can picture you doing,” I said, but my words rang a little hollow. Her demeanor didn’t sway me, but what she was saying made just a bit too much sense. She was right; my injury had… caused problems. Recreating it in this kind of dream-world, where physical harm might or might not carry over into my life, would not end in a very cooperative Harry. It might not even end with a very sane Harry.

A hint of an angry blush crept its way onto Lasciel’s face at my words, tinging her cheeks pink. “Mortal, I have been tempting minds for longer than your civilization has existed. I would not be so clumsy in my seductions.” She exhaled slowly, then gave me a smile, her perfect lips curling slowly upwards. “You think so little of me.”

I shuddered at the reminder, then shook my head. “Fine. If you’re not the one doing this—“ I gestured around at my warped apartment, “— then who is?”

“I do not know.” She looked around too, then down at the fireplace, then over at my open bedroom door, then down at the fireplace. “If you wish, I can examine the compulsion placed around the fireplace for you. Perhaps I can glean enough information that the spell can be traced backwards.”

I hesitated, then nodded. Lasciel nodded back at me, then kneeled down on the hearth and stared into it much like I had.

Lasciel cut a striking figure as the firelight played over her, bathing her in a pattern of light and shadow that constantly changed. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, right up until she jerked back and gasped, her eyes opening in surprise. She shoved herself away from the fireplace and stood up, stumbling a few steps backwards and into me. Instinctively I took her by the shoulders, steadying her. Her skin was warm against my hands, her breathing fast. After a moment she looked up at me again. “My host,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It is not what you think it is.” She let out a pained groan, and I saw that her legs and hands were starting to become transparent. When she spoke again, she sounded like she was straining to do so from a long way away. “It…. does not…. want me… to interfere… with… the selection process…”

“Wait, what? What selection process?” Out of reflex I looked for my staff and blasting rod, but of course they weren’t there. In my arms, Lasciel continued to fade.

The fire seemed to jump in height and intensity, and Lasciel moaned again, her form going limp. For a spectral being she was surprisingly heavy, but getting lighter by the second. “Look,” she at last managed to say, pointing at the fireplace. And then she faded completely, leaving my arms empty.

I looked.

The fire caught me immediately. The gentle compulsion of before was gone, replaced with a powerful current drawing me in so fast that the world spun around me. I didn’t have time to stop myself before I was on my knees, shoving my right hand deep into the flames.

There was a flash of intense pain across the back of my hand, then a voice whispering in my ear, slipping into my mind through the red haze that was beginning to fill it.

Command seals implanted, the voice said. It was female, but different from Lasciel’s— whereas Lasciel’s voice was smooth and silky, this voice just felt cold. Master candidate selected. Holy Grail War: commence.

Then it stopped, and the compulsion and the dream both broke.

I gasped and opened my eyes into the pre-dawn dark of my apartment, clutching my hand to my chest and breathing heavily. My whole body was shaking and my eyes stung something awful. The pain was beginning to subside, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bad. It could mean it was worse. I swallowed hard, briefly imagining what it might be like to have two non-functional hands instead of one. Then I took a deep breath and looked.

My hand looked just as pink and healthy as it had before it had gone into the dream-fire. I drew back slightly in confusion, then wiggled my fingers. “What?” I muttered to myself. Confused, I flipped my hand over and stopped dead.

There were three symbols in red on the back of my hand, like tattoos. They didn’t have the irritated, raised appearance of new tattoos, though; they looked established, like they had been there for a very long time.

I had never seen them before.

I brought my hand closer to my face and examined the marks closely. The first was a circle, surrounding the other two, which were both twisting, multi-pointed marks that within it made up what seemed to be a stylized pentagram design echoing the one I wore on my necklace. I flexed my hand one more time, making sure everything worked properly, then sighed. Being marked in your dreams is possible, but it was almost never this literal. I toyed with the idea of asking Lasciel if she knew anything about it, but hesitated. She might have the answers I wanted, but… I remembered the way she had faded. Lasciel had looked like something was tearing her away. Could she be gone? Could I entertain the hope of finally being free?

I shook my head in resignation, then stood. It seemed unlikely that Lasciel was gone for good, even after something had invaded my mind like that, but judging from what had happened she might be out of commission for a while. In the meantime, I would have to get help from other quarters. Slowly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I walked out of my room and into the living room, which was considerably messier than the one in my dream had been, but also empty of everyone other than my dog, Mouse— my brother Thomas must have been out for the night. I felt a pang of worry, but tried to brush it away. He was fine. He was probably fine.

Yeah, maybe I wasn’t convincing myself, but what else could I do?

Mouse raised his head and let out a tired, doggy noise as I uncovered the trapdoor to the subbasement, then decided he didn’t need to be involved and laid back down, curled up on the couch. He stayed sleeping as I opened the trapdoor and descended the ladder into my laboratory.

Calling it my laboratory made it sound like something out of a pulp sci-fi book, but I guess it looks the part in some ways— shelves lined with magical instruments, artifacts, and containers full of ingredients for potions lined the walls, and books and research notes were strewn about on the shelves and in some cases on the floor. But given the candles haphazardly placed around, the whole thing is less science fiction and more below-sea-level fantasy. On the far end of the long work table that divided my lab, there was a blank patch of concrete floor with a ring of silver about two and a half feet in diameter set into it. The concrete within the ring looked fresher than the rest of the floor, and I shuddered as I tore my eyes away from the space where Lasciel’s coin lay buried.

Turning my thoughts away from Lasciel and towards more irritating sources of help, my gaze came to rest on the one shelf in my lab that didn’t match the others. It was bare wood, and on it rested several Victoria’s Secret catalogues, a few romance novels of the kind you can get for 50 cents at the used bookstore with a lot of lines about heaving bosoms, and a human skull bleached white with age.

“Bob,” I said. “Get up. I need you now.”

Orange lights flickered to life in the skull’s eyes. “Just for once,” Bob the Skull complained, “can you make me work a little harder to make fun of you, rather than pitching me a direct line like that? It’s too easy when you do!”

Bob’s not really a skull. He’s more like a spirit of knowledge and intellect contained within a skull, and while he can annoy me, he’s almost a friend and definitely an ally (at least, as long as I keep his vessel with me). Plus he’s got a trove of information that’s almost unrivaled, which doesn’t hurt.

I rolled my eyes. “Forgive me for not giving you quality ammunition. It’s been a long night.” I pulled a chair out from my workbench and sat down heavily on it. “Do you know anything about something called a Holy Grail War?”

At that, Bob laughed. “Wow, and here I thought you were going to actually give me a hard question to answer this time! Yeah, I know about the Holy Grail Wars.” He put emphasis on the last word. “There’s been way more than one. Nasty business, most of the time, but the reward’s worth it. I mean, wishing for anything you want?” The skull’s eyelights shone a bit brighter. “I know what I would wish for—“

I waved my hand. “Don’t want to hear it. Start from the beginning. What do you mean by “wishing”?”

Bob sighed, then started talking slowly and clearly, as if he expected me to be taking notes for a test later on. “The Holy Grail War is basically a wish machine. It was developed a long time ago by a bunch of mages—“

“You mean wizards,” I interjected.

Bob gave me a dirty look. “I mean mages. No one knows exactly if they were wizards or warlocks or if some of them weren’t mortal at all, but they were all capable of doing magic in some capacity. In some accounts one of the original ones was even a vampire using a bunch of energy they gathered from humans to fuel the ritual. In any event, they wanted a wish granted, and they figured out that the only way to do that was using the Holy Grail.”

“Hold it,” I said, grabbing a notepad and pencil and beginning to scribble this down. “The actual Holy Grail? The cup that caught the blood of Christ?”

“No, not exactly. It’s more like an intensely powerful magical artifact nicknamed the Holy Grail because of its power. Get it?”

“Not really, but keep going.” I motioned with my pencil.

Bob snorted, which was a trick without a nose. “Of course it doesn’t make sense to you, blockhead, but trust me on this one. It’s not the actual Grail. That’s tucked away somewhere else, and while it most likely has intense magical power, faith magic isn’t really the same as this thing. The Grail for the Holy Grail War requires a ton of magical energy to power up, but once it does it can basically take any wish you give it and brute-force its way through granting it.”

I nodded along. “Okay,” I said. “Where does it get the magical energy, though?”

“See, that’s the thing.” Bob made a noise like he was sucking in air. “The original founders of the Grail War decided that the best way to do this would be to summon beings that are, essentially, ghosts of historical or mythical figures. They’re usually called Heroic Spirits, and they exist sort of outside time. Most of their stuff is irrelevant, so I’m not gonna go into it unless you desperately need to know, which I’m assuming you don’t.” Bob paused.

“When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me,” I said automatically. “But you’re right, I don’t need the details.”

“Good. Alright, so they created a method for summoning Heroic Spirits, but also a method of pouring basically a ton of power into them and transforming them into something more… corporeal. Then they’re called Servants, and they’re each bound to an individual Master. Most of the power involved in their summoning comes from the surroundings, but some of it comes from within the mage who summons the Servant, and from there on they’re mostly powered by the mage’s inherent energy. There are usually seven classes of Servant summoned in the Grail War: Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker. Sometimes there are extra classes, but they’re mostly irrelevant. I guess the only one that matters is if something’s weird with the Grail War, in which case a Ruler class gets automatically summoned to mediate. Sorta like a fail-safe.”

“Hold on a sec.” I scribbled down the list. “What determines the class a Servant is summoned in?”

“Lots of things,” Bob said cheerfully. “But mostly it depends on weapon use, how they were in life, and general temperament. Saber, Lancer, and Archer are mostly what they sound like— swords, spears, bows. I guess Archers could use pretty much any projectile weapon, but mostly bows. The others are a little bit harder to pin down. Rider mostly has to do with— you’re a huge nerd, right? You play table-top RPGs?” I glowered at the skull, but he ignored me. “Think of it like vehicle proficiency. Having notable riding skill and being able to use it. Casters do magic, but not magic as humans think about it. They’re usually people who were creative or scientific types in life if not outright mages. Basically, if they weren’t powerful magically in life, that’s how their impact gets interpreted when they’re summoned. Assassins are mostly killers with a shrouded identity or killers who committed a notable murder and didn’t get caught.”

“And Berserkers?”

“Berserkers are a weird one. What’s up with them is that they’re insane. No matter what they were actually like in life, if their legend says they went mad, their madness can become a fundamental part of their identity and allow them to be summoned as a Berserker. A lot of them aren’t coherent, and the ones that are don’t make a lot of sense—if you want to understand one you’ve got your luck cut out for you. What’s interesting is that Servants can kind of be force-summoned as Berserkers.” Bob was getting more and more animated as he spoke. “See, if you add some lines to the summoning, you can kind of bring out the madness part in a Servant that might otherwise be summoned as a different class. Then you get a Servant that’s basically a tank, point them at the enemy, and let them go wild. Impressive, right?”

I shivered slightly. Plenty of people I’ve known have been willing to call me mad, and they weren’t completely wrong; I knew what it was like to go a little crazy. The idea of being stuck like that just because someone wanted me to be… wasn’t appealing, to say the least. “No, Bob,” I said. “Not cool.”

“Oh.” Bob cleared his non-existent throat. “Anyways, the point is that these seven are summoned by seven Masters who control them with the use of things called command seals.“ A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the cold voice in my dream. Command seals implanted. Master candidate selected.

“Bob,” I said quietly. “What determines who’s a Master and who isn’t?”

“Usually a bunch of people get chosen, and the first seven to summon Servants get chosen to participate in the Grail War. You can only really do the summons once every candidate’s gone up, though,” Bob said. His voice was way too perky for how I was feeling at the moment.

My belly felt cold, like I had just swallowed an ice cube whole. “And how can they tell if they’re a candidate?” I asked quietly.

Bob rolled his eyes. “Command seals, duh,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Each Master gets three. They’re a way to make sure your Servant doesn’t go rogue and kill you or something, or supply extra power, or make them do anything you want.”

I glanced down at my hand. “And they look like tattoos? On the back of the hand, in red?”

“Well, yeah. How’d you—?”

I held up my good hand and showed Bob the back. “I got a visit from something in my dream tonight. Woke up with these.”

“Oh. Oh,” said Bob. His eyelights expanded, giving the impression that his eyes had widened. “Damn, Harry, you must have attracted attention in a big way.” He whistled. “Wait, you know what this means, right? You have to participate!”

Bob was getting more and more excited, almost shaking in place on his shelf. I glared at him, then stood. “Absolutely the hell not. I’m not getting involved in anything this big if it doesn’t absolutely need me. And it doesn’t.”

“But Harry,” Bob whined, “any wish! Any wish you want!”

“I said no, Bob!” My voice was harsh. “I’m not doing this. Stop, period, end of road. I am not getting involved.”

There was a pause before Bob spoke again. “Even if you might have to?”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Bob said, “that a place usually has to be prepared for upwards of sixty years in order to be a site with enough magical energy for a Grail War to take place. Chicago, as far as I know, has not been prepared like that. Which means something’s up here. Something big.”

I swore and pounded my fist on the table hard enough that my hand hurt, my vision suddenly red with anger. “Something big? Something big? God damn it, I’ve had just about enough of big somethings going down in my town!” I didn’t realize I was yelling until I hit the end of the sentence. “I’m tired of cleaning up after other people’s messes—“

“But you’ll do it,” Bob said. His tone was level and matter-of-fact. “You can’t not do it. Face it, Harry, sitting around while the grown-ups play with fire just isn’t your style.”

There was a pause as I glared at Bob, but the anger was rapidly fading. He was right. Hell’s bells, he was right. I couldn’t just sit by and let things happen. It wasn’t in my nature.

Bob watched me expectantly until I sighed in resignation. “Fine. Fine. You’re right.”

“Yes!” Bob crowed. “He admits it! You’re gonna do it!”

“I’ll do it,” I said, “but only once I get more information. You said mages made the original Grail War. Were any of them White Council?”

“Oh, probably. They might have records, but they’re a bunch of stodgy bastards—“

“Stodgy bastards I can deal with,” I said. I sighed again. “What time is it?”

“Hey, don’t ask me. I’m a spirit of intellect, not a clock.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just resent being used as one.” I checked my watch, then groaned. 4:50 am. Middle of the night for me, but unfortunately a perfect time to call some people I knew. Even if all I really wanted was to try and go back to sleep.

“Bob,” I said, “do me a favor and be quiet. I’m gonna make a long-distance call.”

Chapter Text

I wiped the sweat off my brow and stepped back as much as I could within my summoning circle, looking at the sheet of blue light I had just called up and the bearded, frowning face that showed within it. “Hoss,” Ebenezar said, his voice gruff and brow furrowed, “it’s the middle of the damned night where you are. What is it this time?”

I gave my old mentor a strained smile, trying to hide the sour taste in my mouth. When I was a teenage wizard on trial for killing my abusive and black-magic-using teacher, Ebenezar McCoy had been the one White Council wizard—now part of the Senior Council, the inner circle that contained both friends and enemies of mine— who had stood up for me, made sure I didn’t get executed. In return for that, the Council saddled him with me as an apprentice. For a long time he was the closest thing I had to a father figure in my life. 

He’d also been lying to me the whole time. Ebenezar had taught me about restraint, and patience, and diligence. The value of hard work. Mostly, though, he’d drilled a respect for magic into me; magic and all of the things it could do, good and bad. And the whole time he had been the Blackstaff of the White Council, the only wizard with a license to kill with magic. I found out right around the same time I lost most of the use of my hand, and even years later it still felt like a betrayal. 

Stars and stones, it wasn’t like I didn’t still like the old man. But I didn’t know if I could ever trust him again. Even if I wanted to. Even if I knew that not forgiving him for his mistakes when I had always been forgiven for mine was hypocritical at best.

“No rest for the wicked,” I responded. “Or I guess that’s what some of the people over there would say, and it’s the middle of the day in Edinburgh anyhow. Any news on the vampire front?” 

Ebenezar’s frown lines deepened. “Nothing good. They’ve been retreating and avoiding frontal assaults, which is giving us some chances to recover, but it’s less like they’re regrouping and more like they’re preparing for something. We’ve got a vague idea of what they’re planning and are prepared to check their advance, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “We’re caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, Hoss. The longer we spend holding off preparing for the vamps to make their move, the longer they have to figure things out, and the more danger we’re in.”

I scowled. “And the Wardens?” The Wardens were like the magical cops-slash-soldiers-slash-thugs of the White Council, trained specifically to be deadly in battle and extremely lethal. There were also far, far fewer of them than there should be, after an attack by the vampires last Halloween that killed nearly two-thirds of the active Wardens and almost 45,000 civilians. After that, they had started drafting everyone able to fight, including me. God knows neither of us had been happy with the arrangement, but it wasn’t like there was any choice in the matter.

“Luccio and the Wardens we can spare are training the new ones as fast as they can in the boot camp, but most of them still aren’t ready and the ones that are ready are still green to real combat. If there was any way to train them more we would, but—“

“But you need the manpower fast, I know.” I sighed and rubbed my hand across my face, feeling the stubble on my chin scratch against my palm. Things were bad all-around, but I needed to cut to the chase. “Listen, Ebenezar. Something weird’s going down here in Chicago, and I need some information.”

Ebenezar’s face became even more serious behind his white beard. “Information about?”

I held up my hand, showing him the back and the three command seals stamped in dark red on it. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the Holy Grail War about to go down, and I need it fast.”

Ebenezar’s eyes went almost comically wide. “Harry,” he whispered, “what have you done?” He raised his voice. “Damnation, boy, do you know what this means?”

I nodded tersely. “I found out after something crawled into my dreams tonight, yeah. But I need more information, Ebenezar. Who else do you know who’s participating?”

Ebenezar turned away for a moment, his face becoming obscured in the curtain. When he turned back, he looked tired. The war taking its toll, maybe. Me taking my toll on top of it. “Might as well tell you, since you already know. We think this is why the vampires have backed off. They’re preparing their own candidate for the Grail War.”

“What? No, they can’t.” I paused. “Can they?” 

“You’ve seen them in action, but you haven't seen what they can really do. They have some powerful sorcerers among their number, more than powerful enough to participate in the Grail War.” 

“The Council?” I asked. “You’ve got someone in mind, too. That’s what you meant when you were talking about checking the vamps’ advance, wasn’t it? So who is it?”

There was a long pause, broken by Ebenezar’s sigh. “You aren’t going to like it.”

My stomach twisted; like I said, I had plenty of enemies within the Council, but there was something else too. We’d known for a while that someone within the Council was a traitor, working with the Red Court of vampires in the war, but we weren’t sure who. There was a chance that whoever the Master within our ranks was, it might be the traitor. “Hit me with it,” I said, mustering as much bravado as I could into my voice.

“It’s Morgan.”

That gave me pause. “Seriously? Morgan, as in, zealot Warden Morgan? As in the guy who spent a good chunk of my life gloating about how I was a criminal in accordance with the Laws and should have my head cut off? That Morgan? And he’s coming here?”

Donald Morgan was one of the wizards among the Council I counted as an enemy— but to be fair, it was mostly because he was convinced I was a violent thug and a ticking time bomb. He had acted as a sort of parole officer after my initial offense in a one-strike-you’re-out kind of system, in which if I started breaking or even bending rules too much he’d get fanatical about killing me. He wasn’t so much openly murderous towards me anymore, but he was the lapdog of the Merlin (the leader of the White Council), and the Merlin didn’t see much he liked in me either. 

“The very same.” Ebenezar spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yeah, little bit of an understatement.” Despite how negatively I felt about Morgan in general, my shoulders did relax a bit. Morgan might have been a little unhinged and he might have hated me, but it was because he was wholly and completely devoted to the White Council and the Laws of Magic. I couldn’t picture him committing treason any more than I could picture him flapping his arms and flying. “Alright, so Morgan’s a player in the game. Got any idea who else?” 

Ebenezar shook his head. “No, but I know someone who may. The Grail Wars are usually presided over by someone from the Church, sort of a neutral party. You said you had contacts within it?”

I nodded. “One, but yeah.” I kept my voice level, but my stomach went cold. I knew a priest by the name of Father Forthill, but I hadn’t spoken to him recently.

Not since Lasciel had gotten inside my brain, in fact.

I pushed those thoughts away, then looked back up at Ebenezar. “One last question. The Grail War… it’s being held here, isn’t it?” Ebenezar’s expression was grave when he nodded, and I took a deep breath. “Got any idea why?”

“Boy, we barely know why the Grail War has started at all, which means that everyone who knows what’s going on is running around like a chicken with its head cut off. All I can tell you is that the ambient magical energy around your town has been spiking heavily according to our readings, and all of the models we’ve been running show the Grail showing up there.” Ebenezar leaned heavily on his staff, which was just visible at the edge of the blue light curtain. “I wish I could tell you more, but…”

I nodded, letting him know that it was okay to stop talking. “Yeah. I know.” There were people inside the White Council who didn’t like me, like I said, and among them were people who were more than capable of eavesdropping on Ebenezar and I. And at least one of them wasn’t just my enemy, but the whole Council’s as well. “You can’t tell me.” I understood, but it didn’t stop me from feeling a little bitter. I swallowed the resentment as best I could, though it tasted sour in my throat.

Ebenezar’s eyes were somber. “You’re not the only one.” 

He meant I wasn’t the only one being kept mostly in the dark— and to be honest, I probably knew way more than most of the members of the Council already— but it still stung a bit. I opened my mouth to say something else, but words took a little bit to come out. “I should go talk to my Church contact.”

“Hoss—“ Ebenezar started, then cut himself off. “You go do that.” 

I couldn’t speak, but I made an affirmative noise, and then one that sounded like “Goodbye”. And then I ended the call and sat down. 

“Wow, Harry,” Bob piped up from behind me. “You really know your way around interpersonal relationships. Not to mention information-gathering.” 

“Shut up, Bob.”

“I mean, it’s not like you actually need the particulars he could have provided if you had pressed him more—“

“Shut. Up. Bob. Or I’ll get the claw hammer and smash that skull of yours into bone dust.” I was joking, but only partially. Bob might have been a friend, but it didn’t stop me from feeling pissed-off at him.

He must have heard the hint of sincerity in my voice because he squeaked out “Meep,” and then went silent. I felt a little bad about scaring him like that. Just a little.

I sat there for a moment and then stood up. Somewhere below the feeling in the pit of my stomach I felt… strange, somehow, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Instead I focused on thinking about what Ebenezar had told me. 

The Red Court was involved. That was just fantastic. The Red Court was one of the three courts of vampires, the others being the Black and White Courts. Of the three, the Reds were maybe the most numerous, and they posed the most danger. They looked human— at least, their flesh masks did. Underneath was a leathery, flabby batlike thing that fed on the blood of humans. They had narcotic saliva, a few fairly serious magic users in their ranks, cities full of people they fed on like cattle, supernatural strength and speed, and oh yeah, a personal grudge against yours truly. 

Point of fact, I was the one to blame for kicking off the whole war between the Council and the Red Court. They had half-turned someone very close to me, and she now spent her days fighting the bloodlust that urged her to turn fully while she and others like her fought a guerilla war against them in South America. I had killed a fairly important up-and-coming Red Court noble, Bianca, trying to save her and gotten myself into a world of trouble.

They had done things to me, too. Nothing like turning me, but they had done things I still try not to think too hard about, even years later.

The war hadn’t been going well as of late. I had to imagine that if the vampires were really preparing to enter the Holy Grail War, letting them win and get whatever they wished for would considerably accelerate the Council’s defeat. 

“So just don’t let them win, Harry,” I muttered to myself. “Easy as that.”

“Yeah,” I responded to myself, my voice sarcastic. “Easy-peasy.” The bitterness in my voice was unmistakable.

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to go back upstairs and try to squeeze out the last few hours of sleep I could before the day really started. But a glance at my watch told me it was already 6:30, and I needed to get moving. 

Too many people to talk to, not nearly enough time.

I didn’t end up going to Forthill first. Instead, after a quick breakfast that consisted entirely of a Coke and half a leftover steak sandwich, I found myself standing outside Murphy’s office door at the police station, waiting for her to come in to work. 

I only had to wait about fifteen minutes before I heard the familiar tread of her boots down the hallway. Lieutenant Karrin Murphy took her job in the police force very seriously, and for her that meant showing up early to work and leaving late— on the days when she wasn’t helping me dispatch whatever supernatural horror had showed up to cause mayhem. She was one of the few vanilla humans who knew about the supernatural world; she’d been pretty savvy to it for a while as the showrunner for the CPD’s Special Investigations unit, and had only gotten moreso over time.

SI looked into happenings that ranged from “unconventional” to “werewolves and vampires”, as the dumping ground for cops that the CPD wanted out of sight and out of mind. Murphy had gotten shoved there for asking too many questions, and ended up as much of a powerhouse as anyone purely mortal could be against the things that go bump in the night. This was despite her being… well, tiny. She was five feet tall if she was an inch and I could probably carry her without too much difficulty, which is saying something because for all my magical power I’m not actually that strong physically. Complete with short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a spattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, she looked unassuming and unthreatening.

Looking at her, you might not see someone who once brought down a giant plant monster with a chainsaw or raided a nest full of vampires. More than a few creatures had figured out how mistaken they were about that shortly after she pumped them full of bullets. Murphy might have looked like a grown-up Goldilocks, but she was made of lithe, lean muscle and had reflexes honed by years of martial arts as well as some serious training in various weaponry, and she put them to exceptionally good use. I’d seen her in action, and I can confidently say that in a serious one-on-one no-magic fight with her I would lose within a minute if not sooner. Murphy was good at what she did, and sometimes what she did was help me fight monsters.

She was also one of the people I was lucky enough to count as a friend.

Murphy stopped in front of me, looking up. Her blonde brows were furrowed in annoyance, her lips pressed into a line. Behind the expression, however, I saw concern. She crossed her arms. “Harry,” she said, “is whatever’s going on here making it imperative that you get in my way at—“ Murphy checked her watch. “7:30 am?”

“Funny you should ask, Lieutenant,” I said, stepping out of the way. “I tend to think of it as a metaphor.” 

“Uh-huh. A metaphor for what, exactly?” Murphy unlocked her door and opened it, walking in and leaving me to stick my foot in so it didn’t close in my face. She walked over to the chair on the other side of her desk and pulled it out— way out, in fact, setting it almost at the other end of the office. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she sighed. “My computer’s still recovering from last time, Harry. Can’t really afford you shorting it out again.” Then she walked behind her desk and sat.

I sat down and winced. “Sorry, Murph.” Magic and technology doesn’t really mix— with things like Murphy’s computer, all I had to do was get a little too close and it would die, sometimes in a spectacular manner. Old-fashioned stuff tended to last a little while longer, but even things like my car (a battered old VW Bug I called the Blue Beetle) broke down occasionally. It’s also why my apartment is lit mostly with candles. 

“Just don’t get any closer and we’ll call it even.” Murphy took a sip from her coffee, frowning at me. “So. What’s up this time? Something you need my help with?”

I shook my head. “Not as far as I know, but I have a feeling that things are about to go down and I wanted to warn you about it.” I paused. “Well, less of a feeling and more that I’ve been told multiple times in the past three hours that the city’s about to turn into ground zero for a superpowered historical reenactment smackdown.”

“Got anything to do with those marker drawings on the back of your hand?” Murphy leaned back in her desk chair, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me. Her brows were drawn together in a look of concern that contrasted with her voice.

I nodded. “Not exactly marker, but yeah.” Quickly I filled Murphy in on my dream and its ramifications. I shook my head afterwards, my shoulders slumping. “I dunno. I get the feeling… I get the feeling that things are about to happen here that I’m not in the slightest prepared for, and that scares the hell out of me.”

Murphy’s face had been getting progressively more serious as I spoke, and she leaned forwards in her chair, resting her hands on the table. “And you don’t have a choice about participating?”

I scrubbed a hand across my face. “I guess I could always just say no thanks, but somehow I don’t think that would turn out well. Besides, every time I try to extract myself from a situation like this I end up getting sucked right back in.”

Murphy rolled her eyes. “You say that like you’re physically capable of not getting involved. Face it, you see trouble and you end up in the middle of it every time.”

“Believe me, it’s not my choice.” Murphy gave me a look, and I waved a hand. “Okay, it’s not always my choice.” I started to stand. “Just… can you do something for me?” 

“Yes.” Murphy’s answer was prompt. She half-rose in her seat along with me. “What is it?”

“Keep your people away from anything big. I don’t know what we’re doing here, but something tells me there might be a lot going on in the next few days that would get very, very bad if mortals got involved.”

Murphy frowned. “You can’t just ask me to stay out of this, Harry. This is my town, too.”

I gave her an exasperated look, then relented. I’d tried to keep Murphy out of things before, but it had only ended with me losing her trust. Besides, she was just like me when it came to trouble. Whatever it was, she’d probably end up in it right along with me. “Fine, then. Look out for anything that might indicate who the other participants in the Grail War might be. Crime scenes, vandalism, noise complaints… anything with a magical flavor that might indicate something going on.” I swallowed hard, a sour taste suddenly filling my mouth. “Because those are the people I’m going to have to fight.” 

I turned to leave, but suddenly felt a hand on my wrist, just below my sleeve of my leather duster. Murphy’s skin was soft, but her grip was like iron. “Harry,” she said. “Don’t get killed.” Her mouth was set in a thin line as I looked down at her, her tiny, compact body set in a determined stance. 

I nodded, but my throat felt like it was blocked. Something pushed behind my eyes. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise you.” 

Murphy’s brows furrowed in consternation, but she gave me a curt nod and relaxed her grip. “Good enough.”

“Oh, well, if it’s good enough for you, Murph.” 

She scowled at me. “Get out of here, jerk. I’ll contact you if I find anything, but you’d better keep me updated too.” 

“Yes, ma'am.” I raised my hand in a mock-salute, and she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. I saw a hint of a smile playing around her lips, and it made my chest feel just a tiny bit lighter. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I left Murphy’s office and trudged out into the pale, grey light of the day, my hands in my pockets as I headed to my car.

It was, more than likely, time to bite the bullet. 

I got into the Blue Beetle and started off towards Saint Mary of the Angels to talk to Father Forthill. 

Chapter Text

Saint Mary of the Angels is a huge church in Chicago’s Bucktown neighborhood. I’ve heard the layout mimics Saint Peter’s Basilica, but since I’ve never been I can’t exactly confirm that. What I did know about it was that as I puttered up in the Beetle, I could feel a low thrum resonating around the entire structure. I’ve felt faith magic before, and this church hummed with it. I barely had to extend my senses to feel it. 

It made me simultaneously want to move closer and run away.

It wasn’t any sort of supernatural mind magic— I’ve been subject that before, most recently in last night’s invasion, and I knew how it felt so intimately that I couldn’t help thinking it ought to have bought me dinner first. It was just the same fear I’d been feeling since Lasciel’s echo took up residence in my mind, fear and guilt weighing down my stomach like I’d swallowed a rock. I didn’t want to go up those stairs. I didn’t want to face Father Forthill. I didn’t want to walk into a place of faith harboring a demon in my mind. I didn’t even want to get out of the car, as if I’d taint the ground just by stepping on it.

“Then don’t,” said a voice from the passenger seat. 

I jumped in my seat, swearing and fumbling with the seat belt before I realized what was going on. I managed to unclip it at the same time as my brain finished processing who the voice belonged to. 

I turned to Lasciel, glaring at her. “You couldn’t just show up without the theatrics for once? Maybe tone down the drama of the entrances so I don’t have a heart attack and take you with me?”

She let out a short laugh, the clear tone of it ringing delightfully through my chest. “I suppose I could, but that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it? Besides, causing you a heart attack is unlikely.”

I glowered with all the famous wizard’s anger I could muster, but she seemed unperturbed. “Yeah, yeah. And what happens when I slag half my car into molten metal with a fireball in response to the surprise?”

Lasciel rolled her eyes and nodded at my seat belt. “Unfortunately for us both, I would classify that risk as minimal.”

I sighed. “Did you just show up to snark at me, or do you have a point?”

“Of course I do.” Lasciel reached out to me, and I felt her fingers caress my wrist in the same spot Murphy’s had earlier. Whereas Murphy’s fingers had been cool and soft, Lasciel’s were as warm as if she was an actual person and not a projection of my mind. “Don’t go in, if it will cause you so much guilt. You don’t require the Church’s help in order to gather the information, we can—”

I cut her off. “There is no we. There will never, ever be a we. There’s only me and you, and you’re basically a freeloader crashing on my couch and refusing to pay rent.” I opened the door of the car and got out, then turned back to look at Lasciel one more time. “I am not,” I said sternly, “going to rely on your— so far less than helpful— advice for this one.” A car, grey with tinted windows, drove past as I finished the sentence, the growl of its engine mostly drowning it out. It didn’t change anything; Lasciel was in my mind. She could hear me just as well as if I’d been standing next to her.

I shut the Beetle’s door, praying it would stay closed, and turned around to head towards the church while steadfastly trying to ignore the dog-walker on the sidewalk staring at me like I was a crazy person. 

Maybe she was right.

As soon as I entered the church, I felt something change. The guilt and fear I had been expecting were there, but I felt the pulse of faith deeper, in my bones. It grounded me in a way, like gravity hadn’t been working and it had just started again. I wasn’t a churchgoing man and I wasn’t sure I held any beliefs that could be called Christian, but people’s faith has a power all of its own. This church was more than a century old, and generations had worshipped there. The power here ran deep. 

I took a deep breath of the dry air in the church, then started walking, looking for Father Forthill.

After a few brief conversations with some of the other priests and assorted men of God, I found Forthill. He was standing in front of a cabinet, looking speculatively into it. As I got closer I could see rows of vials filled with oil and catch the faint scent of incense in the air.

Forthill looked up when he heard my footsteps, and his face cracked into a gentle smile. He turned from the cabinet, shutting it. “Harry,” he said. “It’s been quite a while since you were last here.”

“It has,” I said. It took all my effort not to wince as the feelings that had been assuaged somewhat came flooding back into me at once, drowning out the steady comfort of the church’s energy. “Padre, can I talk to you for a bit?”

“Of course!” Father Forthill walked over, looking at me. I avoided looking at his face, staring just past him. He looked up at me. “What is it?”

I cleared my throat. “I have a few questions to ask.” I held up my hand, displaying the command seals on the back of it. The red of the symbols stood out in stark relief against the white knuckles of my clenched fist, and Forthill’s robin’s egg blue eyes widened behind his glasses. “Specifically about these.”

“Oh. Oh, Harry,” he said. “Had I known you were participating…”

“Believe me, it’s not by choice.” I breathed out slowly, trying to calm the stuttery maneuver my heart was pulling. “I heard there’s a representative from the Church who’s supposed to be looking over things. If you could tell me about who that is, it’d go a long way to making my participation easier and probably less fatal.” I looked slightly away. I didn’t mean to do it, but it just happened. “Got anything for me?"

Forthill made a face that looked strange with his demeanor. “There’s been a bit of confusion on that front, I’m afraid.” He took off his glasses, bringing out a lens cloth to polish them. “You see, the next Holy Grail War was expected to be soon. However, it was expected to happen on the other side of the world— in Japan, I believe. We had planned for that eventuality. But since the Grail War is occurring here instead in an entirely unexpected manner, the Church does not currently have a trained neutral party in place. In the interim period… I suppose that I’ve been chosen to fulfill that role.” He put his glasses back on, blinking at me. “And unfortunately, I haven’t been given very much information at all.”

“So what do you know?” I felt tired. It had always seemed like as I got older it got harder and harder to deal with exhaustion, and I was really feeling it at the moment. I was pretty sure that if I reached up and rub my eyes, I could create a sandstorm to rival anything in the Sahara. 

“As of now? I know of your participation and of a representative of the White Council— Donald Morgan, I believe his name was? He came to visit this morning and left just before you did.” Forthill winced slightly. “He informed me that he was going to attempt to summon a Caster-class Servant, though I admit the details were lost on me.” He coughed. “Mostly because he refused to give them.”

I nodded. “Yeah, wouldn’t expect any less of the White Council. Anyone else come to see you?” 

He shook his head. “No one as of yet. Or if they have, they’ve chosen not to formally announce themselves. I don’t expect to meet everyone before the War begins, though others of the Church will likely inform me of the participants as much as they are able.” I could hear regret in his voice. “I wish I could help you more.”

“You’ve done all you can.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll add you to my inform-later list, that okay?”

“If you could.” Forthill gave me a tired smile. “I’d… appreciate the help, if I’m honest. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing?”

I felt a strange pressure behind my eyes and in my throat. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll make sure to do that.” I blinked, trying to clear away the feeling. “I’ll see you later.” Hopefully, I added mentally. 

I left the church at a pace that wasn’t a walk but wasn’t quite a run, hurrying out onto the sidewalk. The day was just starting to kick into gear, but it was already hot and smotheringly humid; Chicago summers tend to be that way and this one was no exception. Despite that, it was a relief to walk away from the church. 

It felt like a weight had been lifted from my entire body.

I got back into the Beetle, hoping Lasciel wouldn’t show up in the passenger’s seat again. To my relief she didn’t, and I breathed out slowly. The last thing I needed was her gloating. I started my car, which coughed worryingly, and then slowly pulled the battered Beetle out into the road and began to head home. It seemed like I was going to have a lot of studying to do before attempting a Servant summoning, and I was gonna have to do that pretty soon if people were already starting their summons.

I barely remember the drive home, too stuck in a haze of thinking about all of the things I had to do (and all of the things that could go wrong, but those two lists were pretty much the same at this point). What I do remember was stopping at a red light a couple of blocks from my apartment, looking out the driver’s side window, and saying “Well, that’s not good.” 

Beside me there was a grey car, one with black-tinted windows. Exactly like the car I had seen outside of Saint Mary, in fact. I was being followed. 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I muttered, still looking out the window at the car. I couldn’t see into the windows, but I had to assume that whoever was in there didn't just want a nice chat. The light turned green, and I waited, my car idling for a moment until the other vehicle started going through the intersection. I took a moment to memorize the license plate number as it went on ahead, just before the person behind me laid on the horn. 

I was tempted to make them wait until the next green to get moving, but I didn’t really have the time to spare, so I laid on the gas. Even though my foot was pressed down as far as it could go it still took a few seconds to move through the intersection. 

Instead of going home, I turned down a different street, driving a few more blocks before pulling over to the side of the road and parking. Then I got out and started walking down the streets, heading towards my apartment. 

I’d gone maybe two blocks before I heard a car coming and ducked into a nearby alleyway to hide, waiting as shivers of fear ran down my spine. I might have just been being paranoid, except that I was never that lucky. I was quickly proved right as the grey car passed by the alley I was in, then moved out of sight. I let out a slow exhale as it did, then continued heading to my destination, keeping as out of the beaten path as I could.

I came towards my apartment building from the back, rather than from the front— making it a little harder for people to follow me, but also increasing the chances that if my elderly neighbors saw me they might have a heart attack thinking I was a burglar. Though I guess not many burglars looked like I did at the moment. It was moving into the middle of the day now, and the heat and humidity had gotten so bad that I was sweating through my thin t-shirt. I hauled myself painstakingly over the fence of the dinky backyard, then walked around and towards the sunken stairwell leading down to my basement apartment and the sweet, sweet shade— 

A shape exploded out of the stairwell in front of me, moving too fast for me to see what it was clearly. I got a brief impression of long, dark hair and a dark cloak, and then it was on me. It was moving at a run faster than anything human could have managed, and it was strong . It pushed me aside as it leapt past me and I hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me— but not before I managed to gasp out a word of quasi-Latin, extending my arm and my will out towards the figure in one burst. “Forzare!” 

The blast of force I sent out should have hit the figure dead-on, but instead it was angled wrong and all it did was sweep one of the figure’s legs out from under it and badly dent a few cars nearby. I cursed myself internally for leaving my staff and blasting rod at home. I hadn’t been thinking straight, had forgotten to bring them with me when I was making my exposition rounds, and I was paying for it. But the meager shove was enough; the figure stumbled and fell, dark cloak fluttering behind it, and I took the opportunity to haul myself upright and follow it as fast as I could while wheezing for air. 

It managed to right itself within seconds before running off down a corridor between two of the houses, and I stumbled after it as quickly as I could. “Hell’s bells,” I gasped, “why can’t things ever go smoothly?” Even as I said it, my inner voice laughed at me. Nothing ever goes smoothly, Harry, you idiot! Dance, wizard, dance!

By the time I arrived in the corridor there was no one there, just an empty space lined with a few trash cans. I took a few steps down it, looking around cautiously before my wizard’s senses absolutely screamed, blaring louder than a klaxon. I jumped backwards, throwing up a shield as quickly as I could, but before I could do more than begin to coalesce my will my concentration was shattered by what felt like a metal bat being slammed into my ribs. 

I fell to the ground again, this time on my back, and my head hit the concrete with a crack that made my teeth rattle in my skull and my vision blur. Before I could really recover my vision I felt something incredibly sharp pressing against the hollow at the base of my throat, about to slide in. I reached for my magic, but the confusion was too overwhelming; the world wasn’t so much spinning as oozing and flowing like the inside of a lava lamp, and I couldn’t keep ahold of any spells in my mind. It was like trying to grab an eel with hands covered in Vaseline. It didn’t help that whoever had attacked me had an aura around it that was so strong it made me feel like microphone feedback was being transmitted directly through my sternum.

I craned my neck desperately, trying to see my assailant through my daze without cutting my throat, and managed to form a picture of him in my mind. He was tall, though I couldn’t get a sense of how tall from my perspective. His cheekbones stood out starkly, sharp enough to cut glass under his bone-white skin. His long hair was almost the same shade as his skin, platinum blonde with some undertones of blue that for some reason didn’t strike me as dye. He had a goatee even lighter than his hair, which surrounded a cruel, thin mouth set in an expression that spoke of clenched teeth and restraint, and he was wearing some sort of long, blue-black coat over black clothing. A strange-looking black-and-silver metal spear was held in his hands, pushed against my neck.

Even in my stunned state, I managed to take in three important details. One: he was taller than whoever had been lurking in my stairwell, and his coat was definitely not the cloak I had seen them wearing. Two: his aura indicated an incredibly strong presence, one I had never felt before from almost any creature. And three: there were fangs poking out on either side of his mouth.

As soon as I registered this information, he blinked and looked confused. I saw his mouth form silent words that I couldn’t make out, and then he vanished, leaving only a few motes of light where he had been. 

That might have been the last straw, because as soon as he vanished, the world managed to squirm from my grasp entirely. Darkness swallowed me, and I fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

I wasn’t unconscious for long, but I also didn’t wake up on my own. I woke up to my dog licking my face.

Coming back to consciousness after being knocked out is almost always a slow, somewhat painful process, but in this case it was accelerated greatly by the feeling of something warm, wet, and slobbery swiping across my mouth and nose. My eyes slammed open and I jerked upright, startling Mouse, who took a few steps back from my couch and gave me a doggy grin. I glared at him, the lower half of my face dripping with saliva, and mopped some of it away on my arm. “Y’know,” I said, “if I’m gonna wake up with someone’s tongue on my mouth, I sure as hell don’t want it to be yours, furface.” My ribs ached sharply from the sudden movement, and my head still pounded from when it had hit the ground as I looked around.

“Yeah, like you’re gonna get any other kind.” My brother’s face came into my field of vision, looking down over the back of the couch at me. “Harry, I have to ask. What were you drinking to end up passed out in an alley before noon? And who were you drinking with?”

I took a moment. Whoever that man was, he wasn’t human— the fangs and the energy signature all led to that conclusion. The part of my brain that was less White Council wizard and more person familiar with pop culture took all those pieces and put them together to spell “vampire”, but the part of me that had seen everything vampires had to offer already denied that furiously. Black Court vampires look like rotting corpses, not goth thirty-somethings, and most White Court vampires look more like… well, like my brother, who was the kind of pretty that left women, men, and others drooling in his wake. And while Red Court vampires could wear human-looking flesh suits very convincingly, they didn’t generally have fangs. Or, you know, ever. So what had he been?

The obvious answer, of course, was a Servant of some kind. I wish I had gotten more information, but I didn’t know enough yet to come to a conclusion other than that, and Thomas was staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer his question.

I groaned and swung my legs over the side of the couch, sitting up. “Short answer? A mysterious cloaked figure trying to break into our apartment, aided and abetted by the LARPer from hell.” 

“And the long answer? The one that tells me where you got that goose egg on your head?” Thomas said, raising an eyebrow.

I grimaced and gave him the brief rundown of the events of my day. By the end of it he was staring at me, blinking. “...Sorry, what?”

“What about this is confusing you? Maybe I can go over it slower this time. Or hey, maybe I can grab a notebook and draw you some pretty pictures to go along with it.” Pain and lack of sleep makes me grumpy. I glared at Thomas, feeling put out.

“I’ve seen your art, Harry, and Bob Ross you are not.” Thomas said. He moved around the side of the couch to sit next to me. “But no, I get the mechanics of it. What I don’t get is why it’s happening at all. Were you supposed to be in Japan at any point or something? Did it follow you here?”

I spread my hands. “Not to my knowledge, unless I missed something big in the Warden’s weekly newsletter. It doesn’t seem like I’m at the heart of this, I’m just getting swept along.” I grimaced, reaching up to feel the bump on the back of my head and wincing at the pain that even brushing it sent through my skull. Mouse must have seen the look on my face, because he laid his doggy chin on my knee, gazing up at me. I gave in and petted him a bit. “Gotta say, I’m not super fond of it.”

Thomas nodded. “So when are you gonna get your own historical thug?”

“Tonight, probably. I’m gonna talk with Bob about the details of the summoning ceremony. Hopefully they’re not too complicated.”

“Or too expensive?” 

“That too.”

We sat in silence for a moment before Thomas spoke again. “Do you get to pick which one you get?”

“You mean the Servant I summon?” I said. “I don’t know. That’s one of the things that I was going to ask Bob about. I don’t really want to accidentally bring in a super-mega-power ghost to find out that they’ve got an agenda that will…” I trailed off.

“Get people killed?” Thomas supplied. “Be horrific and destructive? Endanger innocent bystanders?”

I nodded. “Any of the above. If I summon Attila the Hun or something, I’d probably get another enemy more likely than I’d get an ally, and I need an ally more than pretty much anything at this point. Preferably one with enough firepower that I won’t have problems getting jumped again.”

“Alright. Just do me a favor?” Thomas said.

“Are you gonna ask me to keep myself safe? Because Murphy already beat you to it.”

“I’ll bet she did.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up his hand. “Just promise me…” My brother paused, and I waited. “Promise me,” Thomas said somberly, “that if the Servant you summon is hot—”

I cut him off. “I am not going to get it on with a dead historical figure, Thomas.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “You won’t talk to girls, you won’t ask Murphy out even though you clearly like her, and now you’re turning down the chance to maybe have sex with… I don’t know, Florence Nightingale?” His face was breaking out into a smile by the end of his sentence, and his voice bubbled with barely-contained laughter. “Cleopatra? Joan of Arc? The possibilities are endless.”

“They might be, but I’m still not interested.” I crossed my arms over my chest and sat back, ignoring how my ribs hurt with the movement. For some reason my stomach felt weird at the thought, but examining that feeling couldn’t lead to anything good. I pushed it away. 

Thomas patted me on the shoulder. “I know, I know. I was joking.” He paused again. “But seriously, you should ask Murphy out.”

I glared at him for a sec before my eyes focused on something behind him. A duffle bag sat on the floor, packed to capacity, and beside it was a backpack, also crammed full. I could see some clothes peeking out through a few inches of open zipper. “What’s that?”

“That…” Thomas looked at the bags. “I’m moving out.”

I stared at him for a second. “Are you sure?” Thomas had been staying at my place since some events had left him homeless a while back, and I was a little bit wary of him leaving. Not because I particularly liked living with my brother or because I didn’t think he could handle himself… except I was worried. Happy for him, but worried. 

Thomas nodded. “I have a place of my own and a job that isn’t gonna cause me any more problems. I’m ready.” He frowned. “And I’m not too fond of sounding like a kid about to leave for college.”

“Yeah, I’m not much of an empty-nester myself.” I said. “Call me if you need anything?”

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now.” Thomas stood. “Sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

I shook my head. “The Reds are probably in town for the Grail War, and they have a nasty habit of picking off the weak and sick. There are no innocent bystanders or civilians as far as they’re concerned. Plus, I don’t want to have the guilt of shorting out some poor sap’s life support on my conscience. I have enough to think about already.”

“Fair.” He shouldered the duffle bag and grabbed his backpack, then walked across the room to the door. Thomas was supernaturally strong, but even he had to really put his shoulder to the steel door to shove it open— turns out that my previous one was prone to not being impervious to zombie attacks, and the current one was prone to being near-impossible to open. Thomas managed it eventually, then stood in the doorway, looking back at me. “I’ll talk to you later. Oh, and I walked Mouse and put some food out for him and Mister.” 

“I appreciate it.” I shooed at him with my hand. “Now get going.” 

Thomas nodded, then walked away. He reached out and closed the door behind him with the exact same amount of difficulty, and I listened to his footsteps head up the stairwell. Then I shoved myself up and pulled open the trapdoor leading to the subbasement. I descended the ladder, ending up in my lab once again for the day. 

“Hey. Hey, Bob, wakey wakey. I have some more work for you to do.”

Bob’s eyelights came on slower this time, as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. Which, since it was almost noon, I suppose he was. Spirits of all kinds don’t tend to do well during the daytime, and Bob was no exception. Damned lazybones (pun intended). 

The orange lights in Bob’s sockets flickered in a passable imitation of a bleary blink. “What is it this time?” he asked, sounding groggy.

“A few things. For one, what’s a Servant’s aura like?”

Bob perked up at the question, seeming a bit more awake. “There aren’t English words to describe it, but I’ll dumb it down for you,” he said, and I got the impression that he was smirking at me. “A Servant’s energy signature varies from person to person— one person might experience it as a feeling like an earthquake, or someone else could feel like there’s been a sudden flash of bright light, or… etc. It’s their magical signature, and the only thing that doesn’t vary among that is that it’s pretty huge. Unless they’re concealing their presence, which they’re pretty much able to do at will.” His eyes brightened. “Wait, did you find one of them?”

I gave him a flat look. “Yeah, and I got some bruised ribs in the bargain.”

Bob laughed, his teeth clattering. “Ha! You’re lucky that’s all you got. If a Servant really wanted to kill you, trust me, you’d be dead.”

“Hey, I can handle myself,” I said.

“No, Harry, you don’t get it.” Bob said. His voice became more serious. “You’re pretty powerful for a wizard, but most of these things… you are not in the same weight class as them. You’re not even close. If a Servant caught you off-guard, you’d be a bloody pulp, and that’s if you were lucky. Servants are hard to defend against, they’re magically resistant, and they’ve got pretty much every advantage over you in a fight.”

“Wait, wait.” I held up my hand. “If that’s the case, how come the Grail Wars don’t just last for a day or two and then end? I mean, if it’s so easy to kill the Masters.” I paused. “And why didn’t this one kill me?”

“With regards to your first question, two words: paranoid bastards. That’s what ninety percent of Masters are, and it pays off. They hide out, let the Servants do the dirty work.”

I frowned, cracking my knuckles idly. “Not exactly my style, Bob. What else?”

Bob made a disgusted noise. “You have no survival instincts. Absolutely none. But alright, alright. The other thing is that in a Grail War everyone has a Servant protecting their soft, squishy flesh body. It makes it just that much harder to kill them, you know? But it doesn’t mean Masters can’t kill each other when their Servants are distracted.” Bob let out a huff of air. “If I had to guess at why this one didn’t kill you, it’s because their Master told them not to. Which means someone in this Grail War, for one reason or another, wants you alive.”

I frowned. “And that’s not at all sinister.” I took a deep breath, then let it out. “Anything else I should know?”

“Just one thing,” Bob said. “Don’t tell anyone your Servant’s name.” I must have looked confused, because he sighed. “Okay, look. Even mortals aren’t supposed to tell anyone their True Name from their own mouths, correct? 

“Yeah,” I said. “Anyone who learns it could gain power over you if you do.”

“Exactly. Servants have something similar, but it’s a little less magical and a little more practical. If you learn a Servant’s True Name, you know their story, and a story— a legend, a myth, whatever it might be— is all a Servant really is. Learning their name might not give you the ability to control them, but it tells you about what their weaknesses are, what their strengths are, the works,” Bob said. 

“So…” 

Bob clacked his teeth, exasperated. “So, it’s not generally a good idea to tell anyone how your magical super-soldier was defeated in their last lifetime. Trust me on this one. That’s why most people in a Grail War just refer to their Servants by class, not by name.” He paused. “Though that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t learn your Servant’s True Name. Knowing their strengths and weaknesses as their Master is a good thing. Kind of.” His voice became conspiratorial, and he somehow managed to give the appearance of a leer. “Speaking of which, if the Servant you get is a hot chick—”

I cut Bob off. “One, no, and two, no. We’re going to move on to my next question now.”

“But boss—”

“No,” I said, with heavy emphasis. 

“Fiiiine.” Bob’s voice perfectly channeled the energy of a pouting teenager. “And what would that question be?”

“How do I summon one?”

There was a pause before Bob spoke again. “Grab a piece of paper,” he said. “You’re gonna want to write this down.”

It was dusk when I came out of my lab, carrying a small, formerly-blank notebook that was now full to the brim with scribbled information and diagrams. I had marked out the most important parts clearly, but I still had some doubts about just how well this was going to work. Summonings can go wrong. Really, really wrong. In fact, I had intimate experience with just how wrong they could go— particularly from last Halloween, when I had tried to summon the Erlking, aka the Goblin King, aka the leader of the Wild Hunt. I had managed to summon him, surprisingly enough. And then someone had whacked me on the head and I had completely failed at containing him, thus letting an extremely powerful and out-of-control faerie loose in Chicago.

You can’t win every time, I guess. 

Speaking of the Erlking’s summoning— I walked over to the phone and dialed Murphy, tapping my foot as the phone rang. “C’mon, Murph, pick up.” 

After two and a half rings she did. “Who is it?” She sounded tired and exasperated, like she’d had a long, long day at work. I winced as I thought of how I was about to make it even longer.

“It’s Harry. I need to use your backyard.” 

I cursed myself silently for putting it so bluntly, preemptively wincing as I waited for Murphy’s response. Technically I didn’t need to do the summoning at her place, but I couldn’t use my lab due to Lasciel’s coin buried under my summoning circle, and using my apartment’s backyard had the potential to put my upstairs neighbors at risk. Murphy’s yard was pretty big, and she didn’t share it with other people who could get caught in the crossfire if something went wrong. And because I’d done the Erlking’s summoning there on Halloween, the amount of magic the ritual would take out of me might be somewhat reduced. 

Plus, and this was what really appealed to me, I trusted her. I could have gone somewhere else, but out of all the people I knew there were painfully few I could count on as backup in case something went wrong, and even fewer whose places didn’t have their loved ones nearby that I could put in immediate danger. Even if Bob was right about how powerful Servants were, they might be disoriented in the time directly following a summoning. And, y’know, it’d be nice to have someone watching my back in case another bad guy decided to come at me with a two-by-four again.

“What do you need my yard for?” Murphy asked, breaking the increasingly awkward silence. 

I winced, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. “I, uh. You remember the whole I-need-to-summon-a-weirdly-powerful-magic-historical figure thing?”

“It’d be difficult to forget, seeing as you told me first thing this morning,” Murphy said. She sounded warily amused. “So you’re saying that you need to do that at my house? Why not at your own place?”

I quickly explained the situation to her, then waited as she mulled it over. Finally she sighed. “Alright, Harry. But you have to tell me that if this seems like it’s going to get out of control, you’ll dispel it immediately. Send the thing back to wherever it came from or kill it, either one.”

“It—” doesn’t work like that, I thought, but I managed to bite back the words. “Alright, Murph. I’ll do my best.”

Murphy grunted. “Fine. When are you coming by?”

I looked at my watch, calculating. “I gotta pick up some stuff first. Give me forty-five minutes to get there and about half an hour to set up.” I hesitated. “And… thanks.” My voice sounded strange, almost rusty as I spoke. It creaked. 

“Sweet, but unnecessary,” Murphy said, but I heard wary amusement in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Before I could respond there was a click, and she hung up. I stood for a moment, listening to the dial tone of the phone and my own breathing through the mouthpiece before I finally put down the receiver. 

When I put the phone down Mouse, who had been sitting fairly quietly, perked up. He looked up at me, then towards his leash expectantly, and I shook my head. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m counting on you to hold down the fort here. Got it?” 

Mouse made a chuffing noise that sounded resigned, but his demeanor didn’t reflect it— his tail thumped a few times on the floor before he walked over and shoved his head against my hands. I spent a few moments petting him, scratching him behind the ears in the spot I knew he usually didn’t manage to get. 

Then I shoved the notebook in the pocket of my pants, went downstairs to grab a few more things, and got going.

It was dark by the time I got to Murphy’s, but it was still muggy and hot out, much to my chagrin. The Beetle’s air conditioning had given up on the ride over, and I was sticky with sweat by the time I knocked on her door. It was more difficult than it maybe should have been for me to do that, given the plastic bags I had clutched in one hand and the staff I held in the other. 

I heard footsteps approaching after the first knock, and then Murphy opened the door. She was holding an oil-stained cloth I recognized as the one she used to polish her gun. “So, you’re here.” She eyed me. “And apparently you made a stop at Walmart. Hope you brought me my groceries as thanks, it’s the least you could do.” A smile played around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. 

I gave her a slight smile back. “Maybe next time. I was a little bit distracted, and the Warden’s pay is barely enough for me to afford my own groceries.” I motioned with my bag-laden arm. “Can I?” 

Wizards generally have to ask permission before they enter someone’s house. It’s a threshold thing— if you don’t get an invitation, you run the risk of leaving most of your power at the door, and right now I couldn’t afford to let my guard down like that. With some places it’s not a problem; for example, my place is a rental and a bachelor pad, which means it has a flimsy threshold that any number of things could push past and not lose a significant chunk of their power, which is why I had wards. But Murph’s place had been her grandmother’s place, and now it was hers. It wasn’t just a house, it was a home, and as a home it had a threshold like a brick wall. 

Murphy stepped aside and motioned. “Come in.”

I walked into Murphy’s home and sighed in relief when I felt the air conditioning hit me. I wasn’t going to stay long in her house— I had to move out and start the summoning soon— but I wasn’t into torturing myself enough that I’d force myself to go back out before the sweat on my forehead dried. So I put my bags down and flopped down onto one of her couches to enjoy the cool air momentarily.

Murphy moved onto the love seat to my left, settling into it and pulling her legs up on the chair. Her gun was next to her on the coffee table. As I watched she started checking over it again with the precision of someone who barely needs to think about what they’re doing because they’ve done it so many times. Her hands were sure and steady as she did, precise in their movements. I looked away when I caught myself staring.

“Well,” Murphy said, breaking the silence. “Are you going to explain to me why you look like hell?”

I winced, then turned back to her. “Got jumped outside my apartment.” I paused. “Well, no, that’s not really the right word. I noticed someone was following me—” 

“Hold it,” Murphy said, glancing up from cleaning her gun. Her blue eyes were intent. “Got a description?” 

I described the car that had been following me to her, and Murphy’s eyes narrowed. She put her gun back on the coffee table, then got up. “Hang on just a second.” Murphy walked away for a minute, then came back with a torn-open envelope and a pen. “Write down the license plate.” I must have hesitated, because she raised an eyebrow. “You did get it, didn’t you?”

I snatched the pen and paper from her hands and scribbled down the license plate number, grumbling, then handed it back to her. “What kind of of detective do you take me for? Of course I got the plates.”

Murphy took the piece of paper and looked it over. “Just checking to see that your brains haven’t been permanently scrambled by your newest blow to the head.” She eyed me skeptically. “Keep talking. Who jumped you?”

I grimaced, then gave Murphy the rundown of the two intruders outside my apartment. Her frown deepened as I talked, small wrinkles appearing at the corners of her mouth. Once I was finished, she took a second in silence to process before she spoke. “I thought you said your place was warded. Wouldn’t anyone participating in a Grail War have been able to sense that? Or at least infer it before being blown to pieces?”

I opened my mouth, then paused. “You know, Murphy, that’s a damn good question and I don’t know how to answer it. Maybe they knew how to disable the wards. Maybe they weren’t trying to get in, maybe they had another objective entirely.” I shook my head and said, “I wish I knew.”

Murphy looked at me, her eyes bright even though there were clear bags under them. “Maybe they just had a death wish and you interrupted them.”

“What can I say? I’m rude like that,” I said.

“Do you think they were working together?” Murphy asked.

“Maybe. Probably,” I said. “Only thing I don’t know is everything else.” 

I sat in silence for a moment, looking up at Murphy, then sighed and got to my feet. She kept her eyes trained on my face as I did, looking directly at my nose. “Could it have been some sort of magical surveillance?”

I waved my hands slightly. “I mean, maybe? But surveillance spells can’t really broadcast. They’d be more like a way to trap information over time and store it, and the person who wanted the information would have to go back and physically retrieve it, which means that they’d have to repeatedly hang around my apartment. Bottom line is that it’d be a risk that most people wouldn’t be willing to take.”

Murphy nodded. “So basically, you’d just have to keep an eye out for strange, cloaked figures skulking around your apartment again. Seems like it’d be pretty conspicuous.”

“There’s a reason most wizards don’t dress like that outside of Council meetings,” I agreed. “It’s easier to get the drop on someone when they look out of place.”

“Which obviously you never do,” said Murphy, her voice deadpan. There was a bit of a smile on her face now, though. “I mean, the duster’s about as inconspicuous as you could get, if you were on the set of El Dorado.”

I shrugged. “Might as well be protected. I’m tall enough that I’d stick out in a crowd no matter what— though I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Murphy snorted. “Eat shit, Dresden.” 

“Hey, I speak nothing but the truth.” I glanced out the window at the darkness, then sighed and checked my watch. “And as much as I hate to cut this short, I think it’s time.”

Murphy’s face became serious, and she took up her gun. “I’ll be ready.”

I nodded to her gratefully. “Thank you.”

Then I went outside, trying to convince myself that this time things would go to plan. This time I’d be ready.

As I stepped out into the humid warmth of the night, I had to admit that I didn’t believe it.

The summoning circle was complex, more than any I’d really tried drawing before. It was made a bit harder to do by the fact that I was spray-painting it onto the grass of Murphy’s lawn, doing my best to make sure it was up to code. Most summoning circles are plain, fairly unembellished, but this one was different— a six-pointed star adorned the inside, bordered by a second circle and inscriptions that I couldn’t read, and other circles and drawings adorned it at various points along the inside, making it into almost a work of art. I had gone over it with Bob multiple times beforehand, until we were absolutely sure that I had gotten it right. While most summonings can get away with a bit of fudging with the magical circle, Bob had drilled into my mind that this wasn’t like any of the others I tried. It wasn’t even like what I had used to summon the Erlking. So even though making it was a complete pain in the ass— I flexed my hand as it cramped again from holding the spray paint can— it wasn’t optional. 

This summoning, Bob had said, is a whole new ball game. Servants can be described as overpowered ghosts, but that description is more of a visual than anything even resembling accurate, and there’s a whole host of other things you need to account for with the Grail War. Trust me, boss, they’re a hell of a lot more complex than what you’re used to. Skimping is not an option.

Remembering that, I went over the lines again, checking one last time for any mistakes. When I didn’t find any, I straightened up and prepared the other parts of the spell. I’d memorized the chant before I left for Murphy’s place, but I flipped through my notebook once again, going over the words. It was pretty straightforward, moreso than the complexity of the summoning circle would have indicated, and it helped even more that Bob had translated it into English for me. I didn’t think I was in any danger of forgetting that part.

Lastly, I began pulling things out of the plastic bags I had gotten on my way over. This part, Bob had said, wasn’t strictly necessary for the spell. However, it was necessary for me. Magic has a large mental component, and a lot of that is belief— and a significant part of my belief rests on the things involved in the summoning. Objects have a power in and of their own, and I’d utilized it before; when I was summoning the Erlking, for example. For this, though, I was going for a different component combination.

When I make potions, I usually use seven different ingredients: one for each physical sense (sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing), and two that represent heart and mind. I wasn’t making a potion here, but what I was doing was trying to gather components that would represent me as a person in order to try and summon a Servant who would line up with me and my personality. To that end, I began to pull out items from my bags. 

First was a paper bag I had stuffed into one of the Walmart plastic bags, containing what in reality was a Whopper from Burger King and some fries but might as well have been ambrosia from the heavens for how my mouth started watering when I smelled it. I took a bite of the burger, savoring it, and then reluctantly put it and the bag down to align with one of the points of the star. My favorite food, for taste. My stomach grumbled in protest when I put the bag down, and I tried to ignore it. Summon first, eat later.

When I was done, I reached into the same bag and grabbed a large, unscented beeswax candle and a box of matches. I spent a moment contemplating how to set it up without becoming too much of a fire hazard, then walked around to the other end of the circle, where I knelt and dug a shallow hole in the dirt. I positioned the candle in it, making sure it would stay upright and not get knocked over, and then took the matches and struck one. The flame flickered into bright relief against the darkness around me. I lit the candle and sniffed the air, catching the scent of smoke and burnt matchsticks— that was the smell component. 

What followed was a scrap I cut from a leather jacket I had bought, approximately the same kind as my favorite leather duster, for touch; a jar in which I had captured the ambient noise of Mouse and Mister (my grey tomcat and/or small bobcat) that I had grabbed from my lab, for sound; a splinter of my staff, for sight; and some photos of people I cared for (Murphy and Thomas, among others), for heart, each item placed at one of the corners of the star. Lastly I took off the pentacle amulet that hung around my neck and held it out, right at the edge of the circle. A symbol of magic passed down from my mother, for mind. 

I was about as ready as I’d ever be. 

I drew in a slow breath and began the chant Bob had translated for me. “Let steel and silver be the essence,” I began. “Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation…” 

I chanted the words, projecting them out into the night along with my will. As the chant rose to a crescendo I pushed more and more out of me, forced my emotions, my thoughts, my self out of my body in the form of power, shoving all of it into the circle on the ground before me. I noticed dimly through the chant that the summoning circle had begun to glow, making a low humming noise. It only got louder as I moved through the incantation, my voice rising in volume until my throat hurt from the force of the words. When I thought I could no longer bear it I reached the end of the chant, tilting my head up at the sky. My voice was unusually clear as I called out, magic infusing my words. “Come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!” I cried, my voice echoing through the neighborhood. 

The circle exploded into a light so bright that I had to shut my eyes against it. Even then it burned through, turning everything into a shade of bright red and forcing me to turn my head away. Heat enveloped me, and for a split-second I thought I had failed and was about to die at the hands of my own magical backlash. 

Then the light and the heat faded, and it was dark once more. 

I kept my eyes closed for a moment, feeling the panicked beating of my heart reverberate through my entire body like I was a guitar string being plucked. My breathing was frantic and my entire body felt drained, weak and wobbly like I was about to collapse where I stood. And then another sound joined my heartbeat, coming from where the summoning circle had just been. The sound of breathing.

My eyes snapped open, my blood suddenly running ice-cold. That same microphone feedback feeling as before filled my chest as I searched desperately for the source of the slow, steady breaths. Spots from the light still floated in my vision, but I could make out a shape in the darkness— a shape that filled almost the entire backyard and towered over me. My mouth went dry. 

Slowly, as slowly as I could manage, I brought up the arm holding my pentacle amulet and channeled the last remaining dregs of my power through it to illuminate the figure in front of me. 

She was huge.

When I say that, I don’t mean it in human sizes. I mean it in the same way that a passenger jet is huge when you’re standing next to it, or a skyscraper. She was so big that I couldn’t see all of her at once, just in chunks, one piece at a time. She was huge.

The human body I saw first was statuesque, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, and near entirely naked. She was 10 feet tall if she was an inch, and she might have been taller— I couldn’t make out her size accurately, she was that big. Swaths of pale, smooth skin were exposed down to her mid-chest, where plates that might have been armor or might have been part of her covered her to just barely the point of modesty. The rest of her abdomen was bare down to her hips, where she wore something between a skirt and a loincloth that again just managed to cover her. A hot blush covered my face as I tore my eyes away. I swallowed in a jerky little motion, then forced myself to look back at her and take in the details academically. 

Her hands and legs were covered with smooth, green-gold scales that winked brilliantly in the blue light of my amulet, and her fingers and toes were tipped with long, razor-sharp claws that looked like they could eviscerate me in a second. The woman’s face (or what I could see of it) seemed too cute in contrast with the rest of her. If I had only seen the bottom half of her face detached from her body, I would have said she looked sweet— she had gently pink lips and a small, pert nose that reminded me of Murphy’s, and her jaw sloped down to a pointed chin that made her face appear vaguely heart-shaped. But the illusion was broken by the curved, slender fangs that pressed soft dents into her lower lip and the bronze half-mask that covered the rest of her face. The eyeholes of the mask were deep and dark enough that I couldn’t see any hint of her eyes within them, but I could still feel her attention locked on me. Purple hair cascaded and flowed around her in waves almost as long as her body, and as I watched it seemed to move slightly on its own like the tentacles of some great sea creature.

And on top of all of that, she was hovering another ten feet off the ground. 

Focusing harder, I figured out that she wasn’t exactly hovering. The shadow behind her glittered in the same way as her limbs, and I got an idea of what it was; an enormous snake’s tail attached to her body, coiled around and around on itself and lifting her into the air. The scales on its back were the same color as the ones on her body, a shining golden-green, but the ones on its underside were a black so deep that I could barely see them even with the pendant’s light. I couldn’t tell how long her tail was, but I could see part of it pressed up against the back fence. I swallowed hard.

For a moment she didn’t move, focused on me in silence the same way I was focused on her, though if I had to guess I’d say she was considerably less terrified. Then the very tip of her tail began to move. It uncoiled, stretching out towards me, and I took a step back and instinctively reached for my magic. As soon as I tried it wave of dizziness and nausea passed through me, my head and ribs hurting more sharply than before. I felt drained. I was drained, drained and defenseless against whatever this snake lady was about to do to me. 

I stumbled a little before her tail wrapped around my body. It was surprisingly soft to the touch, though I could feel how beneath the scales there were thousands of pounds of flexible muscle, easily enough to crush me like an empty soda can. I swallowed hard, weighing the benefits of trying to force my way out, but even as I thought about it the tail squeezed slightly tighter around me, anchoring me in place and leaving me just enough room to breathe. My bruised ribs ached desperately in protest to the constriction. I had to force myself not to struggle in her grasp.

I felt movement ripple up through the woman’s tail, and then my feet left the ground as she lifted me further and further up. Eventually I was eye-level with her. Probably eye-level with Murphy’s roof too, if I had turned to look, but I don’t think I could have if I wanted to. Her stare was an almost physical pressure now, and my entire body felt like it was vibrating so hard just from her energy signature that I thought I might just shake to pieces in her grasp. 

That sweet bow of a mouth curled into an expression that was smile-adjacent as she looked at me, her fangs showing more and more. They were a perfect, pearly white. “Avenger, Gorgon,” she said. Her voice was smooth and deep, and I felt it like the low rumble of an earthquake. She leaned in and looked at me closer, and I squirmed under the force of her gaze. “Use me as you will, Master, and I will use you in turn.” Her not-smile widened, showing more sharp needle teeth. “Won’t it be fun to see which one of us meets our fate first?”

Chapter Text

As I opened my mouth to search for some kind of witty retort to that, I heard a gun cock behind me. Murphy’s voice was cold. “Put. Him. Down. Bitch.”

Gorgon’s face snapped to where Murphy must have been standing, and I saw a flash of red within the eyes of her mask. Anger twisted her features into something monstrous. A split-second before she could lunge at Murphy, I yelled out. “Murph, dammit, no! She’s not the enemy!” 

There were three noises in quick succession: a loud crack, a metallic ricochet, and then the sound of breaking glass as the shot Murphy had fired bounced off of Gorgon’s scales and through her own window. The grip of Gorgon’s tail around me tightened painfully, and I choked back a scream, feeling her draw herself up to her full height, getting ready to lunge at Murphy. The pain brought tears to my eyes. The world blurred as I tried desperately to reach for magic, any magic, that might stop the bloody scene that was about to happen.

And then, as suddenly as Gorgon had started moving, she stopped. She stared down at Murphy, visibly scanning her as Murphy stood with her gun trained on Gorgon’s face. 

I felt the vibrations of Gorgon’s amusement before I actually heard her laugh. It was a clear, deep laugh, but it was like her smile— just a tad wrong, not quite an expression of genuine feeling. “Hilarious. This is the best you can do?” Her face turned back towards me. “Your helper is incompetent.”

I gritted my teeth. “You heard her,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and steady. “Put me down.”

Gorgon looked at me with clear contempt visible in the set of her jaw before lowering her tail abruptly. It wasn’t violent as such— she didn’t slam me into the ground— but it was rougher than I expected, and I didn’t quite have my feet underneath me when she uncurled her tail. I ended up collapsing to the ground in a very undignified, unwizardly, and un-Masterly manner. I let out a huff, trying to struggle back to my feet. Murphy was there before I could hurt myself too badly with my attempts to get up, slipping her arm under mine and hauling me up. She was short, but still just about the right height to be a crutch for me, and I leaned on her gratefully. We both stared up at Gorgon. She stared down at us. 

It was pretty awkward.

The silence went on for about five seconds before I cleared my throat to break it. “So, uh, Gorgon. Avenger. Got a smaller form? Because I’m not sure we can exactly go through the streets of Chicago like this. Might cause some rioting, car accidents, etc. The works.” 

“I would enjoy that,” she said. “It would delight me to see humans running in terror, even more so if they tried to do what this one just did.” Gorgon licked her lips, and her tongue was forked, honest to god forked like a snake’s. “I would like to eat some of them. I’ve almost forgotten the way blood tastes.” The shiver her words sent down my spine was amplified proportionally to the amount she loomed over me.

Like I said, I’m tall. I’m taller than tall— in a crowd of six-foot people I’d probably stick out by half a foot or more. I’m not used to being loomed over and I’m not fond of it. Part of me wondered how Murphy did it, while the other part of me tried to stick to the task of convincing the giant snake woman to shrink down to a reasonable size. 

“Yes,” I said, trying to project patience through my tone. “I understand that. However, we can’t go around eating people and causing incidents in the middle of the city. It would draw unwanted attention to anyone else participating in the Grail War.” Gorgon was silent except for the silent rasp of some of her scales rubbing together, so I kept talking. “It’ll make it that much harder to win if all of the others gang up on us, yeah? So think about it. Do you want to kill humans now? Or do you want a wish?” 

There was a beat as she tilted her head, considering. Then Gorgon began to shrink, her tail fading out of existence, her scales being covered over by smooth, pale skin. Her claws shortened drastically, receding into her fingers and toes, and her hair shortened proportionally to her body. By the time her feet landed on the ground she was considerably shorter… and still most of a foot taller than I was. A beautiful, leggy, extraordinarily tall woman with skin so pale that it shone in the light of Murphy’s house, still wearing nothing but her skirt-loincloth (skirtcloth? loinskirt?) and what I could now definitively place as a few armored bra pieces just barely covering her nipples, not to mention purple hair almost as long as she was tall. All that meant that despite the lack of any outwardly monstrous characteristics she still stood out as distracting— though maybe more for me, since I was directly at chest height for her. I pointedly did not stare, instead focusing on her face very intently. 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Murphy muttered, staring up at her. She raised her voice. “This is as small as it gets?”

Gorgon’s mouth flattened into a line. “Yes.” Then she reached up and gripped the edges of her mask, preparing to take it off.

“No!” I shouted. Visions of Murphy and I turning to stone where we stood flitted through my head in that split-second, as Gorgon lifted up her mask. I started to move towards her, but I was too slow. More and more of the skin of her face was exposed, and I lifted up one of my hands to cover my eyes. “Murphy, don’t look at her!”

In the darkness behind my hand, I didn’t see what was happening. I didn’t see whether or not Murphy had managed to get her eyes closed in time, but her arm still felt human and very much not like a statue’s as it wrapped around me. I prayed it would stay that way.

There was, for a moment, utter stillness. It was broken by a soft noise from Murphy that after a moment resolved itself into quiet laughter. “Harry,” she said, then a little louder, “Harry. You can open your eyes now. It’s okay.”

I slowly parted my fingers, looking through them at Gorgon. She stood, mask off and eyes exposed, in front of me and Murphy. Her eyes completed the incongruously cute look of her face— they were large, round, and surrounded with a fringe of dark lashes. They looked almost like doe eyes, though I could see even from ten feet away in the dark that they were a brilliant purple just a few shades lighter than her hair. Her mouth was set in a scowl, her eyebrows drawn low. “I have control over my gaze, Master.” The word dripped with disdain. “Don’t insult me with your assumptions any more.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but couldn’t come up with a proper response. Instead I just rubbed my hand across my eyes, feeling drained and exhausted. “You need new clothes.”

“Is there something wrong with my armor?”

“Remember what I said about riots and car accidents?” Gorgon made a disdainful hissing sound, and I took that as a yes. I turned to Murphy. “I don’t suppose you’d have anything that would fit?”

Murphy gave me a flat look. “Gee, Harry, I don’t know. It’s not like you leave your clothes at my house, and that’s just about the only way I could see that happening unless I hit my growth spurt a few decades late.” She shook her head. “I think you might have to buy her some.”

I frowned, then glanced back at Gorgon, who was staring at us. I could have sworn I saw a glint of red in her violet eyes. Behind her I saw the remains of the summoning circle, and the squashed Burger King bag next to it. My stomach grumbled unhappily. “Alright, then,” I said, turning back to Murphy. “Back to Walmart we go.”

The drive to the Walmart was largely uneventful, barring the difficulty of getting Gorgon into my car. Even with the seat as far back as it could go it was still the next best thing to impossible for her to get in, and we had struggled for almost ten minutes before Gorgon had gotten exasperated enough to revert into incorporeality. She had seemed to dissolve into the air, but even though I couldn’t see her I could feel her presence as powerful as always. It was reassuring to know she was nearby, if only because it meant she wasn’t going off on her own and eating civilians. 

Murphy had declined to come with Gorgon and I, citing the fact that her neighbors would probably call the cops following the gunshot and she would need to explain herself as her reason. I understood, but that didn’t mean I liked it. Being alone with Gorgon, even if she wasn’t visible, was unsettling. It got more unsettling when I heard her voice in my mind as clearly as if she had been next to me, making me jump in my seat, my hand slamming briefly down on the horn before I regained control of myself. Master, why are we wasting time rather than tracking down enemies and devouring them? 

“Because reasons,” I muttered, feeling every inch the grumpy wizard. As if Lasciel wasn’t enough, I now had two voices in my head to contend with— three if you count my subconscious, but he only tends to show up when I get knocked out, and he’d been awfully quiet lately. The guy in the car in front of me reached behind his seat and flipped me off, and I did it in return.

Not good enough, Gorgon’s voice said. She didn’t sound annoyed; or rather, she didn’t just sound annoyed. Now that I was taking notice, I could properly identify the source of the wrongness I had seen in Gorgon’s words, her smile, her laugh. It wasn’t that there was anything all that weird about her. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were whole warehouses that could be filled with the things that were weird about her, but what I had noticed had nothing to do with those. It was just that every single one of her actions seemed to be built on a bedrock of anger, disdain, and hatred. 

Thinking about it like that made me feel like someone had dipped their hand in ice water and run it across the back of my neck, drawing a chilly line across my spine. I swallowed hard and focused on answering her question. “Because,” I said, “I have a plan for tracking down other participants in the Grail War—” Which was only partially true, “—and because if you don’t get dressed in actual clothes, it’s going to be harder to walk around unnoticed.” Which was completely true. I left out the part about how the others I had seen earlier were dressed in order to avoid undermining my own point.

Being unnoticed is not an option for me. 

“Alright, then only marginally noticed.” 

...Acceptable. The way she said it carried a clear meaning of “Not acceptable at all, but you are too stupid to be reasoned with.” And from there how will we proceed?

“We’ll proceed with me eating some food and getting a few hours of sleep, and then trying to track down some possible allies in the morning.” I pulled up outside the Walmart and parked the car. “And this is our first stop.”

I got out of the Beetle and began walking through the front door. As I went, Gorgon materialized next to me with a shower of golden sparks. I glanced up (and up, and up) at her as we walked through the doors and past a wide-eyed greeter, taking in her reactions.

I couldn’t clearly see her eyes from my angle, but I could read her body language. Her jaw tensed as we walked through the store, her head angled consistently away from any reflective surfaces. All of her muscles were taunt, as if she was holding herself back from doing something. I decided to break the silence. “Think we’ll be able to find anything in your size?”

Great job, Harry. You really are a master of conversation. 

Gorgon’s expression didn’t change as she looked down (and down, and down) at me. “No,” she said flatly. “I do not believe so.”

“...Yeah. Kinda figured.” I skipped the women’s section, figuring nothing there would be big enough for her, and took her directly to the men’s, where I started searching for the longest clothes available. Eventually I came up with a couple of pairs of jeans that at least looked like they could go past her knees and a few shirts that would probably cover enough of her to avoid a public indecency charge. After a few seconds, I sighed and grabbed a pack of boxers that would maybe fit as well. I shoved them into the arms of Gorgon, who stood next to me looking bored. “Here, try these on for size.”

Gorgon’s expression didn’t change from neutral as she took them, walking over to a changing room. I heard the rustle of clothing inside as she changed, then her voice. “These are too small.” A pair of jeans flew over the top of the changing room door, and I barely managed to catch them. 

I put the jeans back and walked over again, still hearing rustling as Gorgon tried to change. Now that I had recovered a bit and wasn’t looking directly at her my thoughts came rushing back, and almost all of them were a mess of swirling questions. I decided to ask Gorgon one of them, just to start.

I cleared my throat. “So. Gorgon. You mean the Gorgon?”

“Yes. I am Gorgon— the only Gorgon there is anymore. The most famous. The most remembered. The most despised and hunted.” Another round of shuffling from inside the room and a shirt came flying over the door. “Put this one back.”

I put the shirt back, then came back to stand outside the door of Gorgon’s changing room some more. “So wouldn’t your True Name be Medusa? I mean, if you are really who I think you are.”

“No,” she said. “I am not Medusa. I may have once been, but summoned in this form I am not.” Gorgon took a breath that was audible even through the changing room door. “The primary difference,” she said, “is that Medusa is the name of the woman, and Gorgon is the name of the monster.”

The words settled in my chest, and I felt a sudden burst of anxiety. What with Lasciel’s attempts to corrupt me (among several dozen other things), I’d spent a lot of time recently wondering about what really made people into monsters. There must have been a line— but in my experience, it was so fine that when people crossed it they didn’t even realize until they were too far gone to care. People don’t become monsters because they get suddenly unhinged. They take baby steps towards it, and each step seems like a logical progression, the entire track inevitable. Sure, there might have been a choice somewhere in there, but you could never see it until it had already come and gone, or at least that’s what it seemed like. 

I’d been thinking about whether or not I was a monster, or if I was just well on my way down my path towards being one. Wondering whether or not I’d already crossed that line or made that choice. When would it have been? Last Halloween? Earlier, back when Susan had been taken by vampires? When I was still a teenager trying desperately to survive? I didn’t know. So I stood in silence, waiting for Gorgon.

She came out a few minutes later wearing one of the outfits— barely. The jeans came to mid-shin as expected, but the denim was stretched so tight in places that I could have sworn it was becoming transparent, and the t-shirt rode up above her stomach and wrapped as tight as Saran Wrap around her chest, looking so taxed that it seemed like it would split at any moment. “Well?” Gorgon asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Is this satisfactory? May we stop now?”

I winced. “Uh…” No, part of my brain said. No, absolutely not, we need something bigger and more covering. Like a tent, maybe, or a bedsheet. The other part of my brain told me that bigger clothes that actually still fit would not be found in a Walmart— or at least not without considerable effort that I was unwilling to spend at the moment— and that I was tired and hungry and needed to eat and sleep as soon as possible. I sighed. “Yeah, that’s fine. Grab a few more clothes you like and let’s go.”

Gorgon didn’t say a word throughout the transaction, instead choosing to stare directly at the cashier, watching her get visibly more and more uncomfortable as a red blush spread across her cheeks. To the cashier’s credit she seemed to be doing her best to not look at Gorgon, only glancing at her occasionally out of the corner of her eye. Every time she did her face got marginally redder until she looked like a spring tomato, and I wished I could tip the girl just for how valiant an effort she was making not to stare. She was absolutely not paid enough for this. 

When we finally got out of that lane after what seemed like an eternity, I made a beeline over to the not-yet-closed Walmart Pizza Hut and got myself some pepperoni pizza. “Want anything?” I asked Gorgon.

Gorgon gave me a disgusted look. “I have no desire to eat food,” she said. 

I narrowed my eyes, remembering her earlier comment about the taste of blood. “Fine, then. Suit yourself,” I said. I turned, ignoring blithely how much taller than me she was. I stretched myself up to my full height, then paid for the pizza and sat down in one of the booths, making sure to keep my back straight and sit up rather than hunching over my food. Yeah, definitely ignoring how short I felt next to her. “I’m only human. You might not eat food, but I’m going to have to sometimes.” I waved at her to sit down across from me. 

“Stop condescending to me. I know how humans work, though I am not, was never, and will never be one of them.” Gorgon’s mouth curled into a disgusted sneer as she sat, which brought her collarbone to right around my eye level. “You need to eat. That’s acceptable. Depending on how much magical energy you expend, I may need to eat on occasion as well.” 

Her violet eyes gleamed as she said that, and my stomach sank. I covered it by taking a huge bite of pizza. I chewed, swallowed, and leaned back in my chair to look at Gorgon’s face. “Let’s get something straight,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level. “Over my dead body will you be eating people in my town.” My tone became harder, colder. “Are we clear?”

Gorgon’s eyes went as flat as a snake’s. “You’re lucky I can’t afford you to die just yet.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t afford you dying either. We’re in the same boat. Now, I’m going to finish this pizza and then we’re going to go back to my apartment, where I’m going to shower and fall asleep. And in the morning I’m going to get some advice and find the other Servant summoning sites, and then we’re going to meet up with some…” I grimaced, thinking about Morgan. I knew I had to see him as soon as possible, but that certainly didn’t mean I wanted to. “Some allies. Don’t eat them either.”

Gorgon frowned, then nodded silently. “Understood, Master.” 

I chose to ignore the annoyance in her words, instead focusing on scarfing down the rest of my food as quickly as I could. When I finished I wiped my grease-stained fingers on a napkin and leaned back. “You can stop with the “Master” bit, you know.”

“You haven’t formally introduced yourself,” Gorgon said. “What else was I supposed to call you?”

She had a point, and I winced. Normally I’m fine with being rude, especially to anything that freely admits to eating people, but I like to be intentional in my rudeness in a way that not telling her my name wasn’t. Especially since she had told me hers; any number of magical beings (including wizards) can do some pretty nasty things with your name from your lips. I wasn’t about to tell her my full name just yet or ever, but I could at least give her something. “Harry,” I said. “Harry Dresden.”

Gorgon eyed me, and I got the feeling that I had just taken some sort of test in her eyes. I wasn’t sure if I had passed. “Are you through eating, Master?” There was a subtle emphasis on the last word, to make it clear it was deliberate. 

I scowled, picked up the sad remains of the pizza I had demolished, and dumped it into the nearest trash can. Then I grabbed my staff with my good hand and gestured to Gorgon, and we made our way back to my car in silence.

We got home without any major incident and without any indication that the car that had been following me earlier was still tailing me, but my exhaustion was making it hard for me to stay alert, although I was watching. As I stumbled towards my door, I remembered how difficult it would be to open and groaned before bracing myself to try and grab it. 

Before I could, a hand reached out and grabbed the handle, turning it and pulling the door open with a screech of protesting metal. I turned and saw Gorgon looking at me, completely unphased. She didn’t say a word, and I turned back and walked into my apartment. “Come in.”

I was immediately greeted with a thirty-pound cannonball directly to the shins as my cat Mister came running to shoulder-check me, and I rocked backwards, nearly falling over as he rubbed up happily against my legs. “Yeah, hello to you too, cat.” I reached down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears, but before I could he froze, staring behind me at Gorgon. Mister’s ears slowly flattened back against his skull, his fur puffing up. I heard Gorgon take a step forwards and Mister hissed like a spitting pan, then darted past both of us and out of the door. 

Gorgon just looked at me, unphased, and ducked under the door frame to walk inside. She was tall enough that her head was only about six inches from the fairly low ceiling of my apartment, but she fit— I had been worried that she might have to stoop over, which might just piss her off.

There was the click of nails on the floor, and Mouse appeared, heading over. He stopped when he saw Gorgon, just like Mister, and a low growl rumbled through his throat. The humming in my chest got more intense as Gorgon’s muscles tightened, her eyes trained on Mouse. “What,” she said, “is that?”

“My dog,” I said. 

“Your dog,” she repeated, sounding incredulous. “ This is your dog.” Gorgon looked at me. “This is not a dog.”

“Hey, don’t be rude. I don’t exactly have his pedigree, but he’ll still give Lassie a run for her money.” Mouse’s growl had been steadily getting louder, and I decided to take control and step between them before something could happen. “Mouse,” I said. “Calm down. She’s…” I glanced at Gorgon, gauging what I could say about her. “She’s not an enemy. She’s working with us right now.” 

Mouse gave me a look that clearly said You’re kidding me, but he stopped growling, instead settling for keeping his eyes on Gorgon as she moved out from behind me and walked around the room. She settled on the couch, and I suddenly felt very awkward.

“Uh. Do Servants sleep?” I asked. 

“It’s a way to conserve energy,” Gorgon said. 

“Gonna take that as a yes,” I muttered. “Alright,” I said, raising my voice again. “In that case, do you want to sleep on the couch or the bed?”

Gorgon blinked slowly at me. It looked unnatural on her face somehow, like she wasn’t meant to do it. “I will sleep in this room, Master.”

“Are you s—?”

“Do not try and question me,” Gorgon hissed, drawing herself up slightly as her eyes flashed red again. Her shadow spread out behind her and began to fill the room to become the shadow of her monstrous form, and I was bitch-slapped with a feeling of intense vertigo, like the ground before me had crumbled away and I was standing in front of a drop that led down, down, down into the dark. Gulp. The sane parts of me begged me to run and hide, but I stayed stock-still, watching the scene before me unfold. I got the feeling that moving, even by taking a step backwards, would incite Gorgon to strike. But even as I watched her shadow continued to swell larger, and I saw scales begin to appear on her arms and legs. Gorgon’s face twisted into a mask of rage that looked wrong, like her muscles had shifted beneath her skin, and she began to get up. I swallowed my fear and reached for my staff. I couldn’t defeat Gorgon, but I might be able to stop her from transforming— 

We were interrupted by what at first sounded like distant thunder but then became clear was Mouse’s growl, louder than before. It felt like it vibrated up through my soles and into my core, in the soft parts of my organs. Without properly thinking about it I moved my hand from my staff, and there was a loud thud and the tortured groaning of springs as Gorgon sat heavily back down on the couch. 

Purple slowly swallowed up the red in her eyes again and her shadow shrank back to its normal size, moving back across the floor like it had been put in reverse. She still looked angry, but she didn’t look murderous— which, I reminded myself, wasn’t the same thing as not being murderous. But Mouse’s growl slowly tapered off into silence, and Gorgon looked up at me. “I will be sleeping in this room tonight. Do not test my patience with stupid questions anymore.”

I let out a slow breath, trying to seem like my legs hadn’t just turned to water. “Sleeping might do you some good. I know I get cranky when I’m tired.” Gorgon’s lip curled, and I sighed. “Alright, alright. Suit yourself.” Slowly I walked around the couch and over towards the hallway bathroom. I was sore and tired and aching, and I needed a shower and some sleep. Stopping at the door, I turned and looked towards her. She was sitting on the couch, staring directly ahead, with Mouse settled slightly to one side in front of her. Her body was still— completely still, like a statue. 

I shuddered. Damn, that’s creepy. Then I went into the bathroom and shut the door. 

I took a quick shower that was, like all of my showers, far too cold for my tastes. Afterwards I put my clothes back on; wearing dirty, sweat-stained clothes for a few minutes was miles better than walking across the hallway naked while Gorgon was sitting in the living room. Possibly several dozen miles. Once I was dressed again I turned to brush my teeth— and had to stifle a swear, because the face that looked at me from the mirror wasn’t mine, but Lasciel’s. 

She looked as gorgeous as she usually did, but considerably more terrified. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing all around her irises. “My host,” she said, her voice frantic, “you have made an incredibly grave mistake.” 

I frowned at her. “Be a bit more specific on that one.”

“That thing!” Lasciel said. She gestured towards the living room. “You summoned that thing into the mortal world! It should have never left the Throne of Heroes! It should never have existed at all, and you summoned it—”

I held up my hand. “Whoa, whoa, slow down.” I lowered my voice. “Gorgon’s terrifying, yeah, and I get the feeling she’s a few chicken nuggets short of a Happy Meal, but I’m not sure she merits this level of panic.” Though dealing with her might require the same level of caution as, for example, bomb disposal.

Lasciel stared at me, her jaw slowly dropping open. “You… you don’t know.”

I sighed. “You know, for someone who literally lives in my head it’s kind of strange how surprised you are by that. Yeah, I don’t “know”.” I curled my fingers to put quotation marks around the word. “You’re going to have to tell me. Preferably in ten sentences or less.” 

Lasciel stared some more, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Mortal,” she said slowly, “what am I?”

I frowned. “The shadow of Lasciel. You’re an impression in my mind from when I picked up the coin. Like a footstep in clay.”

“I am the manifestation of a fraction of a Fallen’s power,” Lasciel agreed. “A fraction of a fraction. And yet you see me as extremely dangerous. Why?”

“Because…” I paused. “Because of what you could do to me.”

“Because I could lead you down the path of becoming a monster,” she said. “Or at least, becoming something you would see as monstrous. You fear that version of you because you fear the damage you could do with your power were you no longer concerned with matters of morality or goodness or the heart.” Lasciel took a slow breath, then leaned in. Her breath seemed to fog up the mirror from the inside, even in the illusion. “Listen to me carefully when I tell you this, my host. The version of you that you fear at the end of your monstrous transformation could never hold as much rage or bitterness or hatred as the abomination that currently sits in your living room.” I opened my mouth to respond, but Lasciel cut me off. “That was what she meant by Avenger. Avenger-class Servant, the embodiment of hate.” 

A cold little feeling wrapped its fingers around my gut and squeezed. I swallowed hard. “And you’re getting at what here?”

Lasciel looked at me, and I could see that her eyes were glistening with tears. “What you saw just now was only the tiniest of glimpses of her true nature, and she still could have killed you as easily as you could swat a fly. She’s like a rabid dog— too unstable and dangerous to live. And thus she needs to die,” Lasciel whispered. “You need to kill her, or put her in the path with someone who can. Please. It’s the only thing that will save you.”

I stared at Lasciel for a long second, then turned and looked at the door to the bathroom. I knew that Gorgon still waited in the living room— I had to wonder whether or not she was awake, or if she was just sitting and staring at the wall. I wondered if she would try to kill me tonight. I wondered if I could in good conscience set someone up to get killed in cold blood, even if they scared me. Someone else. 

She hadn’t even done anything wrong yet. 

“No,” I said.

“What do you mean, no?!” Lasciel’s hands impacted the mirror with an audible sound, leaving palm prints on the other side of the glass. “She is—”

“Right now,” I said, “she’s an ally. So shut up, Lasciel. I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Text

It took longer than I’d have liked for me to fall asleep, but when I did I woke up in a place I thought I’d stopped dreaming about. 

It was cold and damp, and I was shivering. It was only a memory, but I remembered vividly enough how the air had smelled: like wet earth and stone, with a hint of old, dried blood, enough to make bile rise in my throat. There was a hood over my head, and the scratchy fabric rubbed against my face, soaking with the tears I’d been crying. All I could see was black. I felt my breath escaping me in plumes of brief warmth and wished I could have brought my hands to my face and breathed on them, but they were tied behind my back, the rope digging harshly into my wrists. I didn’t know how long I had been there. All I knew was the darkness, the horrible cramping of the muscles in my bound limbs, and the cold— that, and the fact that I was completely and utterly alone. 

The remembered fear was still enough to render me paralyzed. I couldn’t even work up my voice to scream. 

The little rational voice in my mind decided to speak up, telling me that I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in a cell in the White Council’s Edinburgh headquarters awaiting their judgement on me for killing my old mentor, I was in my bed in Chicago. I wasn’t about to face a man with a sword ready to cut my head off, I was dreaming. But my teenage self’s fear was so potent and tangible that I couldn’t keep a hold on the comfort in my knowledge. Instead, I cried. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing into my hood. The harsh noise echoed off the stone, my fear bouncing back at me from a hundred different angles, surrounding me and smothering me. I had never been so afraid, and even at that early point in my life that was saying something. I’d been orphaned pretty young, and while the foster system’s not-so-gentle touch paled in comparison to some of the later horrors I’d faced, it was bad enough for a kid to go through. Take that, then throw in the fact that I’d been adopted by a man who had done his best to indoctrinate me and the girl he’d adopted with me— my first love, Elaine— in the ways of black magic. Add in the spectral hitman he sent after me when I refused, a sprinkle of dealing with a faerie as unhinged and amoral as any I’d ever met (who happened to be my godmother) for months in an effort to get stronger, a dash of being captured and threatened with a mind-breaking enthrallment, and then bring to a boil at the temperature required to set an evil wizard on fire and stir. And despite all of that, waiting in this cell was the scariest thing that sixteen-year-old me had ever gone through, because I was completely and utterly helpless. I was stuck, and there was no way out. Even the magic had abandoned me.

Dream-time doesn’t work the way normal time does. In real life I had been in that cell for a full day waiting for my trial, but in my dream it felt much longer than that before I heard the rusted cell door creak open. My fear spiked immediately as footsteps approached me and I tried to cringe back, but all I could manage was a sort of full-body twitch, not even enough to make me flop over onto my side. “Don’t touch me,” I said. My throat was clogged with phlegm, and it came out as an unintelligible rasp the first time I said it. “Don’t touch me!” 

Rough hands grabbed me despite my protests, pulling me over. There was the sound of metal against metal, and I tried desperately to squirm away— only to feel something cut through the bindings around my ankles, leaving them unbound. I tried to kick out at my captor, but I was weak from exhaustion and slow from pain, and my foot met nothing but air. My face, however, was met with a powerful backhand that snapped my head to the side and sent stars dancing through the background of pure black. The pain was intense, and I could no longer suppress my retching, gagging into the hood. Nothing came out. My stomach was empty and had been for days. 

The person in the cell with me grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me up roughly, and I hit a new level of pain, one caused by my tortured muscles and aching head loudly protesting any sort of movement. I groaned, but it made no difference. The hand held me up like I was a naughty kitten being carried by the scruff of my neck, and I was dragged out of my cell. 

Like the time in the cell, our time walking through the endless stone hallways dragged on and on until it felt like an eternity. The pain didn’t lessen— if anything, it grew more intense as time lagged. Just when I thought that maybe that was going to be the entirety of the dream, wandering endlessly while my body protested and my heart tried to jump out of my chest with fear, the acoustics of our footsteps changed. They echoed more, becoming louder. I became aware of the murmuring of people surrounding me and whoever was holding me, the sounds of a crowd talking and moving and shifting. And then a man’s clear voice called out in a language I didn’t understand, and all the others went silent.

I hadn’t understood the Latin the White Council spoke when I was being tried then, and even though I spoke it now I couldn’t remember the words enough to try and translate them. All I remembered was shivering with cold and pain and fear, my head darting wildly as I tried to pinpoint the actual sources of the voices in the giant echo chamber. I couldn’t. The clear, ringing voice spoke for a long while, and while I didn’t understand it I could extrapolate what it was saying. It was listing the charges against me. 

I heard, among the gibberish, a word I knew. A name. “DuMorne.” 

The man who had been talking stopped, and I heard another voice start up; a woman’s, cold and dispassionate. It had a different accent than the first one, but I couldn’t place it. Then another man’s voice, this one intense, heated. More joined one by one, until I couldn’t tell them apart. I gave up on trying to listen and just hung my head, waiting for the sword to fall and cursing all of them and myself under my breath.

The voices stopped, and there was a brief silence. It felt louder than the arguing had been. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes— and then a hand reached down, grabbed the bag, and ripped it off. 

The air changed all at once, becoming hot and dry, and a powerful smell filtered through it. I wrinkled my nose, looking around. I wasn’t in Edinburgh anymore. Instead I was in a place I didn’t recognize. The space around me was dark and seemed to stretch into the distance, only interrupted by columns of some sort of white stone. I could actually see the foul miasma rising from the slime-coated ground in wisps of fog. The more I looked around the more the place felt familiar to me, as if I’d been there before, or even lived there. I knew the passages through and around it, knew where everything led. I knew the slime on the ground would dissolve any living thing that stood on it for too long, save for me. I knew things that I shouldn’t have known.

Before I could really take in any more of the scenery I felt the vibration sprinting footsteps from somewhere ahead of me and smelled the scent of sweat and fear from the same direction, and I felt a sudden surge of powerful, alien anger overtake me. My vision turned red with rage, and I snarled, my face twisting. How dare they? How dare they disturb me again? These flies, these ants, these heroic idiotic bastards! I rushed towards the source of the sound, not walking, just moving faster and more fluidly than I had ever moved before. The rational voice in my mind screamed that this wasn’t me, but I couldn’t listen through the anger. I was going to kill whoever this invader was, and then I was going to devour their corpse and feast on their power. 

It was a little bit weird feeling this completely, utterly powerful. 

I liked it. 

The red-haired man was running in what seemed to be a random direction, and he didn’t notice me until I was almost on him. He was tiny, so small that it was going to be laughably easy to kill him, almost too easy for my tastes— but then, why should it be anything but easy? I wasn’t looking for a challenge, I was looking for another fresh corpse melting into slime and the taste of copper on my teeth.

I rushed up behind him like a freight train and he dodged to the side, keeping his back to me. I could smell his flesh melting and I snarled, my voice a low and feminine hiss. I wanted to crush this insect, I wanted him dead quickly. But he danced back from my first strike, his feet sliding on the slick floor, and just barely managed to right himself before I attacked again, whipping my tail around to try and bat him across the floor. He jerked away just barely, dodging again as we fought. My anger shot to new heights like an oil fire that had been doused with water, and my hiss turned into a scream that shook the white columns of stone and ripped at the lining of my throat. The man swore, his voice high-pitched and terrified as he cursed the gods, and then turned and started to run again. 

Yes, I thought, as much as I could think with my entire being thrown into the primal rage of the hunt. Yes, curse the gods for what they have done to you, but curse them more for what they have done to me. Curse them! Curse your fate! And then face it like I faced mine, involuntarily and with a sickness in your heart!

I couldn’t see his face— he kept it turned away from me at all times, annoyingly avoiding my petrifying gaze— but it seemed like he might have been wearing a mask. I struck at him over and over in every way that I could think of as he ran, moving towards him as quickly as I could. He was almost laughably slow compared to me, but he ducked and weaved behind pillars quicker than I could destroy him. The fight was frustrating, more than it had any right to be, and finally I gave up on killing him outright. I couldn’t waste any more of my hatred on this gnat, annoyingly difficult to swat as he may be. I would trap him inside his own mind with my power, and then I would devour him. 

I gathered my energy, my eyes filling with a red haze. I still knew where the man was; it was like I could sense him somehow. The energy built and built as I chased the man, always making sure to keep him in my field of vision right up until I was ready. 

At the last moment before I could unleash the attack that would have paralyzed him with his mind stuck in a nightmare ( just like Murphy, my brain whispered, but even though it sounded familiar I didn’t understand what it meant), the man folded oddly at the waist, rummaging in a strange leather bag that I hadn’t noticed before. I rolled my eyes slightly. It didn’t matter what he did with it; I knew what was about to happen, and I was relishing it. Until— 

Until—

I was in a large, empty space, standing in the middle of a pool of light. At the edges of the illuminated space darkness pressed inwards, threatening to overtake me. Everything felt suddenly different; I looked down at my legs and noticed that they were legs rather than a tail, and that I was lower than I usually was rather than higher. How tall am I usually? There were spots of dark brown all over my clothes and body: blood, in a pattern that indicated an arterial severing and made me hungry. It made me so, so hungry. And on top of the hunger was a feeling of exhaustion so bone-deep that it made me feel like I was being crushed by the weight of the world.

I licked my lips, then frowned and repeated the gesture. My tongue wasn’t forked anymore. Like the legs it felt familiar, but also kind of strange, like I was relearning a skill I’d forgotten. There must have been something I was missing, but I couldn’t grab onto it; my head was getting fuzzier by the second, and thoughts came so slowly compared to before that it felt like they were moving through honey. I couldn’t even hold onto my hunger, all I could do was watch it dissipate and feel the emptiness it left behind. 

My reverie was interrupted by a quiet cough from within the darkness, and my head shot up as I glanced around, my hair swishing around me and leaving trails of purple around the edges of my vision. “Who’s there?” I called, and then because it felt natural, “I don’t know if it was obvious or not, but I’m not really in the mood for hide and seek right now.” My muddled brain couldn’t make sense of the words, but the rhythm felt good. It felt right, to call into the dark with something flippant. But that didn’t change the fact that, even as I was looking around, I couldn’t see a soul. 

I turned back to face my original position and found myself staring directly at someone in front of me. I startled backwards, instinctively dropping into a fighting stance and reaching for my magic before I really registered what was going on, but in the split-second before I unleashed a wave of force and fire onto the figure I noticed that she looked familiar— purple hair, purple eyes, same look on her face as the one that must have been on mine. 

Oh. Oh. It was a mirror.

The half-formed spell dissipated in my hands, the energy dispersing back out into the circle of light and widening it by maybe two or three feet until I could really see the edges of the mirror in front of me. It was huge, at least twenty feet across and more than half that tall, and I looked tiny in it. I felt like I should fill the whole thing and then some, but there I stood, my forehead wrinkled in something that looked like an emotion but didn’t feel like anything at all— a far cry from the rage I remembered feeling just a few… what? Moments ago? Hours ago? Months ago? It felt much further away than it must have been. 

As I looked into the mirror I saw the darkness behind me begin to stir, and I whirled around to look frantically for what was happening, but nothing was there. When I turned back I saw my reflection had changed; while I was still reflected, there were two young girls in the reflection with me on either side. They had purple hair like mine, though theirs was a lighter lavender color, and their eyes were the same. They both wore white, draped dresses in a style that I knew-slash-guessed was Ancient Greek, and as soon as I saw them I sank to my knees as a wave of joy washed over me. “Sisters…” I whispered.

In the mirror my sisters walked forwards, putting their hands on each of my reflection’s shoulders. They looked out, their eyes trained directly on me. A sudden feeling of intense and overwhelming guilt chased away the joy I had been feeling. I had done something to my sisters, and they were no longer here— and with a jolt I realized I could no longer remember their names. 

“You’re a failure,” one of them said. Her voice was high and clear, like a flute. “You’re pathetic. We always knew you’d be a monster one day, but who knew that would be the anticlimax of your existence? You’re even more boring now than you were as our sister!” She and my other sister both laughed, and it sounded like bells ringing.

Hot tears began to roll down my face and blurred my vision as the other sister joined in. “How disappointing, that what eventually turned you into what you are now was a simple lack of self-control.” She pouted theatrically. “As soon as you killed us, you descended into…” She gestured. “Whatever all that was. And now you can’t even fight a teensy little man with a trick up his sleeve!” 

I wiped at my eyes, trying to clear my vision. “What do you mean?” I rasped quietly. “Where—?”

“Don’t you get it?” asked the first sister. “This is your head. He disappeared, and you trapped yourself in your own head rather than him in his.” She tilted her head and listened. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Until what?” I finally managed to look at them again, and my stomach went cold as I did. Their eyes were different now, not the purple they had been but a deep, warm brown, a color I recognized. 

From somewhere in the darkness I smelled acrid smoke from an old, old fire as they stared at me with Susan’s eyes. In unison, they opened their mouths and spoke. “Until you die alone.”  

The darkness lifted in time for me to see light glint off a blade as it came down on my neck.

Chapter Text

I woke up clutching at my throat, making wheezing noises that felt like they should have been screams but I was glad weren’t. My heart pounded in time to the throbbing of my head and ribs, and I clenched my teeth so as to not let out any pained noises. It took me a minute to lower my hands and start breathing again, focusing on the air moving down my trachea— my very whole, not-severed-by-a-sword trachea— and into my lungs. The panicked thumping of my heart in my ears slowly began to subsided, and I pushed away the pain and gently pushed myself into a sitting position to begin to piece together what the hell that had been about. 

The first part of the dream had definitely been mine. I’d had that nightmare before in the past, and I remembered it clearly even if it hadn’t made an appearance in a while as fresh new horrors took its place. But hey, maybe the idea of seeing Morgan again had dredged something up in my head and brought the memories back. I’m no dream expert, and it was definitely possible. The second part of the dream, though, definitely hadn’t been me. All of the pieces— the snake tail, the forked tongue, the beheading, hell, even the sisters— seemed to add up to one conclusion: I had dreamt of living Gorgon’s memories, though obviously they’d mixed with my own in unexpected ways. I shuddered, thinking of Susan’s eyes staring out of unfamiliar faces and of the words of a dying ex-Denarian’s death curse on me. Die alone. But there were two things I didn’t understand: one, why the hell had I been dreaming of myself as Gorgon in the first place? Bob hadn’t mentioned anything about dreaming and neither had anything he’d shown me… or, more likely, if he had then I had already forgotten. I could have kicked myself, except for the fact that I was busy lying down.

The other question was a completely different one: why had our dreams synced up like that? It couldn’t have been a coincidence that I dreamed about my near-beheading and segued into her actual beheading, but I didn’t know what else it could mean. Other than maybe that we’d both led particularly fucked up lives. And that I’d gotten luckier than her. 

I was starting to have a little bit of an uncomfortable idea as to why I had summoned Gorgon in the first place.

As I started to calm down, I started to take stock. I was definitely whole, which was good, and I seemed to be alone. I listened for a moment but couldn’t hear anything from outside my room, which was probably also good— unless it meant that Gorgon had killed Mouse and escaped during the night. The thought made me nervous, and I channeled some energy into my hearing to turn listening into Listening, allowing me to pick up sounds I’d otherwise never be able to hear. Sure enough, I heard two sets of breathing coming from the living room, one deep and slow and another slightly higher and faster. I relaxed slowly and looked around my room. Some greyish light filtered weakly through my curtains, indicating that it couldn’t have been much past dawn; I checked my watch and sure enough, Mickey Mouse’s hands pointed squarely to the 5 and the 6. 5:30 am. That explained why my eyes felt like somebody had rubbed itching powder into them and why the urge to flop back onto my pillow and sleep for another 20 years was so strong. I was stronger, though, and managed to slowly roll myself over to the edge of the bed and swing my feet over. It took another minute or so to actually muster up the energy to get down out of bed, but I did eventually, and walked out of my room and towards the living room.

I stopped at the end of the hallway, staring. Gorgon sat on the couch in the exact same position as she had last night, staring at the wall across from her. Behind her I could see Mouse lying on the ground sleeping, which was a relief. Every once in a while one of his legs would twitch in his sleep, like he was dreaming of hunting rabbits, or maybe bad guys. Gorgon, meanwhile, was completely and entirely still. It was eerie, like looking at a wax statue— something not quite alive and not quite human, positioned squarely in the Uncanny Valley. I shuddered.

“Somebody better call Madame Tussaud’s,” I muttered, moving slightly closer. I edged around her, careful not to make any sudden moves, and looked at her face to see that her eyes were open and completely empty of all thought or emotion. It looked like she was just… sleeping with them open. I had a disturbing memory of reading somewhere that snakes don’t have eyelids, just transparent scales covering their eyes, and the way Gorgon was sleeping would have made me think that factoid was true had I not previously seen her blink. Her chest was rising up and down rapidly with her breathing, and I had just started wondering if I should try to wake her up when she jolted suddenly, making me jump a little. She inhaled deeply and quickly enough that I feared for her shirt’s seams and twitched, her limbs jerking as she came out of her sleep or trance or hibernation or whatever it was. For a second her face was wild and panicked, her mouth opening and closing and her eyes flicking around the room frantically— until they landed on me, and she stopped, once again going completely still. 

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other for way longer than I was comfortable with as I braced myself for a soulgaze to begin… except it didn’t. Instead we just looked at each other for a long moment before I looked away and cleared my throat. “Ahem. Rough night?”

Gorgon scowled at me. “I am not used to these conditions. I am not used to these clothes or this treatment or this—” she gestured at Mouse, “—sharing a room with me, and I am not used to not destroying every human I see. Yes, Master, you could say I had a “rough night.”” She put sarcastic finger quotes around the words.

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like that helped you stop being Miss Grumpy-Pants at all,” I said. “Though maybe if you tried it with your eyes closed it might help.”

Gorgon snorted. “I have no need.” 

I waited for her to clarify further, but when she didn’t I shook my head. “Alright, then. If you want to get a few more hours of sleep that might be good, because I was just going to do something that might take a while and also be pretty substantially dangerous with distractions. Not particularly fond of the idea of you sitting up here getting bored.”

“Every moment I speak to you is boring,” Gorgon said. “If you won’t allow me to kill humans, at the very least have the courtesy of showing me who I can kill and feast on.” Her eyes gleamed slightly and I knew, I just knew that she was planning something that I absolutely was not going to like. 

Unfortunately, that plan was going to have to be a future problem. I filed it away under “worry about later” and sighed. “Just think of what I’m about to do as finding you enemies and it’ll make it easier to bear.”

Gorgon looked at me suspiciously, then nodded. “I will go back to sleep now, Master. It should be easier now that you’re awake.” I felt a little shiver when she said that, but before I could ask her what she meant she went back into wax-statue mode, staring directly at the space behind where I was standing this time. 

I looked at her for another minute, then walked over to Mouse and petted him on the head. He woke up with a snuffle and looked at me, and I leaned down to whisper to him. “Keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try anything.” He wagged his tail once, and I straightened up. “You know,” I said to him, “sometimes I think you’re the only person in this place who makes any sort of sense.” 

Then I lifted up the trapdoor and, for the third time in two days, descended into my lab.

As soon as my foot hit the bottom step, Bob woke up. “Hey, boss!” he said, sounding way too cheery for my current mood. “It’s about time you came down, I’d have figured you’d be in here to introduce your new Servant as soon as they showed.” I winced at the thought of what would have happened if I had brought Gorgon to meet Bob last night. “Speaking of which,” he continued, completely oblivious, “how’d the summoning go? Who’d you get? What class? Couldn’t have been Berserker without the Madness Enhancement lines or Caster because Morgan’s got dibs on them, but I could see you with pretty much any of the others—”

“She’s an Avenger.”

Bob’s eyelights expanded until they filled his whole eyes, his jaw dropping open. He looked utterly terrified, which is pretty impressive for a skull. “She’s a what? A what?!” 

“An Avenger-class Servant. I’ve… already been filled in a little about what that means,” I said, thinking back to Lasciel’s panicked explanation. I plopped down in the chair by my worktable and rested my head in my hands. “Y’know, the whole “full of hatred and desirous of revenge” thing.” 

Bob stared at me for a full ten seconds before finally closing his mouth. “So,” he said, “let me get this straight. We worked that hard to create a ritual tailor-made to summon a Servant who would be similar to you and you summoned that ? Why?” 

I did have a few ideas, but I’d be damned if I was going to share my fears of monsterdom with Bob. “Dunno,” I said instead. “But she’s here now, and I don’t think I can summon another one.”

I got the feeling that if Bob had hands, he’d have put his face in them by now. “God damn it, Harry, everything you get involved in always gets so complicated. Can’t we just have a simple bloodbath for the possibility of getting a wish granted by an extremely powerful magic object? For once?” I opened my mouth to object that I hadn’t been the one who had wanted to get involved in this in the first place, but Bob cut me off. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “The Avenger you got. What’s her True Name?”

I hesitated. Bob was a useful tool and he’d probably have information on Gorgon that I wouldn’t be able to get, but he was also entirely loyal to whoever owned him. If I told him Gorgon’s true name, it wouldn’t be that much of a leap to think that someone else might be able to get their hands on him and learn it. Then again, if that happened I was pretty much screwed already given the amount of knowledge Bob had about the way I operated, so I decided to take the leap of faith. “Gorgon. Her True Name is Gorgon.”

Bob looked at me for a moment. “Gorgon… as in Medusa, but towards the end. Less person than giant, terrifying monster.” He shook his skull, the bone scraping uncomfortably against the wood. “Boss, you really know how to pick ‘em.” A slightly sleazy tone crept into his voice. “Is she at least hot?”

“Don’t even go there,” I said. “Do not go there.” He started to speak again, but this time I was the one who cut him off. “I mean it, Bob. Don’t go there unless you want to meet her and have your skull crushed to powder.”

Bob made a gulping noise. “Noted.” He mimicked clearing his throat and continued talking. “All I can tell you is that you’ve seriously thrown off the balance of things here, Harry. You’re not even supposed to be able to pull extra classes at all, and you definitely shouldn’t be powerful enough to pull it off. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve got plenty of juice, but this kind of thing…” He made a clicking noise. “It should have been a whole different ball game.”

“Should have been, but wasn’t.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Alright, let’s chalk that one up on the mysteries list, right along with “who’s been following me” and “who’s been trying to break into my apartment”.”

“Don’t forget “why is this Grail War happening in the first place”,” Bob said. “Definitely don’t forget that.”

I rolled my eyes, then looked down at the worktable in front of me and the tarp that covered it. “There’s one last question, too.”

“Oh?” 

“Who’s doing the other summonings? And where?” I frowned. “Okay, I guess that’s two questions, but still.”

“Well, boss,” Bob said, with a kindergarten teacher-esque tone, “you see, you usually get the information about the others participating in the Grail War via the coordinator. Unless you think something’s wrong with the coordinator of this one?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. I—” I’d just rather not talk to Father Forthill more than I have to, at least while she’s living in my head. I felt more than heard the ghostly echo of Lasciel’s laugh and scowled, picking at the edge of the tarp. “I just think that since at least one person involved has been skulking around my place with their Servant, I might want to get the jump on the rest of them before they get the jump on me.” I stood, then looked at Bob. “I want to try using Little Chicago.”

Bob gaped at me. “What? No! You don’t even know if it’ll work yet!”

“Tell me a better way of finding the summoning sites,” I said. “Name one single better way. I’m listening.” 

“It’s not the only way!” Bob squawked. 

“But it would be the most accurate,” I said, my voice coming out more heated than I had intended. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten. My anger didn’t fade, exactly, but it ebbed enough for me to keep my voice level when I spoke. “Bob,” I said, “I need to do this, and I need your counsel to do it. I’m not stupid. I know the consequences.” 

“Really?” Bob asked, skepticism dripping from his voice. “Because you’ve been pouring energy into that thing for months, and I really don’t want you blown to bits while I’m stuck down here where no one can find me.”

Fear curled around my chest, but I nodded at him. “So then we do this right. Full ritual, spiritual cleansing, all of it. Minimize any chance of getting this wrong.” Then I drew the tarp back from my workbench, revealing Little Chicago in all its glory.

It had taken me months of painstaking work to put together, and I could barely estimate the number of hours I’d spent in the basement pouring work and energy into it. Little Chicago was essentially a scale model of Chicago, except for the fact that every single street, tree, and building had a chip of the original in it (and that alone might have taken me more than a hundred hours to accomplish, as well as some quick thinking in order to get me out of suspicious lurking and vandalism charges from some over-vigilant members of the police force). The principle of the tiny city was basic thaumaturgy— essentially, the idea that you could create a conduit between a smaller piece of something and the object itself. On occasion people used this in order to, for an example that is in no way based on my personal experience with some very unpleasant people, make people’s hearts explode out of their chests. (Incidentally, that example doubles as a perfect explanation of why most wizards don’t cut their hair very much.)

In my case I wasn’t trying to directly influence Chicago itself, but I was trying to create a model of the city that was not only accurate in scale but also accurate in the city’s energy flow. What this meant is that, if I knew the proper energy signature I was looking for— in this case, the energy signature associated with a summoning— I could find it. Theoretically. Very, very theoretically. Like Bob said, I’d never actually used Little Chicago before, and given the amount of time I’d spent working on it and the amount of magic I’d invested he wasn’t wrong about the possibility of creating an energy signature of my own in the form of a Dresden-sized crater. But in this case… I was willing to take the risk. 

Bob looked at Little Chicago, then at me. I got the impression of a resigned weariness in his manner. “Alright,” he said. “You’re the boss, boss.” He sighed. “Last time I checked, the energy webs should be accurate enough, which means that whether or not things go wrong is up to you.” 

“Just run me through the cleansing,” I said. I rolled my neck, cracking it. “I’ll deal with the rest.”

It took me more than I’d like to get ready, but it wasn’t like I could afford to skimp on it. Eventually, though, I stood in a white robe by the side of Little Chicago with candles burning around me, my mind as calm and empty as it was going to get— which didn’t stop me from feeling a little bit like Godzilla over Tokyo, but did make the feeling less distracting. Then, taking a deep breath, I began to chant in a stream of fake Latin. “Observo, observas, observavi, observatum. Observo, observas, observavi, observatum.” My voice began to drone, my mind moving from the chant to the energy that I felt flowing out of myself and into Little Chicago and on my memories of what summoning Gorgon had felt like. After god knows how long I felt the flow of energy reverse suddenly, pulling me towards the model. My vision blurred, whirling around me, and I stumbled and almost fell. I grabbed onto something to keep myself steady and waited for the world to stop spinning before I looked around. 

I was standing on the sidewalk outside a building I recognized— an old meatpacking facility that was under the “jurisdiction” of the White Council, mostly because the Way between the White Council’s headquarters in Edinburgh and here in Chicago was situated in an alleyway directly behind it. I felt something coming from the direction of that alleyway, but it didn’t feel like how I remembered the imprint of the Way. It felt more like a slightly stale version of what I had felt when I had summoned Gorgon, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My location spell had worked, at least for the moment. 

I walked down the alleyway to take a closer look and found a suspiciously clean portion of it. Squatting next to it I found that the ground had been swept clean and was free of everything except some lines of chalk on the ground and a single flower petal of a type I didn’t recognize, but I wasn’t exactly a flower expert, so I’d have to take that with a grain of salt. The energy felt familiar somehow and clearly powerful, and for some reason it came with a feeling of claustrophobia strong enough that I jerked back slightly, rocking on my heels. A summoning had definitely occurred there, and given the location I guessed that it had been Morgan’s and whatever Caster he had gotten to show up. One out of seven, then. Now I just had to find the rest… which could be anywhere in Chicago. It suddenly dawned on me that even though Little Chicago worked (and worked well to boot), it might still take me a hot while to find what I was looking for. 

“Stupid magic,” I muttered. “Always making things so much harder than they have to be.” I grumbled and straightened up, brushing myself off out of habit. Then I took a deep breath and concentrated, trying to pinpoint the next place I’d want to go. 

Almost immediately I felt something tugging at me, like a fish hook had caught on my ribs and I was being reeled in. A particularly forceful tug almost made me stumble, and I took the message and started to move with it, going where the invisible force pulled me. 

I rolled my eyes slightly at the thought. “Remember,” I said, in my best Alec Guinness impression, “the Force will be with you always.” My voice echoed off the nearby buildings and through the empty streets, reverberating in a way that made me vaguely uncomfortable. I decided to keep my mouth mostly shut. 

I wandered through the streets for god knows how long, taking turns left and right wherever the energy pulling me directed and trying not to think about how weird Chicago felt when it was completely empty. After a bit I noticed that my feet should have been hurting, but they weren’t— probably because this wasn’t my real body, which I could still see in the sky above me, my mouth moving as it chanted words I couldn’t hear. I took it as a good thing and kept walking.

The buildings started to get more and more familiar as the pull got stronger, and I got a sinking feeling that I knew where I was going to end up. It was still unpleasant, though, to find myself outside of the lot where the Velvet Room had once stood.

The once Red Court-run brothel had burned to the ground a few years earlier, courtesy of yours truly. I hadn’t been back since, but I’d assumed nothing had been happening there; for some reason I had the idea that the space would be unoccupied and unchanged forever, a burnt-out shell standing in memoriam to the horrors that had happened there. To the several dozen young men and women who had died. To what had happened to me. To what had happened to Susan. But nothing stays empty in this city for long, I guess, and there was construction happening on the premises. I could see the framework of a building, parts of it covered with plastic tarp that flapped in a nonexistent wind. Partially-built walls of plywood had gone up in some places. I couldn’t tell what was going to be built there yet, but I took brief note of it before continuing to walk. 

I found the summoning site inside one of the empty-ish parts of the building. This one had been cleaned up almost as well as Morgan’s, but I saw flecks of brown on the concrete that would eventually be the floor that I first assumed were dirt. When I took a closer look, though, I saw that it was droplets of dried blood sprinkled on the floor, soaked into the porous rock. I screwed up my face in distaste.   

I got an impression from here, too— fangs and the smell of steel, plus an image of solid-black eyes and a sudden feeling of powerful rage barely kept in check. I put two and two together and got 4: those impressions plus blood plus the site equaled Red Court, which equaled bad. But something nagged at me. Somehow it didn’t quite feel right to pin this one on the vampires, despite the evidence all pointing towards them. The magic here didn’t have the cold, nauseating feel of the magic I’d seen the Red Court or other black magic practitioners use over the years, though there was clearly something different about it. Mentally I put a question mark next to that conclusion, marking it down on the list for further investigation along with all of the other mysteries I was dealing with. Then I turned around and got to finding the other places. 

From the first two it got a bit simpler. My movement through the city got quicker as I got the hang of it, and I arrived at the next few places in quick succession— one at the top of the Willis Tower (once the tallest building in the world and still the tallest one in Chicago), one in the Field Museum’s Middle and South American civilizations collections among a number of Mayan artifacts, one outside what seemed to be a high-end strip club, and one in a building that housed Monoc Securities, a private company I’d had run-ins with before. In each of those cases the impressions I got of the summonings were weaker and didn’t give me clues to either the Servants or the summoners, except for the last one, which was less of an impression and more of an inference. I’d seen contractors from Monoc Securities before, most notably Miss Gard, a security consultant and possible Valkyrie who worked with John Marcone, Chicago’s most efficient crime boss and a man with a soul like a bank vault. If he was really involved, then things were about to get even more complicated. 

I had just one more stop to make out of the 7. I let the thread pull me along again towards wherever it was, heading towards it at a brisk pace that was probably faster than I could have managed in the real Chicago even if I ran. This time I was moving towards one of the more residential areas of Chicago. It was familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint how… right up until the energy ceased. 

If my stomach had sunk when I stood outside the Velvet Room, it dropped like a stone when I realized what I was seeing. 

I was standing in the wide, green backyard of a two-story house, painted white. The area around me was strewn with various toys that indicated the presence of children of many ages, and around it stretched a white picket fence of the kind you see in movies about suburbia.” I could see a glimpse of a minivan parked in the driveway out front. Behind me there was a large tree, a treehouse perched in the branches. Or it had been, once. There were chunks of burned wood among the grass of the yard, scorch marks where the grass had once grown. 

It was the house of Michael Carpenter, a Knight of the Cross and one of my friends. 

It was also the house of his wife and children. 

With a growing sense of apprehension and nausea I turned to look behind me. My jaw dropped open. The treehouse was just… gone, as were most of the branches of the tree it had stood in. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, but I couldn’t tell if it was something I felt from the summoning or from the destruction, and there was a hole blasted in the fence and two sets of footsteps leading away. One was burned into the ground.

The weight on my chest eased slightly when I saw that; whoever the summoner and the Servant had been, they’d been moving away from the Carpenter’s house, not towards it. It returned just as quickly when I realized that if whoever had done the summoning in the first place had been brazen enough to do it near Michael’s house, they either had to be confident that he wouldn’t come after them or confident that they could take him if he did, and neither of those options was a good one. I had to do something. I had to get there, now. 

I threw my head back and gestured to the gigantic form of myself in the sky, letting out my will in one enormous burst. “Revertor!” 

There was a sound like a rushing wind and my vision blacked out for a second. When it came back I was in my lab again. Bob was looking at me expectantly. “So?” he asked. “How did it go? Well, I’m guessing, since your head’s still on your shoulders and not splattered against the walls.”

I swore violently instead of answering him, glancing at my watch. Despite the time it felt like I’d spent wandering around Little Chicago, barely any time had passed at all since I’d started the spell. Which was good, because it meant whoever had the sheer gall to do something as dangerous as a Servant summoning ritual near Michael’s house wouldn’t have the time to get much farther away from the scene before I found them and pounded them to pulp. I started up the ladder as fast as I could, ignoring Bob calling after me. “Wait, Harry! I need to know what it was like—” 

I shut the trapdoor on the words and stood on the floor of the apartment in front of Gorgon’s still and staring form, panting heavily. My ribs throbbed, but I ignored them. “Gorgon,” I said, my voice harsh. “Get up. We have somewhere we need to be.”

Gorgon’s eyes snapped into focus, staring directly at my face with an intensity that made my skin tingle like a sunburn. “Have you found the enemy, Master?” she asked. 

I nodded briskly. “Get ready. We’re going now.”

I drove as quickly as I could to the Carpenters’ house. Unfortunately, the Beetle was not built for speed. Even with my foot pressed all the way down on the pedal I was barely moving above the speed limit, and I thanked god that traffic was light enough that it wasn’t slowing me down even more. Gorgon was in spirit form again, and even though she wasn’t talking there was malicious glee coming off of her in waves that filled the car. I tried to ignore that and focus on not hitting anybody.

The Beetle was making a symphony of tortured noises by the time I pulled up near the Carpenter’s house, but I could barely hear it over my own heart pounding in my ears. I managed to turn the car off, then shoved the door open and got out, letting Mouse out as well. Gorgon materialized next to me on the sidewalk, her hair moving of its own accord. Her eyes were wide, her lips curled into an expression that might have been a smile and might have been her barely restraining herself from baring her teeth. I shuddered, remembering what I had felt when I had dreamt of being her, then cleared my throat. “Stay behind me unless there’s a Servant involved. I don’t want any collateral damage.”

Gorgon narrowed her eyes at me, her expression shifting into disgust. “Understood, Master,” she hissed. I ignored her and turned back towards the house. I considered briefly going up to the door and getting Michael to come with me, then dismissed the idea as quickly as it popped up. It would be a delay, and I couldn’t risk that right now. ( And, a tiny part of me whispered, you don’t want to bring one of the Fallen into his home and have him hate you.) Instead I set off as quickly as I could towards the place where the hole had been blasted in the fence.

I took the long way around in order to not cut through the Carpenter’s yard. I have long legs and I can cover a lot of ground very quickly when I want to, but Mouse kept pace with me easily, bounding along beside me as I ran. Gorgon, for her part, stayed behind Mouse and I as we ran, following the footprints. One set of the tracks from the Carpenter’s yard wasn’t burned into the grass of the lawn like I had first thought, but seemed to be made of ash, smeared around on the yard and on the ground outside it to leave a clearly visible trail that I followed. 

The burned prints ran down the back of the row of houses around Michael’s, then around the corner and into a construction site that reminded me way too much of the one where the Velvet Room used to be, just less complete. The trail got lighter as I went, but I started to catch something else that told me I was close— a humming in the air, like the one that came from Gorgon and from the Servant that had attacked me. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, though. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, steadily getting stronger. I slowed down and looked around, holding myself tense.

There was a Servant somewhere close, and I didn’t know where. That wasn’t good. 

“Gor— Avenger,” I corrected, realizing that I didn’t know who might be listening. “You might want to go ahead of me now.” 

Gorgon nodded and stepped in front of me, scanning the surroundings. Mouse and I both fell back slightly, following her as she walked through the skeleton of the house that was being built. 

Everything was quiet… right up until I heard a woman scream from right next me. A human woman. 

Time slowed down for a second as I processed the information. There was a human somewhere here who was in trouble, and the only help I had was me, a dog, and a snake lady who seemed like she used femurs as toothpicks. I couldn’t let Gorgon take care of this one, not unless I wanted to chalk up another death on my list of things to feel guilty about at night. I had to do it myself.

I acted on instinct and turned as quickly as I could towards the sound of the screaming, which was coming from the other side of a partially-constructed wall. I was closest to it so I had a head start, but Gorgon was already turning and the screaming was getting louder, so instead of even considering going around I swung my blasting rod towards the wall and yelled as loud as I could. ”Fuego!” 

A burst of fire lanced away from me, blasting apart the temporary wall into a thousand tiny splinters that were all flung backwards from the explosion. The scream changed in pitch, getting higher and more desperate as I flung myself through the hole— 

Almost immediately a force like a freight train hit me in the chest and flung me backwards into another one of the walls, knocking me back and through it. I was already coalescing my will into a shield, but I was lucky that the wall wasn’t anything more solid than plywood or I would have shattered like a dish dropped on a concrete floor. My body burst into pain anyways, my ribs and head burning with agony sharp enough that stars danced in my vision. Through them I could barely make out a huge shape hurtling past me, and then there was a crashing noise, a screech of metal against a hard surface, and an explosion even louder than the one I had just caused. The noise almost drowned out the screams still coming through the hole I had just blasted. 

I tried to shove myself up with my staff, but my vision swam and vomit rose in my throat. I swayed, just barely avoiding flopping back down on the floor and staying there for good, but before I could I felt a furry body appear next to me, steadying me. I put my hands on Mouse’s back and pulled myself up, managing to stand and stumble my way past the hallway and through the hole I had just made. 

I was almost all the way through when a metallic sound came from behind me, and I barely managed to duck before a sword made of dark metal sliced its way through the plywood right where my head had been. Mouse grabbed the edge of my shirt in his jaws and pulled, and I fell through the hole and landed on the ground with a thud that sent a fresh new wave of pain through my body. I tried to focus enough to trigger my shield against whatever was behind me, but before I could there was a loud, meaty impact from behind me, followed by a screech of rage that barely sounded like it came from a person and definitely didn’t sound like it came from Gorgon. 

As if in response to me thinking that, I heard Gorgon’s voice in my head. Master, get yourself to safety while I kill this petulant little worm. Go now.

Can’t, I thought back, hoping it was a two-way form of communication. There’s someone here. I need to see if I can help.

You are the most pathetic, most arrogant— Gorgon started. I tuned her out, instead focusing on dragging myself into a standing position again. This time I managed it without Mouse’s help, though I had to lean heavily on my staff to stay upright. Mouse stayed next to me as I scanned the surroundings.

There was what at first seemed to be a lump of rags lying on the ground a few feet in front of me and to my left, but as I moved closer to it I saw that it was actually the girl I had heard scream, collapsed into a heap. She was dressed in ragged black clothing, but the kind of ragged that’s less a result of hard times than it is a deliberate aesthetic choice, her jeans shredded too symmetrically and her top hacked off with precision just above her belly button. Half of her long hair was dyed a bright bubblegum pink and the other was dyed blue, and it hung down, obscuring most of her face so that I couldn’t tell what she looked like. She looked young, though. Young enough that she couldn’t have been 18 yet. I felt a surge of rage at whoever had done this to her as I hobbled towards her.

She wasn’t screaming anymore, just lying there and twitching occasionally. When I kneeled down on the floor next to her she flinched away, making a terrified noise, and I held up my hands in the universal I come in peace gesture. I had no idea if she could see me behind that curtain of hair, or if she could hear me through the cacophony of fighting going on nearby, but I tried. “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice soothing and gentle. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Her head turned fractionally towards me, and when she saw me her mouth dropped open. She pushed herself upright slightly, brushing her hair out of her face to stare at me, and as she did I noticed the red symbols of command seals on the back of her hand.

“Harry?” she said.

We looked at each other for a half-second as I tried to process what I was seeing. Her face looked familiar somehow, but it took me a moment to figure out why. Then it clicked.

“Molly,” I said, staring at Michael’s oldest daughter, “what the hell are you doing here?”  

Before she could answer, I heard Gorgon’s voice in my head again. You brainless excuse of a contractor, what are you doing? Get out of here, NOW! She sounded strained, like she was holding back something very heavy.

I barely resisted the urge to swear violently. Gorgon, listen! You need to stop fighting—

Mouse’s growl was the only warning I got before there was a crash in front of me and something broke through the wall. I flinched backwards, grabbing Molly by the shoulders and dragging her away from the blast and behind me. 

Dust filled the air, but it didn’t obscure Gorgon’s monstrous form as she towered over both of us. Her mask was on again, but blood ran down her face. One of her arms hung limp and useless against her side. Her hair had transformed, the purple strands fusing into what looked to be snakes that swirled and slithered around her body, snapping at anything nearby. 

“Master,” she said, hatred making her voice rasp like sandpaper, “kill her now. Or else I will.” 

Molly was trembling like a newborn fawn and letting out tiny, breathy noises that sounded like she was trying to scream but couldn’t manage it, and behind Gorgon I heard something approaching, heavy and deliberate footsteps on the ground. Gorgon’s eyes were hidden behind the mask, but I could feel her gaze locked on me. I got the impression that right now she’d rather tear me apart to get to Molly than leave her alone. I had to do something. 

I made a decision. 

I raised my hand, palm extended outwards to Gorgon, and took a breath. “Avenger,” I said, “by my command seal, I order you: don’t you dare harm this girl.”

There was a burning sensation on the back of my hand, and one of the command seals faded away, leaving a blank patch of skin where it had been. It hurt worse than I thought it would, and I gritted my teeth against it. Gorgon flinched back like she’d been struck, letting out a frustrated screech. “You imbecile!”

The footsteps had been gradually getting closer, and now the person making them stepped through the hole Gorgon had made. She was short, far shorter than me and probably shorter than Molly as well, and she was wearing black armor— though weirdly enough it only seemed to cover her top half. The bottom half was a long, black skirt that brushed the tops of her armored boots. Her skin was pale in a way that made me think of corpses and cave-dwelling salamanders, and her hair was nearly the same color, drawn back into a bun except for two long, trailing strands in front. She wore a half-mask like Gorgon’s over her eyes, and she was holding…

I did a double-take, because there in her hands was Michael’s sword, Amoracchius. One of the three holy swords carried by the Knights of the Cross, rumored to have a nail from the crucifixion embedded in its hilt, and she was holding it. It looked... it looked wrong. It looked like she had taken Amoracchius and dipped it in oil. The metal had gone the same black as her armor, and it had a slick, sickly sheen to it. Amoracchius was a weapon made to protect, but in her hands it looked and felt like its only purpose was to destroy. 

She turned and looked at Molly, who shrunk back from her gaze.

“Master,” the woman said, her voice just as cold and dead as the rest of her. “What are your orders?” 

Molly’s eyes were darting frantically, almost rolling in her skull. Her skin was pale and shining with a slick of sweat, and her breathing was labored. When the woman spoke she squeezed her eyes shut and her body briefly convulsed like she was about to vomit, but after a moment she stilled, visibly making an effort to calm her breathing. 

Molly opened her eyes and looked at the Servant standing in front of us. “Saber,” she said, her voice weak but firm. “Stand down. They’re friends.” 

“Yeah,” I said. I glanced from the shivering Molly, to her Servant—Saber— standing stock-still with a perversion of a holy sword in her hands, and then to Gorgon, towering over all of us. I couldn't see her eyes, but I could tell that she looked absolutely murderous. I smiled. “I’m sure we’re all going to get along just fine.”

Chapter Text

Saber tilted her head slightly, looking back and forth between Molly, Gorgon, and I. As she did I noticed a few streaks of red running down her hands, and several puncture holes in her armor along her right shoulder. Her dark skirt was wet and matted down in patches. Gorgon had definitely gotten a few good shots in— which, for some reason, gave me a bizarre sense of satisfaction. Not that I particularly wanted to see Molly’s Servant hurt (even if she had tried to get my head and my shoulders to part ways), but that Gorgon had given as good as she got. 

After a long minute Saber looked back at Molly, her mask dissolving into air in a shimmer to reveal pale, golden eyes. “Master,” she said. “Do you know this person?” She flicked the sword in a quick gesture towards me.

Molly swallowed. She still looked pallid and sick, but her bloodshot eyes were mostly focused. “Um. This is Mr. Dresden, he’s…” she trailed off, glancing at me. 

I took that as a cue to take over and cleared my throat. “Harry Dresden, professional wizard. I’m a friend of Molly’s father.” I looked at Molly. “Speaking of your dad, I think he’d want an explanation.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Actually, you know what? I think I’d be interested in an explanation too.” Molly shrank back slightly, wrapping her arms around her stomach and doubling over slightly. She turned her head away from me to mutter something under her breath, and I raised an eyebrow. “Come again? I don’t speak teenage-ese.” I heard Gorgon let out an exasperated sigh, but I just sat there, tapping a finger gently on my knee and waiting. 

Molly finally glanced back at me, looking at me through her curtain of neon hair. “It’s… it’s a long story.” She shut her eyes tightly, wincing like she was in pain. “C-can I tell you later? Somewhere that isn’t here?” 

I examined her for a long moment, frowning, then nodded and hauled myself to my feet. My body hurt like hell, but it wasn’t nearly the worst beating I’d ever taken, and I managed to shut the pain out of my mind. “Fine. But you’re going to explain everything to me.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Promise not to tell my parents?”

I barely resisted laughing at that. “Molly,” I said, “you’re involved in a magical war with overpowered spirits controlled by supernatural entities that you have no idea how to deal with, any and all of which who could chew you up and spit you out, and you only survived this fight— which was relatively mild— because I ordered Avenger here not to kill you.” I gestured to Gorgon. “I’m guessing your parents don’t know about this, or anything about the series of events that led you up to this point. And on top of all of that, your Servant over here is holding the Dark Side version of your dad’s holy sword, which I’m guessing he’s not going to be too happy about.” I took a deep breath. “So, no. I’m not going to tell your parents about this whole mess. But I am going to make damn sure that you tell them yourself.”

Molly doubled over further, and I heard her make a few quiet sniffling noises. I felt a little bad about pushing the kid like that, especially when she was already in a bad way, but I didn’t really see much of a choice; something was clearly up, and Molly was in way, way too deep.

Stars and stones, how old even was she at this point? Sixteen? Seventeen? 

After a few moments, Molly managed to pull herself together enough to attempt standing. She painstakingly shoved her way upwards until she was back on her feet, swaying dangerously in place. I took a few steps towards her and offered my arm for support, which she took— which was good, because I was honestly scared that if I didn’t she would fall over. When she looked at me again I noticed the dark bags under her eyes, like she hadn’t slept in days. Slowly we began to make our way out, Gorgon and Saber following behind us. Mouse padded along next to me, his claws clicking quietly on the floor.

After a few seconds, Molly broke the silence. Her voice was quiet and hesitant. “Harry,” she said, “how did… how did you do that thing? To order her not to kill me, with the hand marks?” Molly’s eyes flicked to the side, and I could tell she was thinking about Gorgon.

I sighed. “They’re called command seals, Molly. And they’re…” I narrowed my eyes, trying to condense it down into words that Molly would understand— not that she was stupid, but when Bob had described them to me prior to my summoning he called them “psycho-magical linkages between Master and Servant that utilize the inherent connection built by the summoning ritual to transfigure the Master’s will into a near-irresistable force pushing the Servant towards a goal.” I’d been doing this for my entire adult life and a good chunk of my adolescent life, so I got it, but I wasn’t about to drop a bunch of wizardly jargon onto her for no reason. “Imagine your parents had a power where they could order you to do or not do something and you’d be compelled to follow their commands by a magical force. You could try to resist, but it’d be tough and it would require a ton of energy to do, and eventually you’d end up doing what they told you anyways. With me so far?” Molly made a face, but nodded. “Now imagine that they can do it three times, but after the third, you’re free to do whatever you want, including things that they told you not to do. That’s part of what command seals are.”

“But not all?” Molly asked. She bit her lip slightly. 

“No,” I said. “From what I understand they can also provide more juice for your Servant—”

“Saber.”

“For Saber, in your case, if she wants to power up a super-mega-attack or something.” I looked at her. “Do you understand?”

Molly looked at me pensively as we neared the exit of the partially-completed building. “I think I get it. Uh, Harry…” she lowered her voice. “I’m guessing this means Servants probably don’t like it when you use command seals to order them around?” Her eyes flicked back again.

I winced as I heard Gorgon’s scales scrape audibly against the concrete behind us. I chose my words cautiously. “Who would?”

Molly nodded without saying anything, and I heard a quiet, menacing hiss from behind me. I exhaled hard through my nose and shoved down the panicked snake-hating caveman trying to grab ahold of my brainstem, then turned around— maybe a little bit too quickly, because the world started up its swirling again, but I managed to focus on Gorgon. “Alright, that’s enough. Back down to a size that makes sense, please.”

Gorgon scowled down at me. “Or what? You’ll force me? I may not be able to petrify you without killing you, Master, but I can temporarily paralyze you.” 

The image of Gorgon rampaging through an unsuspecting neighborhood with me lying incapacitated on the asphalt made me shudder. “Fine,” I said, “have it your way.” I turned and began to walk Molly out. 

We stepped out of the building into the morning air, I narrowed my eyes against the sun, and two things happened in quick succession. 

First, Molly gasped, her hands clamping down hard on my arm as she took a step back. I turned to ask her what was wrong, but before I could even open my mouth there was a noise, like the bang of a gunshot but somehow heavier, and the ground in front of us erupted into a fountain of dust and tiny gravel projectiles. I cursed and grabbed Molly, pulling her behind me as I gathered my will into a shield and backed up into the building. What was that?

“Harry,” Molly said, her voice urgent, “there’s another one out there somewhere, like Saber and Avenger.” Her breathing was coming in quick, terrified pants. “There’s a Servant out there, and don’t ask me how I know, there just is.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it and focused hard . Sure enough, beneath the cacophony Gorgon and Saber were giving off there was the very faint quiver of a third source of energy, less like a bass drum being thumped and more like someone plucking a violin string— which meant that the Servant was either weak or pretty far away. Given that we’d just been sniped at, I was gonna go with the “far away” option. 

How had Molly even noticed that? The kid clearly had some sort of magical talent, enough to perform a summoning and supply Saber, but she must have also had some pretty significant sensitivity to detect a Servant from a distance. I would never have picked up on the presence of a third Servant if I hadn’t been focusing, but Molly did it almost automatically. And along those lines, if Servants were so overpowering for me to be around, what must they have been like for Molly? 

No wonder she’d started screaming when Gorgon and I got closer. 

“Master,” Gorgon said, breaking my train of thought, “will you attempt to leash me if I pursue the enemy Servant?”

“Can you tell where the enemy Servant is?” I asked, glancing back at her. “Or are you just going to go nuke everywhere around us until you find them?” Gorgon blinked at me slowly, and I huffed. “Fine, then. Molly,” I said, “where exactly is the Servant? “Out there” isn’t really too specific.” 

Molly gulped. “They’d be over, uh.” She let go of me and gestured to her right and up. “Somewhere over there. Maybe on top of one of the houses?”

I nodded and turned back to Gorgon. “Go, but no civilian casualties and minimal property damage. If the Servant starts to run, don’t follow them.”

Gorgon didn’t respond to me. Instead, in one fluid motion, she flicked her tail against a wall that promptly collapsed at the strike. Then she disappeared through it, slithering towards where Molly had gestured. 

There were more strange gunshot noises from that side of the building, but I ignored them, turning to Molly and Saber. “Okay. While whoever’s causing problems over there is distracted, we’re going to try to sneak away. Saber—”

“You are not my Master,” Saber said, cutting me off. “I do not follow your command.”

“Saber, just listen to what he has to say for now, okay?” Molly said. “Those are your Master’s orders.”

There was silence from Saber, which I took as acceptance. “So, while Avenger’s out there giving whoever was gunning for us a run for their money, we have to assume that something else is gonna come up pretty soon. If it’s a Servant, that’s your territory. Otherwise, I’ll handle it.” I tried to put as much confidence into the words as I could in order to reassure Molly, but it was hard. I was tired, I was in pain, and I felt like death warmed over. In the span of two days, I’d been tossed around like a ragdoll more than I’d like to admit, and I was beginning to get pissed off at just how often stuff like this seemed to happen. “Got it?”

Saber gave me a curt nod, then walked out the door. After a second, Molly and I followed. I held the shield steady around us and kept my eyes moving, scanning the surroundings for anything that looked like it was about to attack us. With every step we took gravel crunched, and I winced.

After about ten steps, something dark darted out from behind one of the machines and slammed into my shield, hard enough that I felt the impact through my own body. I looked and saw a large, hulking thing that looked like what might happen if a human’s muscles started growing outside the skin, rather than inside. It glistened red and black, and when it hit my shield Molly gagged. I couldn’t blame her— the thing both looked and smelled like month-old barbecue. But what worried me more than how grotesque the thing was were its eyes. There were four of them, two sets, and while the bottom set looked human the top ones glowed a bright, radioactive green. 

The only place I’d seen eyes like that before were on the Denarians; fallen angels bound to coins, like Lasciel, only these weren’t in the tempting-and-seducing stage. They had either fully subsumed their human hosts or were working in concert with them. Most of the ones I’d seen were under the employ of a bastard by the name of Nicodemus Archleone, a real piece of work who had caused me no end of problems, including being the reason that Lasciel was currently romping around in my head.

Stinky rebounded off my shield with a flash of blue light and landed on all fours, where it sprinted towards one of the machines. It didn’t make it. Before it got fifteen feet there was a blur of movement, followed by a flash of red light and a noise like a cleaver being embedded in a huge slab of meat. Two halves of Stinky spun off into opposite directions of Saber, who looked at me impassively. Amoracchius glowed with an unsettling red light in her hands. I shuddered and looked at my shield. There was a smear of rotting green energy on it, where Stinky had hit, and I could feel it eating away at the invisible barrier surrounding Molly and I. 

I cursed silently and tried to focus on bringing the shield back, but the empty patch began to grow, and I decided on a new strategy. I dropped the shield and dragged Molly behind a pallet of wooden boards. Her eyes, when I glanced at her, were wide and terrified. On the other side of the pallet I heard a definitely not human screech, then a sweeping metallic noise and a clang, then a flurry of more of those chopping noises. I winced. “Stay here. Don’t move, don’t make a sound unless you see something, and if you do then scream like your life depends on it.” Molly made a tiny noise that I took as agreement, and I nodded once at her and then made my way back around the pallet, keeping an eye out for anything that might be about to kill me. When I saw what was going on, it took me a second to process. 

Saber was a whirl of red, white, and black in the center of a circle of Stinkies. Some were attacking with their hands or with improvised weapons, while some were flinging more of that rotted green-colored magic at her. None of it made a difference; she swung Amoracchius with brutal accuracy chopping and slicing through body parts like a hot knife through butter. Even as I watched, though, I saw an arm independently dragging itself away like some sort of deep-sea worm. Flesh started to bubble up and solidify at the other end, slowly reforming, and I gritted my teeth and started towards Saber and the Stinkies at a run, gathering my will as I did. “Saber!” I yelled. “Stop with the sword! They’ll just reform! Fuego!” I extended my arm towards the hand and let out a narrow jet of bright yellow flame towards the slowly-reforming arm. The flames enveloped the appendage, and I saw it blacken, char, and stop moving. When the fire passed, the smoldering flesh didn’t reform. 

Saber’s head snapped towards me, and she gave me a curt nod and launched herself into the air. Her jump sent her upwards a good ten feet, well above the heads of the various Stinkies, and she twisted in midair like a cat. A jet of red light erupted from her sword and lanced towards the Stinkies, but just before it hit there was a crack like lightning, and I just barely managed to flinch away from a burst of electricity that came so close that I smelled burned hair. An explosion from where Saber had launched her beam of energy rocked the world, and bits of glistening muscle began to rain down, pattering down on the concrete around me. I felt a few hit me on the way down, splattering against my skin, but I ignored them as I whirled towards the source of the electricity. 

Standing across from me was someone— some thing — else. Its skin was blackened and cracking like a hot dog that had been dropped in a campfire. Its face was elongated into a short muzzle like a hyena’s, and its mouth gaped open, revealing two rows of razor teeth. It had two sets of eyes, one a human blue, and one glowing green. It laughed at me, its voice smooth and high, almost sweet-sounding and definitely feminine. The Denarian raised her hands at me, and I brought my shield to bear against another blast of lightning— but instead she made a sweeping gesture, and a gust of wind hit me from beneath, lifting me and flipping me head over ass before I slammed into the ground on my back. My pain redoubled, my vision shorting out— or maybe that was just the dust that had been blown into the air from the wind. “Saber,” I gasped through the pain, trying not to cough my lungs out, but there was no response… except Molly’s voice, coming from where I had left her. 

“Harry!” Molly sounded terrified, her voice high-pitched and cracking. “ Help m—” Her voice cut off, giving way to panicked and muffled noises, and my insides froze. 

Molly. 

My vision wasn't clear, but I shoved myself up anyways, ignoring how much it hurt to do so. I had to get to Molly. I had to. I willed myself towards the place where I’d left Molly and began to stumble over, my staff clutched tightly in my hand. I spread out my senses and Listened, trying to pinpoint Hyena Face or anyone else about to attack me, but all I heard were choking noises from what I assumed was behind the pallet until a hand reached out and grabbed my staff out from under me, setting it clattering to the ground. I stumbled, almost falling, and blackened, crispy hands caught me and spun me around until I was face-to-Hyena Face with the Denarian who had grabbed me. Her jaws gaped wide, about to close on my skull. Molly’s panicked whimpers were getting quieter, like she was running out of air. 

Another explosion from somewhere nearby rocked the world, and I took advantage of it and the sudden burst of adrenaline to yank myself away, twisting my arms to break Hyena Face’s grip in a way Murphy had taught me and bringing up my knee into her gut at the same time. It was like kneeing concrete, but she let out a pained yelp and I managed to break away from her an instant before her mouth snapped shut on my face. A cloud of fetid breath washed over me as I jerked backwards and snatched my staff up from the ground. I swept it towards her, channeling all of my pain, my anger, my desperation into one huge burst. “Forzare!” 

Hyena Face went flying backwards like I’d hit her with a wrecking ball, arcing through the air, but I didn’t stick around to watch her land. Instead I ran behind the pallet towards Molly, praying that I wasn’t already too late. 

She was lying on the ground, her eyes glazed over, with the hands of another Denarian wrapped around her throat. This one was another huge, hulking thing, covered in black fur with bat-like ears, but there was something off about it— the fur shimmered weirdly with a color I couldn’t pin down, and it smelled like something sick. It glanced up at me and I noticed the same strange color tinting the green of its Denarian eyes as they narrowed. Before it could do anything, though, the air gave way in a shimmer of gold. 

Saber materialized behind it and, with one swift motion, embedded Amoracchius in the thing’s back. 

Both sets of its eyes widened, and it let out a rattling breath, jerking against the sword it was impaled on like a fish against a harpoon. “No,” it said. Its voice was gravelly, so much so that the tone was almost indistinguishable. “The Holy Sword… you are not… a Knight….”

“No,” Saber said. Her face was expressionless as she stared down at it, her eyes completely blank except for a hint of contempt. “I am the King of Knights.” 

Saber’s flat expression didn’t change at all when the Denarian’s breathing stopped. It slumped next to Molly’s prone body, and Saber pulled Amoracchius out of it with a slick sound and a small spurt of blood. 

As soon as it died I dropped to my knees next to Molly, pressing my fingers to her throat and feeling frantically for a pulse. “Come on, kid… hang on…” After a second I found it, and relief flooded my body. 

I let out a long exhale and looked up at Saber. “Where were you until now? You know, when I was getting spun like a top by Hyena Face?”

Saber tilted her head at me. “The unknown Servant that my Master sensed earlier continued to fire at me. Regrettably, I did not notice my Master’s situation until she called for you.”

“Fat lotta good I did, then,” I muttered. Molly’s breathing changed suddenly, becoming more rapid and terrified, and her eyes flew open. They darted around, eventually landing on me, and I waved at her. “Hey, hey. It’s fine, you’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Molly relaxed slightly, but her eyes glistened, filled with tears. “This is—” she started, but broke off to cough. “This is all my fault…” 

I opened my mouth to tell her that it wasn’t, then closed it. I couldn’t tell her that; it was becoming increasingly obvious that Molly actually might be right to blame herself, but I couldn’t be the one telling her this now, when she’d nearly been killed less than five minutes ago. So instead I cleared my throat and moved on. 

It might surprise some people to hear, but I am capable of tact. Sometimes.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. 

Molly closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut. “My head hurts, my throat hurts, everything hurts.” Her voice got even quieter. “Can I go home now?”

I nodded at her, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah. Give me just a minute.” I focused, calling out mentally. Gorgon, where are you? 

On my way back to you now, Master, came the immediate response. I was unable to kill the Servant or acquire very many relevant details on him, though I did manage to wound him. Gorgon’s mental voice changed, becoming less clinical and more filled with bloodlust and rage. I have his scent and taste now, and he won’t escape so easily in the future. 

Okay, then, I thought. We’ll wait here for you.

We didn’t have to wait long. Within two minutes there was a slithering noise from nearby, and when I stood up I saw Gorgon making her way through the construction site. She had a few more bloody spots on her, but not many; whatever that other Servant had been doing, he clearly wasn’t aiming at her very much. Or maybe she was just really, really good at dodging. 

Gorgon saw me at the same time I saw her and adjusted her course towards us. “Master,” she said, as soon as she got close enough. “I found something.” She extended her good arm to me and dropped something into my palm. When I looked at it, I saw that it was a matchbook. Stuck to its lid was a brilliant blue butterfly wing, crumpled and torn from where Gorgon had been holding it. “The enemy Servant dropped it.”

I examined it, flicking it open. It had an address printed on the inside, and I nodded and tucked it into my pocket. “You did good.”

Gorgon blinked slowly at me, an expression of confusion briefly passing over her face. Then she scoffed and began to shrink, her body shifting and warping back into a more human form, scales and tail disappearing. As she did, her clothes reappeared— which was a relief, because taking Gorgon shopping again wasn’t exactly on my list of fun things to do on a weekend. Her injuries healed, golden sparks smoothing over the skin to leave it unblemished and whole. 

When she was standing back on two feet again, Gorgon rolled her neck in a circular motion, stretching. She glared at me. “I hate this form. It’s far too cramped for comfort.”

“Unfortunately, the world isn’t really designed for hundred-foot-long, twenty-foot-tall snake women,” I replied. “It’s an oversight.” Gorgon’s glare intensified, and I sighed. “Come on. Help me with Molly—“

There was a noise, and I turned to see Saber hoisting Molly onto her shoulders like the girl was a sack of flour. Molly protested weakly, but Saber ignored her, instead balancing Molly over her back and leaning forwards slightly for balance. They looked… well, they looked kind of ridiculous, especially since Molly was most of a foot taller than Saber, but it seemed like it was working. “Put me down—“ Molly started, but Saber cut her off.

“You are too weak to walk. As I require your magical energy to heal some of my injuries, I would prefer that you did not exhaust yourself further.” 

Molly opened and closed her mouth, then finally relaxed. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Where are we going?”

I turned away from Molly, back towards the way we came. “Where do you think? We're going back to your house. We have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

I shifted uncomfortably on the Carpenters’ doorstep, tugging at my collar for air— not that it helped, since the heat had started to ramp up on the way over. That and the conversation I was anticipating were both making me sweat. I still didn’t look as clammy as Molly did, though. She’d stayed impressively together on the way over and had even convinced Saber to put her down when we walked up, but out of the corner of my eye I could see her knotting her hands together in jerky, nervous motions as I rang the doorbell, swaying gently in place. Saber stood behind her. She had sheathed her look-alike Amoracchius, but the sight of it hanging on her belt still made my stomach lurch a little. 

Great. This exchange was shaping up to look like it would be anything but short. 

We should leave, Gorgon’s disembodied voice whispered. She’d dematerialized of her own accord as soon as we had started getting close to the Carpenter house, which was simultaneously a relief and more than a bit nerve-wracking. Master, there is no reason for us to be here.

Like hell there isn’t, I thought back. I’ve got a few questions I want answered out of this. Besides, these people are friends of mine. The least I can do is stick around. I ignored Gorgon’s scoff and faced the door. Everything I’d said was true, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to bolt as soon as possible. If Michael sensed Lasciel on me— or sensed Gorgon’s presence somehow and mistook it for something demonic— then I couldn’t even imagine what this already bizarre scene would look like in his mind. 

Footsteps came from inside the house, and I swallowed hard and waited. 

The door swung open to reveal a girl who couldn’t have been older than about 13, skinny and gawky in a way that told me that she’d be tall when she grew up. Her dark hair was cut short and neat, and she was dressed in a set of brightly-colored kid’s pajamas that looked surprisingly clean and unwrinkled. She had a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and a serious expression on her face— right up until she saw Molly, at which point she let out a shriek and flew at her, grabbing her in a hug. “You’re back!”

Molly stumbled, wincing at the noise, but she managed to regain her balance enough to wrap her arms around whichever sister this was. “Nice to see you too, Leech,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. I saw a glimmer of wetness in her eyes. 

My chest hurt suddenly with something that felt a whole lot like grief, but it wasn’t mine. Gorgon’s voice filtered quietly into my head. You didn’t tell me she had siblings.

Yeah, I thought. Six of them. She’s the oldest.

The oldest of seven. Interesting... Gorgon’s voice trailed off, and so did the grief, like the tide going out. Mostly. A little bit of it remained in the form of sympathy for her and the memory of the dream I’d had about her sisters the night before.

Sisters. Huh. I could have sworn I’d heard a Greek myth about the Gorgon sisters somewhere before, but I couldn’t quite remember what it’d actually been about. I made a mental note to try and track it down later.

“You’re up early,” Molly said, breaking my train of thought. Her chin rested on top of her sister’s head. “Where’s everybody else?”

The other sister pulled back slightly. “Don’t call me Leech,” she said, in the tone of someone who had gone through this song and dance dozens of times at least. “Amanda’s at Girl Scout camp, Matthew’s with some friends up by Lake Michigan for a fishing thing, Mom took Hope to an overnight church thing, and everybody else is asleep. Are you going to stay this time?”

Molly let out a slow breath, then slowly untangled herself from her sister’s arms, taking a step back. Her skin had a greenish undertone now, and sweat stood out on her forehead. I frowned. What I wanted to do was step forwards and offer to support Molly so she could at least stay upright, but she was a teenager in front of her younger sibling, and the way Molly was trying to hide her pain from her told me that she was trying to be strong, to keep her kid sister from getting scared. Any help that I offered wouldn’t be welcome. So I hung back and waited, keeping an eye out for a sign that Molly was imminently going to collapse.

Molly glanced at Saber and I, then promptly changed the subject without answering her sister’s question. “Harry, you remember my sister Alicia, right?” Molly gestured to the sister— Alicia— who was looking curiously between the three of us. “Leech, this is Harry— uh, Mr. Dresden, and that’s Saber.” 

Alicia’s expression changed, becoming more sober and guarded. I couldn’t blame her, considering what we must have looked like. “Hello,” she said.

Saber tilted her head in tacit acknowledgement, her cold eyes flicking up and down over Alicia like she was conducting a mental evaluation. I shuddered and decided to speak up.

“Hi, Alicia,” I said. “Been a long time. Can you go get your dad? We have some things to talk about.”

She chewed slightly on her lower lip and looked at Molly. “Is something going on?” Alicia asked, obviously nervous. “Are you in trouble?” There was an unspoken again at the end of that sentence, and I filed it away to ask about. Clearly there’d been some sort of falling out between Molly and her family, but how that led to Molly’s participation in the Holy Grail War was something I just didn’t understand yet. 

It seemed like I would soon, though.

Molly opened her mouth, then changed her mind and swallowed hard. “Alicia,” she said, “listen to Mr. Dresden and go get dad, okay? Everything’s fine.” I heard Molly’s voice wobble.

Alicia hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “You should wait inside, mom says leaving the door open lets all the air conditioning out.” She retreated inside, and Molly followed, heading into the living room with Saber behind her.

A prickle of anxiety rose in my stomach as I stood on the threshold, but I pushed it aside, heading in behind the two girls and shutting the door behind me. The air conditioning immediately hit me, and the sweat on my forehead (and the rest of my body) started to dry. Granted, that still meant I was covered in dust and dried blood and probably didn’t look or smell too great, but it was a start. At least no water heating means I don’t have to pay as much on the shower bills. I headed to the Carpenter’s living room, where Molly was already slumped on the couch, leaning against Saber. She looked sick and exhausted, and I winced. Magic exhaustion is never fun, especially the first few times you experience it. Molly had to have some juice to be able to pull off the summoning and fuel Saber, but I’d have bet money that this was the first time she’d pulled off anything big, and it was flooring her. 

Speaking of which, Saber wasn’t looking too good either. Her injuries had mostly healed over on the walk home, but there were still a few cuts and scrapes visible on her skin, and some hadn’t scabbed over yet. They still oozed smears of blood onto her too-pale skin. She looked weaker, somehow. Less corporeal. As things were now I doubted that she’d be able to pull off anything like she had at the construction site, or at least not as long as Molly was still running herself into the ground. 

“Hey,” I said suddenly. Molly raised her head, but I held up a hand. “Not you.” I pointed my finger at Saber. “You. What was that you said, back at the construction site?”

Saber narrowed her eyes at me. “I believe I said, “regrettably, I did not notice my Master’s situation until she called for you.”” 

“Don’t play dumb. What did you mean when you said you were the King of Knights?” 

Saber’s gaze held for a moment, then flicked to Molly, who looked shocked— no, not shocked. Molly looked panicked. She hadn’t moved from her slumped position against Saber, but her posture was stiff now, her muscles clenched. The whites of her eyes were visible all the way around, and her eyes were trained on me intensely enough that it felt like my hair would catch fire. 

“Master,” Saber said, her voice surprisingly gentle. 

Molly’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. I could see the conflict on her face, see her right on the edge of saying something— right up until there was a slow, heavy pounding of feet on the stairs and Michael came down. 

Michael Carpenter was a big, solid guy with the same profession as his last name, and the same energy I’d felt coming off of Saint Mary of the Angels radiated off of him like warmth from the sun. If I had to describe his temperament I’d say he was a kind, loving, and righteous man with a well of deep and abiding faith, and that I’d seen him face off against things that nearly killed the shit out of me and take them down with relative ease. Simply put, the man had both power and love, and they were so intertwined you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. The idea of his anger would scare any reasonable person at least a little, even if there was no chance that it would ever be directed towards them. 

Needless to say, it terrified me.

Right now, though, Michael didn’t look like one of God’s weapons on earth. He looked like a tired dad in the very beginnings of his middle age. There were bags under his eyes, and he had a somewhat severe case of bedhead. He was dressed in an old white t-shirt and plaid checkered pajama bottoms, and he had clearly just been woken. The moment he saw Molly, though, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes cleared, and he increased his pace. He didn’t even look at me or Saber, just made a beeline over to the kid and crushed her in a tight, tight hug that made my ribs hurt to look at. 

“Dad,” Molly said, and there was true, genuine relief in her voice. “Dad...”

“You’re here now,” said Michael, quietly. “So let me hug you for a moment. I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you so much.” 

I heard more than saw Molly let out a quiet sob. 

After a few moments, Michael pulled back, his hands still on Molly’s shoulders. His gaze flicked over her, then moved to Saber, who was still next to Molly. I couldn’t see his face clearly from where I was sitting, but when he spoke his voice was soft in a way that spoke of surprise, disappointment, and more than a tinge of horror. “Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter,” he said, almost a whisper. “What have you done?” 

“Um,” Molly said. “Uh.” She looked at me, her eyes clearly reading Help me. 

Part of me wanted to let her squirm for a minute, but a larger part of me felt sympathetic to her situation, so I threw her a bone. “Michael,” I said, “I think I might be able to shed a little bit of light on the situation.”

Michael took his hands off Molly’s shoulders and looked between the three of us for a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion. His eyes fell on Amoracchius, still on Saber’s belt, and for a second he looked physically sick. After a moment he moved over to one of the chairs and sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. “By all means, Harry,” he said. “Shed some light on this situation.” He raised his head and looked directly at me, and a slither of fear went down my spine. I just barely managed to resist the urge to turn away and hide my face from him in an attempt to minimize the possibility of Michael somehow seeing Lasciel’s influence written across it. Resist it I did, though. 

I cleared my throat. “So,” I said. “Do you know what a Holy Grail War is, first off?”

Michael’s mouth flattened into a line, but he nodded. “I’ve heard of it, as a perversion of a ritual using the name of the Cup of Christ. I suppose you ask because—”

“Yeah,” I said. “There’s one here and now.” I held up my hand, displaying the two command seals left on it. “I got an invitation yesterday night, and if I had to guess, I wasn’t the only one.” I nodded at Molly, who swallowed visibly. 

I could see the gears turning in Michael’s head as he processed the information. I gave him a minute to go through all the implications of what I’d just said. It took a few moments, but finally his eyes went wide with realization. “Molly,” he said, turning towards her. “You’re participating in this— this ritual?” A tinge of anger entered his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? What you’ve gotten us into? I thought your mother and I raised you better than that.” He gestured to Amoracchius, hanging on Saber’s belt. “You’ve taken my Sword, one of the only three swords of God left in the world, and used it in order to summon… whatever manner of being this is.” 

My jaw practically hit the floor when he said that, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying something. “Wait,” I said. “Wait, are you saying that’s the actual Sword? That really is Amoracchius? Seriously?”

Michael eyed Saber, his face grim. “You couldn’t tell?” he asked. “Yes. Yes, that is Amoracchius. And while it has been in the hands of others who weren’t Knights in the past, I do not believe I can trust the hands it’s in now.” 

At that, Saber stood up. She’d been mostly expressionless before, but now I saw real anger on her face. She put one hand on Amoracchius, which began to glow with the same red light as before. “Who are you to judge me, Sir Knight?” Poisonous sarcasm filled her voice. “You were never the true owner of this Sword. I was. I was, I am, and I will be for as long as the Sword persists in this world.” 

She took a step forwards towards Michael, who stayed as still and unmoveable as any boulder in his seat. Molly made a quiet noise, but Saber ignored her, advancing further until she stood directly in front of Michael. An echo of her words ran through my memory— the King of Knights… 

“Amoracchius,” she said, “a false name for a sword under a false owner. Do you know what it was called in the past?” The glow spread from the sword to her whole body, bathing her in the ugly, crimson shine. It threw severe shadows over her face, even with the early morning light filtering through the curtains. “It was once known as Excalibur. And I am its wielder.” Saber’s voice rang out again, seeming disproportionately loud even though her volume hadn’t actually changed. “I am Artoria Pendragon, and I am king. Once and future.”

Now, that’s interesting, Gorgon said. Master, this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you should forget. 

Don’t worry, I thought. I won’t forget. 

There was a second of silence in the room before I piped up. “You know,” I said, “I wasn’t really a big fan of that book. Kept picking apart the magic in it. I mean, you can turn someone into an animal, but you can’t really turn them back, so their mind mostly just gets trapped there. It’s kind of a form of murder, which is why the Laws prohibit it.” I tapped a finger on my chin. “Though I guess Merlin was involved, so there’s that to consider. I’ve heard that guy could do some damned crazy shit.”

Michael and Saber’s heads both snapped to me, wearing near-identical expressions of confusion. The red glow faded from Saber’s body, and she moved backwards, eventually settling back on the couch next to Molly. I felt so relieved that I could almost imagine a cartoon version of me wiping his brow and letting out an exaggerated exhale. Thank god, I thought.

Michael broke the silence first. “Harry,” he said, “you know I don’t like you using that kind of language.” It might have been me imagining it, but it seemed like his tone and face had softened slightly. 

“Sorry,” I said. “I mean some damned crazy stuff.” I glanced at Saber and Molly, then winced. Molly was looking even worse than before. Her mouth was pressed shut like she was trying not to throw up, and her eyes weren’t focused. She looked moments from passing out. “Michael,” I said, quietly. 

Michael looked at Molly too, and his mouth twisted into a different expression— the expression of a father who was worried about his child. “Yes,” he said, sounding sad. “Now is not the time.” He stood and walked over to the couch, then slid his arms under Molly, lifting her up gently. She let out a soft breath and closed her eyes, turning towards Michael unconsciously. For a second she looked much younger than she was. 

Michael began to carry Molly up the stairs, and after a second I followed him. Saber did, too. Together we traipsed up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the rooms. It was decorated like a teenage girl’s room, and I realized that was probably what it was; Molly’s room. There was a thin layer of dust over every one of the flat surfaces. It was clear that nothing there had been disturbed in a while. Michael laid Molly gently down onto the bed, then turned to me. “There are blankets in the hall closet. Could you—?” 

I nodded and moved to leave, but before I could there was the shutting of a door in the hallway, and Saber appeared, holding a large blanket in her arms. “Here.” She pushed it at me.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, but she didn’t respond, so I took the blanket and walked over to the bed. I laid the blanket over Molly’s unconscious body, then looked at Michael. There was a second when we stood staring at each other, unsure of what to say. 

“It’s good to see you again, Harry,” Michael said finally. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Me too.” I took a deep breath. “Michael… I can’t stay. I need to meet with some others, and to do that I have to figure out where they are—”

“Yes,” Michael said. He looked at Molly, asleep in the bed. “I’ll go with you.”

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

Michael didn’t look at me, instead turning his head towards Saber. “They’ll wonder where Saber and her Master are. I can feign being that Master.” He shook his head. “I can’t let them know about Molly. I have to keep my family safe.” 

I let out a short huff. “God damn it, Michael,” I grumbled. “Why does everyone always say I’m the stubborn one, when all of the rest of my friends act like this?” But I knew it was futile. He’d made up his mind, and I couldn’t do anything about it. So instead I sighed. “Fine. Got a red pen?”

Fifteen minutes, two changes of clothes, and three carefully-copied command seals later, the three of us were out the door. 

Michael and Saber both looked uncomfortable, but Saber was definitely moreso. Before we’d left I’d pointed out that the armor wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, so she’d have to change as well. As things would have it, though, Saber was too short to wear any of Molly or her mother’s clothes. The closest match for her size in the house had actually turned out to be Alicia, which meant that as we stepped away from the house Saber was tugging on the blue-and-white skirt of a Catholic school uniform with a frown on her face. It was… kind of funny, if I had to say it, but I kept that little observation to myself. 

As soon as we had left the yard, there was a sudden shimmer, and Gorgon materialized next to me. I personally managed to keep my cool about it and definitely did not jerk like a startled animal, but Saber and Michael weren’t as composed; Michael let out a noise and jumped backwards, reaching for his hip and going for the Sword that wasn’t there because it materialized in Saber’s hands as she brought Amoracchius to bear. It was halfway there before she realized who it was she was pointing it at, and the still slightly transparent sword disappeared from sight. “Don’t do that,” she said.

Gorgon, for her part, didn’t pay attention to them except to bare her teeth in a lazy warning. Then she turned to me, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. “Hail a taxi. I have no desire to become incorporeal so you can ride around in that— that— that diminutive insult of a vehicle anymore.” She shuddered. “It’s far too cramped for me.”

“Remarkably picky for someone who came from a time where the fastest mode of transportation was a chariot, aren’t you?” I asked. “Taxis are expensive, and I don’t have my wallet right now. The Beetle might not be stylish, but it gets the job done. Do you have any other suggestions that don’t involve spending money?”

“Harry,” Michael interrupted, with a look on his face I couldn’t quite parse. “Who is this?”

I screwed up my face, then turned to him. “Michael,” I said, “this is my Servant, Avenger. Avenger, this is Michael. He’s a Knight of the Cross.”

“Was a Knight of the Cross,” Gorgon said, correcting me with the patience of a kindergarten teacher working with a particularly slow child. “If I understand correctly, the Sword makes the Knight.”

“My oath to God and to my duty makes me a Knight,” Michael responded. “The Sword is merely a tool.”

“And despite that, it’s still mine.” Saber’s mouth twitched into a tiny, smug smile. 

“You’ll call a taxi or I will paralyze you where you stand,” Gorgon said, ignoring both of them. 

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be about the “no wallet” thing. Hell, even if I did have a wallet I wouldn’t want to pay for a taxi. Plus, we still need to figure out where it is we’re actually going—” 

A flicker of grey-and-black movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and on instinct I stopped talking and whirled towards the street, gripping my staff hard and channeling energy through it. The runes on it flared into a sudden, firey light as I turned to face the grey car with the tinted windows that had just pulled up to the curb, but before I could blast it to hell and back the passenger’s side window began to leisurely roll down, exposing the expensive interior. A familiar pair of money-colored eyes looked directly at me. 

“Harry Dresden,” said John Marcone. He smiled, exposing a set of perfect, bright white teeth. “It seems I’m in the perfect position to offer you and your compatriots a ride.”

Chapter Text

They made me sit in the middle.

Marcone’s car was big, but with three people in the backseat it was still cramped— Saber had dematerialized as soon as he’d invited us inside, but Gorgon wasn’t having any of it, and since she and Michael were both physically wider than I was I ended up sitting between them. It was, in a word, uncomfortable. On the one side, Michael’s arm was taking up way too much of my space despite his efforts not to intrude (I could see him trying to press himself up against the window, but it wasn’t much help), on the other side Gorgon wasn’t even making an effort, and my legs were cramping from having to bend them so far in order to not bump into the middle partition. I scowled at Gorgon, but she just gave me one of her patented not-smiles back and closed her eyes, so instead I faced front. 

I couldn’t see Marcone’s face from where we were sitting, but I could see a pair of beady eyes staring at me in the mirror from the driver’s seat, from underneath a Neanderthal brow and a head of close-shaven red hair. Hendricks, Marcone’s bodyguard-slash-driver-slash-whatever it was necessary for him to be, looked at me like he was cataloguing exactly how he could snap my spine over his knee. I raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Marcone. “So,” I said, “why have you been following me?”

Marcone glanced back at me. “Why do you think?”

“Why do I think?” I echoed. I couldn’t cross my arms without bumping into Gorgon far more than I wanted to, so I settled for leaning back in my seat. “I think you’re involved in the Grail War somehow, and you’ve been trying to size me up. Hey, speaking of which, where are we going?”

“To a rendezvous.” Marcone turned back towards the front of the car again, settling. He looked comfortable, the bastard. “I assumed you knew one would be held. Was I wrong?”

I frowned. “Yeah, of course,” I said, but it came out as unconvincing. “I’ve just been been… busy. You know how it is.” 

The crime lord has a point, my host, Lasciel’s voice chimed in. Why did you not attempt to contact the coordinator to determine your rendez-vous? 

I flinched, then glanced around at Michael and Gorgon. Michael hadn’t seemed to notice; in contrast, Gorgon’s eyes were open to slits, and she was watching me with an unnerving steadiness that reminded me of a coiled snake. I looked away from her, averting my gaze. 

You know, I thought back to Lasciel. When people I care about are in danger, I tend to want to take care of them first. 

I know, Lasciel said. It’s a weakness of yours. 

Shut up. Molly’s probably alive because of me.

“Marcone,” I said aloud, “what exactly is your business here? Who did you get to participate for you? Was it Gard?”

Marcone let out a soft laugh. “Miss Gard? No, I believe this work would be… outside of my contract with her employer.” He put his hand on the middle partition, and I saw the red markings of command seals spiking over the back of it in a pattern I couldn’t quite discern. My eyes widened as I took it in. “No,” he said again. “Miss Gard is not the participant in this war.”

“You know, Marcone,” I said, shaking off my surprise, “one day you’re gonna stick your fingers in the wrong pie.”

“It’s possible,” he said. “But what can I say? I have faith in my judgement.”

“Maybe your judgment is the issue,” Michael said, quietly. I snorted.

“Perhaps, Sir Knight,” Marcone responded. “Perhaps.” 

The car glided along in silence for a bit longer before finally pulling to a halt outside our destination. 

McAnally’s Irish Pub wasn’t really accurately named. It was less of a pub and more of a tavern, and it wouldn’t have looked that out of place in Lord of the Rings, or maybe in one of the tabletop roleplaying games I occasionally participated in with some friends of mine. The main room is a study in the number thirteen— there are thirteen intricately carved wooden columns scattered irregularly throughout the room, thirteen fans whirling lazily on the low ceiling, and thirteen sturdy tables scattered in any free space. It wasn’t just aesthetic; it served a purpose, one succinctly summarized by the wooden sign on the front door that read, in big letters, “ACCORDED NEUTRAL TERRITORY”. The Unseelie Accords— basically a code of law signed by various supernatural heavyweights— had deemed Mac’s off-limits for conflict, and subsequently a good chunk of the city’s practitioners had deemed it a good place to get a bite to eat. On a normal day the place was near-full of minor talents, and the layout served to disperse the latent magical energy of a couple dozen magic users.

Today was not a normal day.

Mac’s was nearly empty when we entered, save for a couple of regulars I recognized in one of the corner, two people sitting by the bar— one in the grey cloak of the Wardens, the other in what looked to be an assortment of colored robes— and Mac, who ran the place. He glanced up from behind the bar and caught my eye, followed by a quick look at Michael, a prolonged stare at Marcone and Hendricks, and a pan upwards to where Gorgon was looming. Mac was a man of few words, but as I headed over to the bar I heard him suck air in through his teeth. 

Yeah, I thought. Me too. 

“Hey, Mac,” I said, out loud. “Been a while. How’s business?” Mac raised an eyebrow at me, and I nodded sagely. “Yeah, seems like it.”

As I approached the bar, the buzzing, all-encompassing energy of a Servant began to build up in the air, but different somehow. I couldn’t really describe it, but it felt familiar somehow, in a distant way. More like the magic I was used to. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two regulars finish up their food and head for the door. I couldn’t blame them. The man in the grey cloak turned around, slowly, and I had to will myself not to freeze. 

The contemptuous curl was already in Morgan’s lip when he looked at me, as was the disgust in his voice when he began to speak. “Dresden—” he started, but the words died in his throat as his gaze flicked over our little group. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Marcone and Michael standing together, but they absolutely bugged out when he caught sight of Gorgon, and Morgan made a noise that sounded like a dog coughing up a candy wrapper. 

The other person at the bar flipped down his hood and turned as well, leaning past Morgan for a glimpse. He was… young. He looked barely old enough to drink, which was exaggerated by the fluffy mop of blue-white hair that hung down over his face, into his eyes, and halfway down his back. His robes were mostly white, but there were blue and pink embellishments on them that reflected in the low light back and forth across the folds of the cloth. A wizard’s staff rested next to him on the counter. When I tried to get a closer look at the intricate runes carved into it, the world seemed to bend around me slightly, warping and twisting to pull me towards it. The buzzing energy in the air multiplied a hundred-fold, and my stomach lurched, threatening to turn itself inside-out in self-defense. I dragged my eyes away and the warping stopped, the world going back to normal. 

I staggered a little where I stood, steadying myself on the bar. Holy shit. That thing had power in spades. If my staff was the magical equivalent of, say, a handgun— which was an incredibly simplistic comparison and didn’t accurately reflect the realities of what a magical focus is, but it worked for the analogy— this staff was a sci-fi laser cannon. It had power, but it also had focus, and precision, and a crapton of magical competency crammed into a single object. The mere fact that it hadn’t shattered from the latent energy that flowed through it alone was a testament to the skill of the person who had made it. Even if I hadn’t known that Morgan had summoned a Caster before, that staff told me it as clearly as any person could have. 

When the white-haired guy caught my eye, he winked. 

Behind me, I heard Saber make a quiet noise that spoke of both disgust and familiarity. “You.”

“Me,” agreed Caster. His eyes panned quickly over Saber’s body, and he smiled. It looked genuine, but weird, like he didn’t have physiology that was actually suited to the expression. “Gotta say, I love the new look. It’s very dark and mysterious.” 

“Whereas you haven’t changed at all over the years,” Saber said, her lip curling as she sneered at him. “Let me guess. Avalon got boring for you?” Caster beamed back at her, and I felt my jaw slowly drop as I put the pieces together.

Wizard. Powerful. Known to Artoria here... 

“Hell’s bells,” I said, hushed. “Oh, hell’s bells.”

“Harry,” muttered Michael, not taking his eyes off Caster, “do you know this…” He paused. “This man?”

Merlin, famed wizard of Arthurian legend, founder of the White Council, and guy who could do a bunch of damned crazy shit looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. His smile turned into a smirk. “Morgan,” he said, “you didn’t tell me there were fans of mine here. Or friends of mine, for that matter!” 

“Caster,” Morgan said, “be silent.” He was still staring at Gorgon, but his expression had morphed from horror into one of barely-contained rage. “Warden Dresden,” he said, “what is this? What is this abomination?”

“You mean my bodyguard?” I said. Gorgon shot me a look, but I kept going. “You know, Morgan, you should really think before you speak. Like that acronym says. Is it true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, kind?” I smiled at him, channeling the facets of myself that I occasionally use to be very annoying. “You failed on a few of those fronts, if I’m not mistaken.” I changed my tone, moving to my best imitation of a British butler as I stepped aside and gestured to Gorgon with a flourish. “Warden Morgan, may I present to you my Avenger-class Servant. Avenger, this is Warden Donald Morgan.” I kept a straight face as Morgan glared at me.

Gorgon turned and evaluated Morgan, then snorted derisively. “It seems some personalities repeat themselves if you live long enough.” Her eyes flicked to his hands, and I saw a flash of recognition in her eyes, followed by something cold and hateful, but a different kind of hateful than I’d seen before; it was more personal, for lack of a better word. More focused. Bone-white fangs flashed briefly from behind her lips, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Caster look at Gorgon, then make a face like he’d just tasted something foul. 

Morgan’s face went first red and then purple with anger, but before he could say anything Marcone stepped smoothly in front of me, his hands held out in a placating gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could table our disagreements for now, I believe we’re here to have a diplomatic discussion, are we not?” 

Morgan looked distinctly unhappy about it, but he eyed Marcone and nodded. “Acceptable,” he managed to grind out. It sounded like even that tiny concession hurt him a little, which made me feel slightly cheerier.

Morgan got down off his stool and walked over to one of the larger tables, then sat down. Caster followed his lead, though when he sat down directly next to Morgan I could have sworn I saw Morgan’s face twist in discomfort. Marcone and Hendricks walked over as well, followed by Michael and Saber. Hendricks and Saber both elected to stand, but there was a clear contrast between them; Hendricks’s “I’m watching the whole room at once while not looking directly at any of you” professionalism, versus the slightly unprofessional way Saber was standing behind Michael’s chair and glaring directly at Caster over his shoulder. 

I turned to look behind the bar at Mac, who was dutifully polishing glasses and minding his own business as this went down. “Hey, Mac,” I said. “Do me a favor?” Mac grunted, looking up at me, and I paused as I thought about how to frame what I wanted to say. “Let any regulars who haven’t gotten the message yet know that they might want to get out of town for a while,” I finally said. “Post a sign or something, maybe. Just…” I flicked my eyes at the table, at which were gathered Chicago’s most civilized crime boss and his bodyguard, a Warden of the White Council, a Knight of the Cross, a very edgy and feminine King Arthur, and fucking Merlin. “I think things might be getting a bit out of control.”

Mac eyed me, then nodded slowly. I let out a slow breath and turned around, walking over to the rest of them. Gorgon followed my lead, ducking a ceiling fan on the way, but she didn’t pull up a chair with me, instead choosing to lean against one of the carved columns. Her demeanor was somewhere between Hendricks’s and Saber’s— I saw her eyes move between every member of the group, but they finally settled on Morgan. Morgan’s eyes met hers, and there was a brief, intense staring contest, short enough that it wouldn’t have even started a soulgaze with a normal mortal. He looked away first, and one corner of Gorgon’s mouth turned up slightly. Take that, you crusty son of a bitch. 

I leaned back in my chair, making a show of getting comfortable and stretching out my legs. “So,” I said. “We’re all here now, I assume. Let’s get to the talking.” I raised an eyebrow. “Unless there’s something we’re waiting for?”

Caster smiled at me, absolutely beaming. “Not so much something as someone,” he said. “They should be arriving right about…” He paused and tilted his head, then nodded. “Now.”

On cue, the door to Mac’s swung open, and the smile across Caster’s face grew unnaturally wide. Across from me, Saber snorted, muttering under her breath. “Show-off.” 

I barely registered her comment. My whole attention was trained on the door as an unfortunately familiar figure stepped through it. A pair of blue-flecked grey eyes that I could see clearly even through the dim light latched onto mine, and lush lips spread in a slow smile to reveal perfect teeth. My entire body responded to that smile from the neck down, and I felt the sudden urge to tug on my shirt collar to stop the heat from rising to my face. 

Lara Raith, my brother’s sister and another one of the superhot sex vampires of the White Court, walked into Mac’s like I’d assume a tiger walks through a jungle; with the smooth, graceful, confident movement of someone who knows that in whatever environment they’re in, they’re the apex predator. She was dressed in a semi-professional pure white button-up with the first two buttons left open to display a swath of creamy skin, a white pencil skirt that clung to the curve of her hips, and a blue-black belt that matched the color of her long, gently curling hair. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as the door swung shut behind her, and my mouth went dry. I couldn’t have even said what was so beautiful about her, except that she radiated a sensual aura that made some intense thoughts and emotions rise to the top of my head— thoughts that I very, very much did not want to be thinking, thank you very much. I tried to push them away and remind myself what was going on, why I felt that way, and why it was a horrifically bad idea. 

I’d been under the White Court whammy more than a few times by this point, and while it always felt supernaturally good, it was almost always completely unwelcome. There’d been at least one occasion when one of them had tried to force herself on me, but I tried not to blame her too much. She’d been young, ignorant, and traumatized, and she was being manipulated by her family just like I had been. None of that changed the fact that she’d almost killed me, but it did shift the responsibility upon the people who had tried to make her into a killer. I’d seen what other members of the White Court could do; to me, to my friends, to innocents, to each other. Some of them, like my brother, struggled against the demon inside them that drove them to feed. He tried his hardest to give himself a choice. 

Others, like Lara, acted in concert with it. The Hunger became a part of their nature. In Lara’s case, she was already a skilled manipulator and a natural-born master of political maneuvering. Combine that with the strength she got from feeding and she became someone I’d feel comfortable calling not just a monster, but a competent one. It made her even more dangerous than the usual kind.

And despite knowing all of that, she still looked damn good to me.

Lara walked over to the table and pulled up a chair right beside mine, and I saw a flash of red symbols on the smooth skin of her hand. I nearly groaned aloud, but stopped myself. Instead I just nodded at her, trying to keep my voice neutral and emotionless. “Lara,” I said, “can’t say I expected to see you here. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” 

Lara went briefly very still, and it was genuinely unnerving. She didn’t go still in the way a person goes still, but more like she had briefly turned into a marble statue. Then she started speaking again. “Harry Dresden,” she said, tilting her head in acknowledgement of me, “I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you. Have you gotten more predictable through the years?” The words sent a chill down my spine, but before I could respond her gaze moved from my face and roamed around the table. I noticed it lingered on a few faces; most noticeably, Michael’s and Gorgon’s, though Caster got a raised eyebrow. As Lara turned her head slightly to evaluate Morgan I caught a whiff of scent from her, something fruity and alcoholic like a cocktail from a club I could never afford to go to. I furrowed my brow, inhaling again in confusion. The smell was stronger this time, swirling around me. Lara’s perfume had never smelled like that, and I’d never seen her drink at all, let alone enough to smell this strongly like booze. I felt like I was about to get drunk by proximity. 

Hey, I thought, broadcasting to Gorgon. Can you smell that?

Unfortunately. Can you feel it, Master? Gorgon let out a low, audible hiss, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone’s hiding. 

I swallowed, then focused hard, straining my wizard’s senses as I did until I felt a faint hum coming from a place not two feet away from me between Lara and I. Oh. Oh, hell.

As soon as I thought it, the air shimmered, and I came face-to-face with a woman who was as tall standing as I was sitting down, give or take a foot for the long, straight horns that protruded from her forehead. The smell of sugar and alcohol intensified tenfold, and I jerked backwards slightly, coughing in an attempt to get it out of my lungs. The woman just looked at me, her eyes directly in front of mine, close enough that I could see the deep purple of her irises and the red of the cat-eye liner that surrounded them. Dark hair hung down in a silky, chin-length curtain that contrasted with her almost ceramic-pale skin— and there was a lot of it on display, far more than Gorgon’s. When she smiled, her canines left soft dents in her lower lip. I felt suddenly dizzy, my vision tunneling to encompass her. 

“My, my,” she said. “This one’s observant.” Her smile grew, filling with a pure, genuine delight. “That’s something I can fix easily. Master, may I keep him?” Her voice was low and soft in a way that sent tingles through my whole body, and the world began to turn fuzzy at the edges. It tilted suddenly, and I nearly slid off my chair before a clawed hand dug into my shoulder with a vice grip. Gorgon let out a snarl, and the woman— the Servant— stepped backwards as Gorgon’s shadow covered her, her eyes widening slightly. The room suddenly came back into focus as my head cleared, and I sat up, shaking it slightly to make sure it was still centered on my shoulders. 

“Try it again,” Gorgon said. When I glanced up at her, I saw her eyes had turned red again, and her face was twisted in a way that reminded me of that one Caravaggio painting, of Medusa’s face screwed up in a mask of rage. “I dare you to try it one more time, and I will crush you and your Master like the leeches you are. We’ll see how well your charms work then.” 

Holy shit. 

I heard Michael inhale through his teeth and a quiet laugh from Caster, but it barely registered. One sound did get through: the sound of Mac setting down something on the counter behind me, with the loud thunk of a heavy, formidable object— probably the baseball bat he kept under the counter. I swallowed hard. Accorded Neutral Territory wasn’t just a sign posted for fun; it meant that no one under the grounds of the Unseelie Accords could cause violence on the premises, and no one broke that. Not even me. 

But then again… My eyes fixed on Lara and her Servant, and I let out a slow breath. “You heard her,” I said, my voice quieter and rougher than I wanted it to be. I barely resisted the urge to clear my throat. “Keep the whammy off. We’re trying diplomacy here.”

There was a half-beat of silence, and then Lara nodded. “Assassin,” she said, her voice carrying a tone of gentle reproach. “While we’re in this establishment, I expect you to be polite.”

The Servant pouted at me, her lips drawing downwards into a sweet bow that wasn’t fooling me in the slightest anymore. “Sorry,” she said, drawing out the word in her mouth with a saccharine flourish. “It’s just that when I see something I like, I can’t often resist just taking it! But I guess I’ll have to try just for you, sweetie.” Gorgon’s grip relaxed slightly, but she didn’t move her hand from my shoulder. 

From the other side of the table, I saw Morgan move. He cleared his throat, the noise somehow sounding just as sour as the look on his face. “Dresden, if you’re finished monopolizing the time and attention of our guests, we can move on to the actual point of this meeting. Unless you’d like more time to embarrass yourself?” 

I turned back to the table, scowling at him. “You know, Morgan, I think I had a bit more in me. I could have tried to get up and ripped the seat of my pants open, for example, just to give everyone here a bit of a show, but because you asked so politely I think I’ll let you move us all along. You know. As a treat.”

Morgan took a visible breath, then sighed. “As you’re all no doubt aware,” he said, raising his voice slightly to project, “there is a Holy Grail War happening in Chicago when there wasn’t supposed to be. Some of the Masters chosen have been unsuitable—” he looked pointedly at me, “and some of the Servants have been… unconventional.” His gaze moved up slightly to Gorgon. “In addition, the White Council has noted a number of other unusual magical fluctuations within the city, which we aim to investigate—”

Marcone cut him off, leaning in slightly over the table. “Forgive me for this interruption,” he said smoothly, “but I have a hard time believing those are the White Council’s genuine stakes in this Grail War, especially when you’re involved so heavily in your other conflicts. We’re all fairly aware of the situation, I would say. Would anyone object to that statement?” He gestured around the table, but no one responded. “Good. Then, Warden Morgan, I must respectfully ask that you skip further exposition and move on to the point of this gathering.”

Morgan’s jaw clenched, and his eyes bugged slightly in a way that had more than a little bit of a gross-out factor. When he spoke, his voice was tight and barely restrained. “The White Council has recently become aware of the participation of the Red Court in this Grail War. We... propose an alliance between our groups in order to prevent them from winning the War.” 

“And why should we agree to this alliance?” Lara said, leaning back and crossing her legs nonchalantly. “You’ve offered no incentive to, just facts.”

“I was getting to that,” Morgan said, clearly annoyed. 

Next to him, a disgusted expression crossed Caster’s face again for the briefest of moments before he recovered. “What my Master means to say,” Caster said, “is that the possibility of the Red Court winning this war with all of us participating individually is, unfortunately, high, which wouldn’t be good for anyone here. If they were to get to the Grail and make their wish, they’d probably wish for victory against the White Council, which would give them an upper hand against you all, as well.” He turned towards Lara and Assassin. “For example, a world in which the Red Court moves unchecked would have disastrous consequences for the White Court, especially since the narcotic quality of Red Court vampire saliva would make it more difficult to seduce and then feed from them, and they’d most likely take advantage of the subsequent weakness of your Court to follow up with a war against you as well.” Caster’s gaze moved towards Michael. “With regards for you, Sir Knight, there are some other participants in this War that you’d be… interested… in, but relative to the threat the Red Court poses they’re a weaker concern. They can be dealt with later, with our support as well.” A weaker concern? I nearly spoke up to argue and inform everybody about the Denarian attack earlier, but a warning look from Michael silenced me as Caster kept talking, this time moving on to Marcone. “And you, well, you’re a businessman. Does the Red Court being in town seem like it’d be good for your business? The alliance we’re proposing is temporary, only meant to last up until the Red Court is out of the War for good. After that, the War can proceed as naturally as it can under the circumstances.” Finally, Caster turned to me. “Warden Dresden, you and Avenger there have as much reason as any other wizard to want the Red Court out of the game. Maybe more, given your history and involvement in starting the White Council’s war with them in the first place.” I inhaled sharp breath, narrowing my eyes at him in as threatening of a glare as I could muster. I knew about my own quote-unquote involvement in the war, and it was one of the things that kept me up at night, but the fact that it was being thrown back in my face in order to try and manipulate me wasn’t anything that sat well with me. He was right, but I didn’t like it. 

My anger didn’t seem to unnerve Caster at all; he smiled again, wide and genuine and boyish. I could have slugged him. “And hey,” he said, “isn’t a one in seven chance a better one than a one in eight? Seems to me like a pretty good deal, and if I were any of you I’d take it.” 

In the space after Caster’s words, there was a delicate noise from Assassin. It drew all the eyes at the table to her. She gave Caster a lovely, cute little smile, and I felt my distrust of her grow just a bit more. “Excuse me, cutie, but I have to say I’m just a teensy bit lost,” she said, her voice like crushed velvet. Assassin moved around the table, walking towards Caster with a sway in her hips. Her red and purple robe swished around her, revealing glimpses of long, slender legs. Slowly she walked around Caster’s chair, trailing her nails along the back. “You said that the Red Court’s saliva makes it harder for White Court vampires to seduce addicted humans, right? Well, first of all, I’d love to get my hands on some of that, but secondly…” she leaned in close, her lips brushing Caster’s ear, and his eyebrows went up. “How do we know you’re telling the truth? You don’t really have proof, do you?” 

Next to me, Lara smirked, her full lips quirking upwards in a tiny yet perfectly symmetrical smirk. “Exactly what I was thinking. In addition, the Red Court is a known evil, and perhaps one we can work with. If they win, they’ll be entirely focused on wiping out the White Council. If you win,” she gestured to Morgan, “vice-versa. Everyone else is a free radical, and that could be all the more dangerous for us. And the White Council… well. Warden Morgan, what are your personal feelings on the White Court? I believe airing them would tell us quite a lot.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened, and in his expression there was the catch that told me, more clearly than anything, that whoever had been picking reps for the White Council hadn’t been thinking straight when they’d chosen Morgan for the job. Morgan had loomed in my life since I was 16 years old, and I knew for a fact that he was, at heart, an idealist in the worst possible way. He believed in the Laws of Magic, sure— more staunchly and with less exceptions than most, but since he was the guy doing the beheading when someone broke them I guess he had to— but he wasn’t much for diplomacy and he was even less for hiding his feelings. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he managed to say, sounding like the effort physically hurt him. From where she was now draped over Caster’s chair, Assassin let out a quiet, slow laugh. Red spots rose into Morgan’s sunken cheeks, and he scowled at her, which didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. 

Lara waited for a moment, then continued speaking. “It’s relevant, of course, because the White Council and the White Court have historically been… less than friendly. Which is a shame, of course, since we could likely find a mutually beneficial arrangement. My point, though,” she said, “is that annihilating the Red Court for the White Council wouldn’t be a course of action that would particularly appeal to me. Neither would killing the White Council for the Reds. Neither I nor the group I represent has any interest in being in one of your pockets, not without personal reason.”

Marcone drummed his fingers once on the table, then nodded. “I have similar reservations. Though you’re correct about the Red Court being bad for business—” he tilted his head towards Caster in acknowledgement, “—going into an all-out battle against them right off the bat would be… inadvisable until they’ve revealed what their actual strengths are. In addition, you haven’t said anything about the “other parties” you’ve mentioned that the Knight here might be interested in, but may we assume that you’re speaking of the faction of the Order of the Blackened Denarius under Nicodemus Archeleon’s command? Do we have any information about their Servants or plans?” 

I thought back to the matchbox Gorgon had picked up following the attack, and the bright blue butterfly wing with it. On the one hand, it was useful information; the Denarians were almost certainly going to be a heavy distraction from the main fight. On the other hand… I glanced at Lara out of the corner of my eye, then at Marcone, then at Morgan. Having any of them get involved would run a full gauntlet of risks. Marcone had personal beef with Nicodemus following a fiasco several years back involving the Shroud of Turin and several actions I had no doubt he considered insults, Lara was more than likely to attempt to form an alliance with Nicodemus rather than any of us if she deemed it more advantageous, and if the White Council found out I had one of the Fallen living in my own head they’d most likely assume I was involved with Nicky and the Nickleheads and thus one of the enemy. Especially because of my quote-unquote abnormal summoning of Gorgon, double especially because there were people involved who had been looking to get rid of me for a long time now, and triple especially if Morgan was the one reporting it. So instead, I elected to play dumb. 

“If I had to guess,” I said, “I’d say we don’t.” Michael shot me a look that thankfully seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of the table, but I kept talking, trying to act as natural as possible as I lied through my teeth. “Besides, even if we did…” I gritted my teeth. “Even if we did, Morgan’s right. The Red Court poses a bigger threat to all of us and all of you than you want to admit.” Even as I said it, I knew it was going to be unconvincing. Hell, it even sounded unconvincing to me, and I hate the Red Court as much if not more than the average Joe. But hey, it was worth a shot, if it hadn’t already been worth it for the look on Morgan’s face when he realized that I was agreeing with him. 

There was a brief silence as the table considered that, broken only by the quiet noise of Assassin sliding her arms around Caster’s shoulders to drape herself over him, and the noise of disgust Saber made in response. I winced slightly, remembering what Assassin’s influence had felt like on me, but Caster didn’t look like he was responding in the same way I had at all, just amused. It was, to say the least, really weird to watch. 

Finally, Marcone spoke up. “One final statement before I take my leave, to the table at large. There are eight groups currently participating in this war, as far as any of us know. So far, we’re aware of seven parties; the five gathered here, the Red Court, and the Denarians. That leaves us one participant short. Now, I don’t know how all of you would take that, but I personally… would be somewhat wary.” Then he pushed his chair away and got up, nodding at Morgan as he did. “This has been a very enlightening meeting, but I’ll be going now.” Marcone turned, addressing Michael and I. “Would either of you require transport back to your residence, Sir Knight?” 

I made a face, remembering the Blue Beetle parked by the side of the road by Michael’s house, but shook my head. “Nah. I’ve got another ride I can get.” I turned. “Michael?” 

He looked torn, and I could guess what he was thinking— his kids were at the house, including Molly in her weakened state, and getting home to them had to be one of his highest priorities. Weighed against letting Chicago’s most notorious crime lord drive him home alone, though, it was a tough choice. Eventually he nodded at Marcone and stood. “With the understanding that you will take me directly to my home without detours or incidents, I will go with you.” 

Marcone smiled slightly. “Of course,” he said, and for some reason I believed him. John Marcone might have been a bastard of a man with a mind that made a steel trap look cozy, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that starting shit with Michael would be stupid. So he and Hendricks left, and Michael and Saber followed. 

When they were gone, I got up, followed by Lara, then by Morgan. Caster remained seated a moment longer, speaking in low, inaudible tones to Assassin, but eventually he stood as well, and she stepped slightly back. “So,” Assassin said, louder. “How’s about it? I could show you around some of my Master’s establishments a little.” She smiled at him again, and my eyebrows went up a bit. The only “establishments” the White Court ran were those of a kind where most of the employees and half the clientele were either more than halfway naked or dressed in a way where they might as well be. Caster— Merlin— wasn’t exactly as advertised, but I couldn’t really believe that he would go in for that kind of thing. 

Then he proved me wrong by nodding at her enthusiastically, and if I had been drinking at that point I would have done a spit take. 

“Master,” Caster said, turning to Morgan, “I’m gonna head out, since I’ve just heard about some pretty interesting possibilities—”

"No,” said Morgan, putting extreme emphasis on the word. “No, Caster, absolutely not.” 

“You could come too,” Assassin suggested. She ran her tongue over her sharp, white teeth, and I could have sworn I saw a bead of blood well on the tip of it. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t you ever want to have fun?”

“Plus,” Caster added, “a little bit of going out might help you loosen up. Honestly, I should have known starting an organization like the Council would have produced a few sticks in the mud, but I never predicted anything like this. You need to relax and live a little!” At the mention of Caster’s involvement in the White Council, I saw Lara tilt her head a little in my peripheral vision. 

I inhaled through my teeth, trying to picture Morgan trying to loosen up in, for example, a White Court-run strip club. Every image my mind came up with was progressively funnier than the last, and I had to press my lips together to keep myself from laughing. It didn’t really work, and a little bit of a noise slipped out. Morgan gave me a glare that would have given a whole new meaning to “if looks could kill” if I didn’t already know Gorgon. “Warden Dresden, didn’t you have somewhere else to be?” Without waiting for my answer, he turned back to Caster. “No. We’re leaving.”

Caster made an exaggerated sad face, then looked back at Assassin. “Another time, maybe.” She winked and blew him a kiss, then swayed her way back over to Lara, where they both watched Morgan and Caster leave.

Lara turned her eyes on Gorgon and I next. “Well,” she said. “It seems we’re the last to leave. You told Mr. Marcone back there about your plans to get another ride, but are you sure that you and your Servant wouldn’t want to come back with me? Our car is quite spacious, and it should be more than comfortable.” 

I felt more than heard Gorgon’s thoughts. Whatever she was feeling, it burned like acid, near-physically venomous and directed at Lara and Assassin. Master, came a few intelligible words among the feeling, you don’t want to do this. 

Damn straight I don’t want to, I thought back, which is why we’re not going with them. I’m not stupid, and unless I don’t have a choice I don’t really want to trap myself in a small space with the fumes coming out of that Servant. I’ve heard of contact highs, but that was ridiculous. Plus, I wouldn’t trust Lara as far as I could throw her in any situation like this. 

“That’s going to be a no from me,” I said aloud. “I don’t feel like getting into the vamp-mobile right now, and besides, I doubt you’re prepared for my great wizardly magics. I don’t want to blow up your fancy GPS and have to pay to replace it.” I nodded at the door. “Ladies first.” 

Lara raised an eyebrow at me, then walked past and out of Mac’s, followed by Assassin, who dissolved into a shower of shining particles as soon as she passed the doorway. Only after that did I relax a little bit, letting my back slump. I’d started inadvertently gathering magic from the stress, and I focused on grounding myself and releasing it, a little bit at a time, into the ground. Mac’s establishment wasn’t exactly high-tech, but in some cases “better safe than sorry” was pretty solid advice. After a few seconds I felt calm enough to breathe again. 

“Well,” I said, more to myself than anything else, “at least there wasn’t any bloodshed this time.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Gorgon replied. She made a face, looking behind herself at the door again. “You should have followed them outside and killed them outright. I know I could take the Servant.” 

I paused and looked at her, considering my next words carefully, until I decided to screw being careful and be blunt instead. “Hey, why do you hate them and Morgan so much?”  

Gorgon’s fists clenched at her sides, her sharp nails digging hard into her palms, hard enough that they would have drawn blood if she’d been human. There was a brief second of silence, as I saw her struggle with herself, before she shook her head. “That,” she said, “is not your business.” 

I considered probing her, but the look on her face told me that doing that would be a colossally bad idea. Instead I just nodded and started towards the door. “Alright,” I said. “Let’s go.” I stepped forwards and opened the door, then gestured for Gorgon to walk through. After a second she did, and I followed her out into the sun, shutting it behind me. Across the parking lot there was a pay phone, a relic of a time that had passed, but the bright side was that I should be able to use it without too much trouble. 

I headed out of the stairwell and walked towards it, then picked it up and dialed. I held it to my ear as it rang once, then twice, then three times. At the beginning of the fourth ring, there was a click as the person on the other end answered. 

“Lieutenant Karrin Murphy’s office,” Murphy said. She sounded tired, and I couldn’t exactly blame her. 

“Hey, Murph,” I said. “It’s me. Listen, can you pick me up? I need a ride.”

Chapter Text

I hung up with Murphy and slowly sank to the ground of the parking lot, letting out a breath. I still felt a little bit off-kilter, but I put it down to the stress that had come up from whatever that meeting had been. Though, part of me said, the sex-and-booze aura coming off of Lara and Assassin might have done a number on me as well. After a second I started talking again. “Alright,” I said, looking way, way up at Gorgon, who was towering over me as usual. “Murphy’s on her way to pick us up. In the meantime...” 

“We just wait here? Out in the open?” Gorgon crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe that’s a good idea.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about waiting out here? I was about to say “in the meantime, we can head back into Mac’s and wait somewhere relatively safe”. Bonus points for getting us out of the heat.”

Gorgon blinked slowly at me, then nodded. “Acceptable.” She turned around and began heading back towards Mac’s, and I followed her across the parking lot and towards the pub. She got there before I did— longer legs than mine— and went down the stairs and inside before I was even halfway across the parking lot. 

It was about then when I heard a light patter of running feet on the asphalt, and then something tugged on the bottom of my shirt, pulling it down a little bit. I whirled around towards the source, clutching my staff in hand, and nearly hit the little girl next to me in the head. She jumped backwards at the last second, her eyes wide with surprise, and I took a second to calm down and look at her.

The kid looked like she was maybe seven or eight years old, with the kind of fine, platinum-blonde hair you can get on kids around that age. It was drawn back mostly into a low ponytail, save for her bangs, which hung down slightly over her grey-gold eyes. She was short for her age, and her head only came up to about my hip level. Her sweater— why was this kid wearing a sweater in the summer heat?— had a depiction of Santa’s face on it, complete with the words “HO! HO! HO!” in big, red and green font. She looked way, way up at me and cleared her throat. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I… um.” Her voice faltered, but after a second she squared her shoulders and mustered up her courage again. “I have a present for you! You’re probably going to need it pretty soon.”

I squinted at her, evaluating. On the one hand, the whole situation pretty much screamed “Trap!” in giant neon letters, but on the other hand, I wasn’t really getting any bad vibes from the girl. I extended my wizard’s senses towards her a little, but all I could really feel was a sense of warmth and a bit of magical energy, but only about as much as would come from a minor talent of her age. She seemed… well, like a little kid. “Where are your parents?”

The girl’s face faltered, her lip wobbling slightly. “They’re… not around.” She swallowed, then brightened forcefully. “Mister, I need to go soon, but please, take this.” She held out something soft, pressing it against my side. Instinctively I moved my staff into the crook of my elbow and took it from her hands, feeling the softness of plush fabric against the skin of my non-burned hand. “His name is Mister Gill,” she said— at least, that’s what I thought she said. There was an odd sort of accent to it at the end that made me think that probably wasn’t the spelling. “He’ll protect you.”

“Uh. Thank you?” I said. 

The kid beamed at me, then turned and looked around. “I need to go now, but take care of the gift! He’ll be useful to you, I know he will.” Then she ran off, disappearing around the corner of a building, and I looked down at the thing she had given me.

It was a doll. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, the ugliest doll I had ever seen. It had bulging, lopsided eyes, black, woolen hair, and an expression on its face that looked like it was supposed to be a smile. Around its neck was a thick, red-and-purple band with triangular points coming off it, and it wore a black robe. It looked hand-sewn, rather than anything mass-produced. My brow wrinkled in confusion as I turned it over. “What is this?”

There were footsteps, and then Gorgon’s voice came over my shoulders. “That,” she said, “was stupid.” 

I turned and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

She nodded at the doll. “It could be designed to drain your energy. Or a bomb, or a magical surveillance device, or any one of a hundred things.” Her lip lifted slightly. “Master, quite frankly, I don’t trust your judgment.”

“Fine, then. If you don’t trust my judgment, I guess I’ll have to get some proof.” I looked back down at the doll, and then, with a long exhale, opened my Sight.

The Sight, or what some people who had read too many books on what I thought of as “magic lite” might call the Third Eye, was an ability most practitioners of magic and all wizards had. It was, to put it simply, the ability to open up all of our senses to things that we wouldn’t be able to see otherwise; the ability to see through glamours and physical shapes to the true nature of things. It was useful, but it came with a catch: anything you saw with the Sign couldn’t be forgotten. The memory would never fade with time. Every time you recalled it the scene would be just as sharp as if you were still seeing it, and depending on the nature of what you were looking at it could pretty easily drive someone to madness. I’d come pretty close, before. If this doll was something malicious, looking at it through the Sight might damage me. But it could also guarantee with complete certainty that it was safe.

As soon as I opened the Sight to look at the doll I felt warm, but not like the sticky, humid heat surrounding me. I felt like I had just come out of a cold, cold winter and was sitting next to a fire with a cup of hot cocoa in my hands. The ugliness of the thing disappeared, and what was left was a shining ball of good intentions I was holding— and something else, too, a string of magic wrapped around it like Christmas lights. They blinked on and off in a way that wasn’t hypnotic, but was pretty. I felt a smile begin to spread across my face as I watched. There was a simple sense of childlike joy washing over me like I hadn’t felt in god knows how long— not in years, at least. Maybe not ever. It felt good. 

And then Gorgon stepped into my field of vision, and my body seized. 

I could still see the basic shape of the Gorgon standing in front of me; an unnaturally tall purple-haired woman in jeans and a shirt that were both too small for her, looking peeved at me. But I could see other things, too, like photo overlays, overlapping onto her and covering her in bits and pieces. 

There was a child, a little older than the one who had just come up to me, carrying a scythe made of some material that flashed black and purple and dressed in a ragged black cloak, with the hood pulled over her head. I couldn’t see much of her face, but she appeared to be crying, and there were streaks of blood down her arms. Behind that, there was a woman who seemed to be around six feet tall, and looked surprisingly familiar to me. After a second I managed to piece together why. She looked like the woman I’d seen in the mirror in my dream last night, though this time her face was covered in a purple half-mask with no eye holes like a sleep mask, leaving her effectively blind. A red tattoo of what appeared to be a stylized snake covered her forehead. Her arms were wrapped around herself defensively, closing off her body from any sort of vulnerability. Then another version, Gorgon in her monstrous form but with her legs merged into her tail like the stories I’d heard of the naga— women with the lower bodies of snakes, like centaurs. Her hair was floating around her as if she was in water, but the strands merged and morphed towards the ends, changing into spectral black snake heads. Her fangs dripped with venom that sizzled when it struck the asphalt, and when the acrid smell hit my nose I had to stop myself from gagging. It was only then that I noticed that the sunlight had changed. It had gone from a bright, shining light across the world to a dull, sullen red that seemed to hit me preferentially, in a pool spreading around my body. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I looked up.

What seemed at first to be a mountain blotted out most of the sky. As it came more into focus, I saw that it was made of rubbery, sickly purple flesh, coiled in and around itself like a spire made of tentacles. More tentacles flowed around it in the same way Gorgon’s hair did. At the very top, there was a huge hole that might have been an eye or might have been a mouth or both, surrounded by a rim of shining red light. Just looking at it made my head feel like it was about to split in two and my eyes feel like they were going to melt out of my sockets, but I couldn’t turn my head away. I was frozen in place, looking up into the eye of the enormous, grotesque thing above me.

Under its skin I saw images moving and felt a sudden sensation; meat, the taste of blood, grief swallowed by the joy of consuming. The faces of the girls that were also in my dream appeared once more, terrified, before they were swallowed up into darkness. Other images and emotions came too— earlier ones. The grief of being chased from a home, the nausea and terror of a profound violation, the loneliness, the fear and anticipation that came with seeing a monstrosity in your future and being unable to divert from your course. I opened my mouth to scream, but all that came out was a dry rattling sound. 

A sudden burst of pure white light came from the doll I was clutching in a death grip, so bright that it blocked out everything else I was seeing. I stumbled backwards in shock and managed to close my Sight, and the parking lot came rushing back all at once.

I staggered and fell to my knees, the doll I had just been given clasped to my chest like I was holding onto it for dear life. My eyes stung and blurred, and I felt tears running down my face and dripping onto the ground. Waves of pain and nausea alternated in crashing through my body, and I barely resisted retching. There wouldn’t have been anything in my stomach to throw up, anyways. 

Do you understand now, mortal? said Lasciel’s voice, echoing through the throbbing interior of my head. She sounded contemptuous and condescending in equal measures, and I resented it. Do you see what this creature truly is? Do you understand? She should not exist. Unless you want that thing to be unleashed on an unsuspecting populace, which it no doubt will be. 

I shuddered at the thought. I had dismissed what Lasciel had said about Gorgon’s nature last night, but seeing what I had just seen… it was almost enough to make me think she had been right. It was more than enough to make me want to curl up into a tiny ball in the parking lot and lie there for a long, long time. 

But you can’t, I reminded myself. Murphy’s coming soon, so get up. Get up. Get up, Harry. My body didn’t seem to be responding to simple commands anymore. I tried to block off the pain, quarantine it into a tiny corner of my mind, but it wasn’t easy. This was somehow different than anything I’d ever experienced before, and it was hard to keep my mind straight enough to compartmentalize when my whole brain felt like it had been turned into soup. 

After a few seconds, I saw a pale, slender hand with nails like claws reach down for me. It stopped, palm up, like its owner was waiting for something from me.  

“We don’t have time for this,” Gorgon said. I looked up at her, but all I could see was a silhouette against the sun. It was too close to what I had just seen with the Sight, and I had to push the image out of my mind physically before it made me sick again. I couldn’t discern her expression. “Come on,” she continued, sounding exasperated. “The tiny blonde one will be arriving soon.”

After a second, I reached out with my mostly-useless hand and let her take ahold of it and pull me up. Even her hands dwarfed mine, and I felt suddenly like a little kid again. She pulled me up roughly, not bothering to make sure I was fully steady before letting go, and I nearly fell again before catching myself. I inhaled deeply, then sighed. “Thank you.” Carefully, I bent down to pick up my staff from where it had fallen, juggling it awkwardly with the doll.

Gorgon eyed me suspiciously, then nodded in acknowledgement. After a second, she looked away from me. “What did you see?”

I swallowed hard. “What do you—?”

“Do not play dumb with me,” she snarled. “What did you see when you looked at me? Was it all you had hoped? All you had feared?”

I paused for a moment, considering what I could say. I could tell her about what I’d seen her holding back, but what good would it do? She already knew she had that monstrosity inside her, and I didn’t know if bringing it up would be a good idea or if it would loosen her control on it. But I couldn’t just lie to her. She’d know, and that wouldn’t be pleasant. So instead I took the middle road. “I saw some of the things you’d been through. And I saw who and what you’ve been.”

Gorgon’s voice sounded strangely rasping when she next spoke. I still couldn’t see her face, but her head was tilted downwards, and her hair hung over it like a curtain. “How… unpleasant for you. I hope you don’t expect my sympathy.”

I snorted. “What makes you think I’d ask for that?” There was a brief pause, and I thought about the other things I’d seen. The crying child in the ragged black hood. The woman with the mask, closed off like she was trying to hide. The memories of fear and grief and pain, all the hardships. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that was what was really weird about what I had just seen; not the monster, but all the rest of it, and especially the junctures it had shown where, between them, she might have been able to turn into something else. I swallowed hard. “I don’t need your sympathy. Uh. But… you have mine. If you want it.” Great job winning her over, Harry. Ever considered being a therapist as a part-time job? With people skills like this, you’d make bank. 

“I do not,” she said flatly. I winced as she turned and looked at me, but her eyes weren’t angry, just blank. “Your sympathy will not change my past or my nature. You had no business ever seeing it in the first place, so even trying to sympathize would be an insult.” 

I didn’t have a response to that. She had stepped where I could See, sure, but I should have told her what I was trying to do in the first place so she’d stay out of the way. It was enough to make a guy feel like a real asshole. 

Thankfully, that feeling was interrupted by someone trying to kill me for the third time in as many hours. 

The only real warning I had before the attack was a swishing noise, and then something sharp flew past me, grazing my shoulder and leaving a trail of blood. I brought up my shield instinctively, recoiling and turning towards the direction it had come from. I didn’t see anything at first, until Gorgon let out a shout and struck out, her fist catching something that had been flying at me in the stomach— something black and rubbery and batlike and way, way too familiar. 

The Red Court vampire bounced off the ground and flipped back onto its feet, skidding along the asphalt, its long, pink-and-black tongue flicking out over its face to moisten it as it kept its eyes mostly on Gorgon. That was a mistake; as soon as it took its gaze off me, I dropped my shield and barked out a spell, sweeping my staff towards it. The doll dropped from my grasp as I did, but I didn’t pay it any attention, instead focusing my energy into one word. “Forzare!” A concentrated blast of pure force struck the vampire, and it went flying backwards at terminal velocity and slammed into the car behind it, which almost tipped over from the force. I could still see some of the vampire’s limbs moving feebly, right up until Gorgon’s tail materialized and she slammed it into the car, crushing the whole thing— metal frame, vampire, and all— into a twisted, useless wreck. She began to rise up into the air, her clothes shimmering away into her armor as her arms and legs lengthened into scaled claws. I couldn’t fully see her transformation, though, because at that moment something slammed into my back at high speed and I fell to the ground, somehow managing to keep a hold on my staff. Fangs snapped at my neck, and I let out a shout as I levered myself up to try and flip the other vampire off me. I managed to catch it with a well-placed elbow right into its bulbous stomach, and it let out a choking noise as I rolled over and shoved it off me. I saw the vampire bounce up from where it had landed, but before it could I shoved myself into a standing position, swung my staff around, and whacked it right in the head with a satisfying crunching noise. It reeled back slightly, and that was just enough for me to hit it in the throat as hard as I could with a horizontal strike from the side of my free arm. 

Surprisingly, supernatural creatures generally don’t expect you to straight-out punch them. They don’t really expect it when you shoot them at point-blank range either, but I hadn’t brought my gun out with me, a fact I was sorely regretting right about now.

The vampire fell backwards from the force of the blow, making wretched coughing noises, and I brought up my staff one more time and brandished it at the vamp. “Fuego!” A lance of flame blasted through the space where the vampire’s head had been, destroying both its malformed skull and half of its upper body. 

My magic’s not exactly precise most of the time, but it gets the job done. 

From behind me came a series of cracking, crunching noises from Gorgon’s direction, and I turned around to catch more than a dozen vampires trying to attack her while she batted them away like particularly annoying bugs. Her head swung towards me, and I caught a glimpse of her jaw, open wider than a human’s ever could be and with blood dripping down her chin. Then she swallowed, and the top half of the vampire she had just bitten in two disappeared down her gullet. Behind her, one of them tried to jump on her back, and her tail moved with blinding speed, slamming it off and into the ground hard enough to turn it into vampire pulp. Her eyes flashed red, and another two vampires caught into it immediately froze, their black skin immediately turning the rough grey of stone. With a sweep of her tail, Gorgon smashed the two statues she had just created into dust. I heard her laughing as she did, a delighted and deeply disturbing sound. 

The grisly scene distracted me just enough for a blur to appear in my vision to my left, and a pair of abnormally long, spindly hands tipped with razor claws grabbed me by the arm and wrenched me around, slamming me bodily into a parked car with enough force to set my poor ribs back to screaming with pain. My staff clattered from my fingers as I struggled not to scream, while the hands holding me ripped long, bloody furrows into my arm. I felt the vampire’s breath on me, stinking of rot and copper, as it lowered its head to drink from me. Another pair of the grotesque hands wrapped around my leg, and I was wrenched down onto the ground. My head hit the asphalt as hands grabbed at me, my cheek pressed to the ground hard. Some primal part of my brain started screaming at that point, panicking in a way I hadn’t panicked in a long time. Hands grabbing me, pulling me down, overwhelmed by swarming bodies in the darkness and unable to get out— 

All at once, time slowed. The parking lot disappeared, and I found myself in a quiet room that looked like my living room, but less cluttered with things. Standing across from me was Lasciel, but she looked different. Her hair had gotten longer, falling around her down to her waist in softly curling waves of red rather than her usual blonde, and it was parted in such a way that a few shorter locks hung down almost in her eyes. She seemed taller too, almost tall enough to look me in the eye, though when I looked down at her feet she was barefoot. She was wearing her usual dress, but sleeveless, and her musculature looked more defined under her skin, and as she watched me she crossed her arms over her chest. “Hello, my host,” Lasciel said. “Do you require assistance?”

I opened my mouth for a flippant response, but instead what came out was a quiet, whimpering sound. If we hadn’t been inside my own headspace and I had a physical body, I would have flushed in embarrassment. As it was, I just folded over at the waist and waited a moment for the panic to subside a bit, counting primes silently to try and help it along a bit. Dammit, why do things like this keep happening to me today? 

After a span of time that felt infinite where I was but was probably less than a few milliseconds in real life, I managed to recover enough to speak. I looked up at Lasciel, letting out a long, slow exhale. “Yeah, you could say that. Say, is there any way you can offer assistance before things like this happen?” I narrowed my eyes at her, considering. “And hey, what’s up with the new look?” 

Lasciel shrugged. “Recent events have convinced me that you are in sore need of more people on your level, as it were. And with respect to offering help, you would reject the idea out of hand were you not in dire straits, would you not?” 

I opened my mouth, then paused and shrugged. “Yeah, probably, but that doesn’t give you an excuse.” I frowned at her, but she kept her face neutral. “Alright,” I said, finally. “What do we do?”

“The first suggestion I have for you, my host, is not to allow the vampires to bite you.” Lasciel’s voice was calm, but I detected a hit of laughter in it. That changed in a moment, her face and voice becoming deathly serious. “If their saliva touches your skin, you will have an extremely difficult time staying conscious enough to fight any further, and at that point your Avenger may also fail, if you’re so weakened that you can no longer supply her with adequate magical energy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered. Reaching up, I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “This whole situation is impossible, you know that? The Red Court shouldn’t even be able to be out during the day at all without bursting into a tiny pile of ashes, but here they are, attacking us. Something about this situation is wrong. Really, really wrong.” 

Lasciel rolled her eyes, taking a few steps towards me. “Can you dwell on the impossibility of the situation once you’ve freed yourself?” I let out a grunt in the affirmative, and she nodded at me. “Good. Now, I have a plan. You’ll need to listen very carefully and do exactly as I say, without deviation. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Then Lasciel told me her plan. It took a while to talk through, but was at the same time completely instantaneous. When she finished, she stepped back and looked at me with crystal-clear blue-green eyes. “Can you do this?”

I sighed. “It’s stupid and it probably won’t work—” Lasciel opened her mouth indignantly, and I held up a hand. “It probably won’t work, but it’s still better than anything I could come up with right now.” I eyed her suspiciously, then shook my head slightly. “I better not regret trusting you with this.” 

“You won’t,” Lasciel said. She gave me a smile like the sun, and the headspace began to dissolve around me. I opened my mouth to say I doubt that, but before I could, I was back in real life, with all the pain and unpleasantness that entailed. 

I followed Lasciel’s instructions to the letter, wrenching myself sideways in a direction opposite to the one the vampire had been pulling me in. There was a pop and a shock of intense, blinding pain that told me I had just dislocated my shoulder, but I avoided the vamp’s bite as its mouth crunched down on the space my neck had just occupied. The one on my legs tried to pull itself up in a way to immobilize me, but I gritted my teeth against the pain and pushed with all my might with my good arm. As I shoved myself, I gathered my will to release it out all in a burst. “Ventas servitas!” 

The gust of wind slammed up and into my side, and I was pushed into a roll that flipped me out of the grasp of the vampires that had been holding me and threw them about twenty feet up and off of me, but not before their claws ripped me up just a little bit more. A trail of blood smeared the ground as I leaned into the wind, pushing myself closer and closer to where my staff had fallen on the ground.

I rolled onto my feet and into a crouch, grabbing my staff off the ground as I did. Bringing it to bear at the vampires now regrouping across from me, I sent out a sweeping burst of force. It didn’t do anything more than send them about ten more feet backwards, but that gave me enough room to get back up fully and recover for a second before they rushed me again. I focused hard on the lead one and was about to trigger a burst of flame laced with Hellfire when I felt a familiar screech like microphone feedback run through my core, and I threw myself backwards, away from the space the vampires were in. As soon as I did, pointed red-and-black spears erupted from the ground directly in front of me, impaling both the vampires rushing me in disgusting gouts of blood and chunks of flesh. I whirled around, looking for the source, and saw a familiar sight— the Servant who had attacked me yesterday, his long hair flying as he swung his silver-and-black spear around and embedded it in the chest of a vampire I hadn’t even noticed yet. With a flick of the wrist, he flung the vampire off and into one of the ones that was still left trying to attack Gorgon, sending them both flying. With a screech, the last three still-standing vampires gathered around Gorgon turned towards him at once and began to rush him. 

It was the last mistake they’d ever make. 

The Servant let out a low, rough laugh as the first vampire sprang towards him, his face twisting slightly like something was hiding just under the surface and trying to get out. Effortlessly he stepped out of the path of the vampire and swung his weapon, cleanly cutting it in half with a noise like scissors going through paper, but meatier. One half flew off on either side of him, splattering him with an arc of disgusting gore that didn’t seem to bother him at all. He slammed his spear into the ground, and a series of those same red-and-black stakes sprung up, impaling one of the others. The last vampire hesitated slightly, but it didn’t matter— before it could run or the other Servant could kill it, Gorgon’s enormous hand swiped down from behind, caught it around the waist, and squeezed. I could hear bones cracking and organs popping from where I was, right up until Gorgon dropped it and bore down on the other Servant like a giant, scaled battering ram. 

There was a mechanical roar from nearby, and a shining black-and-red motorcycle ridden by a figure in black leather and a reflective helmet swerved into the parking lot past the Servant at a speed that would have made any Chicago transit cop’s eyes water. Rather than striking back at Gorgon, the Servant leapt into the air and launched himself onto the bike in a move that threw it forwards slightly but surprisingly didn’t flip it, and together he and the motorcycle rider sped out of the lot and down the street at top speed. Gorgon let out a shriek that made my teeth hurt and started in pursuit of them, but before she could get there there was a screeching of brakes, and Murphy’s white Saturn pulled up in front of her, the bumper stopping just inches before hitting her. Gorgon drew back all at once in a way that told me she was about to strike, and I ran towards her as fast as I could, yelling. “Stand down! It’s Murphy!” The motorcycle was already nearly out of sight, so I poured on the speed, running as fast as I possibly could. Just before it was out of sight, I slammed my good hand down on the hood of Murphy’s car and vaulted over it, sending out a burst of energy as I did. “Hexus!” 

Mortal magic, as stated, works in unpredictable but generally terrible ways with electronics and complex machinery. Most motorcycles, especially the fancy ones, are very complex pieces of machinery.

This one proved that point by blowing up rather spectacularly. 

There was a blast that hurt my ears, a gout of flame, and then the scorched metal skeleton of the bike was spinning off at a 45-degree angle from its original course. I squinted, trying to see either the driver or the Servant trapped in the twisted wreck— until, with a thud, the Servant landed about thirty feet away, with the driver of the motorcycle in his arms. 

“Peace!” he called across the lot, his voice a deep baritone that carried easily. 

Gorgon whipped around towards them, but I held up my hand, trying to project an image of confidence and calm that probably contrasted heavily with my battered appearance. “Wait. Let’s hear what they have to say.” Gorgon hissed at me, but I ignored her, instead walking over— well, more like limping over, but who’s keeping track— to the Servant and presumably his Master. 

The Servant set the driver of the motorcycle down, and they reached up and took off their helmet. Long, shining dark hair tumbled down around a face that, after all these years, I knew like the back of my own hand. 

Susan Rodriguez reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, then nodded at me. “Hello, Harry. Long time no see.”

Chapter Text

I stared at her for a moment, processing. A million questions ran through my mind all at once, fighting to get out. It was complicated by the pain that was starting to creep back into my body, seeping in through the cracks and making it hard to think. After a second, I managed to speak. “Wait, were you the creepy person trying to break into my apartment yesterday?”

Susan raised a dark brow at me, her lips quirking up slightly at the corners into a lopsided smile. There was a rush of warmth through my core seeing her smile, cutting through all the conflicting feelings in my head even though I didn’t necessarily want it to. “You know,” she said, her voice just as smooth and rich as the first time I had heard it, “I wasn’t trying to break in. I was just trying to see if you were home.” 

“Which… you did by lurking in the stairwell and running away the moment you saw Harry,” Murphy said, her voice skeptical. “That makes sense. Especially the part where, right after that, you had whoever this is—” she gestured at the Servant, “—jump him in an alley.”

Master, came Gorgon’s mental voice, cutting through the conversation, who is this person? Why have you not allowed me to crush her and her Servant?

She’s… it’s complicated, I thought back. 

So describe it simplistically. I do not trust them. 

You don’t trust anybody. I had to contain myself from letting out a frustrated sigh in real life. Listen, Susan and I were… involved, for a long time. And then, because I was an idiot, she had a run-in with the Reds— vamps like the ones that just attacked us— and they half-turned her, and she left, because she didn’t want to kill me. She’s part of the Fellowship of Saint Giles now, a sort of organization of half-vampires like her. The last time I saw her was a couple of years ago, when she was in town for… reasons. My brain involuntarily brought up a sense-memory of Susan’s hungry mouth, lips soft on mine even as her kisses were rough, and I fought to push it away, trying not to blush.

Ah, thought Gorgon, with a sense of understanding. She was your mate.

Jesus, do you have to make it sound so weird? I complained. 

“Nice to see you too, Lieutenant Murphy,” Susan said, bringing me out of my reverie. “And I would have stayed, but you… startled me a little.” She had the good grace to look a little embarrassed at that. “Yeah, I might have jumped the gun a little bit, but most surprises recently haven’t been good ones.” Susan drew in a deep breath, then nodded to her Servant. “This is Berserker.” 

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. I wouldn’t have pegged the man in front of me as a Berserker at all, especially considering how restrained he had been in battle— compared to Gorgon, at least. He inclined his head at me to acknowledge me in turn, then spoke. His manner of speaking was formal, and there was something regal about his voice, which was slightly accented. “I apologize for attacking you. I assumed from your pursuit of my Master that you were an enemy and acted accordingly.” He glanced at Susan, and she nodded at him. Then Berserker bowed slightly, reaching out and taking my hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vladislav Tepes the Third, of Wallachia.”

I blinked at him, then withdrew my hand. “Uh. Hi,” I managed to say, weakly. “It’s… nice to meet you?” Susan, I thought, wishing I could beam my thoughts into her head like I could with Gorgon’s, how the hell did you manage to summon Count goddamn Dracula? 

Technically, I knew, Dracula wasn’t really the scary one. His father, Drakul, was not only one of the signers of the Unseelie Accords as a freeholding lord but almost certainly still… well, if not alive, then still in existence. I’d heard from a variety of reliable to semi-reliable sources— including but not limited to Ebenezar— that everything Vlad Tepes III had done paled in comparison to some of the brutality his dad was known for, even as the Black Court vampire it was rumored that he had become. That is, while he was still a living-slash-undead entity from this world. From what I’d seen from him as a Servant, it seemed things might have been considerably different. And hey, he was the eponymous antagonist of the book that made the methods of killing the Black Court commonplace and almost rendered their entire court extinct. His historical footprint was huge, and it was more than a little weird that Susan had managed to summon him at all, let alone power him. 

After a millisecond of processing I shot Susan a look, but she just looked back at me, tilting her head slightly. I sighed and turned away. “So, Vlad. Can I call you Vlad? You know, since Vladislav’s kind of a mouthful.”

Vlad drew back slightly in what looked like confusion, then nodded. “That is near exactly the same question as my Master asked me when she summoned me. I believe I now understand why you were romantically involved together.” I could see Murphy biting her lip to keep in a smile out of the corner of my eye, and Gorgon letting out a quiet snort from behind me. 

I turned to look pointedly at her, but missed making eye contact by aiming a few feet too high— apparently she’d transformed back into her mostly-human form while I wasn’t looking. She looked flatly back at me, and I sighed, turning back to Vlad and Susan. “This is—“

“Avenger,” she interrupted. Gorgon took a step forward to stand next to me, staring down at Vlad and Susan with what seemed like contempt. “That is what you may call me.”

You know, it’s really not polite to not properly introduce yourself, I thought. You could at least make the effort. 

And reveal my True Name to these people? I will not be doing so. It has been years since you’ve seen this woman, Master. You do not know her intentions. If she turns on you, it will be easier to defeat her if she lacks information. 

Susan won't— I started to think, then stopped. Susan hadn't betrayed me before, but the last time I had seen her she had deliberately made a huge mess of a formal duel to the death I had been participating in. She'd had her reasons to, and the guy I was dueling with had been about to cheat and kill me, but she'd still set me up. She'd also been one of the people fighting a guerilla war in South America against the Red Court for years, ever since she'd been turned. Wars change people. I wasn't sure exactly how this one had changed her, but I knew the Susan I'd known once was gone.

Fine, I thought finally. Don't tell them.

Gorgon didn't respond, but I felt a feeling of satisfaction coming off of her that was more than a little bit irritating.

"So," I said, addressing Susan again, "why, exactly, were you trying to break into my place? Because normally when people try and do something like that it's because they're going to do something shady, underhanded, or both."

She shook her head. "It was nothing like that, Harry. I wasn't trying to break in. I just wanted to see if you were there. That's all." Her brown eyes were sincere and honest, but I got the impression that she wasn't telling me the full truth.

I went to cross my arms, but the dislocated one gave a sharp jolt of pain as I moved, and I stopped. My head had already been swimming a bit, and that didn't help. "Yeah, believe it or not that's not actually reassuring. Why were you looking for me, Susan?"

Vlad cleared his throat slightly. "If I may, I believe I may be able to shed some light on the situation." I focused on him, and he gave me a nod. "My Master does not intend you harm. She merely had knowledge of your involvement in prior situations of similar natures, and she was willing to take the chance that you were involved in this one as well. It seems that she was accurate in her assessment, as well." He gestured slightly at Gorgon and I. "As I stated previously, my attack on you was not motivated by any sort of order from my Master, but rather by my own assessment of you as a threat. In fact, she was the one who ordered me to stop when she realized what I was prepared to do. I regret sorely that I injured you."

I eyed him and Susan for a second, then nodded. "Alright. And you wanted to talk to me about what? The Red Court?"

Susan nodded. "Before I could try to come back and see you again, Berserker and I came across a nest of several of the Reds. We..."

My vision wavered as Susan kept talking, the adrenaline finally wearing off. Her words started droning in the background, and I couldn't really pick up what she was saying anymore through the haze. I could only keep the pain blocked out for so long, and right now it was failing me. My head, my shoulder, and my ribs were killing me, as were the scratches I’d gotten courtesy of the Reds. I felt like my body was being taken apart bit by bit like an action figure at the mercy of a particularly sadistic child, and I must have looked like it too, because Murphy looked up at me, concern written all over her face. “Harry? You okay?”

“‘M fine,” I mumbled, trying very hard not to sway on my feet as I talked. It was unsuccessful, mostly because of the rude way the world kept spinning. I stumbled slightly, and Murphy’s hands caught me, holding me up. She was trying not to put too much pressure on my ribs, but even the tiny bit that she had was enough to leave me breathless. I shut my eyes, trying to block out the world, especially the brightness of the sun. It felt like it was burning my retinas even through my eyelids, and I winced. I made a last-ditch attempt at brushing things off, because it was either that or completely keeling over, and I didn’t want to do that, especially not here and now. “You know, Murphy—” I started to say, but at that instant Murphy moved just slightly wrong and my vision began to tunnel. I let out a quiet grunt of pain.

“Harry, stay with me. I’m gonna put you in the car, okay?” Murphy’s voice was calm, but insistent. “Where do you want me to take you?”

I opened my mouth to ask her to take me home, but then hesitated. Somewhere in the pudding-thick fog that was swirling around in my skull I remembered that I needed a car to get around, and that my car wasn’t at home. “Michael’s,” I said, the words feeling thick and strange in my mouth. “Take me to Michael’s.”

“Okay,” Murphy said, softly. “Okay.” She looked up at Gorgon. “Help me get him to the car.”

After that, I didn’t remember much. I remembered hearing Susan and Vlad and Gorgon’s voices blend and mesh together into one big ball of sound, and how Murphy barely talked at all. I remembered Gorgon scooping me up in her arms like I weighed barely anything— a quiet part of my brain voicing its embarrassment that I was being seen in this position by this many people— and Murphy helping her put me in the back of her car as I fought to stay conscious. I remembered woozily insisting that someone go back for the doll and my staff, and a confused blur of sounds and colors and lights blurring in and out. 

The last thing I could recall clearly before the world faded into a restless darkness was a small, soft hand pressed against my forehead, smoothing back my hair gently. 

Karrin.

Then sensation slipped away, and I entered a dim, dreamless nothing for the second time in two days.

I didn’t know how long I was unconscious, but I woke up laid out on Michael’s couch with my head on one armrest and my legs half hanging over the other one. The first thing I noticed was the crick in my neck, which was killing me, and the fact that my legs were mostly numb. The next thing I noticed was that the rest of my body felt… fine. There were the usual aches and pains that came from old injuries (aka, from being beat to shit multiple times per year for almost a decade) and from age in general, and my hand was still a numb, melted wreck, but I didn’t feel like my brain was turning into Dresden soup anymore, and my ribs and shoulder weren’t horrific balls of fire and pain anymore. When I looked down at my arm and calf, where the scratches from the vampire claws should have been, there was nothing except smooth, unbroken skin (and in the case of my leg, a partially shredded pant leg). Slowly, I shoved myself up, bringing my body into a sitting position. As I did, I noticed the doll and my staff, both tucked in-between me and the sofa. “What…?” 

“You’re awake,” came Saber’s voice, from across the room. My head snapped towards her, eyes widening. She was sitting on the armchair, her legs tucked up onto the seat in a way that looked strangely young on her and contrasted harshly with her cold, dispassionate gaze. “I had estimated it would take you at least thirty more minutes to recover from unconsciousness.” 

“Yeah, well, I tend to surprise people.” I stretched slightly, making a face when my back cracked like a glowstick. I would have expected pain, but it didn’t happen. “What happened while I was out? And why do I feel—”

“Like your various internal and external injuries have been healed?” Saber asked. “Because it seems that they have.” She uncurled and stood, then nodded at the doll. “Wherever you acquired that unpleasant-looking item between here and the last time we saw you, it seems that it was highly beneficial. It has what appears to be a healing aura around it.”

I blinked at her, then at the doll. “And you figured that out how?”

“You were being healed,” Saber said, speaking slowly like I was about five years old. “You could not heal spontaneously earlier. The doll was the only change. It reminds me somewhat of Excalibur’s scabbard, except obviously much weaker.” 

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess.” I focused on the doll again, trying to understand it more clearly. Healing magic wasn’t a strength of mine, and I hadn’t really seen it used in any large capacity before, so I wasn’t sure what it would look like. It seemed to me, though, that it might require more power than I’d actually seen from the doll to heal up all my injuries. Which was impossible, since I’d seen it through my Sight and it hadn’t been anything too powerful, and neither had the girl who had given it to me— unless, of course, she was something special and I’d been too out of it after the supercharged charm beams Lara and her Servant had been sending out to notice. Which was, unfortunately, at least somewhat possible.

Hey, I’m not superhuman. Sometimes I miss things. So sue me. 

“Where’s Avenger?” I asked finally, turning my attention from the doll back to Saber. “Have you seen her?” 

Saber shrugged. “No. I had assumed she had dematerialized while you were unconscious. Why do you care?”

I ignored her question, already reaching out for the mental link between Gorgon and I with more than a little bit of apprehension. Saber was probably right, but if Gorgon hadn’t dematerialized and had instead gone out on her own, that could spell trouble for a lot of innocents, not to mention for her as well. Before I might have been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but seeing her nature through the Sight, combined with the brutality of her attacks— my brain brought back the gruesome image of her devouring a vampire, with a look on her face like she was enjoying a five-star meal after starving for years— I wasn’t really prepared to take that chance. Harry to Gorgon, I thought, come in Gorgon. Where are you?

Master, came a disgruntled voice, almost immediately. Despite how annoyed she sounded, a wave of relief swept my body. You’re awake. We need to leave this accursed place immediately.

Why? What’s your problem with— 

Gorgon cut me off. I would be unable to explain it to you.

Try me. 

There was a frustrated noise, and then Gorgon spoke again. Her voice sounded like she was mentally gritting her teeth. It… is anathema to my being to exist in a place such as this. It is painful to me. If you ask me to materialize here, Master, I will, but then I will raze this building to the ground.

Yikes. Then don’t, I thought back. But don’t materialize anywhere else either. Got it?

Yes. Gorgon’s voice faded, and her presence seemed to disappear. I sighed and focused back on Saber. “Yeah, she’s out right now. What about everybody else? Are they here?”

Saber gave me a flat look. “Do not expect me to keep track of your acquaintances for you. I am not your Servant.” After a second, though, she nodded. “My Master is recovering, slowly. She remains in her room. I will go and attend to her soon. The other young ones are remaining upstairs for the time being, and the ones who have been away have yet to return. As for the swordless Knight and your consort, they are in the kitchen. I was told to direct you to them upon your awakening.” 

I snorted. “Do yourself a favor and never let Murphy hear you call her my “consort”.” I put air-quotes around the word. “You might be a Servant, but that won’t stop her.”

Saber rolled her eyes at me, then turned and walked up the stairs. I looked after her for a moment, glanced at the doll and my staff on the couch, then shook my head and headed into the kitchen. 

As I did, I checked my watch. 11:13 am. Just goes to show how great my luck is. I leave my house, and within the span of four hours two separate supernatural groups try to kill me and the people I’m with. The glamor of being Harry Dresden never ends. 

Murphy's eyes lit up when she saw me, and while she didn't smile I did see her lips turn slightly up at one corner. I couldn't help my mouth twitching upwards slightly in response, but the expression died when I saw Michael. He was sitting still, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall but unfocused in a way that told me he wasn't really seeing it. One of his hands rested in his lap, the other on the table, and two of his fingers rubbed slowly along the edge of his thumb.

I sat down at the table across from Michael, who focused on me after a moment. It took me a second to identify the expression in his eyes, because I wasn’t used to seeing it there: pain. A deep kind of hurt that made me hurt just from seeing it. I looked away before I could be pulled into a full-fledged soulgaze, but that feeling stuck with me.

I was no expert, but I was willing to bet it had something to do with Molly.

The look on Michael’s face disappeared as soon as I noticed it, and he smiled slightly at me. “Harry,” he said, nodding at me. “You seem to have recovered well from your misadventures. Lieutenant Murphy here was just telling me about what she saw of the confrontation.” Briefly, I wondered what the quote-unquote confrontation had looked like from the outside— a couple of destroyed vehicles, a bunch of scattered vampire corpses, one giant snake-woman, one thoroughly exploded motorcycle, and a battered wizard vaulting over her car couldn’t have been easy to form a mental chain of events for. “You and Avenger were attacked by the Red Court as well?”

Oh. Maybe it hadn’t been that hard. “We were hit by the Reds, yeah. What do you mean by “as well”?”

“Marcone and I were attacked on the way here.” Michael’s mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. “His driver had just turned down a more secluded path when they showed up. There must have been almost a dozen of them, all in broad daylight.” He shook his head. “I had always believed they couldn’t do that.”

“You and me both,” I muttered. “So, what happened? Did Saber—?”

“Saber took care of most of them, but Marcone’s Servant largely dealt with the stragglers,” Michael said. He paused, then reached out and took a sip from the mug of cooling coffee that sat in front of him.

“Marcone’s Servant? Did you see them?” I asked. It’d been gnawing at me since I saw the command seals on the back of Marcone’s hand, the fact that we hadn’t seen his Servant at all. If Michael had, I wanted to hear about it. But rather than describing the Servant to me like I’d hoped, he just shook his head.

“No, not… exactly.” He tilted his head. “We did see the effects, however. And I doubt a human can throw a magical Christmas present through a vampire’s skull.” The word “present” sent a shock of recognition through me, and I remembered the little girl in the parking lot, handing over the doll to me. The wheels in my brain started turning, and I gestured for Michael to stop.

“Wait, wait. His Servant decapitated a vampire with a Christmas present?”

“There was an anvil inside,” Michael said. “Why?”

I opened my mouth, then hesitated. If I was right and Marcone had summoned a child into the Grail War— intentionally or not— then I wanted to personally go kick his ass for it. Michael was one of the most steadfast and reliable men I had ever met, and there was no doubt in my mind that he would back me up, especially since he had children of his own. That was also the problem, though. The fact that Michael was in Marcone’s eyeline at all brought him into a whole new world of potential trouble, not to mention his family. Not to mention Molly. God, how is Molly going to fit into any of this?

Before I could make the decision of whether or not to answer that question truthfully, though, Murphy cut in. “Does it have something to do with that weird doll you made me go back for? The one that…” She gestured to the couch in the living room.

I sighed. “Yeah, something like that.” Quickly, I filled Murphy and Michael up on the events that had occurred in-between the meeting at Mac’s and Murphy picking me up.

I left out the bits about Lasciel, though. And the bits about how Gorgon had looked through my Sight. As much as it had scared me to see below her surface, there were some things in there that I didn’t think she’d have wanted me to tell them, and I’m a smartass, not an asshole. 

Besides, there were some things about me that I wouldn’t want to tell them either.

When I was finished, Murphy was sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest, while Michael was focused very intently on me. “Are you sure about this, Harry?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I could be wrong. I didn’t sense anything Servant-like from the kid, but, uh.” I looked away sheepishly, scratching the back of my head. “I might have been a little bit out of it.” Murphy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment, and I cleared my throat. “Listen. All I know is that Marcone’s Servant hasn’t shown up yet except for some Christmas-themed offense and I was accosted by a tiny Christmas-themed kid who gave me a magical present that can heal my injuries. That doesn’t necessarily mean…” I paused. “Yeah, actually, it pretty much definitely means that Marcone’s Servant is whoever that kid was.”

“Harry,” Michael’s tone carried a gentle rebuke. “You didn’t want to tell me.”

“No, I didn’t.” I sighed. “Because I knew you’d want to charge in and white-knight your way through this, and I don’t know how well that would go for you against Marcone. It’s bad enough that you’re in his orbit at all. Any threat he poses is really, really different than the ones you’re used to, and you have to know that. He’s not a demon or one of the Denarians or anything like that. He’s just a plain old vanilla human with some nasty tricks up his sleeve.”

“And I am a man of God. A Knight of the Cross.” Michael’s face went still and resolute, like it was made of marble. “I cannot just stand by and let a child become involved in this situation, especially without anyone or anything to protect or guide her, not like God will protect me.”

“I know, Michael,” I said, exasperated. “Believe me, I know. I don’t plan to stand by either. For god’s sake, she couldn’t have been older than ten years old. I just also need you to understand that— that you don’t understand Marcone. You’re already dealing with the Denarians, with Saber, and with Molly, not to mention whatever’s up with Amoracchius that’s making it radiate bad juju. There’s so many complications here, Michael.”

“Do complications change what is right and what is wrong?” Michael’s voice was stern. “Because in my mind, Harry, they do not.”

“Excuse me,” Murphy said, directing her words towards Michael. She sounded strangely respectful, but since she came from a large and distinctly Catholic family it might have been to be expected from her. “Harry might be right about this one. We have to assume that Marcone knows something we don’t.” I started to speak again, but Murphy cut me off. “At the same time, we need to confront him about it, there isn’t any doubt about that. And when we talk to him about it… it might be nice to have some backup.” She glanced at me and her mouth twisted wryly. “Especially for someone who sounds just a little bit hypocritical when he’s trying to talk you out of quote-unquote charging in and white-knighting your way through this.”

I looked back and forth between the two of them, then sighed. “Fine. We go tomorrow, go by the book right up until we know what’s going on, and then we get the kid uninvolved as soon as possible and pop Marcone in the nose while we’re at it. That work for you?”

“I like the sound of that,” Murphy said. She nodded to Michael. “Are we in agreement?”

Michael was still for a second, and then nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “But the child is the first priority in that endeavor, no matter what. Whoever she is.”

A few moments of silence followed that assertion, until I cleared my throat. “Okay. Now, with that out of the way. Murph, what did Susan and Vlad say about the Red Court? After a certain point I was… kind of out of it.”

Murph frowned, then held out her hand in a so-so gesture. “Mostly? That Susan had followed Red Court activity up here under orders from the Fellowship since she’s familiar with this area, and got a weird message about participating in the Grail War in—”

“Let me guess: a dream,” I said, before Murphy could finish. “She got sent a message about the Grail War in a dream, just like I did.”

Murphy nodded slowly, eyeing me. “Don’t interrupt me again, but yeah, that’s on the money. Which makes me think that’s how this is spreading.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t track with what the Council said, or what’s been going on with some of the other groups. But with individuals like me and Susan… it’s worth thinking about.”

“You and Susan and Molly,” Michael said, quietly.

“And Molly,” I agreed. “Maybe this is how the system is, and it just works differently if it assumes you don’t know about what a Grail War is in the first place, but that would require a hell of a degree of complexity that I don’t know if this thing has. Sending a dream in the first place is complicated, and it’s mind magic, which is forbidden by the laws. If it’s something built-in then that’s something different, but some of this seems like there might be a more human touch to it.” I paused, looking at Michael. “It’d be worth it to talk to Molly, when she’s recovered enough for it.”

“Of course.” He let out a sigh, then gestured to Murphy to continue. “I believe you were saying something about Miss Rodriguez’s involvement. If you would continue.”

Murphy took a deep breath. “As I was saying,” she said, “Susan got sent information about the Grail War in a dream, then went and performed the summoning. Apparently, she went to the wreck of the old Velvet Room to do it.”

Ah. That answered one of my questions, about who had done the summoning at the construction site that was going up where the Velvet Room had once stood. I had half-assumed it was the Reds, but now knowing it was Susan and Vlad— one half-vampire and one probably-definitely-vampire, but neither with the malicious motivations the Red Court had— some aspects of it made more sense, especially the fact that I hadn’t detected anything particularly slimy in the energies that had still been swirling around.

Murphy kept talking. “After summoning her Servant, they both went into tracking the Red Court’s activities.” She frowned, her forehead creasing pensively. “You know, it’s weird. For one of the most famous vampires in history, he seems to hate the Red Court with as much of a passion as anyone I’ve seen. Got any ideas as to why?”

I shook my head. “Competition, maybe? Or maybe something’s different about him. He got summoned before he turned into a vampire, or something. All I know is that even when he was one, he was never one of the Reds. He was a Black Court vampire, and the only encounters I’ve had with those have been…” I winced, looking down at the wreck of my hand.

Murphy bit her lip. “Yeah,” she said, gently. “I know, Harry.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and I knew she was trying to push thoughts of that operation out of her head. After a second she opened them. “Anyways. They haven’t been able to figure out the Servant the Red Court summoned, but they managed to capture and… interrogate a few of the lower members. Apparently it’s a Rider, and she’s powerful. Powerful enough that she’s got one of the Duchesses of the Court as a Master, backed up by a ton of vamps all prowling the city. Every time they feed, they gather energy, and every time they gather energy, the Servant gets stronger. Which also explains the increase in missing-person cases I’ve been getting.” Her face darkened, like storm clouds were gathering over it.

I thought back to all of the summoning sites I’d visited in Little Chicago, one by one. If the Velvet Room summoning had been Susan and Vlad and the strip club had almost certainly been Lara and Assassin, then considering the new information only two of the seven sites were unaccounted for; the summoning among the Field Museum’s Mayan and Aztec artifact collection, and the one at the top of the Willis Tower. And out of the two of those… “Murphy,” I said, “any chance you’ve been getting a lot of disappearances around the Field Museum’s area recently?”

She looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. How did you know that?”

“Long story.” I gave her and Michael the quick rundown on Little Chicago and the purposes I’d been putting up to that morning. “Listen, if that’s the case then that’s probably the Red Court base right there, or at least someplace near it. Did Susan say anything about it?”

Murphy made a noise that clearly indicated a negative answer to that question. “Apparently, all of the ones they captured died too fast to give them any other useful information.”

I sighed. “Alright. Then we know where to start. How are we going to get this information to them? Since they’ve got all the rest, I mean.”

Murphy smiled slightly. “Already on it. When it became clear that you were going to be out of commission for at least a little bit, I got Susan’s contact information. Unlike you, she actually can use a cell phone.” She dug around in her pockets a little bit, then slid a piece of paper across the table. On it, in Susan’s precise, careful handwriting, was a phone number written in blue ballpoint pen. “Give her a call and set up a meeting.”

I took it and nodded at her. “Good thinking,” I said, and Murphy gave me a slightly wider smile that made me feel inexplicably good. I cleared my throat and looked away, just a second too late to pass it off. “And I can use a cell phone, I just have to take longer to ground myself so I can avoid accidentally making it into a useless block of plastic." I took a breath, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. "You know what really bothers me about all this?”

“I think I might. It seems that if Miss Rodriguez is right, then the Red Court would truly have nothing to gain by attacking us in this manner,” Michael said. “That’s been my reservation as well. Why would they send groups after us if it would draw unwelcome attention? Especially when it seems that their strategy otherwise has been of the “wait and gather power” variety.”

“Ding ding ding,” I said, swinging my hand like a pointer towards Michael, “we have a winner. Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Why would they do this? It’s not in their best interests, and it sure as hell didn’t work out well.”

“Hmm,” Murphy said, tapping her fingers lightly on the table as she thought. “What if you weren’t the only ones attacked? What if it was coordinated? Harry, you said that every participant had just left Mac’s by the time the vampires arrived, and that seems like it’s about the same time as the ones that went for you and Marcone.” She looked at Michael. "Does that sound about right?"

Michael thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. That sounds exactly correct, Lieutenant Murphy. Perhaps they wished to take us out all at once, or they believed the attack would scatter us. Or perhaps it was less an attack and more of a data-gathering mission. Or..." he shook his head. "Or it could be something else entirely. Harry, you're more familiar with the Red Court than I am. What was your assessment of the situation?"

I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it and shook my head. "Other than the fact that it shouldn't have happened, because the Reds shouldn't be able to come out in the daytime at all, let alone attack us? It seemed like some of the ambushes I've experienced from the Reds, but less coordinated and more direct. Sloppier, maybe, but the Reds have done some pretty sloppy things in their time, so it's not out of the realm of the feasible that they'd go for something like this... but... dammit." I banged the heel of my hand gently on the table. "Something about this is hinky, and I can't pinpoint what it is. It's bugging the hell out of me. Why did they attack us right out of the gate? Didn't they realize they were making a pretty damn good case for all of us just to start gunning for them first?"

"Yes," Michael said. "There is that point. Hadn't they considered the fact that attacking us right out of a conference on alliances would just convince any of the survivors of their attacks to turn against them first? Were they that confident they could annihilate us all?"

"Or," I said, "maybe they're just acting irrationally. Some of the things they've done in the war haven't exactly been... the products of a healthy mind. Maybe somebody at the top of the Red's power structure is losing it a little."

"Or maybe it was a data grab on your capabilities," Murphy interjected, "or there's trouble in the ranks over in the ranks, or something. If they had really wanted to kill you all, they'd have brought out their Servant, right? Especially if Rider's as powerful as Susan's informants seem to think she is." Her blonde brows furrowed, and she frowned. "That's weird too, though. Why would they be keeping their Servant under such tight wraps while they're just revealing they can walk around in broad daylight fine now?"

We sat there for a second, processing. No matter how many times I turned the shape of the Red's attacks around in my mind, I couldn't seem to line it up with the clean-cut hole that was the idea that they were just trying to kill us flat-out. The other hits the Reds had ordered on me had been sloppy, sure— one particularly memorable one had involved a truckful of kids trying to gun me down in the middle of a park and a ghoul dressed as an old lady with a sawed-off shotgun— but they'd always been sloppy in the sense that they were pretty unlikely to actually kill me, never in the sense that they'd reveal so much about what was going on within the court. And they hadn't been nonsensical before, either. There wasn't enough information for me to piece together— which meant that I needed to gather more. I sat up, holding the slip of paper with Susan's writing on it between two fingers. "The good news is, I think I know exactly who to talk to about all of this." Michael cracked a smile at that, and I gave him a small one back. "We'll see what Susan knows. And then after that... I want to talk to someone else. Murph, can I use your phone for it?"

Murphy sighed, but relented. "Fine. But only if you promise not to break it and give it back right afterwards. I have work to do today, Harry, and I wasn't expecting this to be an extended trip."

"Wouldn't dream of wasting your time a second longer than I have to, Lieutenant," I said, making sure to keep enough warmth in my voice that Murphy could hear that I wasn't serious.

Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she got it. "Now, why doesn't that match up with the Harry Dresden I know?" Murphy's mouth flattened. "I am going to need an explanation of what exactly you need my involvement in this to be, though. Sooner rather than later."

I sighed, then pushed my chair up and stood, stepping out. Murphy and Michael stood along with me, and I nodded to Murphy. "I'm gonna get Mouse. Wait outside for me, and when I come out we can talk about a time to discuss it. I'll tell you everything."

Murphy raised an eyebrow. "Remember, Harry. Sooner rather than later." Then she left the kitchen, and I was alone with Michael.

There was a second of silence between us before I decided to break it. My tone was apologetic as I spoke, but I tried to keep it frank. "You know what I'm going to have to do eventually, right?"

Michael's eyes hardened. "You need to speak to Molly. Yes, Harry. I'm aware of that fact. But you won't be doing it now. She's still recovering from her ordeal, and she doesn't need anything more disturbing her." I opened my mouth to protest that Molly was involved already and that she might have information, then drew back, shocked suddenly at my own thoughts. Molly might have been mixed up in the Grail War, but she was still a child, and the last time I had seen her she had looked like she was getting pretty seriously ill from magical strain. Was possibly endangering her worth getting information out of her? When had I started weighing things like that? I felt suddenly a little bit sick, and I think Michael must have seen it, because the look he gave me wasn't one of anger or resolve. It was one of pity. Slowly, he reached out and took my hand. "Harry," he said. "you're right. She knows more about this than she's letting on. But she's my child, and she's scared and sick. She will talk to you of her own accord as soon as she is able to."

I had to resist the urge to pull my hand out of Michael's grip. I felt suddenly slimy, exposed, like I'd been hiding under a rock and something had just pulled me into the sunlight. "And if she doesn't want to talk about it?"

Michael looked at me, his eyes solemn. He let go of my hand, and I took it back, just a shade too quickly. "Whatever else is happening... Molly is my daughter." He gave a single, final nod. "She will talk to you. I'll make sure of it."

I let out a long, slow exhale through my nose. "Thank you, Michael. In the meantime..." I gestured to his drawn-on command seals with my chin. "You might want to keep those looking fresh. We're going to be seeing Gentleman John Marcone tomorrow, after all."

Michael glanced down at them, then back up at me. A smile touched his lips. "Charity won't be fond of this newest venture. She dislikes me throwing my way into causes that might needlessly endanger me."

"Hey, but just think. You already have seven kids, what's one more? Besides," I said, "she'll understand. Trust me on this one."

Charity Carpenter may not have been number one on my list of fans, and I certainly wasn't number one on hers, but she was a lady with a moral core of steel that rivaled Michael's. I had no doubt in my mind that despite the fact that she might not like the idea of Michael going off on another cause that might quote-unquote "needlessly endanger" him, she'd let him go. Michael knew it too. I didn't doubt that, either.

After a few more moments, I shoved my hand into the pocket of my jeans. "I need to get going. Is Mouse—?"

"Upstairs, the last time I saw him. And don't forget your staff, or the doll." Michael checked his watch and grimaced. "Really, it's probably best that you're leaving around now. Charity will be home any minute, and, well..."

"And we all know how Charity feels about me." I nodded at Michael. "I'll see you tomorrow." Then I turned away and headed back out of the kitchen.

Walking into the living room I bent down and snagged the doll, shoving it carefully into my pocket. It took a little bit of stuffing to make it fit, and it left an oddly-bulging shape dangling alongside my leg, but I managed to get it secured eventually. Then I grabbed my staff and headed up the stairs to get my dog. I wasn't more than halfway up when Mouse came bounding down, his tongue hanging partway out of his mouth. I had to step aside just to make sure he didn't barrel into me and knock us both down. He ran past me and waited at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth open in a pant that looked a lot like a smile. I walked down after him, moving around to scratch his ears. "Hey, boy," I said. "Taking good care of everybody here?" Mouse let out a snuffle that I could have sworn was a "yes", and I almost laughed. "Yeah, I bet you have. Come on, furball. We've got people to talk to and places to be."

As soon as I was ten feet out from the Carpenter's house there was a quick shimmer next to me, and Gorgon materialized all at once. Her face was expressionless, but the kind of expressionless that felt less like genuine neutrality and more like the lid over a boiling pot of anger. "We are not going back there," she stated.

I glanced at her, then frowned. She didn't seem like she was in any mood to be told what to do, and I wouldn't want to order her around any more than I had to in any case— especially not after seeing what was going on under the surface. But.. "I might have to," I said, finally. Gorgon made an angry noise of protest, but I shook my head. "That doesn't mean you have to come with me. You can wait somewhere else, if you want to. But you're going to have to try and tell me why you hate it here so much."

"As you say, Master, " Gorgon said, through gritted teeth. "But not here. Not now." She gestured to where Murphy was waiting on the sidewalk with a tilt of her head. I nodded, then walked away, over to Murphy.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long," I said to Murphy. "How long before you need to get back to work?"

She sighed. "Technically? I should have been back half an hour ago, but hopefully I can tell anybody who notices I'm gone that it's none of their business and they're my subordinates. I mean, I don't like running SI that way, but I will if I have to." 

"And nobody's gonna get on your ass for it?" Murphy had taken heat for helping me in the past, mostly by Internal Affairs and various powerful people who had decided SI was a generally useless division and resented the way she had made it into something at least semifunctional over the time she'd been running it. I was more than a little bit worried that she was going to take the heat from this most recent thing I'd dragged her into, especially considering that and the way that the cops had shown up to her home last night because of gunshots. If she had a closer eye on her than usual, that could cause both of us a metric shit ton of issues, but it would undoubtedly be worse for her.

She shrugged in response to my question and to the implied meaning within it. "I mean, I don't know. It's possible. But that's also not—"

"Not my concern, I know. As a colleague, maybe not. But as a good friend who's helping me out in a tough spot, it definitely is." Murphy opened her mouth to say something else, and I shook my head. On an impulse I reached out and took her hand in mine. "Karrin," I said, quietly. "Is this going to blow up in your face?"

I had been expecting her to draw back, but instead she left her hand in mine. I felt it move slightly, her thumb stroking back and forth over the base of my fingers. Her eyes remained steady, looking up at my face with a gaze that felt steady and implacable. "Maybe," she said. "But I'm an adult, Harry. I can choose my battles. And right now I'm choosing this battle. This fight. With you. Got it?" Her voice was secure and calm, and it felt like an anchor to me he, tethering me down. 

It took a second, but I nodded slowly, and she sighed. "Good. Don't try and convince me out of helping again." She cocked an eyebrow at me, smirking slightly. "After all, one day I might actually listen to you, and then you'd really be screwed."

"That would definitely be a cold day in Hell," I said, and the smirk on her face grew into a genuine smile. "Alright, Murph. I won't do it again. Cross my heart." After another moment I had the realization that I'd been holding her hand for far too long, and I dropped it. The feeling of her thumb stroking my palm remained, a slight memory of touch. "Now," I said finally, "can I use your cell?"

It took a minute for Susan to pick up the phone, but when she did there was no background noise, not even the usual bit of static and crackling that comes when I try to use cell phones, even after grounding myself beforehand like I had done before calling. "Hey, Susan," I said, before she had a chance to say anything. "Murphy gave me a rundown on some of the stuff I was too out of it to hear."

"Good," Susan said. "In that case, we can get down to business. I'd like to talk to you and your Servant— Avenger?— in person, Harry. We have a few things to discuss."

"Yeah, no shit. Where do you want to meet? Probably not Mac's, seeing as I just killed a bunch of vampires and blew up a motorcycle in his parking lot," I said.

"Yes, and thank you for destroying my ride," Susan said, her voice dry. "No, not Mac's. Your place."

I let out a snort. "You sure about that? My place is almost definitely being watched by at least one Chicago mob boss. And you've been taking a lot of precautions to avoid revealing your identity to people, so I would have thought that meeting in a place like that wouldn't be something you'd have any interest in."

I could almost see Susan's shrug in the brief pause. "Let's just say I'm more worried about the Reds than I am about anything else. Besides, the reason I went looking for you at your apartment yesterday was because you've got some of the thickest wards I've ever seen. It seems as good a place as any for a meeting." 

"Fine, then. Meet you at my place in, say..." I checked my watch, then did some quick calculations on how long it would take me to get back in the Beetle. "20 minutes?" I reran the calculations in my head, then sighed. "Better make it thirty, actually."

"Thirty minutes it is. I'd say don't be late, but with that junk trap you drive around it's almost inevitable that you will be. Unless you've gotten a better car on top of cultivating good habits, to which I'd say it's about damn time."

"Hey!" I protested. "The Beetle might not be pretty, but she works. Mostly."

"And mostly is generally good enough for you, isn't it?"

"Damn straight it is. You should see how more high-tech cars behave around me, because it isn't pretty." I had a sudden flashback to a car with a talking automated system repeating "the door is ajar" like a meditative chant, and winced. Billy and Georgia hadn't exactly said they regretted lending me their car— actually, Billy might have found it kind of funny— but I had definitely seen a look on Georgia's face that spoke volumes about her wish that wizardly magicks didn't corrupt every piece of tech within a five-mile radius. The Beetle was definitely my best option.

"I don't doubt that." Susan said, a little bit of laughter in her low voice. "I'll see you then, Harry."

"See you, Susan."

There was a click, and then the call ended. I took a second to ground myself again, taking deep breaths to let go of any emotions that might accidentally trigger a magical response, and then called Thomas.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang as I fidgeted in place on the sidewalk. It was halfway through its 4th ring when there was a click, and Thomas's voice came through the speaker. "Lieutenant Murphy," he said, his voice amplified yet weirdly hushed, like he had his hand cupped around the mouthpiece. I could hear noises in the background, like a bunch of people were talking, including sounds like water running and buzzing, vaguely mechanical noises, though they were all overlaid by the kind of static that had been strangely absent when I'd called Susan. "This isn't exactly a good time. Listen, unless Harry's dying, can you call me back later—"

"I'm not dying, Thomas," I said, "but I do need to talk to you. Listen, does Lara still bug your phone?"

"What? Harry, why do you have Murphy's phone?" Thomas asked, confused. "Are you and she—?"

"Focus, Thomas. Lara. Phone. Bugging. Does she?"

"I mean, she hasn't had a chance to do it in a while, but if I'm honest? I wouldn't put it past her." Especially now that you've moved out, I wanted to say, but I kept it to myself. "Why? Do you need to talk to her? Because I know I'm estranged from the whole family business, but I could probably put you through." He paused. "Probably."

"No," I said. "This is a more effective way to send a message. Besides, I wanted to talk to you too, so this is efficient." I gave Thomas a rundown of what Murphy and Michael and I had talked about— the coordinated Red Court attacks.

(I also pretty deliberately didn't go into Marcone's possible Servant, or the doll. No way I wanted Lara and Assassin to know about the kid. Especially Assassin. Something about her made me feel significantly uncomfortable, and I wouldn't put it past her to view children as an interesting and tender delicacy.)

When I was finished, there was a pause from Thomas, which made me think that he was thinking things over. "Alright," he said finally. "I can meet you tonight, but I choose the place, got it? And if Lara's listening, she'll be there too."

"Where—" I started to ask, but Thomas cut me off.

"Just wait, and I'll call you back later. This phone still?" Thomas asked. "And is Murphy going to be with you?"

I glanced over at Murphy and mouthed the question, and she grimaced. "Harry, I have work to do. I've been away for too long today already. I..." She sighed. "Find me after I get off work and we'll talk." 

I made an affirmative face at Murphy, then relayed the information to Thomas, who grunted a confirmation. "Got it. I'll call Murphy back then, and we'll meet up. Make sure to be dressed in something semi-presentable when we do. Good on that?" Before I could answer, there was a louder voice in the background, and Thomas cursed quietly. There was a click, and the line went dead.

I took the phone from my ear, frowning down at it. "Well. That was... interesting." I held Murphy's phone out to her. "Here. I'm pretty sure I was careful enough not to break it this time. Thomas says he'll call you when you get off work, and I'll pick you up around the same time. And just in case Lara does show up and she brings her Servant, you might want to bring a breathalyzer. Just to make sure that we have someone okay to drive after that talk." Murphy raised an eyebrow, but I shook my head. "You'll see."

"No doubt in that," Murphy said, with a roll of her eyes. "See you then." She took her phone and turned, starting to walk away, but when she was about 20 feet away she turned back and looked over her shoulder. "And, Harry? I'm glad you're okay." Then she walked away back to my car, and I sighed and put my head in my hand. 

"God," I mumbled to myself. "How does shit like this always end up happening to me?" After a second I turned away from Murphy's back and looked at Gorgon. "We're heading out. And before you ask, I'm not getting us a taxi."

Gorgon's eyes flashed briefly, but when they flicked to Mouse she sighed. "Master," she said, in a low voice that was almost a growl, "I hope you know that I deeply despise you."

"You despise everyone, Gorgon," I said. "I have to get in the car now. You know what that means."

Gorgon snarled at me, but she dematerialized all at once, and I sighed and gestured Mouse to the car. "Come on, boy. Looks like we've got to head out again." Mouse made a quiet chuffing noise in response, and I opened the door of the car for him. It took him a second to get settled in— the classic issue of big dog, small car and all— but after a second he was inside, and I stepped around and got in as well. I started up the engine, with its classic wheezing rattle, and together Mouse and I headed out to go see Susan. 

As we drove away, I looked back at the Carpenter house in the rear view mirror. A flash of movement in one of the upper curtains caught my eye, and I caught a glimpse of a pale face surrounded by blue-and-pink cotton candy hair looking out. And then the curtains closed, and Molly's face was out of sight again.

Chapter Text

We puttered up to my apartment a few minutes late, and I could already see Susan and Vlad waiting outside. I got out of my car and opened the door for Mouse, who came bounding out with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like he was having a great time. He trotted down the stairway and immediately up to Susan, and then sat down in front of her. Susan wasn't a short woman, but Mouse was almost up to her waist. Gorgon materialized next to me, watching Susan as she tentatively reached down and pet his head. Vlad watched them both as well, looking slightly confused. Susan glanced up from Mouse to me. "Harry, you didn't tell me you got—"

"A wooly mammoth?"

"A dog," she said. She looked back up at me, and her eyebrows went way, way up. "You know, Harry, I'm not sure I really registered this in the parking lot, but I've never seen you look like the short one before." She slowly moved around Mouse, then walked up to Gorgon. "You introduced yourself to us, but I don't believe I introduced myself to you, Avenger. Susan Rodriguez." She held out her hand.

Gorgon regarded Susan's hand in suspicion for a second. I was just about sure that she was going to refuse when she reached out with two fingers and carefully pinched Susan's hand between them. Susan's expression flattened as she and Gorgon stared each other in the face, but neither of them said anything. They stayed like that for a few seconds while I looked back and forth between them and Vlad, who seemed just as confused as I was. Slowly I reached out into Gorgon's mind. What are you doing?

Quiet, Master. I want to see what she'll do. I want to see her response. I saw Susan's hand begin to shake and beads of blood starting to bubble around the edges of Gorgon's nails, and realized that if I didn’t do something, Gorgon would gouge her nails into Susan until she hit bone and then more.

Gorgon, stop! Now! I commanded, projecting my words as forcefully as I could into her mind. Gorgon glanced at me, her purple eyes looking somehow different than usual, but without a word she released Susan's hand. 

Turning back to her, Gorgon gave Susan a nod. "Master has told me of your relationship to him as his mate." Gorgon's hair moved slightly, as if it was being stirred by a breeze that wasn't there. It reminded me uncomfortably of the sinuous movements that come from a nest of snakes. Slowly, Susan drew back her hand, which was sporting two bloody crescent-shaped marks, one directly in the center of her palm and one on the back of her hand. Gorgon watched her as she did, then turned her eyes to Vlad. "If you and your Master become detrimental or harmful to mine, I will annihilate you."

Now, that made me do a double-take. Was Gorgon being protective of me? The thought crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. She'd said it before— she couldn't have me being injured or dying, because her life and well-being was tied to mine. This wasn't her being protective of me so much as it was her trying to protect herself.

"Is that a threat?" Vlad said, his deep, rich voice carrying just a hint of a warning. I frantically tried to signal to Gorgon not to respond, but she just tilted her head, regarding him with a cool gaze.

"A threat is a form of posturing," Gorgon said, her voice both quieter and somehow lighter than usual— which genuinely made her a little bit scarier. "I have no need to posture. This is not a threat. This is a statement of how things will be." Gorgon lifted her chin slightly, drawing herself up even taller. "Have I made myself understood?"

"Absolutely," Susan said. Her voice was calm and level. "And, Avenger, I hope you're aware of the fact that I would never want harm to befall Harry." She glanced at me, then quickly looked away. "If he puts himself into harm's way, it won't be because of me."

"We'll see." Gorgon regarded Susan and Vlad for a moment longer before I watched her bring the two claws she had pinched Susan's hand between up to her mouth and slowly lick them clean. Her eyes closed briefly as she did, and I shuddered, watching her. I could almost sense the feeling coming off of her, and it was uncomfortably similar to what I'd felt from her before, when I had Seen her and when I had dreamed of her— bloodlust and joy. Her body didn't change at all, but I got a sense of the huge, monstrous shape from before lurking somewhere deep under the person-shaped surface. 

Don't do that, I thought, trying to reach her. They're allies. Antagonizing them is almost definitely not a good idea. Glancing at Vlad and Susan I noticed that they were both looking at her with an almost disturbing alertness. It felt like I was looking at a pair of coiled springs, ones that could release at any moment.

Gorgon shot me a look. I didn't ask. But she removed her fingers from her mouth with a slightly wet noise and stepped back, moving to be slightly behind me.

As I watched, Vlad and Susan seemed to slowly relax, though it looked more like a forced reaction than a natural one. After a second, Susan cleared her throat and nodded to the doorway of my apartment. "Can we come in to talk? I'd feel more comfortable there than in the open."

I nodded and went to work disabling the wards, which didn't take me all that long. When I was done I shoved open the door with all my effort and gestured. "Be my guest." Susan nodded at me, and one by one everyone filed inside. Mouse and I were last, and I tugged the door shut behind me, putting my back into it. When that was done I looked around at my living room, taking in what I was seeing.

Vlad had almost immediately walked over to one of my bookshelves and was browsing it, looking through the array of tattered paperbacks I had on display with a look of interest on his angular face. His long, pale fingers brushed over the spines one by one, counting them. I noticed, for the first time, that he had several blue tattoos on his hands and wrists, in curling abstract shapes that I didn't recognize. They reminded me a little bit of magical runes, but less angular and more curved. Giving him a quick once-over, I could see that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but now with some kind of blue-tinged black fur coat draped over his shoulders that accentuated the shape of his torso. My eyes lingered on him for a second. He didn't look particularly vampiric, honestly, even considering the fangs I'd seen earlier. He looked more like a guy. A living guy, not a dead one. Sure, he was pale, but it wasn't the grey-tinged pallor of death or anything like that, and he definitely didn't have the rotted appearance I'd have expected of someone rumored to have been a Black Court vampire. I'd seen some of those before. They hadn't been pretty.

Then again, Gorgon didn't appear as advertised either if you looked at her.

After a second, I moved my gaze over to Susan, who had made herself at home on my couch. She was sitting with her back uncomfortably straight, and her dark eyes were roaming around the room, never stopping in one place for long. Susan looked both different and the same from the last time I'd seen her. She hadn't aged a day since she'd been turned, and it showed— I looked older, and she still looked like she was in her mid-twenties, same as she had been back then. It was an unwelcome reminder that something inside her wasn't human anymore. But there had been little changes in her regardless; her face was scattered with freckles, slightly darker than the rest of her skin, and her silky black hair was longer than the last time I'd seen her, reaching all the way down to her mid-back. She was dressed in the same leather motorcycle pants and jacket that she had been wearing earlier, but the jacket was unzipped now, and she was wearing a loose white shirt underneath it. One of her legs was bouncing up and down rapidly, and her fingers were constantly moving and shifting, fingernails brushing over her knuckles. She didn't look nervous— her muscles weren't tense, and despite her constantly-moving eyes her face was carefully neutral— but she seemed hyperalert, like she was ready for something to pop out of the woodwork at any second.

I guess it made sense, guerilla war in South America and all. But some base part of me still saw the woman I had loved, years ago, and wanted to comfort her.

I shoved the feeling down. Susan wasn't the same person anymore. I wasn't the same person anymore. Our relationship had its chance a long time ago, and it ended badly. That chance was gone now, and if I was honest with myself I didn't even really want it back. I forced myself to stop dwelling on it and open my mouth to start talking instead. "You look nice."

Dammit.

Susan raised an eyebrow at me. "You look nice too, especially for someone who looked like he was on the verge of death less than two hours ago. What happened?"

I grimaced. "Long story."

"We have time," Susan said, leaning back slightly. Her eyes roamed over me, but not in the sensual way they had done before, on other occasions; it was more like she was mentally frisking me to see if I had any weapons hidden. With a jolt, it occurred to me that she had good reason to be suspicious of me, just like I had of her. "Isn't that why we were meeting here in the first place?"

I made a noise that was meant to be an affirmative but came out as a noncommittal grunt instead, then walked over to my kitchen, grabbed one of the chairs, brought it out into the living room, and sat down. "Fine. A child who might have been a Servant gave a magic Christmas present that healed all of my injuries, and no, I can't figure out why or how the present did that. Does that answer your questions?"

Susan eyed me, then exhaled slowly. "God, with anyone else I'd think you weren't telling the truth, but with you... you're being completely serious, aren't you." The flat tone at the end told me it wasn't really a question. "When?"

"Right before the vampires started trying to kill me, pretty much," I said. For the second time in quick succession I described the girl to Susan. As I did, I saw something deep and ugly flash in her eyes, and she leaned forwards with her hands on her knees. At the edges of her face and neck I saw the faint shadows of tattoos starting to appear, which stopped me mid-sentence.

Susan's tattoos were given to her by the Fellowship of St. Giles— the patron saint of lepers and outcasts, which made sense for the people who were in the Fellowship. Most of the people in it were half-vampires of the Red Court kind, sprinkled in with some other outcasts from various levels of supernatural society. The tattoos were a magical means of keeping control of the vampire half, the part that wanted blood and didn't care about killing to get it. The fact that they were coming out now meant Susan was really agitated, more than I'd seen her all day, and that she was having a hard time keeping herself in check. Something about the situation was really getting to her, and I wasn't sure what.

Susan's eyes were focused on me with laser-like intensity, and I could see that they were darker than before. Whereas they were usually brown, they were now black, like her pupils had dilated to cover her entire irises. Another bad sign. "Keep talking, Harry," she said, her voice quiet in a way that set all of my systems to red alert. "I want to hear everything about this."

I looked at her, then at Vlad, who wasn't focused on me but instead trained entirely on Susan, then sighed. "Susan..."

"No!" Susan said, forcefully. The tattoos on her neck and face stood out darker and in sharper relief against her skin. "Tell me, Harry!"

I drew back and held up my hands. "Hey, don't bite my head off! I'm trying to give you the information here, but..." I hesitated, wondering for a second if I should bring it up before deciding to bite the bullet. "Something about this situation is clearly bothering you," I gestured to my own neck and face, and she slowly brought her hand up to brush her fingers over her skin, "and I think I'd like to know exactly what it is before I keep telling you about it." 

Susan's eyes widened, and she looked away. When she looked back, I saw the brown had begun to swallow the black in her eyes again, returning them to their natural state. I met them easily. Susan and I had already soulgazed each other, a long time ago, and you can only ever do it once. "I..." She swallowed and shook her head. "I've seen too many children die recently. It would be... difficult... if there was another one here and now."

I sighed. "Yeah. I hear you." Tapping my fingers slowly on the arm of my loveseat, I looked down, my eyes focusing on the carpet as I kept talking. "Michael and Murphy and I are planning on going to have a little chat with Marcone tomorrow about it. You can tag along, if you want."

Glancing back up at Susan, I saw that she looked lost in thought. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment before snapping back into the present, and she shook her head. "No," she said, quietly. "No, that wouldn't be a good idea. I'll leave that to you and Michael and Murphy. Just promise me--"

"It'll all be about the kid. I promise."

"Good." Susan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them again. "Now, I think we can get down to business."

"Yeah. Murphy filled me in on a lot before I got over here. You weren't able to get anything about the Servant out of the vampires you caught?"

Susan shook her head. "No, nothing. It's strange. Usually the lower ranking ones aren't very tight-lipped, but these weren't inclined to talk. At all."

"Scared into submission?" I asked.

Vlad, who had been steadily moving closer to the couch, turned and looked at Susan. "Permission to speak, Master?" he murmured under his breath.

Susan nodded at him. "Yes. And you don't need to ask permission every time you want to speak." Her eyes moved to Gorgon. "Neither do you, if you have anything to contribute."

"I do not," Gorgon said, her voice entirely devoid of inflection.

Susan held her gaze for a moment before shrugging and looking away. "Alright. What did you want to say?"

"I..." He paused for a moment, his eyes moving upwards and to the left as if he were thinking something over before re-focusing on me. "I have not had any dealings with the various Courts since a few unfortunate incidents ," Vlad said, and I could just about taste the hatred in his words, his tone was so vitriolic. For the first time I understood some of why he was a Berserker, and it sent shivers down my spine. "However,” he said, rigid control reasserting itself in his voice, “from what I recall of the Red Court, their foot soldiers are not particularly brave when it comes to holding up against threats. Especially if they are subject to coercion of one form or another. That is to say, while it is possible that the underlings were scared into submission or bound into silence via other means, I somehow doubt it in this case. If I were a betting man, I would feel reasonably comfortable wagering that they genuinely don't know who is involved beyond a certain point, and that they furthermore lack any useful knowledge on their Servant or on the true Master that has not already been imparted to us."

I sighed, then nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. Unfortunately. But hey, I have good news." I filled Susan and Vlad in on the Field Museum and on what was going on there. "I'm more than a little convinced that there's a vamp den somewhere in or around the museum." I paused, tapping my chin slowly. "Which actually makes sense, if you think about it." Susan gave me a quizzical stare, and I waved my hands around slightly as I started to explain. "Yeah, you weren't here so I don’t know if you were caught up on any of this, but last Halloween a bunch of necromancers tried some black arts shit in there that probably marked it as a good place for more of the same. Like attracts like and all." 

I left out the fact that some of the necromancy performed in the Field Museum had been from me, when I used it to bring SUE the T. rex back to life and ride her into battle. Susan was willing to believe a lot from me, but that might have just about been her limit. Besides, I didn't want to brag. And I definitely didn't want to think about the things that had happened immediately before that incident. Not one bit.

Susan didn't seem to sense that I was holding anything back. Instead she nodded at me, then took a deep breath and leaned back. I got the impression that she was trying to look more relaxed and more settled. It didn't really have the desired effect on her; she just looked like she was trying to be calm and collected in order to fool herself into believing it. Fake it til you make it, I thought, a little uncharitably. But her eyes were still steady. After a second, she nodded at Gorgon and I. "I'm assuming something was happening at Mac's immediately before the attack and before we showed up. What was it?"

I made a face. "Clumsily handled diplomatic meeting between a few of the participants where the White Council rep--"

"Which one?" Susan interrupted.

"Morgan. You know him?" I asked. "Because he's pretty close to the Senior Council, what with being their head executioner and all."

"I've heard of him. He doesn't seem to like you very much," she said.

"Understatement of the century." I scrubbed a hand across my face, resting it over my eyes for a second before I kept talking. "Anyways, Morgan and his Servant, Caster, tried to convince everyone he could get to show up to unite against the Red Court. It was me and Avenger, Michael and Saber, Marcone and whatever his Servant is, and Lara Raith and Assassin as reps for the White Court, who..." I trailed off, then cleared my throat, trying to get my mind off the way the tiny, horned woman had gotten me drunk just from fumes. "Anyways. Morgan's not much of a diplomat, so you can probably guess how that went."

Susan nodded thoughtfully, her eyes unfocused like she was mentally taking notes. "You said Michael and Saber. Michael as in the Knight of the Cross? How is he involved in this? I would have thought it was the kind of battle the Knights would generally stay out of."

"Yeah, the only Michael I know." I thought for a second about telling Susan about Molly, then decided against it and went for the lie instead. "The Denarians are on the playing field too, apparently, so it makes sense that a Knight of the Cross is involved to counter them. You know, like two sides of a coin, if both sides were mortal enemies and trying to kill each other."

"Yes, of course. Just like that. I see now," Susan said blandly. She clicked her teeth together. "That's still pretty unusual, according to what I've heard. You're sure he's still on the Knighting business and not doing this for personal reasons?"

My stomach shrank into itself until it was something like a tiny, cold black hole weighing down my gut, but I nodded, praying that I could keep up the lie. "Yeah, that's definitely it. Listen, Susan, if Michael was involved for any other reason I'd know." Then I changed the subject. Susan used to be a reporter, and a good one. If she kept picking at this, I had no doubt she'd figure out that I was hiding something sooner rather than later. "After I passed out, Murphy took me to his house, and we talked. Apparently he and Marcone got attacked on the way out of Mac's, too, once they were a plausible deniability distance away. I'm assuming they weren't the only ones, but I'm going to..." I grimaced. "I'm going to try to meet Lara and her Servant tonight to discuss whether or not they were also subject to Red Court aggression. We'll see how that goes."

Vlad, who was now leaning over the back of the couch next to Susan, nodded at me. "Remember to keep your wits about you. The vampires of the White Court have a variety of tricks, some that you may not be aware of."

"Believe me, I'm aware of a fair amount of them." I sighed, but the corner of my mouth turned up as well. "I'm bringing some backup, don't worry."

In the loveseat, Gorgon shifted as well. When I looked at her, I saw that her hair was moving slowly on its own around her face again, like she had no control over it. There was a glint of the same bone-deep hate I'd seen when she looked at Assassin and Lara in her eyes, and for some reason it made me feel both apprehensive and a little bit better. "I will not allow them to attempt any tricks on my Master," she said, her voice underlaid with a deep rasp. "I would die before they were able to charm either of us into servitude." She looked at me. "It's a matter of self-preservation." 

Despite the disclaimer, I nearly swallowed my tongue when Gorgon said her piece. Something about the way she said it indicated to me that no, it was not in fact meant to be something she was doing in her own interests, and combined with what she had said earlier outside it was enough to start the cogs in my brain turning. What the hell? It was weird, but a part of me felt like I should be blushing about that admission. Not for any sort of romantic reason, just because it felt strange to think that this monster who, as far as I could tell, hated all of humanity... might somehow not hate me.

But, then again, there was a significant chance that I was completely misreading it. I decided not to say anything about it. Just in case I was wrong.

Susan's eyes bounced back and forth between the two of us, while Vlad's eyes fixed on me, like chips of ice. I felt a chill go down my neck, which reminded me.

"Susan, can I have a discussion with you in private? For a moment?"

Susan raised an eyebrow. "A discussion about?"

"Private things." I glanced at Gorgon and motioned down the hall with my chin, towards the bedroom and the bathroom. There weren't a lot of places to be in my tiny little apartment, but there was at least one that she could go into and not end up hearing the conversation that I wanted to have with Susan. Gorgon made a noise, but she got up and began heading down the hallway into my bedroom.

After a moment Susan seemed to get my drift, and she nodded to Vlad as well. "Could you please excuse us?" 

Vlad looked back and forth between the two of us for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "I... suppose, Master." He looked down the hallway briefly, then followed Gorgon into my room, which made me wince. God only knows what was going to happen with both of them in the same room, but hopefully it wouldn't be a bloodbath.

When they were both gone I got up too, moving over to the couch to sit next to Susan. After a moment, I turned to her. "So," I said, keeping my voice down to stop it from traveling, "now that we're alone, wanna tell me how the hell you managed to summon and power freaking Dracula?" My voice raised slightly towards the end of the sentence.

Susan shook her head at me. "Do not bring up the Dracula thing around him. Seriously, don't. You won't like what will happen."

Both of my eyebrows went up. "Yeah? Why not? Because, you know it seems pretty relevant to me. Because he's, and I cannot stress this enough, freaking Dracula. Vlad the Impaler. A pop culture and historical staple. He's gotta have a pretty heavy Servant footprint, and no offense, but you've never been any sort of magic user. At all. So how did you do it?"

"None taken," Susan said, her voice dry. She looked at me for a moment, then sighed. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," I said, echoing her earlier words back to her. "Unless you have someplace to be?"

Susan barked out a laugh at that, and even though it was harsher than usual it was still Susan's laugh, coming from Susan's mouth. It still brought up all sorts of feelings in me. "No,” she said, “not unless you count prowling around the Field Museum, looking for vamp dens and corners the Red Court might be hiding in." She sighed, and I could see her rubbing the edges of her front teeth together through her slightly-parted lips, a habit she never used to have. "Listen. The vampire thing... that's not my story to tell. That's his, and I don't think he'd want to tell you. It's possible he might lose it a little bit if you tried, which would probably not end with a very alive Harry. He's still a Berserker."

"Yeah, I got that. Then why don't you tell me how you managed to summon him in the first place? Since I'm pretty sure I found your summoning site, in the Velvet Room."

Susan clicked her tongue slightly as she thought about how to answer, before looking back down at me. "Alright. So, I assume you know about the two ways you can do a Servant summoning, yeah? Catalyst and attuned to you?"

"Yeah. A catalyst is an object connected to a Servant, something that can call them if you use a catalyst that could belong to multiple Servants, you get the one out of those that best suits you. If you summon without a catalyst you get one that fits your personality best. So what catalyst did you--" I stopped, scanning Susan's face with my eyes. "...You didn't use a catalyst at all, did you? When you called, he just showed up."

"Yes." Susan huffed out a breath. "Suffice to say, we're more alike than we seem. Are you willing to leave it at that, Harry?"

I thought for a second, then lifted my hand in a so-so gesture. "On one level, yeah, sure. On another, I still want to know how you're powering him. Since you're non-magic and all."

Susan shrugged. "He's not at full strength, that's part of it. I got the impression that if he had been, I'd be struggling pretty hard. We haven't been fighting any very intensive battles, either. And the other thing..." she looked away for a second, then back at me. "The other thing is that before I came here to participate in this Grail War,  some of the other members of the Fellowship of St. Giles and I pitched in to figure out a way to make it so when my Servant needed to draw power from me, he could draw it from the vampire part of me, instead of the human part. It helps keep me in check more, though I'm not able to draw on it as much either. Means I'm slower, generally. Not as..." She thought about how to word it for a moment. "Not as durable. Not as inhuman."

I got close to asking her how she felt about it, but stopped myself. That wasn't any of my business. That had stopped being my business a long time ago. "Okay. And that's working out for you?"

"As well as it would work for anyone. Now I need to ask you a question." She leaned closer to me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath. "How did you summon Avenger?" Susan's eyes roamed over my face as she kept talking. "I know for a fact that extra classes aren't meant to be summoned in a Grail War at all. How did you manage it?"

I sighed, then shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. I did the same thing you did, setting up a summoning circle with no catalyst, components for myself and all. I wanted to get a Servant that, you know, matched my personality."

"And instead you got her." Susan paused. "Do you think you messed up the summoning?"

I inhaled through my teeth. "No, you don't get it. The way things would have gone if I messed up this summoning, there would have been a smoldering crater in the ground. Maybe we're alike in ways I don't understand yet. Or something." The thought that I might turn out, one day, to be someone like Gorgon... that chilled my blood more than anything else. It was one thing to be aware of your own potential to be a monster, but it was another to see someone else's laid out in front of you and know how easy it would be to follow the same path. "But either way, I didn't do the summoning wrong. Trust me on that."

There was a brief second of complete silence before Susan stood up. "I wish I could, Harry. I really wish I could." 

That hurt me more than almost anything she could have said. 

Susan looked down the hallway, and Vlad appeared at the other end. He didn't look injured, which was a relief-- having him in the same room as Gorgon had made me feel like I was letting two large, aggressive dogs into the same kennel and trusting that they wouldn't attack each other-- but he did look distinctly unnerved, which, honestly, was not unexpected. Being in the same space as Gorgon could do that to you.

"Master," Vlad said, walking up to stand beside Susan, "are we leaving now?"

Susan nodded. "Come on. We need to check out the Field Museum." She glanced at me. "You coming?"

I thought about it for a moment, then looked back down at the hallway, which Gorgon was now standing at the end of. She didn't look unnerved like Vlad had-- more disgruntled, like someone had just annoyed her pretty badly. "Uh," I said. "Um." Gorgon frowned at me, the tips of her fangs pressing into her lower lip, and I made a decision. "No, thanks. My sleep's been pretty bad lately, and considering the fact that I have plans tonight I don't expect it to get better at any point soon. I might as well try and nap, though." 

"Alright then," Susan said. She raised her arms over her head and stretched, then gestured to Vlad. "Come on." Vlad pushed the door to my apartment open-- with relative ease, I might note-- and they both walked outside. I walked to the doorway and watched them ascend the stairwell. A breeze stirred from somewhere nearby, ruffling through my hair.

I watched after them until they disappeared from sight, at which point I closed my eyes, taking a moment to soak in the sunlight and relatively fresh air. It was a little bit cooler in the stairwell leading down to my apartment than it was everywhere else, which was a relief, but it was still pretty hot. From next to me I heard a noise, something like the crunching of gravel, and my eyes popped open as I whirled around and took a swing at thin air.

My fist whistled through the air for a moment before landing on something solid, and then there was a squealing noise and a strange, lumpy shape that I couldn't discern very well in the shadows appeared suddenly. I couldn't discern anything of note from it, right up until one of the shapes on it fell away and landed on the ground with an "oof!" of expelled air, and I caught a glimpse of near-white hair and golden eyes from the standing one. After a second, the figure Saber had dropped manage to scramble upwards, and I saw the shredded clothes, smeared makeup, and multicolored hair of Molly Carpenter. She took a moment to catch her breath-- I'd apparently popped her in the stomach, while she had been carried in Saber's arms. After a few seconds of watching her wheeze and crossing my arms to seem like a responsible adult in the face of just punching a teenager, I started to speak. 

"So," I said, keeping my voice very stern and responsible-adult-ish, "are you going to tell me why you and Saber were lurking out here? Or are you going to make me guess?"

Chapter Text

 Molly looked back and forth between me and Saber, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to decide how to answer that question. After a moment, she finally managed to stutter out an answer. "I was planning on knocking eventually." I was silent for a moment and she took that as a sign to continue, with more strength in her voice. "I want to help you," she said. 

I shook my head. The kid reminded me— well, she didn’t really remind me of myself when I was younger, but she did remind me of my own eagerness to stick my nose into places it didn’t belong. It was weird, seeing that from her, but it was also dangerous. Part of me couldn't believe that she hadn't realized how dangerous things were already.

Speaking of dangerous— I looked around, checking to see if Susan and Vlad were gone yet. There was no trace of them— and I didn’t think either of them would harm Molly— but the fewer people who knew she was involved, the better. Besides, given the attack on me earlier, it wasn’t a stretch to think that someone might be watching my apartment. And while Molly had (somehow) thrown up a good veil, that didn’t mean she hadn’t been followed here.

I sighed, then gestured to the still-open door. "Come on. We’re going inside, and then I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer.”

Molly didn't sit down when she entered my apartment, though Saber plopped down in almost the exact same space Susan had been sitting. Instead, she started pacing around it in rhythmic, almost hypnotic motions, going back and forth, round and round in circles in a spot just behind the couch like she was trying to get her nervous energy out. From where he was now lying near near the kitchenette Mouse's head ticked back and forth slightly, following her movements, and I watched her too for a few seconds before holding up my hand. "Alright, stop that. You're making me seasick."

It took a second, but Molly slowed to a stop near the entrance to my kitchen. She was still rocking back and forth on her feet slightly, like she was ready to start pacing again at a moment's notice. I sighed and sat down in the same chair I’d been sitting in before, when Susan had come over. "You know, you can sit too—"

Molly cut me off, shaking her head violently. "No, thanks. I've been sitting down... way, way too much today," she said. "I kind of want to stand. If that's okay."

I raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I mean, it's not like I can stop you, is it?" Leaning back in my chair, I thought for a second about what I wanted to say. Then I inhaled through my teeth and breathed out slowly. “You know,” I said, “that was a pretty good veil you did back there.”

Molly’s brow wrinkled. “Veil?”

“Yeah, the invisibility trick. We— wizards— call those veils. They’re tricky, too, especially without any sort of formal instruction. How did you learn to do that?”

Technically, a veil didn’t actually turn you invisible. That is, it didn’t physically alter your body in any way. What it did was more along the lines of some sorts of illusion magic, a little bit like the glamours the Sidhe used. A veil was a lot like a glamour in some ways, but while a glamour was used to make something (or someone) seem like something else— turning a pile of useless scrap into gold coins, for example— a veil was used to make someone or something look like nothing. They were complicated, delicate pieces of magic, and I’d never been good at them. But Molly had apparently taken to them like a duck to water, considering how the veil she’d had up outside was better than anything I’d managed in more than two decades of wizard-ing. Impressive, especially since she was still clearly untrained.

Two spots of pink appeared on Molly’s cheeks in response to the compliment, but she stayed fairly composed. “Oh,” she said. She opened her mouth, then closed it and thought for a second. “It’s not really something I learned? It’s just sort of instinctual.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even really know what I was doing.” I raised an eyebrow, and her cheeks flushed further. “I mean,” she corrected hastily, “I did know what I was doing, I just… I…” Molly glanced at Saber, who looked back at her impassively. "Yeah," she finished, a little lamely.

That moment seemed as good as any to jump in, so I did. “Tell me, Molly, do you know what a ward is?" Molly hesitated, then shook her head no. "Thought not. A ward is a way of magically protecting a place, sort of like a magical wall. The thing is, pretty much all walls are significantly less dangerous than even really weak wards. Some of them can blow up in your face, some of them can set you on fire, some of them cast some really nasty curses on you." I paused, letting that sink in. Molly's face was pale now, which meant I was doing my job.

"Molly,” I said, “my house is warded to hell and back. If you had tried to force your way in, you would not have liked what would have happened. Or survived it, most likely." I leaned in close to her, looking directly at the bridge of her nose, because I wasn't about to look into her eyes. “Let’s get some things straight. In the past two days, I have been attacked three times. Four, if you count the little altercation Avenger and I had with you and Saber. The fact that I'm not too dizzy to see from concussions is pretty much due to magic holding my body together. You were attacked, too. Or have you forgotten?" I gestured to Molly's neck, where finger-shaped bruises stood out starkly against her skin. Her hand flew up to them, her eyes widening. "Listen to me. You said you want to help. Wanting to help could get you killed." An image of the Red vampires attacking flashed through my mind, followed by one of Susan. "Killed," I said again, quieter this time, "or worse."

Molly gulped and glanced to her side at Saber, who looked at her calmly and impassively for a moment before giving her a slow nod. When Molly looked back at me, I nearly groaned out loud. Her jaw was set and her eyes were determined, and I knew what she was going to say before she said it. That didn't mean that I was happy when she did. "I'm staying and I'm going to help you. You can't tell me otherwise."

I groaned, leaning back on my heels and scrubbing my hand across my face. "God dammit, Molly," I swore. "You just won't let this go, will you?" Molly didn't answer me, but pride shone in her face and demeanor. For a second, she looked way too much like her mother for my liking. My temper flared, and I inhaled hard through my teeth, then closed my eyes and counted to ten slowly before opening them again. "It’s not going to happen.”

The pride disappeared from Molly’s face, replaced by a childish indigence. “What?!” Her voice’s tone rose about two octaves in half as many seconds. “You know I can help! Let me!”

Disproportionate amounts of rage began to bubble up in my chest. I had to look upwards and take several deep breaths before speaking again, my voice more strained than before as I tried to keep the anger in check. “Molly—”

“Don’t you “Molly” me—” Molly started, and my already-fragile control snapped.

I shoved myself out of the chair and crossed the floor in two long strides to stand directly in front of Molly, looking down at her. She shrank a little bit under my glare. “Oh? Is that so?” I asked, my voice caustically acidic. “ Well, then, Miss Carpenter, I regret to inform you that I am out of patience right now.” I took a step forwards and Molly stumbled a step backwards, almost falling. Slowly, I leaned down almost to eye level. “I am not your parents, Miss Carpenter,” I said, my voice low, “I am not your guardian angel, or your personal protector. I am a man trying to do my job, a job that would, by the way, be one hell of a lot easier if you stayed out of the way!” My voice had been steadily rising as I spoke, and the last word came out with near-physical force that made Molly flinch.

The scrape of a sword leaving its scabbard interrupted me. “Step away from my Master,” Saber said, “or I will leave your head on the floor.”

Saber’s voice was cool and composed, but rather than having any sort of calming effect on me— or even some sort of nerve-wracking, self-preservational effect— I felt my temper spike even higher, like an oil fire that had just been doused in water. A low noise not unlike a growl started in my throat, and I had a brief, bloody vision of turning around, bringing up some of the most violent, foul magic I’d ever learned and all the Hellfire I had at my disposal, and letting loose on Saber. It would be glorious. It would be triumphant. It would— hell’s bells, it would get me killed immediately. What was I thinking?!

I froze, my eyes going wide as I tried to contemplate the feeling that had just gone through me. he crunching of springs and rasp of fabric from behind me broke me from my horrified reverie as Gorgon shifted her bulk, and the air felt heavier suddenly, more humid, with an undercurrent of electricity that reminded me of some of the uglier thunderstorms I’d seen. Something grabbed hard onto the upper part of my pant leg and pulled at me, and I looked down to see Mouse, tugging at me with his teeth and trying to get me to move away. When I looked up again I saw the muscles in Molly’s jaw go tight as she clenched her teeth, her hands spasming by her sides into fists. Her stance widened, like she was getting ready to run— or to fight— and something changed in her expression, making it less like one of fear and more like anger. Something else changed in the atmosphere, something that wasn’t the heaviness of static hanging in the air, and I got the impression of a rubber band stretched past its limit and about to snap.

So I did the smart thing: I followed Mouse's lead and took a step back.

As I did, I noticed the tension in the air clear a bit— and, more surprisingly, cool by several degrees, dropping back down to its normal basement temperature. Holy shit, was that me? Had I been radiating heat? The chair Gorgon was sitting in groaned as she relaxed back into it, and I heard a quiet shifting of fabric that told me that Saber had lowered her sword slightly. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that she had stepped back a pace or two, though she was staring at me with worrying intensity, and that Amoracchius ’s blade was still leveled at me. My head stayed firmly attached to my shoulders, though, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief before looking back to Molly.

Even though the rest of us had relaxed a little bit, Molly clearly hadn’t. She hadn’t moved, but any trace of anger I’d seen in her was gone as suddenly as it had come. Her breaths were coming in quickened pants, almost hyperventilating, and her eyes were wide enough that I could see the whites all around. She wasn’t just nervous, or even just scared— she was genuinely terrified. Of me. My heart twisted suddenly into an ugly, guilty ball, and I took another, bigger step away from Molly. Only then did I see her hands unclench. They remained curled into fists, but her knuckles weren’t white anymore, and her breathing slowed a little bit.

We stayed like that for a moment, all four of us, before I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” I said. It sounded pathetic, and I had to choke back a bunch of excuses that wanted to come out to justify my outburst.

Some things, justification doesn’t help.

After a second, Molly nodded at me. “It’s okay,” she said. “I forgive you.” For some reason those words cut me to the core more than anything else would have, and I squirmed internally. Her eyes moved to a spot behind me. “Saber? Put the sword away. Please.”

“Master—” Saber started to protest, but she cut herself off before finishing the sentence, making a disgusted noise. The sound of Amoracchius being slid back into its scabbard filled the room, followed by footsteps and a heavy thump as Saber sat back down onto the couch. She crossed her arms and glared at me, but it felt less like the righteous rage of a divine king and more like the petulance of someone— well, someone Molly’s age.

For the first time I wondered how old Saber actually was. Considering how she’d acted before I had automatically assumed that she was at least in her late 20s and just looked deceivingly youthful, but now that I stopped to think about it, it might have been the other way around; maybe her actions were a way to distract from how young she actually was. Or hey, maybe something else was going on— some sort of Arthurian (Artorian?) magic that made her look younger than she actually was. Whatever was up with her,  the way she was looking at me told me that I’d never have the chance to ask. 

After a moment I tore my eyes away from Saber, then turned around and headed back towards my chair. I practically collapsed into it, looking at Molly, who was still standing across the room, her spine stiff in a way that made my heart and gut do the guilty little twisting maneuver again. My tongue felt glued to the inside of my mouth. I’d wanted to make sure Molly figured out what the dangers were and backed off, but I hadn’t wanted to lose control on her like that. If anything, all it did was make sure that Molly put me firmly in the “do not trust with plans or secrets” category. And maybe make her count me as one of the dangers. I cleared my throat with the intent to speak, but before I could, Gorgon’s voice entered my head.

Master, do not engage further. Call the Knight to get his offspring. Now.

I blinked in surprise. Yeah, I was going to call Michael anyways, but I had a few more questions first. I winced. Though you’re right, this really isn’t the time—

That is not what I mean, Master, Gorgon said. Something is wrong with her. 

She’s had a rough day and I just yelled at her, if she’s emotionally out of whack that’s probably why. Cut her some slack, why don’t you? 

Gorgon’s voice got louder and more frustrated— not like she was shouting, but like a dial on her volume was being turned up bit by bit until it was loud enough to make my head hurt. You have not been listening to me! Something is wrong with her! The volume on her voice dropped down again suddenly, until I had to strain myself mentally to make out her words. Her tone changed too, a shift that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Had you not used your Command Spell to prevent me from harming her, she would be dead where she stood.

The words sent a nasty shiver down my spine, even though something about the way she said it told me that she wasn’t telling the full truth. But either way, Gorgon was worked up enough about Molly that— Command Spell or no— I didn’t think it was a good idea to keep them in the same space for any longer. Regardless of whatever Gorgon thought was actually wrong with her. 

“I’m going to call your father to come pick you up,” I said. I got up from my chair and started to head towards the kitchen. 

Molly looked confused at the (as far as she could tell) sudden change to my attitude, just before the realization of what I’d actually said hit her. A look of anger and betrayal crossed her face as she stared at me. “Really? You’re really going to call my dad?!” Immediately after she said it she seemed to regret it, as her eyes widened again. The fear came back into her expression and her body language at once. 

It was clear that she expected me to blow up at her again, so I kept my voice entirely level as I spoke to her, trying to channel the essence of a few meditation tapes I’d listened to a while ago (I mean, as much as I could listen to them before the tape recorder got fed up with me and stubbornly refused to ever work again.) “Molly,” I said, “I was always planning on calling your father after our conversation, at the very least so that he doesn’t start tearing the town apart looking for you.”

That wasn’t exactly true; I’d planned on calling Michael to let him know where Molly was so he didn’t get overly worried about it, but I hadn’t considered calling him in order to tell him to come get Molly, and I probably wouldn’t have been considering it if Gorgon hadn’t been so insistent about getting Molly out of here, since the chance that it’d backfire on me and make Molly’s clearly very wide rebellious streak even more active was high. But I couldn’t tell Molly that, so I stuck to what I was saying. “It’s like I said before. I think you actually need to talk to him, and if I’m not mistaken you almost certainly haven’t done that in the... hour, maybe? That you were actually awake and he was in the house?” I paused to look at her. “Am I right?” Molly crossed her arms over her chest, but after a few moments she nodded. Her mouth was screwed up, like she had just tasted something distasteful. I nodded. “Yeah. That’s kind of what I thought.” I glanced at Saber, who had turned to face me and continue glaring but was otherwise sitting statue-still on the couch, and then at Gorgon, who inclined her head slightly at me. I let out a slow breath, then looked at Molly again. “So, I’m going to call your dad, and you’re going to talk to him. We’re clear on that?”

Molly bit her lip, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, we’re clear,” Molly said, her voice quiet and flat. 

“Good.” I turned around and walked into the kitchenette, wishing it had a door that I could close behind me. Instead I had to make do with turning my back to Molly as I headed over to the phone and hoping that she wasn’t about to try to eavesdrop on my conversation. 

Yeah, right. The idea of Molly restraining herself from listening to me call her dad had about the same plausibility as the idea that Hell could freeze over. But I pushed the thought out of my mind, reached for the phone, and dialed. 

It took less than half a ring for Michael to pick up, and he sounded nervous, almost frantic— which wasn’t something I usually heard from him. “Harry,” he said, hurriedly, “thank the Lord, I was just about to call you. Is Molly with you?” 

I’d seen Michael be afraid before, even afraid for the lives of his wife and unborn son, but I’d never really heard him sound panicked like he did right now. But I guess on some level it made sense; Molly wasn’t an innocent bystander to the major supernatural smackdown he was involved in right now, she wanted to be— and was— an active participant. 

No matter how much he and I both wanted to keep Molly out of it, the fact remained that she was in deep shit with the rest of us involved in the Grail War. 

“Yeah,” I answered, after a second. “Yeah, Molly’s here. She’s safe, nothing’s hurt her.” I glanced back over my shoulder, only to inadvertently meet Molly’s piercingly blue eyes for a fraction of a second. I looked away before the soulgaze could start. “Saber’s here too,” I continued. “Listen, can you come pick her up? I think she has some things she wants to talk to you about.” 

“Yes,” Michael said, almost before the question was out of my mouth. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He sighed. “Thank you. For keeping my child safe and out of harm’s way.”

Now that made me guilty all over again for blowing up at Molly— guiltier than I already was, that is— but I kept my voice level, even as the stone sank further into my guts. “Uh-huh,” I said. “Of course.” I cleared my throat. “Alright. Knock when you get here.”

“I will” Michael said, sounding relieved. Then he hung up, and I hung my head, listening to the dial tone until it started beeping. 

I put down the phone and turned to look at Molly and Saber. “Your dad’s going to be here soon. In the meantime, you might want to sit down.”

Molly didn’t say anything when Michael picked her up, though Michael thanked me again for taking care of her. I brushed it off, but inside it just made me feel sick. When Molly and Saber had gotten into the Carpenter’s van and driven away, I walked back inside, pulled the door closed behind me, and immediately slid to the floor with my back resting against it. I put my head in my hands and let out a long, loud groan. “Why do these things keep happening?” I lamented to myself. “What was I even thinking? What has been wrong with me lately? Wh—“ 

There was the sound of dog toenails clicking on the floor, and then a cold doggy nose shoved its way between my hands as Mouse decided that he’d had enough of my self-pity. I lowered my hands in surprise, only to have Mouse give my face a perfunctory lick and lie down next to me. He was big enough that his head came up to my shoulder. I reached out and scratched him behind the ears, and he rewarded me with the steady thump-thump-thump of his tail against the ground. 

“Master,” said Gorgon, her voice way, way closer than I thought it was going to be. I startled a little bit at it. She looked down at me, and I saw something on her face that I hadn’t really seen before. She looked conflicted, and for a second I could have sworn I saw her mouth working like she was struggling to get words out. “I am... glad... that you sent the girl home,” she said at last.

My eyebrows both went up at that. "I thought you wanted to kill her."

Gorgon made a noise deep in her throat that I couldn't pinpoint, but that was definitely more human than snake-like. "I want to kill all of you. But it would be..." Her eyes went distant as she paused, and I waited. After a second she shook her head. "It is not something you would understand."

I sighed, then grabbed onto the door, hauling myself to my feet. "Yeah, maybe not. But if you ever decide you want to share, go right ahead."

I'd expected a negative reaction from Gorgon, or at least the same flat denial she'd had when I'd offered my sympathy to her, but instead she just looked at me. The meager sunlight coming through the tiny basement half-window shone through and onto her face, and for a second her eyes looked brighter and clearer than I'd ever seen them. "No," she said, after a long second. "Not... now. It wouldn't be relevant to anything that would concern you. You are my Master and nothing more."

I shrugged. "If that's how you feel. I just thought that I should offer." Checking my watch, I noted that I had several hours before I even had to think about getting ready to pick up Murphy for whatever it was Thomas wanted us to look quote-unquote "presentable" for. I glanced up at Gorgon. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted, and I'm going to take a nap. You can go out if you want, just.. don't maim anyone or anything while I'm asleep, okay? Or kill them. All forms of assault or homicide are off the menu unless whoever is bothering you is actively threatening." Gorgon looked disappointed, and I pressed my lips into a line. "Those are the terms. Otherwise you stay here."

"You couldn't force me to." Gorgon crossed her arms over her chest, and I could actually hear the shoulder seams on her shirt straining. 

I inhaled through my teeth. "No, I guess I couldn't, but I'd really rather not command seal you into no collateral damage if I can avoid it."

Gorgon wrinkled her nose in disgust, which made her look surprisingly adorable, but nodded. "Your terms are acceptable. For now." She made a little shooing gesture at me. "Go. Sleep. I will decide on what I would like to do in your absence."

Well, that's not very reassuring, I thought to myself. But it was the best I was going to get out of her, so I decided not to press it. Instead I headed down the hallway and towards my room, hoping that when I got into bed I wouldn't dream about anything at all.

I didn't dream, but I didn't really end up sleeping, either. Instead I floated in a grey limbo, the darkness and cool air of my room never really leaving my mind. After an indeterminate time of this I ended up lying on my back with my eyes closed, engaging with the enemy of all dreaming-- thinking. I didn't have anything else to do, so I started going over a list of everything that I'd filed away earlier, all the puzzle pieces that hadn't quite fit before.

First, the Red Court. I'd already noted how weird their attack was. Add that to what Susan had already told me and it was clear that they were behaving downright abnormally, even for vampires. Besides that, though, why were they even participating with this Grail War in the first place? The obvious answer, the one that everyone had mentioned so far, was that they would use the Grail to win the war with the White Council, but something about that interpretation didn't sit right with me. If they wanted to win against the White Council, why go after all of us at once after the meeting at Mac's, rather than just going after one of us at a time? They'd have a better chance of picking us off that way, and that would leave them with fewer competitors for the Grail. And besides all of that, why hadn't they used their Servant in any attacks yet? I could get trying to hide an advantage from competitors, but that didn't seem to be what was happening-- unless it was. I couldn't stop myself from grunting in frustration at the thought.

I turned the shape of the questions over and over in my mind for a few minutes, then forced myself to move on to the next issue nagging at my mind; that of Molly and the Denarians. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that the daughter of one of the Knights of the Cross and the Fallen that the Knights were meant to protect from were both involved here, let alone that the Denarians had been able to pinpoint and attack Molly so quickly after her summoning-- hell, I'd barely gotten there before they had. How had they gotten there so fast? How had they even known Molly was involved? Unless they were keeping an eye on her, and by extension on all of Michael's family. I had to admit that that was a scary thought in and of itself. 

And all of that wasn't even mentioning the Denarian in my own head. I shivered, suddenly cold. If I had to admit it, I was more nervous about interacting with the Denarians-- and by extension probably Nicodemus as their leader, who was the reason I had this coin in my head in the first place-- than I was about the Red Court, and entirely for selfish reasons. I didn't want Nicodemus to know any part of what was happening in my head, first off, and I especially didn't want him revealing anything like that to the people I cared about.

I had no doubt that if that happened, I would lose them.

Forcing myself to move on from that line of thought, I landed on Gorgon. Everyone seemed surprised-- or horrified, or terrified, or any variation of the above-- that I'd managed to summon her in the first place, especially people who actually knew more than a little bit about the Grail War. Plus, there was the fact that Avengers were supposed to be unsummonable in the first place (which again I'd been repeatedly reminded of). But obviously they weren't unsummonable, as the snake woman still in my living room would attest. I'd told Susan that I'd probably managed to summon her because we were alike somehow, but that still didn't sit well with me, and it wasn't just because I didn't like the thought of ending up like her. There was something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on, something that seemed off.

Speaking of which, that led me to the final, biggest question out of all of this: what the hell was up with this Grail War in the first place? According to Ebenezar, it wasn't even supposed to be held in Chicago, and as far as I knew nobody had actually figured out what was going on with that. Had something gone wrong? Had it had something to do with my abnormal summoning of Gorgon? With everything else going on? The events so far in the Grail War swirled around in my head, as did the questions I'd already asked myself-- my dream, Gorgon, Susan's involvement with Vlad the Impaler, the weirdness of the Red Court attack, Marcone's Servant and the doll she'd given me, Molly's presence as a Master and the Denarians gunning for her off the bat with whoever their Archer was-- and I ground my teeth together as I tried and failed to put them together. I was missing something important, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was, and it was making my head hurt to try and see the picture in a puzzle that stubbornly wouldn't come together. Finally, I gave up on it.

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking them to get the blurry bits out of my vision. I hadn't heard the door open while I'd laid in bed trying to contemplate the meaning of what the hell was exactly going on, so I assumed Gorgon was still sitting in the living room, either sleeping or doing something else, though what else she could have been doing I wasn't sure of. Eating, maybe? A sudden and disturbing vision of Mister coming home only to be met with Gorgon's waiting jaws entered my head, but I dismissed it. Mister was smarter than that, and if Gorgon had tried anything on him I had no doubt that there would have been a commotion the likes of which had never been heard before; plus, Mouse wouldn't have stood for it. Still, I didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone that long, so I got up and headed down the hall into the living room.

When I got there, I found something I didn't expect.

Gorgon was sitting on the floor next to Mouse, surrounded by a number of the worn paperbacks that had, until just now, been situated on the bookshelves around my living room. She was flipping through one idly, her long fingernails putting visible dents in the flimsy cover as she held it. As I watched, she made a face of disgust and tossed it aside, into a pile of already-discarded books before picking up another one.

Before she could grab it, I headed quickly out into the room and over to her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?! You can't just treat my books like that!"

She pulled her hand away as I snatched for the book in it, raising an eyebrow at me. "The quality of these ridiculous things is awful, and it is obvious that you already treat them with disdain." Gorgon held up the book she was holding higher, displaying the coffee rings on the cover clearly. "Why should I not see them? Is this somehow illicit, Master?"

"It's not illicit," I said, indignant. This time when I for the book, she let me grab it out of her hand, and I brought it up, flipping through it to make sure she hadn't hurt it too much. It seemed to be fine, other than the few aforementioned dents in the cover. Satisfied with that, I went over to one of the now mostly-bare bookshelves and tucked it back onto the shelf. "I just don't like you messing around with my stuff, that's all. Well, not just you, but anyone."

Gorgon shrugged. "I did not believe you would mind. Your taste in narratives is strange, however."

"You know," I said, crossing my arms, "I wasn't really under the impression that I summoned you to critique my reading habits." I started picking up more of the books on the floor, putting them back onto the shelves. After a moment Gorgon joined me, gathering up an armful of ratty old paperbacks in her arms and putting them back slowly. When all the books were back on the shelves, I looked at my watch, then at her. "We've got a few hours until sundown, and then I'm not sure how long it's gonna be before it's time for us to go pick Murphy up. In the meantime..." I looked at my watch. "There's just enough time for me to try doing something, and I might need your help."

"My help with what, Master?" Unless I was mistaken, Gorgon actually sounded kind of intrigued.

I turned and looked at the spot where, underneath my rug, the trapdoor to my lab lay. "With precautions."

It was, unsurprisingly, pretty hard for Gorgon to get down the stairs into my lab. More than once she almost hit her head on the ceiling, and once she actually did crack it, prompting a tirade of swearing in a language I didn't know but assumed to be Ancient Greek. By the time she got down to the floor of the sub-basement she looked more than a little bit angry. "Master," she growled, "what, exactly, am I doing here in your--" she gestured around. "Your lair?"

Rather than answering her question I took a deep breath and turned to the shelf where Bob rested, silently hoping that when I woke him up he wasn't going to immediately say something that would get his thick skull cracked in half by Gorgon. "Bob," I said. "Bob, wake up. I have something I need to ask you."

Bob's eyelights flickered to life, and he groaned. "Are you seriously asking me for stuff again? Maybe you could give it a rest, huh? And more importantly, give me a rest for a little while." His eyes flicked to Gorgon, and his jaw dropped. "Is that Avenger? Damn, you look--" I gave Bob a warning look, but it was nothing compared to the ice-cold stare Gorgon gave him, and he backpedaled quickly. "You look, uh, not like I expected at all. Considerably... taller. Yeah. Taller."

Gorgon looked at Bob for a moment longer, looking like she hated him more than anything in the world, before looking at me. "Master," she said, "did you bring me down here for my help pulverizing this spirit? I would do so gladly."

I winced. "Please don't. Bob's an irritating little snob--" Bob made a noise of protest, and I ignored him. "--but he's useful and he knows a lot of stuff, which is definitely going to help for what I'm thinking about doing." I looked at Bob. "So, I have a question."

"Um," Bob said, sounding nervous, "is it about my will? Because, you know, you'd have to give me some time to write one--"

I cut him off. "No one's going to kill you, Bob, and that's not what this is about." I sat down in the chair, my chin in my hand. "Okay, let me pose a hypothetical scenario."

"Okay," Bob said warily. "And in this scenario, what happens?"

"I'm getting to that." I thought for a second about how to phrase it. "Alright. Let's say, hypothetically, that you're in a Grail War. With me so far?"

"And in this hypothetical scenario my name is Harry Dresden and I'm a gangling idiot and I treat my incredibly handsome and useful skull assistant like trash for no reason, yes," Bob said, his voice deadpan. "I should join a union, you know. Fight for my rights as an exploited worker."

"When you find enough people willing to put up with you to do that, then I'll worry." I moved my head out of my palms and leaned forwards on my knees instead, tapping my fingers on one leg. "Back to the point. Hypothetically, in this Grail War, there's a Servant-Master combination who can seriously mindwhammy you. One of them's a White Court vamp, so you know how that goes."

"Turn up the sex appeal to 25 and see what happens," Bob agreed. "The sex really is great, though, trust me on that."

"Not enough to die for," I said. "Besides this White Court Master, there's also the Servant, who..." I glanced at Gorgon. "How would you describe it?"

"Who is a tiny demon with a charm skill strong enough to make anyone she focuses on intoxicated without trying," Gorgon said. Her scowl deepened. "I should have removed her head from her body."

"Intoxicated, huh?" Bob sounded more intrigued now, and definitely more professional. "Not the same kind of lovey-dovey coming from quote-unquote "whoever" the White Court Master is? Actually drunk?"

I nodded. "Yeah, though it worked on me, not on her." I jerked my thumb back at Gorgon. "And the demon part is... pretty literal," I said, remembering the horns. "So, in this hypothetical situation: how would you counter that?"

"Huh," Bob said, thoughtfully. "Well, the drunk thing definitely does sound like a magical skill of some kind, something attached to her personal nature as a Servant. Why are you asking me about this, anyways?"

"I'm asking you because she pretty much knocked me off my feet with whatever it was she was doing, and I want to figure out a hard counter so she can't do it again. Maybe a potion or a charm or something." I leaned back in the chair. "Whatever it is, though, it's going to have to be pretty quick. We're going to head out again soon, and chances are incredibly low that we're not going to see her."

"Wait, wait, wait," Bob said. "What do you mean by soon?"

"By tonight."

"Tonight?!" Bob squawked. "Are you serious? You want me to figure out and help you create a way to counter a skill that strong by tonight?"

"Is persuasion what you needed my assistance with, Master?" Gorgon asked. She took a step forwards, towards Bob, and he made a gulping sound. "I can do so."

"Gorgon, please don't harm him. He's a pretty good assistant, when he's not being a whiny bastard about the simplest requests." I paused. "Unless he really can't do it this time because it's beyond his capabilities, in which case we'd better give up." I slapped my hands down on my thighs and went to stand, only to be interrupted by Bob's indignant voice.

"Beyond my capabilities? Beyond my capabilities ?" He sounded incredibly offended, and I almost laughed. "Oh, I'll show you! Harry, get a pen. We’re gonna make a potion for this, and the recipe isn't going to be able to penetrate that slab of concrete you call a skull the first time around!" Bob switched to muttering. ""Can't do it this time" my ass. I'll show you what I can do, and you won't have any choice but to admire how competent I am. That's what I'll do."

Potion, huh? I hadn’t actually made one of those in a while, unless you counted what went into Gorgon’s summoning, which I wouldn’t. The process of making them was familiar, but I guess at some point I’d just decided that I didn’t need them, even though I’d been in situations where they would have been useful. But if Bob thought this was the best solution…

"Uh-huh," I said, grabbing a notebook, "you do that. So go ahead and tell me. What are you thinking, and what am I going to need?"

Chapter Text

It took a long time for us to finish, and once we did it was already late in evening, deepening into night. I started remembering what Thomas had said about making myself "presentable". Unfortunately, he hadn't defined presentable in any actual terms, so I was left trying to get into Thomas's mind and figure out what he meant by that. I stood in my bedroom, staring at my chest of drawers and trying desperately to channel my brother-- which just brought up images of three-quarters-open button downs, mesh shirts, and leather pants, all of which I was sure would make women and men go crazy for if he wore them and get me a lot of strange looks if I tried to do the same. If I had even owned most of those clothes in the first place. After a few minutes I gave up and decided to go simple, with a pair of my nice (or at least nicer) jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather duster. Wearing it was a risk, since there was a very real possibility that I would sweat to death given the muggy evening heat, but eventually the protection the duster afforded me won out. I'd been imbuing the leather with layer upon layer of protective spells for years, and it was almost like armor for me at this point. It was pretty much the only thing that would actually give me any sort of tangible advantage in the enemy territory I was about to be entering; that, the squeeze bottle of potion I had in my pocket, and the staff and blasting rod I was bringing with me. I'd thought about bringing the doll with me, but decided against it. I doubted I'd be able to lie convincingly enough to Lara to keep her from smelling that I was hiding something from her, and there was no way I was letting her get any closer to figuring Marcone's Servant out. So I'd decided on leaving the doll at home, along with Mouse, and hoping that I didn't get beat up bad enough to need its healing.

It was possible, of course, that Lara could consider me bringing weaponry into one of her strongholds to be a declaration of intent to commit violence. However, I tended to think of it more as insurance just in case she, Assassin, or one of her various goons and/or family members decided that I looked like a tasty snack. I thought I'd poked her in the nose enough before that she knew that would be a mistake, but it was best not to take chances.

As I straightened the lapels of my duster, I wondered exactly how this was going to go down. Thomas hadn't exactly been specific when he was talking about it; all he'd said was that he would call Murphy at some time once she got off work (which, knowing Murphy, would probably be late) and then presumably she would call me and I would go pick her up.

I checked my watch to find that it was pushing 10, which made me a little bit worried for no actual reason that I could pinpoint-- except that maybe there sure seemed to be a lot of people out to kill anyone involved in the Grail War these days, and Murphy had picked me up from the scene of the last attack. She was tough and she could handle herself, and there was no one else I'd rather have watching my back, but at the end of the day she was only human. There was a part of me that was more than a little scared of what was going to happen to her if I wasn't there watching hers. Of course, if I ever let her know that I'd worried about her she'd never let me hear the end of it, but it didn't stop me from doing it. I did my best to push the feeling away and finishing up getting ready, trying not to pay attention to the part of me that kept insisting that something was capital-W Wrong.

The phone rang a few minutes later, while I was finishing up shaving. I hadn't had a chance to earlier, and the beard shadow I was getting showed it. I cursed and quickly tried to finish up, nicking myself a couple of times before I put the razor down and strode out into the living room to grab the phone. "Hello?"

"Harry, it's me." The relief of hearing Murphy's voice washed over me, and I immediately felt my shoulders relax as some of the tension went out of me. "Listen, change of plans. I'm going to be the one picking you up, not the other way around."

"Wait, what?" I asked, confused.

"It's quicker that way," she said. "And besides, your clown car sticks out like a sore thumb. This way we'll at least be a little bit more inconspicuous."

Thinking about it for a second, she was right. It was probably better that Murphy come get us than the other way around. Gorgon had already made it clear how much she hated the Beetle, and I had the feeling she wasn't going to like it any better if she had to stay dematerialized while Murphy came along for the ride in it, and while Murphy's car wasn't much bigger than mine, it might at least be a change of pace. Plus, the Beetle was just a tad bit conspicuous. "Okay, we'll head out to you," I said. "What's your ETA?"

"I'm parked outside already," Murphy said. "So you should get your asses out here sooner rather than later, or else I might leave without you."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," I said. "I'll be right out, just hang on a minute."

"I'll start the stopwatch now," Murphy said. Her voice was light, though, not annoyed, which made me feel better. Then she hung up.

I put the phone down, turned around, and almost ran directly into Gorgon's chest. Swearing, I stumbled back into the counter before recovering my balance and glaring at Gorgon. "Stars and stones, do not sneak up on me like that!"

"Why would I bother sneaking when I have such an obtuse Master?" Gorgon asked. She nodded to the phone. "Is it time for us to leave?"

"Y-" I started, but before I could finish she turned and began to leave, leaving me hurrying to catch up with her before she closed the door. I managed to get through the gap in the door just before she pushed it shut hard enough that it rattled the frame slightly. Gorgon was already walking away, and I followed her up the stairs, looking for Murphy's car.  I spotted it, parked almost directly across the street and headed over, opening the passenger side door and getting in. I had to fold my body in a slightly uncomfortable way to even fit, which boded badly for my tenuous hope that Gorgon would like Murphy's car better than the Beetle. After I finally got settled, I turned to Murphy. "Hey, Murph."

"Hi, Harry." A slight smile appeared on Murphy's face, and she nodded at me before her gaze moved, looking over my shoulder. Her brows drew together in what looked like confusion.

When I turned to follow her gaze, I got a glimpse of Gorgon moving through my window before the rear door opened and she began to slowly squeeze her way inside. If I had folded my body awkwardly to get in, Gorgon practically had to contort herself; she was nearly too big to even fit through the door. Glancing at Murphy from the corner of my eye, I saw that her eyebrows had shot up so far that they'd almost reached her hairline.  Eventually Gorgon managed to get in the backseat, though the position she was in looked more than a little bit uncomfortable. I cleared my throat. "You doing okay back there?" In response to my question Gorgon looked up at me and growled a series of words in a language I couldn't understand, though from the inflection and context I could assume it was a string of profanity in Ancient Greek. She also made a series of gestures at me that, again from context, I presumed to be not very nice. "Okay, then. Going to take that to mean that putting on your seat belt isn't really an option right now, huh?"

Her glare sharpened, and I got the feeling that she was tempted to go for the literal meaning of "if looks could kill". "I will devour you whole."

"Not in my car you won't," Murphy interjected. "As long as you're in this vehicle, there isn't going to be any devouring of any kind. Are we clear?"

Gorgon growled in response, but didn't say anything, and Murphy apparently took that as an affirmative. "Good." Then she started up the car, and we started heading towards our destination.

Normally in a situation like this Murphy and I would be talking, but something about having Gorgon in the backseat made that feel-- in a word-- weird, so instead we sat in awkward silence as Murphy drove, taking us in a strange, winding path through the city. As we went the quiet became more and more unbearable, until I couldn't keep myself from talking.

"So," I said, breaking the silence. "Did Thomas tell you where we were going? Because he didn't say anything to me. All he said was to be dressed appropriately." I paused. "Well, actually what he said was to be dressed quote-unquote "presentably"." I made the finger quotes with my hands.

Murphy glanced at me from behind the wheel, a small smirk turning up one corner of her mouth. "Oh, he definitely talked about it to me. And you're definitely not dressed presentably for the place we're going." The smirk flattened slowly into another expression that I couldn't quite pinpoint, just before turning back to face front. "In this case, I think "appropriate" and "presentable" aren't anywhere near the same thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. Before I could ask Murphy what she meant, the car pulled to a stop on the curb outside a bunch of dark buildings, none of which particularly looked like meeting places my brother would choose. Murphy turned the key, stopping the engine. The doors unlocked, and Murphy got out. I followed her onto the pavement, banging my knee on the dash in the process hard enough to make my eyes water. "Ow, dammit! Murphy, what is this? A car for ants?"

"A car for gnats," Gorgon said grumpily, squeezing her way out of the backseat. "A car for specks of dust." Her eyes fixed on me, then narrowed in annoyance. "Much like yours, in fact."

"It's a car for reasonably sized people," Murphy said primly, glancing up at me, "and you two are just unreasonably large."

I snorted. "It's beneath me to respond to that. Literally."

Murphy let out a "hmph" noise. "Don't make me punch you, Dresden." She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lieutenant Murphy!" I called after her, then began to follow her. My strides were longer and I quickly caught up with her, walking along the sidewalk with her. Behind me, I could hear slow steps as Gorgon followed us at her own pace-- which was more than enough to keep up anyways. "Hey," I asked, "where are we going? There isn't anywhere around here."

"I had to park somewhere else to avoid getting a ticket. We'll be there soon," Murphy said, by way of answer. She sped up slightly, outpacing me, and turned a corner.

When I followed her, the first impression I got was of a pulsing beat that radiated up through my shoes and my body strong enough to make me feel that my bones were vibrating a little. It was so strong, in fact, that at first it put me on edge, reminding me of the feeling of ambient Servant radiation. After a moment I was able to pinpoint it as music, something with a horrifically loud, thumping bass underlying it. Murphy continued down the street, and I noticed a glow coming from one of the buildings. A sinking feeling started in the pit of my stomach.

The glow and the throbbing beat got stronger the closer we got, until we were right at the door of what looked like a club. A really, really upscale club, with a red, neon circle hanging next to the door.

"Oh, no," I said. "This isn't--"

"Oh, yes." Murphy's face was set in an expression of what looked like grim acceptance. "Yes, it is."

I'd been operating in Chicago since I was pretty young-- barely out of my teens-- but even I'd only heard rumors about Club Zero. What I'd heard, though, was enough. It was the kind of club that the highest of high society went to when they felt like letting loose with hedonism of the kind that would make any Roman emperor worth their salt more than a little bit jealous. Occasionally it moved around the city, and getting in was hard-- so hard as to be impossible if you weren't one of the people in the know. It was, on some levels, a extremely high-end strip club.

On other levels, it was a perfect place for any White Court vampire to feed.

The door to the club opened, and a smell poured out, something that smelled like sweat and booze and something sweet, like dozens of perfumes mixed together. The noise got loud enough that I could barely hear anything above it, and flashing colored lights silhouetted the person in the doorway from behind in such a way that I couldn't see their features at first. Then they stepped out into the light, and I saw my brother's features.

The first thing I registered was, if I was honest, the glitter. Parts of Thomas's face were covered in a thin layer of it, trailing from his cheeks down onto his chest, which was mostly bare under what looked to be a mesh crop top. It reflected the flashing lights in a way that was a little bit dizzying, like he was a human-- vampire-- disco ball standing right in front of me. After a moment I managed to blink the motes of light out of my eyes enough that I could step back and look at him.

Thomas's outfit could have been best described with the word "skintight". His top clung tightly to his body, and his pants seemed like they were made of leather and were so tight that they could have been vacuum sealed to him. It looked teeth-grindingly uncomfortable. Looking at him, I felt actually somewhat glad that I hadn't known where we were going. And that the most extreme part of my wardrobe was what I was wearing. And that I wasn't one of the White Court.

Speaking of which, next to me Murphy's eyes were roaming slowly over Thomas's body like she was taking all of him in, drinking in the image with her eyes. After about a second, though, her gaze landed on Thomas's face and stayed there. She raised an eyebrow at him, speaking up enough to be heard over the music. "Interesting choice of outfit."

Thomas looked back and forth between Murphy and I, then sighed and closed the door behind him, once again shutting away the sensory experiences of Zero. "Neither of you know how to dress, do you?" Even as he was saying it, I saw his eyes migrate to a space behind and slightly above me, then widen in a way that told me he had just caught sight of Gorgon. His mouth opened in a silent O of surprise, and whatever he was about to say next died in his throat, leaving just a long exhale with the faintest hint of words on it.

A noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl told me that Gorgon had caught sight of him, too. "Master," her voice came, "is this your kin? One of them?" I felt a tingle on the back of my neck, and could almost feel her eyes on me. " Are you one of them?" Her voice practically boiled over with the same loathing that I'd heard in Mac's with Lara and Assassin, and I couldn't stop myself from groaning quietly with frustration-- not really with Gorgon, but with myself. Knowing how Gorgon felt about Lara, I could have kicked myself for not telling her that Thomas was one of the White Court. If I had I could have curbed some of Gorgon's suspicion before the fact, but I didn't, and now it was going to be just that much more difficult.

After a second, I began to speak, keeping my voice calm and level. "Avenger," I said, slowly, "this is Thomas. He's my brother-- technically my half-brother, on my mother's side-- which means you're going to be nice to him, even if you don't want to. In return, he's going to be nice to you." Gorgon let out another threatening noise, and I winced, then turned around to face her. "He's one of the good guys. I swear to you, he's on our side," I said, speaking as quietly as I could while still being heard above the music.

"You cannot expect me to trust him," Gorgon said. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Thomas and I, and underneath the loathing I caught another emotion-- a wariness that was almost fear, creasing the skin slightly around the corners of her violet eyes.

I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes to gather myself for a second. When I opened them and started to speak again, I put threads of my will into my words-- not enough to try and make them into any sort of spell (especially since spells are far more complicated than that), but still enough to give them extra weight and extra significance. "I swear to you on my power," I said, my voice thrumming slightly. "Thomas will not do any sort of harm to you."

I saw the creases around Gorgon's eyes begin to smooth out slightly as she processed what I was saying. Swearing on one's power, for practitioners, isn't the same as a usual promise. It was a binding agreement with complicated connotations that tied the speaker's own ability to use magic to the promise. If you swore on your power and broke the oath, it would take some of that power from you. Do it too many times, and it would have catastrophic consequences for any magic user.

I'd only done it a handful of times in my life, but I got the impression that nothing less than that would be able to keep Gorgon from being suspicious to the point of being murderous towards Thomas. If there was one thing I didn't want, it was Gorgon's suspicions on him.

Speaking of suspicions, I noticed that Thomas looked oddly well-fed; or at least, far more than he had when he was still living with me. I didn't know what exactly it was about him that gave that impression, but his eyes were somewhat clearer, and he looked more relaxed, like his mind wasn't constantly on the discomfort he was in. The way I understood it, having the Hunger and only feeding it with the occasional hookup like Thomas had before was something like being parched and only being able to take one sip of water every few days. It was something that wore down on you, that occupied your thoughts until you couldn't think of anything else. It was a credit to my brother's character that he'd been able to hold out against it for so long, but there was a part of me that couldn't help wondering if Thomas had stopped taking sips and started guzzling straight from the faucet.

But my suspicions wouldn't do anything at the moment; there was no way to confirm or deny them right now, and getting paranoid about Thomas wouldn't help anybody, and might make Gorgon even more inclined to kill him. So I shoved those feelings aside like I had with my worry about Murphy and continued looking at Gorgon, being as sincere as I possibly could be.

After a second, Gorgon nodded. Some of the loathing drained from her eyes, though the wariness remained. "I will take your word, Master." She stepped back slightly, but also to the side, in order to keep a clear line of sight on my brother.

I let out a sigh of relief at her words, then turned back to Thomas, who was still staring at Gorgon. He was speechless, which was an odd enough occurrence for him that it was almost a little bit funny. "Anyways, now that that's over with. Thomas, this is Avenger. She's the Servant I summoned."

It took a few minutes for Thomas's brain to start up again, but when it did he shook his head a little bit in a way that seemed like he was trying to clear it. Then he nodded at Gorgon. "Madam Avenger, I apologize for my reaction," he said, his voice sounding far more formal than usual. I gave him a strange look, but he ignored me, all his attention instead focused on Gorgon. "If I've offended you in any way, I'll gladly make it up to you with anything you ask for." He paused for a moment, waiting for Gorgon to say something, but when she didn't respond he continued. "It's an honor to meet my brother's Servant in this Holy Grail War. I trust that you will protect him well if he needs it. Which he probably will," Thomas added, a wry tone creeping into his voice.

"Protecting my Master is not my job," Gorgon responded, flatly. "The purpose of participating in the Holy Grail War is to grant a wish through bloodshed. I am no different in those regards, and nothing you could offer me would compare to my wish." She went silent for a second to let her words sink in before continuing. "However," she said, "as long as my Master remains essential to that goal, he will remain unharmed."

Thomas's throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed hard, but he nodded. "I would expect nothing less." His eyes moved back to Murphy and I, and his posture relaxed a little bit. "Anyways," he said, his voice going back to a more informal tone again. "I assume you both know what this place is."

"I've heard of it," said Murphy. "There are usually rules in these kinds of places. High-end ones, at least. Any that we should know of before we walk in?"

Thomas shook his head. "Usually, yeah, there are rules. Here, though? Anything goes." He paused, taking a step back to look at all of us. "Well. Almost anything."

"Almost," Murphy said, her voice dry.

"I didn't really think it was possible, but yeah, you three might just stand out in this crowd," he said. "Everybody ready?" None of us responded, and he nodded at us. "Okay, then." Then Thomas turned and unlocked the door to Club Zero, and we followed him in.

It was almost impossible to describe what I was seeing at first-- or hearing, or smelling, or feeling-- except that it was completely overwhelming. The lights and the music that I'd seen and heard outside had been amplified a hundredfold, making them into a practical assault on their own, but now that I was actually inside the club I could feel the heat of it, too. It might have been even hotter inside than it was outside. I felt beads of sweat rise on my forehead, and my duster started to feel like a smothering, weighted blanket draped over me, crushing all the clean air out of my lungs and replacing it with air that was hot with the warmth of bodies and smelled like sweat and perfume and overwhelmingly of sex. It took a minute, but when my eyes finally got used to the pulsing light of the club I managed to see what Zero actually looked like.

It was huge, but weirdly felt much smaller with the number of people who were packed into it. There was what could be very, very generously called a dance floor in the middle of the floor, where scantily-clad young men and women grinded and writhed against each other in ways that would have gotten them kicked out of any halfway reputable institution. I could hear their gasping and moaning all around me, even above the music. Thomas's outfit barely looked outlandish at all when compared to the clothing (and non-clothing) of all of the others there. I saw a lot of leather, a lot of straps, and a lot of strategically applied electrical tape, as well as a lot of bare skin. The lights were flashing, but they mostly flashed between a cold blue and a bright, bloody red, alternating with an almost strobe-like effect that made my eyes hurt. The music seemed to comprise entirely of the pulsing bass I'd heard from the outside, with notes of other sounds that mixed with the noises of human pleasure coming from every angle.

Looking around, I saw a series of catwalks going above the dance floor around the sides of the building in a near-circular spiral upwards. Along them, I saw private alcoves where couples, threesomes, foursomes and above were all engaged in a variety of acts that I'd only ever heard about from Bob. Cages hung from the ceiling, where men and women gyrated and contorted themselves or were involved in other deeply sexual acts. There were poles in some of them, but others were empty but for the people, which didn't stop them from moving.

I managed to tear my eyes away from the scene enough to glance at Thomas and the others, none of whom were looking at me. As Thomas started to lead us through the club, I took in all of their expressions.

Thomas's was mostly unfazed; he looked as though most of this was business as usual to him. His eyes flicked to some of the people around us, but I didn't see anything like the Hunger in his eyes, and they didn't change color like they would have if he wanted to feed from any of them. Which was good, obviously, but combined with all the other strange things that had been going on with Thomas definitely made me feel less than confident.

In contrast to Thomas's bland matter-of-factness, Murphy looked like she was about to start arresting everyone in the place for public indecency. Her face wasn't exactly locked into a scowl of disgust, but with the curl of her lips and the wrinkles of her nose and forehead, it was definitely getting there. And as for Gorgon...

Gorgon's face, like Murphy's, was set in an expression of disgust. The difference was that while Murphy's face indicated the disgust that comes with watching people commit acts that you would rather not see, Gorgon's face was similar to what you might see on the face of someone who had just turned over a log and was looking at the squirming, slimy things that lived underneath. It wasn't just distaste, it was repulsion.

A man on one side of the catwalk, as we started ascending, reached for her. His hand landed briefly on Gorgon's arm, and with a movement so fast I could barely see she turned to him and grabbed him hard enough that her nails raked bloody lines in his skin. Her eyes landed on his, and he went stiff, like all of his muscles had suddenly stopped working and seized up. Then Gorgon threw him off and into the crowd. I saw him land on his back, staring at the ceiling with dazed eyes, and then get up and wobble his way away, still bleeding from the arm. 

You didn't have to do that, you know , I thought to Gorgon.

I thought you would have been glad, Gorgon replied. I barely even paralyzed him, even after he had the gall to lay hands on me. Are you not proud of my restraint?

I was tempted to tell her that "I didn't turn someone to stone in the middle of a crowded club" was a pretty low bar to meet, but decided against it-- not least because, honestly, if I'd had someone grab at me like that I probably wouldn't have reacted much better. Instead I settled for nodding at her. Touche.

It was hard to really see her clearly under the lights, but I could have sworn I saw a pleased look cross her face.

Thomas led us up, and up, and up, spiraling around and around. We passed dozens of alcoves and "private" rooms and parties on our way upwards, until we got to the very top catwalk. I'd noticed as we walked that the spiral got wider as it went up and around, and now that I was at the top of it and looking down I could see the concentric rings leading down, down, down in a funnel into the mass of bodies on the dance floor. It reminded me of paintings I'd seen of Dante's version of the circles of Hell. Here, though, every circle was lust. Lust ruled over the place, settled over it like a fever that wouldn't break.

"Family business?" I asked Thomas, by means of casual conversation. It was quieter at the top since we were further from the music, quiet enough that I didn't have to shout over it in order to speak.

Thomas looked at me, his face and voice both deadpan. "What gave it away? Anything specific, or just the general atmosphere?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I think it might have been the way the dance floor is in the middle of turning into an orgy," I said. "Did you have to do anything special to be let in, or are you--"

"Lara still thinks that she can lure me back to her side," Thomas said, by way of explanation. "Or she thinks that I'm reconsidering splitting. Anyways, I might not be in their best graces right now, but they see enough..." His face screwed up in disgust. "Enough potential in me that I'm still at least a little bit in the fold. And she does still bug my phone, which has to count for something."

"God," Murphy muttered, looking around. "with the number of illegal acts I've seen here, I could arrest everyone in this building. If I was on duty. Which I'm not." She eyed Thomas, then the dance floor. "Unfortunately."

"Wow, Lieutenant Murphy," Thomas said, a little bit of a teasing tone in his voice, "I knew you were a cop but I didn't know you were also a buzzkill. Tell you what, you can come back and arrest everyone here tomorrow."

"I might just do that," Murphy said.

Thomas stuck his tongue out at Murphy in a very juvenile move that you wouldn't generally expect from an older brother. "Party pooper."

"If it were up to me," Gorgon said, cutting into the conversation with a surprisingly soft voice, "I would turn everyone here to stone and crush them all. Starting with any of your kind."

There was a brief silence, and then Thomas let out a long, low whistle. "You know, Murphy," he said, "maybe I was wrong in calling you a buzzkill. Avenger, I would be much obliged if you wouldn't destroy this place. It took enough of my family's good graces-- which I'm relatively short on at the moment-- just to get in tonight, and it might take more to get out if something goes wrong." Thomas swallowed. "Besides. Most of these people are innocents. They aren't involved with White Court business."

"Except as prey," Gorgon said, her voice absolutely emotionless. "They aren't involved, except as prey." She stared Thomas down for a moment, then turned to look back over the edge of the catwalk. "If something goes wrong we will not need the good graces of your family. I will petrify this entire building, and my Master and I will leave."

The quick turnaround from her earlier relative mercy sent a cold shock towards me, like a freezing reminder of who and what Gorgon actually was. The cold crystallized into ice in my veins and stomach, and I stepped forwards. "No," I said, quietly. "No. You won't." I would die before I let you kill any of these people, I thought to her, projecting as hard as I could. If you try it on any of these people, there's going to be a fight, and it's not going to be one you can ignore just like it's not going to be one I'd have any chance of getting out of alive. You would leave, but you wouldn't be able to survive long without me.

I saw Gorgon's mouth drop open slightly at that, then close, her lips pressed tightly together. You would commit suicide just to save these people? Look at them, Master. Look! This is the world the leeches want, a world made of nothing but lust and desire and stupidity. How can you not wish to destroy this world?

Mostly? Because I'm not into the idea of collateral damage. And all of this is assuming something goes wrong, which you don't know it will. Neither of us does. I paused. Just... chill for a little bit, okay? At least until we know approximately what's going on. When I finished the exchange, I turned away from Gorgon and back towards Thomas. "So. Where to from here?"

Thomas nodded to me, looking grateful. "Right. Over here." He gestured to a more sunken-in room than the other alcoves, far less public than the others. I was initially apprehensive as to what I was going to see when I walked in, considering the state of everywhere else even semi-private, but it was comparatively tame. There were a couple of platforms, one with a well-muscled and well-endowed woman dancing on a pole, a few couches scattered around the room-- mostly around said platforms-- and what seemed to be a bar in the back. On the sides there were a few curtained-off rooms, which I didn't particularly want to enter. And on some of the couches sat an arrangement of people that I both expected and didn't expect to see there.

On one of the red leather couches, lounging while he periodically tucked bills into the waistband of the stripper's panties, was Caster. The look on his face wasn't so much aroused as it was delighted, like he was genuinely excited to be here. Next to him sat Assassin, drinking something electric blue out of a tall glass with a straw and watching Caster with half-lidded eyes, her lips turned upwards slightly in a sensual smile. When she spotted us at the door I saw a glint enter her eyes and her smile spread a little bit wider, but all she did was raise her glass incrementally in acknowledgement.

Across the room, sitting with his back ramrod-straight and a deeply constipated expression, sat Morgan. He stared stonily ahead, like he was deliberately blocking out everything else in the room, though when he saw me I saw the corners of his mouth tighten, and a vein stood out in his forehead and began to pulse. It was, not going to lie, a little bit satisfying to see him look some uncomfortable, even if I was kind of feeling the same way. Across from him, sitting not on one of the couches but on a black armchair with elaborate golden dragon designs that curled up and around it, was Lara. Her legs were crossed, baring a generous amount of them from under the short, gauzy white dress she was now wearing, and she was leaning forwards slightly, towards Morgan. Her arms rested on her legs, wrists crossed as well. Her dark hair was drawn back into an elegant and complicated bun, and it shone in a way that reflected the lights of the room. When she saw Morgan's expression change she looked back over her shoulder at the door. I lifted my hand in a short wave, pressing my lips together and widening my eyes, and she beckoned us over with a wave of her hand.

"Ah," she said. "You've arrived, finally. Come, sit." She raised her voice slightly, turning her gaze towards the stripper. "Marina, you can leave. Take the rest of your shift off. You'll be well-compensated." Marina's face brightened into a smile, and she got down from the platform and gathered her clothes before walking away. Caster's eyes followed her as she left through a door in the back, a visibly disappointed look on his face. Then he shrugged and got up, leaving Assassin sitting on the couch with her drink, which she promptly drained, and walked over to sit next to Morgan, who wrinkled his nose and scooted the tiniest bit away from him on the couch. I had to clench my teeth together to stop myself from laughing, but Murphy made no such effort to contain the snort that came from her. Lara gestured to us once more, and I finally started walking over. As I did I heard a click of a door closing behind me, shutting out most of the noise of the club and leaving us in relative quiet. I chose a seat in one of the other armchairs, about equidistant from everyone in the room, where I could keep an eye on most of them, but mostly faced towards Lara and Morgan. Gorgon chose one of the nearby couches, her body taking up nearly the entirety of it as she sprawled outwards. Murphy and Thomas sat on either side of me, flanking me.

After a second of silence, I decided to initiate conversation. "So, given the givens, I'm assuming that you two had your own run-in with the Reds this morning. Am I right?"

Lara's dark grey eyes scanned my face, but after a moment she nodded. "In our case, Assassin was able to dispatch them fairly easily. But we did lose one of our people during the attack. The driver." Her eyes went hard and flat. "It was an... unfortunate situation." The temperature of the room didn't change, but it seemed to me that it became slightly colder. "And," Lara continued, "it has impressed upon me the need for cooperation in a way that the White Council's initial foray into diplomacy could not." She turned to look at Morgan. "No offense, of course."

"None taken," said Morgan, his voice more than slightly strained with the effort of forcing out the words. He cleared his throat. "Caster and I were attacked as well."

"Don't worry, though," Caster said, with a smile, "I got rid of them." He cupped his hand around his mouth and mock-whispered. "Or, to put it the way he did, I "performed adequately"." My eyebrows went way up at that, and Caster laughed. I almost did, too; the idea of Morgan telling Merlin, the founder of the White Council, that he had performed "adequately", was pretty damn funny on its own (even without taking into account that as far as I could tell Caster was kind of a bastard). "Weird, though," Caster continued, his voice turning pensive. "Did anyone else notice--"

"That vampires aren't supposed to be outside during the daytime?" I said, crossing my arms. "Yeah, I noticed. It was pretty hard not to notice, actually."

"I mean, that too," Caster said, tapping his fingers on the couch, "but what I meant was the subtle physiological differentiations from the normal body shape of the Red Court. I mean..." He paused, thinking. "Let me put it this way. They seemed both more offensively suited and more fragile than Reds usually are." He made a frustrated noise. "I can't get the words out, hang on just a minute." Caster closed his eyes and frowned, like he was thinking very hard, before opening them again after a moment. "Some of them were able to attack in ways far more violent than would usually be expected, and rather than all swarming the smaller, relatively softer target, the Master-- no offense to you, Morgan-- they mostly all went after me. However, when they did, I was able to attack back in ways that shouldn't have generally killed them but in this case did." A slight blush rose to his cheeks. "I mean, I'm not really much for offense. More for support, really. Does that make sense?"

Something dinged in my brain when he was talking, though at first it was offset by my surprise at Caster being less of an offensive wizard and "more for support". When I managed to push that aside I realized that he was right; almost all of the vampires had gone after Gorgon, and only two or three of them had gone after me, which was weird, because I was definitely an easier target than she was. Red Court vamps were smart enough to strategize-- if enough of them had swarmed me, Gorgon wouldn't have been able to attack them without killing me, and we'd almost certainly have both died. But they hadn't done that. Instead they'd taken a path of most resistance and ended up all dead. Coming along with all of the other bad decisions involved in the attacks, it was enough to make a guy wonder. But... "It doesn't necessarily mean they're actually physiologically different. Or at least, I didn't notice anything like that." I winced. "All I noticed was being in a fair amount of pain."

"Yes, I've heard of your situation," Lara said lightly. "Second-hand, of course. I have to say, you look much better than I expected." I shivered in apprehension at the implication of that. She sat back slightly, uncrossing her legs. "In our case, the attack didn't start until we were nearly to the estate. Which..." I saw a look enter Lara's eyes that was very, very ugly. "It was quite rude of them to attack so close to home. And quite stupid to attack so far from their own home base. Speaking of which, does anyone here have any awareness of where that might be exactly?"

I glanced back and forth between Murphy and Lara for a moment, then took a peek at Morgan, who was watching me intently. The look on his face had gone from "moments from choking on his own spit" to "sour, yet intrigued", and he was leaning forwards slightly. "Dresden," he said, "if you know anything, I believe it would be in your interest to tell us."

I sighed. "Don't quote me on this," I said, "but I'm pretty sure their home base is in or near the Field Museum. That's pretty much it." I cleared my throat. "Except, uh, I know something about their Servant. Kind of."

"Kind of?" Lara asked. There was an edge to her voice now.

Assassin let out a low chuckle, her voice soft and whispery, which sent an entirely different kind of tingles down my spine. The faintest smell of perfume and booze wafted over from her direction, and I felt more than saw Gorgon tensing up in response. Next to Caster and closer to Assassin than I was, Morgan looked a little bit ill.

"Any moment now, Warden Dresden. Everything you know."

"Listen, everyone," I said, holding my hands up in a kind of surrender gesture. "I don't know all that much. All I know is that she's a Rider, she's strong, and she might be associated with Mesoamerican artifacts of some kind." I paused. "Oh, and she's being powered by some kind of vampire pyramid. The lowest ones gather power by attacking people, then funnel that up through Rider's Master so she can use all of that to power Rider."

"Rider's Master," said Assassin, her voice slow and languid, slightly slurred like she was drunk. Her eyes, though, were completely alert. "Hmm. And do we know anything about her? Or did the little bird you heard all this from not tell you anything about that?"

I winced. I didn't particularly want to tell the others about Susan. I was pretty sure Lara would take it as a weakness, and Morgan in the past had used my connection to her to claim that I was actually in league with the Red Court, regardless of anything that was actually going on. So I went the path of nonresistance. "Nothing as far as I know. But we'd have to assume that it'd be someone pretty high up the chain, right? They wouldn't really trust just any vampire schmuck with their Servant."

"I mean," Thomas said, "I'd assume not. But I'm not really that well caught up on Red politics." He hummed for a second, then gave me a pointed glance. His voice became slightly sharper. "You know, I don't think we've actually covered the attack on you in any detail, have we, Harry? Maybe we should talk about that."

Right. I hadn't filled Thomas in on anything before coming here. Along with not telling Gorgon about Thomas and the fact that he was one of the White Court, that was probably one of the worst lapses in my judgement yet. He was my brother; he deserved to know if I was attacked. I sighed, then started giving the rundown, leaving out the part about Susan and Vlad deliberately. I could see Lara and Morgan's gazes becoming sharper, and Assassin seemed more focused on me than she had before, which was more than a little bit chilling. Caster, though, seemed distracted, like he was off in his own little world. I saw his lips moving as I talked, like he was counting something out, or trying to solve a particularly complicated equation in his head. After I was done speaking there was a brief silence, and then Caster spoke up. "So," he said, "that's pretty weird. We're all in agreement about this, right?"

"Mm-hmm," drawled Assassin, pulling the sounds out in her mouth like taffy. "Maybe there's a little bit of a disagreement among them. Or maybe they're just getting sloppy." She bared her sharp little fangs in a smile that would have otherwise been sweet. "In any case, doesn't that make things easier for us? And if we know where their base is, one or more of us could go and pay them a little visit! Show our displeasure with how harsh their greeting has been." Her mouth turned down into a theatrical little pout. "I, for one, am... disappointed with the reception we've received."

As soon as she finished that sentence, all the lights and music cut out, leaving us in darkness and silence.

I was up before I even really realized what was going on, grabbing my staff and hauling myself to my feet. The runes on it ignited into a dim red light just as screams and sounds of panic filtered through the door. The rational part of my brain said to gather myself a bit and regroup with the others before running out and towards them, but that rational part was overwhelmed when Gorgon let out a primal, almost delighted screech of her own and barreled through the door, leaving nothing but a ragged hole in the wall. I swore and ran after her, bouncing off the edges of a few couches before managing to make my way through the hole in the wall and onto the catwalk. Below me on the dance floor I could hear screams and the thundering sound of people stampeding away from whatever was there, as well as less human noises-- shrieks that rose so high in pitch that they made my teeth hurt, coming not just from below but from all around, and a loud crash that was coming from somewhere over to my left, accompanied by Gorgon's completely inhuman laughter. I was about to run after her before the the private alcove nearest to us on the right erupted in screams as well, and I made a split-second decision. Gorgon! Remember what I said about collateral damage!

I sprinted over towards the entrance of the alcove, running as fast as I could down the incline without falling. One of the screams cut off as I approached, turning into a desperate gurgling sound and then into silence, and the other raised in pitch into a terrified and pained wail. I poured on the speed and shoved myself though the doorway, brandishing my staff outwards towards the room, and in the dull light I could see the familiar grotesque features of a Red Court vamp, crouched over a struggling woman. Another form was slumped in the corner, clearly dead and surrounded by a puddle of blood and a few miscellaneous chunks. What little clothing the woman wore was also soaked in blood from a cut on her thigh, and her struggling became weaker as the vampire held her down. Then she went limp in the vampire's grasp.

I saw red.

I channeled up everything inside me and brandished my staff forwards towards the vamp. The runes flared into brighter red, and the smell of wood smoke and sulfur filled the room as I brought up Hellfire. "Forzare!"

The lance of energy that slammed into the vampire wasn't colorless like usual, but a bright, bloody red, pounding the vampire back and into the wall hard enough that its warped rib cage bent and cracked inwards on itself before collapsing completely flat. The vampire didn't so much fall off the wall as slide down it as I moved towards the woman and crouched to take her pulse.

Before I could touch her, something gripped me hard by the arm and flung me around, pulling me through the air and then slamming me onto the catwalk outside the alcove. My teeth clacked together hard with the force of the impact, my entire body jarring. I nearly lost my grip on my staff. The vampire that had grabbed me didn't let go of me, instead hauling me up and back, towards the edge. I swung with my staff, aiming towards the thing's head, but even though I connected hard enough to send a shock all the way up my arm, the vamp barely reacted. That is, other than throwing me bodily over the catwalk's railing and towards the ground below.

A scream of pure fury ripped through my mind as I started to fall, and the catwalk above me exploded into dust that crackled with purple and red light. I caught a glimpse of Gorgon's snake body silhouetted above me ripping the vampire apart before I slammed hard into the ground.

I'd already started forming a shield as I went over and that plus the duster absorbed most of the shock, but even so the impact hit me hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Around me I could hear the sounds of pounding feet and a shock of pain went through my lower body as someone tripped over my legs. Get up, Harry. Get up, or you're going to get trampled.

I started painstakingly shoving my way up, but one of the people running away shoved me to the side before I could get fully upwards and I stumbled a few steps forwards, almost falling again. Before I landed back on the ground, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me. I smelled the familiar overpowering scent of sugar and alcohol as Assassin reeled me out of the crowd and towards the slightly more secluded corner where she was standing. "Shhh," she said, her voice a low whisper. The scent of her filled my nose, making my head swirl. "You've left quite a mess on the upper levels," Assassin continued. "I must say, though, Avenger's destructive power is veeeery impressive." She let out a quiet laugh that lacked the innocence of a giggle.

With every word Assassin said, more of that scent washed over me and I felt more and more off-balance, until I was trying to form thoughts through a haze of brainfog. I'm not a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, but I'm not exactly a heavy drinker either, and the smell around her was hitting me hard enough to make it hard to focus. Even the pain of the bruises I'd just acquired dulled, slipping away. I cast about for something to hold onto, and through the daze I eventually managed to land on one thing: the bottle of potion in my pocket. I pulled my arm out of Assassin's grasp, fumbling around in my duster for the bottle until I managed to grab it and bring it to my mouth.

The making of the potion Bob and I came up with had required a more complicated process than usual, given its slightly theoretical nature and my shaky grasp on what exactly Assassin's abilities were, but it had contained some interesting ingredients: tonic water as a base, sandpaper for touch, coffee grounds for smell. Add in a crumbled peanut butter energy bar for taste, a dash of birdsong and a bright flash of light for hearing and sight, copper wire for the mind, and, after a lot of cajoling, a few strands of Gorgon's hair, which had taken the place of the soul ingredient. It had ended up as an unappetizing-looking black sludge, and as I slugged it down I almost gagged at how bitter it was. My head began to clear immediately, though, bringing me back to reality all at once. The pain and the sounds of destruction around me came back full force, and I lowered the bottle and stared directly at where I assumed Assassin's eyes to be. "Don't try that shit on me."

"You'd know if I was trying," Assassin said, sounding unphased. Her teeth gleamed in the darkness as she flashed me a smile-- one that vanished almost instantly as she grabbed me again without warning and threw me against the wall, hard. I felt something sweep through the air where I had just been standing, ruffling my hair as it flew past. The silhouette of the Red that had been aiming for me struck Assassin full force, and with an entirely too quick motion, it sunk its fangs into Assassin's neck.

When it did, a cloud of foul, sour-smelling smoke erupted from the place where its mouth had landed. It began to struggle, bringing its bony hands up to claw at its face, but Assassin reached up and wrapped her arms around it with all the tenderness of someone cupping a delicate flower in their hands and kept it in place even as it desperately tried to get away. After a few seconds it stopped struggling and she let go of it, letting it drop to the ground.

I couldn't see very well, but as it lay there it seemed to me the vamp's face looked strange and misshapen, almost like it had been melted. Assassin let out a happy sigh, then glanced up at me, and I realized with a start that, in contrast to the darkness around us, she was starting to shine with a blue-green light. I couldn't stop myself from speaking. "What are you?"

Assassin made a tsk -ing noise. "If that was you trying to get my name, I'm a little insulted at the lack of effort." A smile spread across her face, wider than any smile should be able to go. For a second all her features looked exaggerated, almost demonic. "Now," Assassin said, "sit back and try not to breathe too much."

Then she stepped out and walked onto the dance floor, spreading her arms out like she was welcoming every single vampire on it into her embrace. I noticed that in one of her hands she was holding a dish like a shallow bowl or a large saucer, balanced on the tips of her fingers. The light emanating from Assassin began to shine brighter and brighter, and through it I could see out onto a scene of incredible carnage. Black pools of blood stretched across the ground, and dotted here and there I could see corpses-- some of which were more or less intact, but more of which weren't. The only things left moving among the bodies were the hunched forms of the Reds. Some of them were still crouched over the bodies of their victims, feeding. 

More than two dozen heads turned towards Assassin as a practical wave of alcoholic fumes came off of her, far stronger than anything I'd smelled in her vicinity before. Even with the potion I had taken I started to feel a little bit tipsy from the scent of it, and I saw the vampires reel in place. A few of them tried sluggishly to move-- either towards the ramps that would take them to upper floors, where I could still hear screaming and the sound of things being destroyed (and some gunshots, which made me hope fervently that Murphy was still alive), or towards Assassin-- but all of them eventually fell still. 

"Now that you've settled down," Assassin said, sounding pleased, "why don't you just let me melt you all at once?" Then she said something else, a string of words in a language I didn't understand-- Japanese?-- and tilted the hand holding the bowl forwards.

A stream of glowing, multicolored liquid poured from its mouth and began to spread across the dance floor, and the smell intensified until it was almost a physical sensation of burning. Remembering what Assassin had said about breathing, I took a breath and held it, praying that the air I had managed to draw in would last. More clouds of smoke erupted from the dance floor as the vampires on it were consumed and dissolved by the liquid, patches of dark, shiny bone showing through their skin as it sloughed off their bodies, and all the while they stood still, apparently transfixed as they died. They didn't even leave anything behind, just dark stains on the surface.

My lungs strained as I desperately looked for for any path away from the noxious miasma that didn't take me through whatever the corrosive fluid covering the ground was, but there wasn't any. The entire floor, except for the corner behind Assassin where I was standing, had turned into a poisonous, acidic lake. I  kept holding my breath, not wanting to breathe in and end up melting my own lungs, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed. I didn't know how much longer I could keep holding on, so I did the only thing I could-- I lifted my staff slightly and, expelling all the air in my lungs, yelled " Ventas servitas! "

A gust of cold, clean air blew down from the ceiling, brushing over me and sweeping away the smell enough for me to breathe, which I did. Even as I breathed, the lake of liquid around me got dimmer and dimmer until it stopped glowing entirely, and then seemed to dissipate all at once, leaving nothing on the ground except a few bright, clean shards of bone that were all that remained of the vampires and the people they had killed. I covered my mouth, trying to resist the urge to empty my stomach.

The unnatural light faded entirely, leaving everything in darkness-- and, I now realized, in silence.

Chapter Text

Tentatively, I reached out for Gorgon. Are you there? What's going on?

Master, came Gorgon's voice, almost immediately. I am... uninjured. Her thoughts turned sadistically pleased. The same cannot be said of Assassin's Master, however.

I froze, then began to move, carefully weaving my way through the wreckage of the dance floor towards where I remembered the ramp to be. I sent more power into my staff until I could see pretty clearly from the glow-- though I couldn't see Assassin anywhere nearby, which made me nervous. I'm coming up . Is anyone else hurt?

Only superficially, she said. Though the tiny blonde one left for a moment, and I'm unsure as to where she is. 

I'll deal with that when I get there, I thought back .

I reached the ramp and started ascending, heading back up through Zero. As I passed through the club I could see people still stirring in the alcoves. Most of the people there were still moving, which would have made me feel relieved, except that some of them weren't. They just laid there, still and motionless, limbs sprawled. The only relief I felt was that I couldn't see most of their faces.

I kept moving up through the building, mechanically putting one leg in front of the other on my way up and keeping my eyes straight ahead. It didn't help; the ramp was in some places spattered and smeared thickly with a dark liquid I could only assume was blood. There was also, disturbingly, a lot of rubble. I didn't want to think about where it had come from. I didn't want to think about who might have been under it. I kept walking and tried to turn my brain off, which, regardless of what others might say about me, is harder than it sounds. 

I ascended until I got to a certain point where the catwalk just disappeared for about 20 feet, before reappearing on the other side. Hey, Gorgon. A little help here? Please?

There was a hissing sound that I took to be an affirmative, and a few seconds later Gorgon slithered down on the other side of the gap. She was still in her monstrous form, though her scales and skin were streaked with gore. "Hold on a moment, Master," she said, before backing up slightly.

"Wait, hey, what are you going to--" I only got halfway through the sentence before Gorgon extended her form across the gap, hanging out over it. It looked like gravity had forgotten to apply to her as she stretched across towards me, and I wasn't able to do anything but stand there and stare at her, goggle-eyed. A glimpse of the coils upon coils of tail behind her told me part of how she was achieving it, but damn, the kind of muscular control she had... it shouldn't have been surprising, but it was. I only gaped at her for a moment more before she had moved her entire torso over the edge of the gap I was on, and then she was reaching out to grab me, wrapping her arms around me. I could feel her intense strength, but it somehow felt like she was being her version of gentle, like she was trying not to break me. More tendrils of something wrapped around me too, and it took me a second to realize that it was her hair, cradling my body gently and supporting me from all sides. Gorgon began backing up again, re-coiling herself on the other side and bringing me with her, until we were finally over the catwalk again.

I took a moment to regain my balance once she set me down, then raised an eyebrow at her. "A little warning would have been nice." Looking over myself, I noticed that my shirt and pants were now wet with blood from contact with her, and I sighed. "This is going to be hell to get out."

"You told me to help you. I did. And as for your clothing... Master, are you really so concerned about your appearance?" Gorgon's face and voice didn't change, but even I could tell that she was making fun of me.

"I'll have you know that I'm dressed presentably right now," I said, deadpan.

Gorgon rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said. "How could I have forgotten?" Her face turned thoughtful as she looked at me, then at the platform around us. "Master, will you step back, please?"

I opened my mouth to ask her why, then decided against it. I took a step back, moving closer to the wall. When I did, Gorgon's form began to shimmer and shrink, her tail disappearing. When her feet touched the catwalk again, she was back in her mostly-human form. The bloodstains on her body and in her hair were gone, too, though it didn't escape my notice that her lips looked redder than usual-- though that might have just been the light I was conjuring. Her forked tongue darted out, running over them, and I turned away before she could see me making a face. "Are the others up there?"

"Yes," Gorgon said. She walked past me, leading the way up, and I followed her.

We were maybe two coils down from the top when I saw Thomas's back over Gorgon's shoulder. He looked hunched over, like he was staring at something on the ground, though I couldn't see what it was yet. I pushed past Gorgon to get a better look, then froze. It wasn't just Thomas looking around, it was Caster and Morgan, too. In the dim light I could just barely see their expressions. Caster looked strange, like he was performing a mental analysis on whatever was in front of him, while Morgan just looked sick. I didn't see Murphy around them, which made me decidedly uneasy. What I did see, spreading all around their shoes and reflecting back the light from my staff, were splatters of blood, paler than the rest. My stomach sank.

Lara might have been a terrifying sex vampire who had tried to mentally manipulate me time after time and was always ultimately playing the game of supernatural politics, but I knew first-hand that she was one of the more reasonable members of the White Court. As for the others... I'd met Lara and Thomas's father before. If the siblings next in line for White Court leadership were anything like him, everybody would be in big, big trouble. On the other hand, if she wasn't dead, just badly injured, she would need to feed-- which meant that someone else would die in her place. It was a lose-lose situation and there was nothing I could do about it. 

(The sirens I could hear getting closer in the background didn't help my mental state, but that was going to have to be a problem for Harry-five-minutes-from-now.)

Moving forwards, I walked up next to where Thomas was standing and looked down.

She was lying on her back, half-propped against the wall. A few vampire bits and pieces were scattered around nearby, but they weren't connected to anything, which I took as a sign that she had recently dispatched a few of them before succumbing. Her eyes were open but only partially focused, like she wasn't quite taking in what was in front of her. It was easy to see why.

Lara looked like hell.

One of her arms laid limp by her side, broken in so many places that it looked less like an arm and more like a very swollen strand of spaghetti, and the rapid and shallow breaths she was taking told me that she might have had some broken ribs too. Her stomach had long, deep scratch marks running down it, where the vampires that had attacked her had evidently gotten their claws into her, and the front of her dress was so soaked in blood that I couldn't tell how serious the wounds really were. Most worrying of all, there were three or four bite marks that I could see just from where I was standing, and possibly more that I couldn't.

The fact that she'd been bitten multiple times explained why she was out of commission like this. I'd seen White Court vamps get injured before, some of them severely, and most of the time the injuries Lara had sustained wouldn't have fazed them as much as these had. I could only really guess at how much narcotic venom was pulsing its way through her veins at the moment, but my current guess was "a hell of a lot". Given the fact that being licked by a vampire once had nearly put me out of commission, the fact that she was still conscious at all was baffling.

"Thomas," I said quietly, "what happened?"

Caster answered instead, cutting in. His voice was hushed, subdued, and he didn't take his eyes off Lara as he spoke. "You saw the attack Assassin released, didn't you?"

I almost rolled my eyes at that. "Yeah, I was on the ground floor when it happened. The fumes coming off of whatever that was nearly killed me. Why?"

"That was a certain kind of attack called a Noble Phantasm." Caster finally took his eyes off Lara and looked at me. "It's sort of like an ace in the hole. Sometimes it's the most powerful attack a Servant can do, sometimes it's something else; a magical move to heal, or make people stronger, or make enemies weaker, or... you get the picture. Some Servants can have more than one, though generally they'll have one that's more powerful than the rest. Their scope can range, too. Given how easily she was able to wipe out that many vampires, I'd say that Assassin's Noble Phantasm was an Anti-Army type."

"Okay," I said, "but what does this have to do with Lara? I'm pretty sure that Assassin's whole deal didn't spontaneously manifest vamp bites on her."

Caster sighed, swiping his blue-white hair back from his forehead. "A Noble Phantasm requires a lot of magical energy. I was focusing my attention... elsewhere at the time—” He glanced at Gorgon, who didn’t acknowledge him. Caster cleared his throat and continued. “—but from what I saw Assassin's attack must have distracted her enough to allow one of the vampires she was fighting to get through. And once one of them got through..."

I finished the sentence for him. "All of them did." I tapped my staff on the ground a few times without really thinking about it, making the lights in the runes flicker slightly. "So why's she still alive? You make it sound like she got swarmed."

This time it was Thomas who answered me. "She did," he said. "But you know that Lara's tough. By the time I'd gotten to her she'd already killed three out of the four of the ones attacking her, and I took care of the fourth." He gestured at one of the disconnected limbs lying on the ground near Lara, then grimaced. "But..." His words trailed off, and I autofilled them myself. If Lara didn't feed soon, she would probably die. Even if that didn't happen, then at the very least, her injuries would be debilitating to her to the point that she would be unable to continue in the Grail War.

Part of me didn't necessarily think that was a bad thing. A very large part of me didn't want to put Lara in a room with someone else she could kill.

Master, Gorgon broke in, this is the best chance you'll ever get. Let me kill her now and be done with it. We'll have one less competitor, and the world will have lost two parasites in her and her Servant.

No, I thought back to her, instinctively reacting. Not gonna happen. We need all the allies we can get right now, and besides, there's something bigger going on here. I paused. Caster said something about every Servant having a Noble Phantasm. Do you—? 

If you want to know, Master, then let me kill her. 

I shot a glance at Gorgon and shook my head, slowly and with emphasis. Her face twisted in the darkness, too-red lips curling upwards into a sneer, and a shiver went down my spine before I turned around to look back at Lara. 

As I turned back, the now far too familiar scent of cocktails entered my nostrils again, and a small, pale hand landed on my shoulder before pushing me away with surprising strength. Assassin shoved her way past me and Thomas, who let out an indignant “Hey!”, then moved over to Lara, kneeling by her side. Blood stained her purple robe and the pale skin of her knees as she did, but she didn't pay any attention to it, instead devoting her attention to examining Lara's condition. While she examined Lara, I took a moment to examine her, looking her up and down and trying to pinpoint what about her seemed different now. After a second I managed to pin it down: she looked thinner now, almost unhealthily so— her cheekbones stood out sharply where they hadn’t before, and when the fabric covering her shifted I could see the silhouettes of her ribs under her skin. It wasn’t just that, either; her skin was so pale now that she almost seemed to glow in the dark, and sweat shone on her forehead, reflecting back the light. If I hadn't known better, I would have said that she was sick.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Caster turn slightly towards Morgan, leaning closer without ever looking away from Lara. He whispered something into Morgan's ear, and Morgan nodded slowly. Caster let out a slow breath and began to shift his weight, moving slowly closer to Lara.

The noise of his movement must have alerted Assassin, because her head snapped up to stare at Caster. Her eyes flashed purple, irises almost glowing, and when she spoke the low, sultry tone to her voice was all but gone. It was replaced by a growling undertone that sent shivers of fear through my body, that kind of visceral fear that you feel when your human brain registers that you're facing off against a born predator. "Move away from my Master. Now."

Caster held up his hands in a placating gesture, but he continued to advance. "I just want to help," he said, keeping his voice level and calm. Assassin didn't seem at all convinced. She bared her sharp little fangs at him, staring at him directly as he walked closer, and for a second I could have sworn I saw a glint of fear enter her eyes as she stared up from Lara's side. I knew why. She was weak. Lara was weak. Assassin had just used her most powerful attack, and I was near certain that she couldn't do it again so soon, especially not with Lara in this condition. If Caster wanted to attack, he wouldn't have a better time or opportunity to do so, and even if he said he wasn't overly combat-oriented, he'd probably win. But instead he kept walking forwards until he stood directly in front of Lara, looking down at her. He took a deep breath. "I," he said, his voice turning low and quiet, "am going to try to help you and your Master. And, hopefully, everyone else in this building. But first I'm going to have to ask you to step away from her for a moment."

Assassin looked at him for a moment, gauging the danger of letting him closer to Lara vs forcing him to stay away before apparently deciding that whatever he was planning, it wouldn't hurt Lara more than she already was. She stepped away, gesturing towards Lara. "Be my guest," Assassin said. She didn't even sound angry anymore, just tired and wary. I saw her eyes lock onto Caster's back as he squatted down next to Lara, then reached out and touched her wrist.

As soon as he touched Lara, the air filled with the scent of flowers. Not like the boozy, overly sweet smell that followed Assassin; this was more like the smell of a garden after a hard rain, a floral scent that was clear and fresh. Caster exhaled, and a breeze emanated from him, carrying that same scent over my skin. It swept through Club Zero, and I felt... something go with it, an intangible energy that filled my body and made my skin tingle. The sensation intensified until it surrounded me, like I was being wrapped in a blanket of soft smells and cold, clean air, and my entire body relaxed as calm filled my heart. Next to Caster I saw Assassin stiffen, then relax, her shoulders slumping. It could have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw Lara stir too, her limbs moving slightly as Caster began to speak in a voice almost too low for me to hear. As he talked, I extended my wizard's senses out towards him and Listened.

Caster's voice came to me, as clearly as he was speaking directly into my ear. "From the edge of paradise, let me show you," he said, murmuring-- not to Lara, but out in the world, like a low chant. A tone entered his voice, like the one I'd heard in Assassin's just before she'd melted every vamp on the dance floor; something ringing, humming with power despite how subdued his tone was. The wind increased, turning from a light breeze into a gale that whipped my duster around my legs. I saw a flower petal float past my face and realized with a start that Caster had started glowing with a bright, golden light— like sunlight, if sunlight had been filtered and distilled into the purest version of itself. His voice lowered even further until it was just the barest of whispers. "Garden of Avalon." 

The light intensified as it flowed off of him, bright enough that for a second I could see the club like it was in daylight, washing out the light from the runes on my staff until it seemed nonexistent. Oddly, even though the light had come from near-complete darkness, I didn't feel any sort of urge to cover my eyes. I’d have expected it to feel like coming out of a movie theater into a bright day times a thousand, but not only was there no pain, there wasn’t even any sort of shock. As the light intensified, so did that feeling that I couldn’t quite place. If I had to put a name to it, it felt like the time I'd once downed a superpowered energy drink potion, years before. Even that didn't really compare. That potion had given me energy and confidence, yeah, but it had been an illusion that had dissipated as soon as the effects ended. This, though? This felt real. 

And apparently it was real, as before my eyes I watched Lara's wounds begin to heal. The bones of her arm knitted themselves back into place as the swelling went down, unbroken skin covered the gashes on her stomach, and the bite marks on her disappeared at once as if they'd been erased. Lara's eyes came back into focus, and in the light I could see that they were a bright, electric blue, the way I'd seen the eyes of White Court vampires look after a very, very good meal. She opened her mouth, and for a second I thought she was about to speak. Instead she took a breath of the cold air and exhaled slowly before closing her eyes again. Caster was still holding onto her arm. Lara wasn't the only one getting healed, either; from around me in the alcoves I could hear people stirring and coming to, speaking in low, hushed voices. It seemed like whatever Caster was using-- another Noble Phantasm?-- was affecting the entire building, and it was healing everyone in it who was still alive enough to be healed. 

I gaped at Caster openly now. I already knew that even the best magical healing barely surpassed the medical advancements of the human world, and most of it could barely keep up. What Caster was doing, healing not just a single person but an entire building full of severe injuries, was leagues ahead of anything I’d ever even heard about. If I hadn’t already known his identity, I might have been able to guess it from the feat he was now performing alone.

Slowly the light around Caster died, leaving us back in darkness that seemed deeper now. The breeze tapered off, and the club suddenly felt unbearably hot and claustrophobic-- not to mention that after the smell of flowers faded the place absolutely stank. The notes of acid, dozens of intermingled perfumes, various bodily fluids, and blood absolutely filled the air, hitting me like a wall. The only reason I didn't lose my lunch right there was because I hadn't had much of a lunch to speak of in the first place. Next to me I saw Thomas reel slightly, bringing one of his hands up to his face, while Morgan just wrinkled his nose in disgust. Gorgon didn’t react at all, but then again, it’s possible that snakes don’t have much of a sense of smell in the first place. 

In front of us, Caster stood slowly. After a moment Lara shoved herself to her feet as well, the movement looking graceful and fluid despite the fact that literal seconds ago she'd been a bleeding wreck. Assassin stood along with her, and I noticed that the sickly sheen of sweat was gone from her forehead. She gave Caster a smile, licking her lips slowly in an obviously seductive motion, but he just inclined his head slightly towards her and moved back to Morgan's side. The smile melted off her face, leaving behind an expression that I could only describe as hungry .

The look on Lara's face was decidedly similar to the one on Assassin's when she nodded to Morgan and Caster. "I assume I owe you thanks." She reached out a hand towards Caster, who took it and shook it immediately. 

The look on his face became one of incredible smugness that I had to assume made him look infinitely more punchable from Lara’s angle. "Yes, I think you do owe us," Caster said. The smile on his lips gained a hint of teeth. "But that's fine! What business these days doesn't operate on credit?" Morgan's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull at Caster's words, and I had to clench my jaw hard to avoid laughing. If nothing else, I had to respect Caster's sheer audacity; he'd just saved Lara's life, and rather than waiting for an appropriate time and then bringing that up for a favor or as leverage, he just straight-out said that she owed him for it. It was dumb, but some kinds of dumb I can respect. A little bit. 

The look on Lara's face didn't change, except for a slight tightening of the skin at the corners of her mouth, but I could tell that Caster's words had gotten to her. She nodded slowly in response. "I will keep that in mind in future interactions." She looked around, glancing left and right around the catwalk. People had started to poke their heads out of the alcoves, looking groggy and sick, but alive-- and looking mostly uninjured. "What did you do?"

"Magician, tricks, etc," Caster said, waving a hand dismissively. "Isn't it enough that the body count for one of your favorite feeding grounds isn't going to go up any further?"

Assassin let out a quiet laugh from next to Lara, raising up one hand to her mouth delicately. The look was gone from her face, replaced by the same half-lidded, sleepy expression and fully-aware eyes that had graced it before. "I think I speak for my Master as well when I say those terms are acceptable." Her eyes narrowed, and her smile turned sharper. "For now, at least."

"Let's go, Assassin," said Lara, somehow managing to turn the words into a statement of absolute authority without raising her voice at all. She cocked her head slightly. "I suspect we'll soon be having company here, and I doubt any of you want to deal with the mortal authorities."

As soon as she said that, a small hand grabbed the upper part of my arm, pulling on it slightly. I flinched slightly, looking down, but it was Murphy's face looking back up at me. She was spattered with blood in a large enough quantity that I had to assume it was someone (or something) else's, and her face was set in an expression that I didn't need years of practice reading her body language to read as resignation. “She’s right. We need to get out of here.”

I had several immediate and conflicting reactions to seeing Murphy. The first was a desire to reach out and touch her arm to make sure that she was solid, and there, and okay. It was an impulse that surprised me with how strong it was, and it took me a moment to shake off. The second, immediately following that, was a desire to ask where she'd been and what was going on. I dismissed that one off-hand. The third reaction, and the one I followed through on, was to stop in my tracks and wait for her to keep speaking. Sure enough, after a second she started up again.

Murphy’s expression turned grim as her gaze moved from me to sweep around the others. "All of us need to get out. Now, before the cops and the paramedics get here and find..." she gestured to the absolute wreck that had, less than an hour ago, been Zero. "...this."

In the silence that followed that statement, I noticed that the sirens in the background had gotten exponentially louder. Apparently, Harry-five-minutes-from-now was now Present Harry, and was going to have to be the one to face this problem because Past Harry had decided on it.

Sometimes I really hate Past Harry.

Morgan and Lara, along with their respective Servants, decided to disappear from the club before the rest of us could-- Lara and Assassin slipping into a passageway that I hadn't noticed before, and Caster simply throwing up a shield so good over him and Morgan that I genuinely couldn't tell if they'd just disappeared. Despite our inability to follow their lead, Murphy, Thomas, and I made it out of Zero with surprisingly little difficulty-- thanks in no small part to Gorgon, who had begrudgingly agreed to take us down to the ground level in snake form. As we walked back out into the street, I noticed that it had started to rain a little bit, that kind of fine rain that leaves the world a little bit misty around the edges. I sighed and lifted up my arms, shielding my face. It figures. I'm not a huge fan of rain at the best of times, but right now, after having been trapped inside with that much carnage, I really was appreciating it. The cold air wiped away the competing smells of blood, perfume, and acid, leaving my nostrils clear in a fair approximation of what Caster's Noble Phantasm had done. I could tell that Murphy and Thomas felt the same, though Gorgon looked miserable. Her arms were wrapped around herself like she was cold, and I could have sworn I saw her shiver a little bit as we began to walk over to where Murphy had parked her car. It took me a second to realize that Thomas hadn't moved to follow us. When I did, I turned around to face him.

"Do you have a ride?" I asked. It came out as a more probing question than I wanted it to, and Thomas raised an eyebrow before nodding.

"My car's parked nearby," he said, gesturing over to an alleyway that probably led to somewhere behind the club. "I'll watch your backs until you're out of sight, then make a quick getaway. There shouldn't be any sort of problem."

I paused for a second, considering offering to bring Thomas with us, then remembered Gorgon's animosity towards him and Murphy's already impossibly cramped car. (And, without meaning to, I remembered how well-fed he seemed.) So instead I nodded. "Take care of yourself, man." Then I turned and took a few long strides to catch up with Murphy and Gorgon.

We walked, heading over towards where Murphy's car had been parked, with the sirens getting louder all the time. Just as we got there, an ambulance roared around the corner, sirens screaming as it headed towards Zero. The red and blue lights flashing on top of it reflected on the wet asphalt, leaving ghostly streaks of light. The streaks were followed by more in quick succession; a series of cop cars, all following the ambulance closely from behind, and each blasting their siren at top volume. As soon as the cars passed, Murphy wrenched open the door and got in the driver's seat, grimacing as the blood on her clothing rubbed off on her car’s upholstery. I did the same thing with the passenger's, once again turning myself into a contortionist for the purpose of fitting my legs under the dash. It only hurt me mildly this time, which I took to mean I was getting used to it. To my surprise, Gorgon did not get in the car as she had on the ride over; she dissipated in a shower of sparkles instead, dematerializing from where she had been standing. I blinked, but decided not to reach out to her with my mind. She was clearly angry, and I didn't want to make that any worse.

The sound of the rain dulled when I closed the door, and Murphy started the car and began backing out from her space. She was silent for a long few moments as we began to drive down the street in the opposite direction of Club Zero. Then she started talking, her voice quiet and calm in the way that meant she was carefully controlling it, rather than the calmness coming naturally. "Harry," she asked, "what were you doing back there?"

I blinked, surprised at the question. "Wait, what are you talking about? I did a lot of things recently."

Murphy sighed, accelerating as we got onto the freeway. "You know what I mean, Harry. I don't think you noticed, but when you killed that vampire before... it was different. You were different."

I thought back to the fight, to how I'd killed the vampire who had killed those young people, back in the club. I knew what she meant. My magic hadn't been the same when I did it; the gory red color stayed bright in my mind. Not just that, but the rage I'd felt, the brutality... I'd done similar before, but it somehow felt different this time. Combine that with how I'd reacted to Molly earlier, it gave me a pretty nasty picture of what was currently going on inside my head, and I had a hunch as to why. 

Lasciel and I were going to have to have a long talk. But first, I had to try to explain myself to Murphy without telling her about the Fallen lurking inside me.

I didn't think she'd judge me, really. Murphy and I had been through a lot together, including times when she'd literally shot and arrested me. We were past that now. We trusted each other. But... I had to admit to myself that it wasn't a matter of trust or judgment, not really. It was my own shame that I'd been living like this, that I'd allowed the shadow of Lasciel to take root in my head-- and it was a little bit of fear, too. As long as I didn't talk about it, there was the chance, just the slightest chance, that it wasn't actually real.

I took a deep breath and started talking, looking out the window rather than at Murphy. It didn't help; I could still see her reflection in the glass. "Recently," I said, "I've been experiencing... changes. In my emotions. I'm not sure why, but it makes it easier for me to get angry." I swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn't pick up on the thing I was leaving out. "I don't like it."

Murphy's reflection in the window glanced at me before looking back to the road. "So your judgment's been impaired," she said, quietly. "And there's something involved here that you don't want to tell me about. Why?"

I hesitated, debating denying it, then gave up and shook my head. "I... I'm just not ready, Murph." I turned to look at her, actually look at her. "When I am, I swear I'll tell you. But I'm not ready."

Murphy considered this for a second before nodding. "Fine. But just so you don't forget, you were the one who asked me to watch your back, and so help me god I'm going to do that." Again her eyes flicked to me. "And I'll hold you to that promise."

I nodded. "I get it, don't worry." My eyelids started to droop, and I leaned against the window, resting my head against the glass. "Karrin?" I said, vaguely aware of how exhausted I sounded. "You're a good friend."

Murphy let out a small laugh. "And you're lucky to have me around." She might have said something else, but I wasn't really aware of what.

I jolted awake when Murphy stopped the car, turning the engine off. It took me a second to get my bearings again, looking around in confusion as I tried to figure it out. "Where--?"

"We're outside your apartment," Murphy said. She raised an eyebrow at me. "You must be pretty out of it."

I blinked a few times, then shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's been a long day." Focusing out the condensation-fogged window, I could see the steps leading down to my basement place. I sighed. "Thanks, Murphy. I appreciate it." I unbuckled my seat belt and started to get out, turning when I did to look back at Murphy. "I mean it."

"I know you do, Harry," she said. The smile she gave me was a little bit sad at first, before it dropped into something more serious. "And if you really appreciate it, you'll make it up to me tomorrow by letting me know what you find at the Field Museum."

I thought for a second, then nodded. "Fine. In the meantime, can you look into anything that might be happening near the Willis Tower? I have the feeling that that's where the Denarians have holed up."

Murphy nodded. "I'll see what I can do." Then she started the engine back up, gesturing at me to close the door. "See you later, Harry."

"See you, Murph." I shut the door and stood back as Murphy drove off, feeling suddenly very alone.

The feeling didn't last long before there was a sparkle of light and Gorgon materialized next to me, still looking incredibly and utterly pissed off. There was a look of disgust on her face as she looked down on me, then turned and began to walk down the steps, wrenching the door to my apartment open without a word. I followed, feeling suddenly awkward as I tugged the door closed behind me. I hadn't pegged Gorgon as one to give me the silent treatment, but apparently she was angry enough for it.

Once I finally managed to get the door closed, I turned around and looked towards her. She was standing facing away from me, as still as a wax statue. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence.

"So," I said, "you never answered. What is it about Lara and Assassin that gets you so riled up?" She made a noise like she was going to answer me, but I held up a hand to stop her. "Listen. I hate Lara, too. She's manipulative, intrusive, she's fucked with my brain more than a few times, and she's a murderer. But with you it's like it's something different. It's not just that they're terrible people. It's like there's something inherent about their nature that makes you want to kill them. Hell, you got mad at Thomas, and he's..." I faltered, managing to stop myself just short of saying "harmless".

Thomas may have been my brother, but he was far from harmless.

"He's an ally," I finished, somewhat lamely. "And... and he's my brother. So what is it that gets you so upset about the White Court and Assassin? And why didn't you just kill Lara and Assassin back there anyways?"

There was silence for a long moment as Gorgon stood with her back to me, outlined in the silver light of the moon coming through my tiny basement window. After a long, slow second, she turned around. When Gorgon looked at me, her face was oddly tired. I could see it in the set of her mouth, in the tightness of the skin around her eyes. Physically she looked fine, but when I looked at her I got the impression that she hadn't slept in weeks.

"Master," she said, "You have a gift for ending up in the proximity of those who feed on others, either as an enemy or as a friend. I have no need for friendship. I already know how this will end."

"Now, that's comforting," I muttered. The exhaustion was starting to get to me again, and I found that the world suddenly felt shaky, like it was wobbling on its axis with the intent to knock me down. My eyes fluttered involuntarily, and I inhaled deeply, then sat down, facing Gorgon as she stood. Even though I was usually shorter than her anyways, I suddenly felt very aware of the power dynamic inherent in this position.

"Gorgon," I said, quietly. "I'm going to ask you one more question, and I want you to answer me honestly." Gorgon looked at me, and I sighed. "Listen. I have no idea who's going to win this war. For everyone's sake, I hope something happens so that no one does. But if we end up getting the Grail... what would you plan to wish for?"

Gorgon blinked at me. She seemed genuinely slightly taken aback by the question, but after a moment she nodded. "I would wish to see what I liked the most, Master." A disturbing little light entered her eyes. "The suffering of mortals."

"Yeah," I said. "I was a little nervous that you would say something like that." I sighed. "And you know I can't let you do that, right?"

Gorgon laughed, a low, bitter sound. "You can't let me? Save your command seals then, Master. You'll need them if we win. Both of them, in fact."

I swallowed, then put my hand on the arm of the chair and slowly shoved myself up. About halfway there I wobbled, almost falling. Before I could collapse, I felt the grip of a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. When I looked up, I couldn't see Gorgon's face in the shadows, but I could see a little bit of light reflecting off her eyes, her teeth. She didn't say anything. Her grip was firm, but not painful, and though I could feel how sharp her nails were through my shirt it didn't feel like she was hurting me with them.

A long moment passed before I spoke again. "Thank you," I said. Very carefully, I moved to extract myself from her grip, but she released me before I could, withdrawing her hand as suddenly as she had extended it. She didn't respond, but I saw her incline her head slightly in acknowledgement. Then she walked over to the couch and sat down.

Something seemed to go out of her, some emotional energy, and she suddenly seemed much smaller. I could see the top of her head as she bowed it, her hair flowing down and off the sofa-- now strangely still, rather than moving on its own. "Until this War ends," she said, her voice gravelly with what I assumed was fatigue, "I need you. You've exhausted yourself today. I've exhausted myself today. Neither of us can afford to continue in this way, or we will both die."

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good," I said. I blinked slowly, then sighed. "I'm going to bed. Assume you're going to sleep too?"

"Yes," said Gorgon. She didn't elaborate, and I felt suddenly very awkward.

"Well," I said. "Sleep well." For a second we stayed there like that, her sitting and me standing, until I took a deep breath and began to make my way down the hall towards my room, leaning on my wall as I went for support. When I finally got there I practically collapsed onto my bed.

I didn't even manage to take my duster off before the soft, sweet darkness enveloped me entirely.

Chapter Text

My eyes snapped open into a smothering darkness, my heart slamming itself hard against my ribs hard enough that it felt like it was trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest cavity. My entire body was sticky with sweat, and breathing felt like I was trying to suck air through a mouthful of wet cotton. I rolled over so that I wasn't lying face-down on the bed and my airway cleared, letting me take a long gasp of air. The relief lasted for approximately half a second before my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw the shadowed outline of a figure looming over me.

Instinctively I shoved myself over the opposite side of the bed, landing hard on the ground with a heavy thud that shook my bookshelves. Fighting against the drowsiness, I pushed myself up hastily into a standing relationship, drawing from my will in preparation to hit whoever had been standing over me with as much of a hit as I could manage. But instead of unleashing the energy I'd gathered into one messy blast of flame, I stopped, staring. Then I let the energy drain, slowly letting it go until I was no longer on the verge of burning down my own apartment. Closing my eyes, I let out a slow breath and counted to ten, willing myself into calm. It wasn't easy, since my body still wanted to rebel and either panic or lash out, but after a moment I was able to calm down enough that I could open my eyes and address the person standing in front of me.

"Lasciel," I said, keeping my voice very pointedly polite, "I thought I told you not to do that anymore."

Lasciel, still with her red hair from when I'd seen her-- had that really been earlier today?-- and lit by a soft light from an indeterminate source, shrugged. "I apologize, my host, but my preferred method of visiting you was... unavailable." For a brief second, her expression became one of distaste and anger, before it smoothed back out and became placid and calm once more. "I chose to wait until you awoke instead."

"Did you, now?" I asked, sitting down on the side of my bed and orienting myself to face her. "Well then, I take back everything I said. You're the absolute picture of courtesy." I registered the rest of her words shortly after, then blinked. "Wait, what do you mean by your "preferred method" of visiting me?"

"Well." Lasciel averted her eyes slightly, as if she was embarrassed. "Your dreams, host. I would have thought that was slightly obvious."

I opened my mouth, then closed it and shook my head. "I don't get it. I wasn't even really dreaming... about..." My voice trailed off, remembering how panicked I'd been upon awakening for no apparent meaning. I usually remembered my dreams in detail that was just a bit too vivid for me, but I didn't remember what I'd been having a nightmare about at all. Which was, needless to say, weird. More than a little bit weird, even without Lasciel somehow being unable to break into my dreams like she usually did when she wanted to talk.

A shiver slid down my spine as I thought about Lasciel's last visit to my dreams It seemed much longer than the few days it had been since she had been dragged out of my dreams and I was dragged into the Grail War. Lasciel's visits had always been intermittent, so I hadn't thought much about having some dreams without her presence in them-- especially because she'd been around in other ways (in my mirror, for example)-- but if she'd been actively trying to get into my dreams while I slept and hadn't been able to... what was keeping her out of my head?

The pieces seemed to be on the verge of coming together, but something was stopping them from fitting. It frustrated me, knowing that I was so close to an answer but couldn't quite connect the dots.

After a moment more I blinked, coming back to myself slightly, and moved my hand away from where I'd started picking at my blankets before speaking again. "So what you're saying is that something or someone is messing with my head."

Lasciel shook her head. "Not necessarily. Not even likely, in fact. You seem otherwise uninfluenced to my eyes."

"Except by you," I cut in.

"Your view of me is so flattering, my host," Lasciel said, her voice conspicuously empty of any trace of sarcasm in a way that made it very clearly sarcastic. "And I'm not trying to influence you--" I snorted, and she sighed. "--but you won't believe that."

"Because it's a lie."

"It's also far beyond the point at the moment." Lasciel sat down on the other side of the bed, the covers wrinkling and mattress compressing in a way that was way too realistic for an illusion. "If I had to guess why your dreams have been inaccessible to me, I would say that it is because they're connected to someone else's mind." Her eyes moved, looking towards the door.

I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking it too. Granted, it wasn't that much of a logical leap-- the dream I'd had last night had been pretty clearly from Gorgon's mind, not mine, which made the conclusion a little bit obvious. But... "If my mind is connected to Gorgon, and these are Gorgon's dreams that I'm getting," I said, "then why would that stop you from getting in? I don't understand the connection." I moved a hand across my face, wiping my eyes. "And why wouldn't I remember this dream?"

Lasciel shrugged a shoulder in a fluid, careless motion. "I wouldn't know. For the years I've been around, I've never seen a Holy Grail War conducted. Her eyes moved towards the door again, and fear entered her face, just like the fear I'd seen before. "And that creature..." She shook her head, looking back at me. "You know that I am old, but that word barely begins to cover it, my host. I am prior to anything you would recognize as life. I am older than you can imagine, Harry Dresden, mortal as you are." I opened my mouth to make a snarky remark about what anti-wrinkle cream she used, but Lasciel held up her hand, and my jaw abruptly slammed shut. "I may be old, host, certainly older than her, but Avenger comes from another lineage entirely. Another set of gods."

She lowered her hand, and my mouth was free again suddenly. I reached up and massaged my chin for a moment before looking at her. "Okay, first thing: Never do that again. You wanna talk then talk, but don't forget that if I don't like what you're doing with me I can shove you into an empty, damp hole somewhere in my head and leave you there to rot indefinitely." Despite my words, I felt a little anxious, more than usual when talking to Lasciel. Lasciel could mess with my perceptions plenty-- she'd once made me completely convinced that a building was on fire and almost gotten me to jump out a window to my death-- but she rarely displayed power over my physical form like this. It made what I had said more bravado than substance, but there wasn't any reason she needed to know that.

After staring at her for a bit to get my words to sink in, I kept talking. "But Gorgon's not doing this on purpose, and she's not trying to take control of my thoughts in any way, right? You can't sense her doing anything like that."

Lasciel frowned, then shook her head. "But, my host, I must strongly advise--"

"The same thing you said before, blah blah blah." I waved my hand, dismissing her argument. "I'm not just going to kill her. Period, full stop. How many times do I have to tell you that she and I are allied towards a common goal until you get it?"

The door swung open, and Lasciel disappeared. In the doorway stood Gorgon, hunching slightly to be able to look through. A guilty jolt went through me when I realized that she must have been standing there long enough to hear at least my side of the conversation, and I winced, expecting to be subject to her anger. But her face was... not exactly calm or relaxed, but not displaying any signs of annoyance or hostility either. Instead she looked at me curiously, both eyebrows slightly raised. "Master," she said, her voice still hoarse from sleeping, "who were you speaking to?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it. Then, after another moment, I opened it again. "It's nothing, Gorgon. I talk to myself sometimes." The exhaustion was starting to seep back into my limbs, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and go back to sleep. But when I thought about sleeping I remembered the way I had woken up, and a bit of the residual fear from the unremembered nightmare spiked again. Slowly I started to get up, straightening my duster, which I must have fallen asleep in. "Did you get enough rest?"

"Yes," Gorgon replied immediately, "but you did not. Why are you preparing to go out?"

"I'm not going to be able to sleep again tonight," I said, trying to blink away how tired I was, "so I figured that we'd go out for a walk. Probably a walk somewhere around the Field Museum." I glanced at my Mickey Mouse watch. "At four AM."

Gorgon evaluated me for a moment, possibly weighing the costs and benefits of forcing me back into bed, but after a moment she gave me a nod. "I will prepare myself."

I didn't ask her what her preparation would entail, just nodded at her, and she moved out of the doorway and back down the hall. After a moment I heard the door to my fridge open and close, and then heard the crinkling of plastic. I walked slowly down the hallway, careful not to make very much noise, unable to resist the temptation to peek.

Gorgon was standing in the kitchen with the lights still off, eating what seemed to be the leftover bits of some KFC I'd gotten earlier this week. Mouse was sitting at her feet, keeping his eyes on the drumstick that she was holding loftily above his head. His tail thumped a few times, but Gorgon ignored it, instead focusing wholeheartedly on her chicken. Mouse let out a small chuffing noise, and she finally looked down. When she saw him, staring up at her with the most hopeful expression a dog's face could possibly hold, she made a disgusted face and wrinkled her nose. Then, without even hesitating, she tugged a strip of meat from the bone and dropped it down, where Mouse caught it and ate it in one bite.

I took this as a good time to step out into the open. "I thought you said that you didn't need to eat," I said.

Gorgon looked at me, her mouth shiny with fat and cheeks puffed with meat, then swallowed her mouthful in an almost comical motion that reminded me of watching a snake eat a rat twice the width of its own body. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Need to eat, no," she said, "and this certainly isn't my desired food or source of mana, but it will do in order to recharge at least slightly." Gorgon made a face, then grabbed a chicken wing and sucked the meat from the bone in one feral motion. I must have looked confused, because she snorted, then performed that swallowing maneuver again and kept talking. "Your food is disgusting."

"Then I'll have to get you something from Mac's next time." I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now that's food."

"I doubt it, Master." She paused, considering. "Mac. Is that the name of the man who runs the establishment we went to yesterday morning?"

I blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because I have a request for you, Master," Gorgon said. She threw away the plastic bag I'd kept the chicken in, then turned to me, dusting off her hands. "Before we visit the area near to where the Red Court has been operating with their Servant, I would like to return to the site of our attack."

I raised an eyebrow. "Think some of them are still going to be hanging around there?"

"I need to see if our enemies left anything on the battlefield," she said, by way of explanation. "I would have investigated further had we been able to stay yesterday, but your injuries left us unable to remain there." She didn't say it like it was meant to be an accusation, but it still made me bristle a little bit. "Last night the difference between the two vampire attacks was made all the starker, and I want to see if we can find anything that might lead us to a conclusion as to why that is."

--

We pulled up at Mac's a few minutes later, and I parked the Beetle in one of the empty spaces. Obviously it wasn't open yet, but it was still a little bit jarring seeing the windows of the pub dark and lifeless. I'd only ever been in there when the lights were on and the pub was warm and welcoming, and the contrast was a little jarring. I got out of the Beetle and Gorgon materialized next to me, looking uncomfortable. It wasn't cold-- the night air was still muggy and warm-- but she wrapped her arms around herself in a gesture that spoke to me of self-protection and vulnerability. I had to wonder why Gorgon would feel vulnerable. Instead of asking her about it, though, I started walking around the parking lot, looking for anything that seemed out of place and leaving her to do the same.

It didn't take me long to find it.

One of the other restaurants in the same square as Mac's, sharing the parking lot, had a few planters out front that contained various living flowers. I was pretty sure the one I was looking at had held mostly roses at some point, judging by the thorns I could see on the stems, and a few detached yellow petals on the ground indicated that one of the others had probably had daffodils. Now, though, the flowers were unrecognizable. There were huge, malformed blooms on stems that stretched down the sides of the cement planters and onto the ground like vines, and in the glow of the street lamps I couldn't tell what color they were, but it didn't seem like a color that usually existed in nature. They stank, too, letting off an odor that I could only describe as foul and stagnant water, with a little bit of rotting flesh. It was nothing like the scent of any flower I'd ever encountered before, and I couldn't get near them without wanting to throw up. It wasn't necessarily that the smell on its own was that bad, but it seemed to creep its way into my body until the only thing I wanted to do at all was vomit. I felt bile rise in my mouth as I moved away, taking deep breaths of night air to stave off the nausea and wash the stench from my nose.

Something clearly very weird had gone on around here. Magic can sometimes have strange side-effects on plants and animals that happen to be nearby when a spell is cast, especially if it was done sloppily with a lot of extra energy sloshing around, but I'd never encountered any sort of spell that could do this just by a side-effect. Either someone had specifically cursed these plants, or someone had been using magic I was completely unfamiliar with and the spell had affected them just from proximity. It made me uncomfortable, and I looked around for Gorgon to relay this discovery. Before I could call for her, her voice entered my mind. Master, she said, come here. You're going to want to see this.

Where are you? I thought back. I lifted my head and looked around. I don't see you anywhere.

Around the corner of the building. Come look. And hurry.

Grumbling to myself, I began to head around the corner towards where Gorgon had said she was. I couldn't see anything conspicuous as I walked down it-- it was an alleyway between two small shops that lacked street lamps, and I could only tell where I was putting my feet by the dim neon glow of one of the signs. I couldn't find Gorgon until slender strands of a purple something wrapped around me and pulled me into a dead-end offshoot of the alleyway. I struggled slightly, but Gorgon's hair held me fast as she held a finger to her lips. "Look," she mouthed, before pointing downwards towards the end of the dead-end.

At the end of the passageway there laid a strange, malformed-looking patch of shadow, lying completely prone. At first my eyes just slid off of it, unable to take in any identifying details, but I focused harder on trying to pick out anything familiar from the twisted, dark shape, scanning it over and over until I landed on one detail-- the spidery silhouette of a clawed hand, a little ways away from the main mass. I followed the shape of the hand up to the arm it was attached to, then further, until I could finally see the shape for what it was.

At one point, the figure I was looking at had been a Red Court vampire. Now it was clearly dead, and its already-grotesque corpse looked wrong in a way so fundamental that I couldn’t take it in all at once. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, more and more details were revealed to me. It was bloated, its stomach distended and unnaturally engorged like it had already begun to rot. In contrast, its limbs seemed unnaturally thin, the muscles and bone standing out in sharp relief like its skin had been vacuum-sealed onto it, and their lengths looked unnatural-- one side of its body seemed more stretched than the other, making it appear strangely lopsided as it lay sprawled on the ground. I moved a little bit in Gorgon's grasp, and she seemed to get the message, because the tendrils of her hair withdrew, leaving me standing on the floor of the alley. Cautiously, I began to walk closer, reaching one hand up to the pentacle on my necklace and channeling light through it. The blue glow that now illuminated the vampire's corpse exposed more details to me, ones that I hadn't seen in the dark. What I had thought was a shadow surrounding its form now reflected back oily arcs of light, revealing it as a puddle of some sort of liquid. I stopped just outside its perimeter to further examine the vampire, leaning over. 

Now that I could see better, I noticed that the vamp's skin wasn't the usual rubbery, slick texture, but was now something spongy and dry, tinged grey. I could see the tips of its fingers crumbling away into a fine powder. Even as I watched the rot seemed to spread further up its limbs, turning more and more of it into dust. I'd seen vampires die before, seen sunlight tear them to shreds and seen them get burned and blown apart, but nothing like this. And its face...

There was an expression on that vampire's face, frozen there even after death, that I couldn't describe even if I wanted to. I didn't know muscles could move that way.

I couldn't see its eyes, sunken deep as they were, but I thought I caught a glimpse of something within its dark sockets; a glint of light, faint enough that I wasn't quite sure if I had just imagined it. I leaned over further to get a closer look, and the same scent I'd smelled from the flowers filled my nostrils-- putrid standing water with the corpses of countless animals festering under the surface. The smell of decay and death was so strong now that it blocked out anything else, like it was suffocating me. I reeled, straightening up-- and was abruptly yanked off-balanced as a a dry, crumbling hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me forwards with strength that seemed like it couldn't possibly have come from those distorted limbs. I fell, towards the pool of stinking liquid and the vampire lying in it, bracing myself for the impact.

The hit came a millisecond later, but it wasn't anything like what I had expected. Instead of falling face-first onto the misshapen vampire, however, a sparkle of light appeared in the corner of my eye, and an immense force grabbed me by the collar and flung me back down the alley with a cracking noise and a pain so sharp that for a second I thought my neck had broken. Putting up a shield at the moment was going to be the next best thing to impossible, but I managed to tuck myself into the duster, pulling it around me and over my head just before I hit the ground. I skidded over the rough ground for a second before coming to a stop at the entrance to the alley, facing upwards. The few stars in the sky above me spun like I was a cartoon character who had just gotten hit over the head with a mallet, and it took a second for them to go still enough for me to sit up. When I did, I noticed that the hand of the vampire had come away with me, still clamped onto my arm hard enough that I was sure it'd left bruises.  I grimaced and reached out to pull it off, but the grey rot got to it before I could, and it crumbled into dust. 

The shimmer of light again came from next to me, and Gorgon appeared, her face twisted into an expression of disgust. She reached down and wordlessly pulled me up, and together we looked towards the end of the alley, where the once-vamp had managed to force itself into a lopsided standing position, despite the fact that it was disintegrating from the edges inwards. It took a gangling step forwards, then dropped as its leg gave way beneath it, a garbled chittering noise that sounded nothing like a voice coming from its throat as it crumpled to the ground. I saw it lift its now-handless arm in silhouette, as if reaching out. Then it went limp.

I couldn't see it clearly in the dark, but I'd have bet dollars to donuts that throughout the whole revolting display the look on its face had never changed.

Gorgon and I stood there in silence for a second before I decided to break it. "Well," I said, "seems like it was only mostly dead."

Gorgon looked at me, her brows knitted together in what seemed like confusion, before she nodded. "Mostly dead seems the best way to describe it." She looked back at the crumpled and crumbling vampire, and her upper lip raised slightly. "Fully dead now, though."

I nodded, then grimaced. "I think there's something deeper going on here, something that we're not seeing."

I briefly explained the flowers I had found to Gorgon, watching as her face turned from an expression of disgust to something different, almost unnerved. When I was done, Gorgon was silent, seeming to be considering me. Her forked tongue flicked out over her lips like she was licking them, and I saw her shoulders jerked upwards in an involuntary movement. Then she let out an annoyed-sounding grunt. "We should leave, Master. It's best that we attempt to find another one of these creatures before dawn."

I sighed, thinking about my once-more aching body, my exhausted limbs, my brain feeling like it was swimming through syrup. "Couldn't agree with you more," I said. "But we're going to stop somewhere along the way."

--

I parked the Beetle in a parking garage near the Field Museum and finished off the last few bites of my burger (while ignoring the part of my brain berating me for eating so much fast food on my tiny budget) before getting out of the car and heading out through the darkened park towards our destination. Gorgon materialized next to me, but neither of us said anything, and instead we walked in silence.

The Chicago Field Museum is located on the Lake Michigan side of the South Loop, near the Shedd Aquarium and Grant Park and almost due southeast of Mac's. It's a big stone building with columns that give a distinct Greco-Roman feel and banners proudly displaying new exhibits hanging between them. Wide, white marble steps lead up to the entrances, and the whole thing is surrounded on all sides by gardens and greenery. To put it in simple words, it's a beautiful building. And yet, as Gorgon and I headed down one of the stone paths towards it, I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine.

Last Halloween, the museum had played host to a few seriously nasty necromancers, which had led to a couple of seriously nasty murders. One of them had been the death of a visiting professor who'd had his guts spilled by his possessed grad student in an attempt to see the future through them.

Another one had been the death of an ex-Denarian by the name of Quintus Cassius, who had died when I told my dog to rip out his throat.

I swallowed and tried to focus on the steady pounding of my footsteps to keep me grounded, but the memories kept creeping into my mind. Cassius and I had had a previous encounter before the events of last Halloween, during the Shroud of Turin incident. He'd helped torture and kill a good man, one of Michael's fellow Knights, and in return the Knights had taken his coin from him and I’d broken his arms and legs with a baseball bat. After that I wasn't sure what exactly had happened to him, but I gathered that he'd been left denarius-less and broken until he'd been able to heal enough to join up with a necromancer and go after me-- and after Lasciel's coin. Revenge and power, all in one. He'd finally caught up to me in the Field Museum, and had been in the middle of trying to kill me when Mouse and a friend of mine had gotten the jump on him.

The last moments of his life had been spent unleashing his death curse on me, all his magical power poured out in one instant into two words.

Die alone.

I hadn't realized I'd stopped walking until I heard Gorgon's voice in my head. As I came back to myself, I just barely managed to catch the last part of what she was saying. "--are you doing?" I looked up and saw her still walking, a few dozen feet ahead of me, outwardly appearing unaware that I was no longer nearby.

It took me a second to process what she had asked enough to respond, and a little longer to think of how to do so. Finally I shrugged slightly. Nothing. Just... thinking.

Think at another time. We need to be observant, not lost in contemplation. That is how you get ambushed. Gorgon's mental voice turned dry. Again.

I sighed aloud and started walking again, speeding up my pace to catch up with her while doing my best to keep my eye on the surroundings. "Yeah, yeah," I grumbled under my breath, as I came up next to her. "Let's just walk."

We started heading along the paths, taking a circuitous route that started close to the Field Museum and widened slowly outwards in an almost-spiral. The sky was already starting to lighten slightly as we walked, and I took a peek at my watch. 5:02 am. Still too early for sleep-deprived wizards, but I was more than slightly concerned that it would be too late for any kind of vampire activity. If I hadn't been holding onto my staff with my good hand, I'd have been fidgeting already. Gorgon seemed to be getting more and more antsy as we walked, too; I saw her hair curl and uncurl slightly like she was flexing it, and her fingers clenched and unclenched simultaneously, a gesture more of restlessness than anything else. And still we walked, heading around and around as the sky continued to get brighter. Next to Gorgon, I was uncomfortably aware of how loudly I moved-- her steps were near silent, despite her size, and I felt impossibly clumsy next to her.

I could feel dawn steadily creeping closer as we kept walking, like magical pressure was building up in the atmosphere. Dawn is a powerful time in the supernatural world; when the sun comes up, it effectively cleanses the world, dissipating spells and constructs that had been left out in the open. It's a purifying force. It's also not a good time for vampires to be out-- or at least, not the normal kind-- and I was starting to think that Gorgon and I were going to have to call the whole thing a wash and head home when I noticed a familiar shape dart out from behind a tree in front of us and move fluidly towards a nearby building, the few streetlights that were still on reflecting greasily off its wrinkled skin. 

I sensed Gorgon about to move before she did, but I wasn't fast enough to do anything about it even if I had wanted to. There was a split-second where her muscles tensed, and then she was gone, off like a shot down the path towards the Red Court vamp almost faster than I could blink. Her steps weren't quiet anymore-- now when they hit the pavement they sounded like thunder, fast hits against the ground that seemed to come from something far heavier than her as she poured on the speed, and part of my brain conjured up images of a giant Gorgon terrorizing Tokyo. She moved super-humanly fast, faster than the vampire was, and even with the vamp's lead she was gaining on it quick. In the dim light there was a gold-green sheen to her skin, the same color as her scales.

The vampire didn't glance back at all, but it was obvious that it had noticed her, as it jinked and swerved while it ran to try and throw her off. Gorgon didn't fall for it, just barreled towards the vampire as fast as she could until she was within mere feet of it. Her arm shot out, snatching at it, but it jerked once more to the right and then--

The vampire’s form dissipated entirely, breaking apart into pieces and leaving nothing but thin air where it had just been.

Gorgon skidded to a stop, looking wildly around for it. I couldn't see the expression on her face, but if I'd had to guess I'd have said her teeth were bared in frustration and anger. I took a step forward, about to head towards her again, when dawn finally broke.

I didn't see the sunrise so much as I felt it, the first rays of light washing over me like a wave. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, exactly, but it was significant enough to distract me for a moment-- a moment that turned out to be crucial, in fact, because before I realized what was really happening another feeling hit me, hard enough that it nearly knocked me on my ass. My entire body went numb and painful simultaneously, thrumming with a vibration so intense that it felt like I was about to shake apart from the inside out, and what felt like buckets of sweat poured off me in an instant. My vision blanked out for a moment, going completely white as a light so bright that it hurt shone directly into my eyes, and wind swirled around me, so hot and humid that I felt like I was being smothered. I smelled something on it-- a jungle scent, thick and dense with vegetation, mixed with spices and something that might have chocolate, intense enough to burn my nostrils and make me wheeze like an asthmatic in a cloud of exhaust. In desperation I tried to channel my will against the attack I knew was coming, but I was still reeling too hard to concentrate, and even though the light was fading my vision was still too covered in sunspots for me to see. 

A cheerful, slightly accented voice came from behind me. "Good morning! I heard you were looking for me, yes? Now, let's make this fight free but fair!" 

Before I could move, a vice-like grip wrapped around my waist, the world tilted to a 180 degree angle, and for the second time in two hours my back hit the ground hard enough to rattle my bones. As I stared up at the cloudless, pink sky, I could only think one thing.

Damn it, if this isn’t just my luck.

Chapter Text

It took a moment for my addled brain to make sense of what had happened against the distraction that was the jarring impact of my body against the ground, but I'll give myself credit for one thing; I put together that I'd been suplexed by the enemy Servant before Gorgon slammed into her at a speed I would previously not have thought possible.

The impact of Gorgon's body against the other Servant-- Rider?-- sounded like nothing so much as an explosion, a heavy whoomph that sent vibrations out through the world and everything nearby. The ground shook beneath me like I was at the epicenter of an extremely localized earthquake. There were a series of cracking noises, and I managed to roll to the side and onto my feet, snatching my staff away just in time to avoid a falling tree limb. It crashed into the space where I'd just been lying and broke apart into a shower of splinters, raining down on me and the two Servants. Then I noticed something that made me feel suddenly very, very nervous.

Gorgon had hit Rider with amazing power and speed, and she hadn't moved back a single step.

Even with regards with magic, the laws of physics still apply. Even if this Servant was somehow an immovable object, Gorgon's strike should have made the ground give way underneath her, carved furrows into it made by Rider's feet. But instead she stood there, having not moved an inch, as solid as any rock. There was no strain apparent in her limbs as she held Gorgon at arm's length from her, and I was able to take her in as she stood.

She was blonde, her long hair cascading down her back, but her face was mostly obscured from my view by a headdress, one that spread out in a halo of gold metal and feathers all around her head. Rider was shorter than Gorgon, but only just barely-- if I had to guess, I'd say she was eye level to me at least-- and she was covered with clothes in bright colors of blue and gold and red. They were the only thing that stirred from Gorgon's hit, the fringe at the edges ruffling in the residual wind of the concussive force. Metal bracers also decorated with feathers rested on her wrists and legs, decorated with designs that looked Mesoamerican, all blocky, thick lines and geometrical shapes. And through it all, she resonated with an unmistakable aura of power. The scent and light of her wasn't physical, I realized, it was just the closest my body and mind could get to processing the onslaught of magical sensory information that radiated off of her in waves. The realization sent a shiver down my spine.

Gorgon let out a deep, animalistic roar as Rider held her off, gold and green scales beginning to cover her arms and legs as her clothing melted away into the bronze of her armor and she began to transform. Her tail extended behind her, her height growing until she towered over Rider, thrashing like a captured snake in her grasp-- and still the other Servant held her in place, looking her up and down.

"You know," Rider said, her tone conversational, "I'm not sure exactly why, but you seem familiar." Her hair stirred back, giving me a glimpse of her face as it split into a wide, sharp-toothed grin, a glint of green showing from a jewel embedded in the skin just below her lower lip. "Have we met?"

"You don't know me," Gorgon snarled, baring her fangs. With a quick jerking motion she wrenched one clawed hand from Rider's grasp to slash at her face, but the blow didn't land. Instead Rider twisted her body, moving fluidly in a motion that my eye couldn't follow. Gorgon's claws went past Rider's face, close enough to ruffle her hair, as Rider disappeared around Gorgon, darting to the side of her that was opposite me. I didn't see what Rider did, exactly, but I sure as hell saw the end result.

Several thousand pounds of snake woman flew through the air and hit the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the concrete.

If I thought the sound of Gorgon and Rider colliding was loud, the sound of Gorgon's impact was earth-shattering. She hadn't even left the ground entirely, but . Broken pieces of concrete flew from where she'd landed, and I just barely managed to dodge a chunk the size of my head from hitting me square in the chest. Enchanted duster or not, that might have left me with a few bad bruises, if not with several broken ribs. A plume of dust shrouded the area, making me cough and spit and obscuring my vision, but even before it began to settle I saw something rise out of it, towering over me. Gorgon's full form was silhouetted in the dawn light, casting a massive shadow over Rider and I alike, but in that darkness I could see her eyes as clearly as if they'd been glowing with hatred. As the dust began to clear I noticed that Gorgon's monstrous form was different now; the independently moving strands of her violet hair had transformed, bunching together into tendrils. Each of the tendrils ended in a shadowy black and red snake head, their mouths opening and closing to display razor-sharp fangs. With a collective hiss that felt like my bones were being rubbed with sandpaper, the snakes moved as one, striking towards the space where Rider was standing.

What happened next was too fast for my eyes to really follow, but the best I can describe it is this: when Gorgon's snakes slammed into the ground where Rider had just been, she simply wasn't there anymore. Instead there was a blur of movement, the rustle of leaves, and Gorgon was knocked forwards by the force of a ball of light slamming hard into her back. Rider's laughter echoed through the air, somehow drowning out the noise of Gorgon falling, and suddenly I felt very, very small in comparison to the fight going on in front of me. 

I hate feeling that way. It tends to make me a little more irritating than usual.

"Hey!" I shouted, my voice sounding considerably less impressive in the wake of the sound of Gorgon hitting the ground. I grabbed my staff, holding it aloft, and began to channel power into my shield bracelet as Rider's face turned towards me. I had to squint to see her eyes, bright green and absolutely glowing with a pure joy that made my guts tremble a little. I did my best to keep my voice steady as I yelled towards her. "Hey! Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

Gorgon's voice in my head was a combination of anger and fear. Master, what are you doing?! You-- you-- A string of incomprehensible words followed, most likely curses. Don't taunt her, just get out of here!

Not a chance.

Fuck you! Gorgon screeched, straining against Rider's grip. Her tail whipped around, lashing around Rider's body and flinging her off and towards the tree line.

Instead of slamming into the trees at max speed, Rider seemed to flip in midair, her body twisting. Her feet landed on the ground, making her skid backwards as she maintained her stance. Her eyes locked on me, ignoring Gorgon, and she called out, her voice ringing. "So you want a fight too, then? In that case, I can't deny you!" Rider braced backwards, and I had the slightest moment of warning before she fully launched herself at me.

I wouldn't have been able to get my shield up before she hit me no matter what, so instead I did the next best thing-- I dropped to the ground, tucking myself into a roll for the second time. Rider's strike whistled over my head, and I came up out of the roll just as she landed, a few feet away with my staff between her and me. "Nice dodge!" she called to me cheerfully. "But you both have some learning to do. I don't think two-on-one is raising your odds of winning this match very much!" The same sharp-toothed smile crossed her face as she looked at me. "Don't worry, though! I'll make sure to teach you a few lucha moves."

Oh, shit. 

My muscles burned as I shoved myself up, reminding me of how hard I'd been pushing myself lately, but I'd barely gotten to my feet before Rider was on me, locking her arm around my head and neck. Her body left the ground, her weight suddenly pulling hard at my shoulders, and my stomach dropped as we both plummeted, the ground rushing up to meet me face-first. I just barely managed to avoid slamming my head into the concrete, but the force of the fall knocked the wind out of me. Rider's arms released me, and I vaguely realized that she was getting up, which meant I had to move-- but all I could do was lie there, gasping for breath as Rider's shadow fell across me. A sudden animal terror filled my brain, a certainty that if I didn't do something then the next blow was going to kill me, so I did the only thing I could-- I drew all the air I could into my abused lungs and swept my hands towards Rider's legs, extending my will out, expelling it in a surge of power. "Fuego!"

The spell came out as more of a wheeze than the shout I'd wanted it to, but a gout of flame leapt from me to Rider, heating the air around us like I'd just opened the door to an oven. It splashed against her skin as harmlessly as if I'd thrown water at her, but for a second I saw her glance down, and I used that second to scramble up, barely managing to stay upright as the world tilted dangerously around me. As I did, Gorgon's voice rang in my mind. Master, get out of the way! I can't attack as long as you're close to--

Rider's voice interrupted her. "Ah-ah," she said, tutting her tongue. "That wasn't very sportsmanlike!" Her mouth pulled down into an exaggerated frown. "As a big sister, I'm disappointed in you. I was even going a little bit easy on you, and look where it got us." She began to move to the side, forcing me to move opposite her until we were circling each other.

Big sister? What? I couldn't dwell on the confusion long-- Rider's muscles tensed almost imperceptibly, and I suddenly knew that she was about to leap at me again if I didn't do something. Even if she had been going easy on me, I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my staff behind me and to my left, and I suddenly realized I had a few straws left to grasp at.

"Well," I said, my voice hoarse and strained, "that's not all I've done that's not very sportsmanlike. I should have introduced myself." A gleam entered Rider's eye. I took a breath, praying I'd judged her right, and drew myself up to my full height, staring directly at her as I channeled my most powerful, important, look-at-and-listen-to-me voice. "My name is Harry Dresden, Warden of the White Council, professional wizard, and enemy of the Red Court." I scanned Rider's face, looking for any sign of a reaction to that, but her face remained impassive, except for one eyebrow, which cocked in a way that in any other situation I'd have pegged as confused. Filing that away somewhere in my exhausted mind, I continued. "But all that aside, I am facing you now in my capacity as Avenger's Master in this Holy Grail War." I glanced over Rider's shoulder at Gorgon, who had stopped moving and was staring at me, transfixed, her face frozen in a look of combined horror and anger. "Avenger, say hi."

Gorgon let out a low, threatening hiss that seemed to vibrate through the ground, and I looked back at Rider and shrugged. "She's not really the social type. But hey, what's a match without the participants introducing themselves?" I sidled over a little more to my side and prayed that Rider would indulge me for just a few seconds longer.

Rider raised an eyebrow at me, mirroring my movements. "In that case I should introduce myself to you formally, no? Well, since there's no announcer..." She took another step, moving to the side until she was standing directly silhouetted against the dawn sky, which suddenly seemed to glow much brighter. That same oppressive, humid jungle heat swept over me again as she spread her arms wide, and I realized that the sky didn't seem brighter-- it was brighter, blazing so intensely around her that I had to raise up an arm to shield my eyes. Rider's voice, when she spoke, sounded layered, like she wasn't speaking with one voice but with a thousand voices all overlapping. "Feathered Serpent, god of the sun and spirit of wind and rain: the goddess Quetzalcoatl versus the Master Harry Dresden! Round two, start!" The last of her words were drowned out by a roar of voices cheering, a noise that seemed to come from all directions, boxing us in until the world was just me, Rider, and the rising sun.

My mind raced , the pieces falling into place all at once. Mesoamerican artifacts as summoning catalysts. Vampires immune to the sun. It made perfect sense-- and my guts wobbled a little as I realized what that meant.

A god. I was, somehow, fighting a god in hand-to-hand combat, and the only reason I was still alive was that she was going easy on me.

The voices and lights died down, she came at me again, and I braced myself for the hit.

Rider's-- Quetzalcoatl's-- shoulder slammed into my chest like a hammer, and even though I knew now that she was softening her blows even more considerably than I'd thought, it didn't make much of a difference. I'd been planning for her to hit me and send me  backwards towards my staff, but I hadn't expected just how hard that kind of hit would be. My chest damn near folded in on itself from the blow, and my feet left the ground like I'd been yanked off them with a hook. I went back-- and then I just kept going, past my staff and off the edge of the path. My body hit the grass hard enough that I plowed a furrow into it, sending dirt clods flying into the air and down my clothes. My vision blacked out for a moment as pain took over, radiating from every point of impact, but mostly from my chest. I tried to breathe, but my lungs had stopped obeying my body's commands entirely, so all I could do was lie there. A muffled voice in my head was screaming. There was a blur of movement in the corner of my eye, the sound of another collision from Rider's direction, and then the scream moved from inside my head to outside of it, an inhuman shriek with guttural, hissing undertones splitting the sky.

Gorgon.

I tried to get up, but my body only responded by twitching feebly. I had to get up. I had to get up, to do something. To do anything. I focused all of the energy and will I had into moving, pouring every last dreg into my desire to stand back up-- and before I could move a familiar face popped into my field of vision, and Vlad scooped me off the ground and into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. The world transformed into a blur of movement, the sound of rushing air joining the noises of the quickly becoming more distant fight. Above it I heard Susan, yelling from somewhere over to my right. "Call off your Servant, Harry! Now!"

I shoved my mind back, through my mental link to Gorgon, forcing as much of myself as I could into her immediate consciousness to make myself heard.  Gorgon! Let it go, because we're getting out of here!

There wasn't a verbal response, but the sounds of battle behind us abruptly ceased, leaving only the sound of wind and running footsteps. My vision began to fade in and out as Vlad ran, my entire body thrumming with pain and nausea, but even though I desperately wanted to lose consciousness my body didn't seem to want to let me. Instead I faded into a state of semi-awareness, the world around me fading to leave me alone with my pain.

--

When I finally became fully aware again, I was curled up in the backseat of a car that had the distinct stale-leather scent of a rental vehicle. My legs felt uncomfortably crushed against the side door, and everything else hurt like hell, but my head was resting on something strangely soft that I eventually figured out was someone's lap. Susan?

  "Harry," Susan's voice came from the direction of the front seat, strained and tense. "Are you still with us?"

Not Susan, then. I hesitated for a moment before biting the bullet and opening my eyes. As I squinted up against the dawn light coming through the car windows, I was able to make out the shape of the person holding me-- long, flowing hair and sharply angled features, pale skin like marble contrasting with dark clothing. Vlad looked down at me with serious, dark-lined eyes, and I felt a sudden flush rise to my cheeks. When I spoke, my voice sounded considerably weaker than I expected. "Yeah," I said, then cleared my throat, making an effort to speak louder. "Yeah, I'm up. Where are we going?"

As I spoke, I shifted my weight, making an attempt to move off of Vlad's lap. Instead of letting me get up, however, Vlad placed a slim, long-fingered hand on my chest and pushed me gently back down. "Don't move. The state you're in is quite... fragile." His expression turned annoyed, his eyes moving up to stare out-- I could only assume into the rear-view mirror. "Master, was this man so self-destructive when the two of you were romantically involved?"

"Yes," Susan said, her voice dry. "Yes, he was."

"Hey!" I could practically feel my cheeks getting redder. I made another token attempt to get up, but my head did a wobbly pirouette as soon as I moved and I wasn't even able to put up token resistance. "'M not self-destructive," I muttered, fully aware of how my actions didn't speak to the validity of my words. A ghost of feminine laughter went through my head, and I scowled. Shut it, you. "Anyways," I said, redoubling, "you didn't answer my question. Where are we going?"

Vlad's expression turned uncomfortable, his pale eyebrows drawing together as his mouth twisted into a grimace. "We are going," he said, "somewhere I strongly encouraged my Master to avoid."

"It's not that bad," Susan's voice came, but there was a greenish undertone in her voice told me that she was lying. There was a shuffling noise, and then Susan was looking over her shoulder, leaning downwards to look at me. "We're going to talk to the Church's representative."

"You mean Father Forthill?" I interrupted. My stomach grew cold. The memory of how I'd felt in St. Mary's felt suddenly very heavy, pulling me down like I'd been tied to a block of concrete and tossed into Lake Michigan. "Why?"

"Frankly?" Susan said, the nauseated tone in her voice growing more prominent, "It's the only place the Reds aren't likely to send their Servant. We've probably lost her, but given the name she gave you, I don't particularly want to take the chance that we haven't. And speaking of Servants--" She hissed through her teeth suddenly, and the car swerved in a way that made my stomach lurch into my mouth. I must have made a noise, because her voice turned apologetic. "Sorry, Harry, some of these people drive like idiots. I was about to ask about Avenger. Did she--?"

"I think she disengaged," I managed to croak out. If I'd been feeling at all self-conscious before, the increasing discomfort washed it away. "Haven't asked her. Or heard anything from her."

Susan made a humming noise that spoke of uncertainty before falling silent, and for a while we just drove, my body spasming every time the car jolted, or accelerated, or went over a bump. Vlad's hand on my chest was probably the only thing that kept me from just rolling onto the car floor. To distract myself, I started taking stock of my body, trying to determine the extent of the damage.

My chest was where most of the pain was coming from; it felt like one enormous bruise, and though I couldn't tell if anything was broken in there or not, breathing was harder than usual, like something was still pressing down on me. There were various aches and pains throughout the rest of my body, the most prominent being a prominent goose egg where I'd been hit on the head, bruises on my arms, legs, and back from where Rider had thrown me around, and bloody patches of friction burn and scrapes on the exposed portions of my hands and the back of my neck from when I'd skidded across the grass. All and all, none of my injuries were the worst I'd received in the past few days, but somehow I felt worse that I had at any of those points. And that was probably part of the reason why-- magical healing or not, I'd been stretching myself, going from physically taxing situation to physically taxing situation and from injury to injury without a break.

That was one of the big factors. I had a hunch on what the other major one was.

As the car began to slow, I reached out tentatively with my mind, hunting for my connection with Gorgon. Hey. Are you there?

It took a moment for the response to come to me, but after a second Gorgon spoke. Master, you are brainless. Your mind is addled and your skull is empty. It must be, because that is the only explanation as to why you decided to involve yourself in that battle !

Even though Gorgon's words were angry, her mental voice was laden with pain and fatigue that confirmed my suspicions. I'd seen how Assassin had been connected to Lara's physical state, how sick she'd looked after Lara had been injured. If the Servants drew on power and energy from their Masters,  then it made sense that if Gorgon was injured or strained, she'd be drawing more from me-- and since I was injured, we were probably creating a feedback loop. Evidently she was right; me getting involved in her fight with Rider had put us both in danger, more than I'd even realized. I pushed the thoughts away and focused on responding. Maybe, yeah, but enough about me. Are you hurt?

There was a pause before Gorgon replied. I'll recover.

I was about to say something in response, but before I could the car stopped, pulling up to the curb. Susan put it in park, then turned around to look back at me. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then stopped, looking me up and down. Her eyes moved up to Vlad's face, where they made eye contact. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "You're not coming in with me."

"What? Why not?" I protested, but it was weak-- not just because of my injuries, but because I wasn't sure if I wanted to go in anyways. I was already in a bad state right now; I didn't know what would happen to me if I tried to enter. But on the other hand... "Do you really think it's a good idea just to leave me alone out here? Something bad could happen to me. Or, more likely, to your car, and then you wouldn't be able to get the rental deposit back."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Who said that I was going to be leaving you alone?" She nodded to Vlad, who tilted his head, looking back down at me. I felt suddenly very aware that my head was, in fact, still resting on his legs, and the heat flooded back into my cheeks, even stronger than before. Breathing became just slightly more difficult. "I'll be out soon. Don't get into trouble." Then she shut the door and walked away, leaving Vlad and I alone in the car.

Chapter Text

The silence between us stretched out, growing more and more awkward by the second, until I finally cleared my throat. "Alright, that's about all the lying down I can take for now. Help me sit up."

Vlad looked down at me, raising a single, thin brow. I expected him to refuse, but instead he moved his hand from my chest to my arm, sliding his other hand under me and onto my back. With slow, careful movements he maneuvered me carefully into a sitting position on the other seat, then withdrew, folding his hands back in his lap. His eyes stayed on me, though, and I got the impression of being appraised. After a moment he spoke. "Fighting Rider was foolish." I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a finger. "Foolish, but in some ways admirable. I am not a stranger to the idea of testing the odds by fighting an enemy far stronger than oneself." His mouth tipped up slightly into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the beginnings of crow's feet.

"Oh," I said. "Uh. It wasn't really like that. I just..." I trailed off, then shook my head. "Most people would say that I have a clinical disorder that makes it impossible to not get involved."

Vlad tilted his head, looking at me levelly. "I understand." My eyebrows went up in response to that, but his expression didn't change. "I know what the modern world thinks of me all too well, but when I was alive..." He leaned back, his eyes going slightly unfocused with memory. "Much of what I did was fueled by a desire to strike out against a much stronger opponent." If I hadn't been focused on him, I wouldn't have noticed the way his jaw clenched after saying that-- though I would still have noticed the sudden rise in tension in the air, like a rubber band had been pulled taunt. "Were I put in that situation again, I would most likely do the same."

The thrumming in my core that came with being around Servants grew stronger, and I swallowed hard. I'd gotten an inkling of why Vlad had been summoned as a Berserker before, but the way he was talking made it more clear. Bob had made it sound like Berserkers weren't coherent enough to talk to, and while I didn't think that was true here, I did get a feeling from him; something that spoke to a deep internal well of anger, pain, and madness. He was holding something back, and I wasn't about to be the one to poke that particular bear. So instead I tried to do the tactful thing and change the subject. "So how'd you get paired up with Susan? I asked her, but she was kind of vague about it."

It took a moment, but slowly the tension decreased, like air being let slowly out of a balloon. Vlad looked back at me, seeming confused. "Is there a particular reason that we would be unsuited to each other?"

"What? No! I just..." I raised a hand to my face, rubbing my forehead. The wobbly feeling wasn't going away; if anything, it had started to get stronger again, and this wasn't helping. How many years had it been since I'd actually known Susan, really known her?

Yeah, I could keep telling myself that, but it wasn't going to change the fact that nostalgia is a hell of a drug.

Vlad's expression changed, turning into something that looked like concern. He turned towards me fully, his entire body now facing mine. "My Master and I... we want the same things. Denying a nature that was forced on us. Protecting our people, our--" Vlad cut himself off abruptly, like he'd started saying something he wasn't supposed to, then cleared his throat. "Suffice to say, I believe that we are working in concert with respect to our wishes, should we win the Holy Grail. I would assume the situation is the same for yourself and Avenger."

That made me laugh, bitterly. "Not exactly."

"Really?" Vlad asked, looking intrigued. He leaned forwards, putting his chin into his hands. "Then have you given any thought to what you would want your wish to be, in the event that you obtain the Grail?"

I opened my mouth to respond, then paused. I'd considered the possibility that Gorgon and I might win the Grail War, but I hadn't really considered what would happen after; I'd thought about what her wish would be (and the damage control I'd have to do for it), but I hadn't thought about mine.

What would I wish for?

One idea presented itself, loud and clear. I looked down at my hands-- at my burned hand, with Lasciel's symbol right in the middle of the palm. As far as I knew, there wasn't any way to get the shadow of one of the Fallen out of your head once it was there. But maybe, just maybe, with the Grail's power...

I wasn't sure I was ready to bet on that maybe just yet. Not just because I didn't know if it would work, but because the idea of getting a wish made me more than a little bit nervous. Wishes generally come with price tags, and I had a sinking feeling that whatever came out of that Grail wouldn't be an exception.

I looked back up at Vlad. "I hadn't really considered it before, but I'm thinking a lifetime of free meals from Burger King."

Vlad blinked. "I don't know what that is."

"Don't worry about it." I sighed, leaning back against the seats. "Honestly, I think that's a bridge I'll cross if I get there." Even as I said the words, I started to feel overwhelmed; this was one more in a long list of things to think about, and the downside of being forced to sit out was that I was being given time to think about them all.

Biggest among the various things weighing on my mind was Rider's identity. Gods, real gods, are forces of nature. Fighting a god wasn't advisable, not just because of their considerable power, but because they could kick you around with sheer exertions of their will. My will manifests as magic when I exert it; a god's will would manifest as a shifting of the universe. And yet, when she could have killed Gorgon and I immediately, she didn't. Why?

Part of it could have been the fact that she seemed to enjoy the act of fighting. She'd clearly been having a good time, and given that, she might have wanted to extend it further. But something else seemed wrong. Something was off, and I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was, except to remember the rotted, decaying vampire near Mac's. Had that been her doing? Some sort of side effect of the sun resistance? But why would there be side effects at all? My head spun in circles as I tried to think, and eventually I could only latch onto one fact.

Regardless of anything else, I had a feeling that trying to fight Rider seriously would require a lot more manpower than what we currently had.

Besides that, there was something else. I'd agreed to go with Michael and Murphy to confront Marcone about his Servant, and I wasn't going to back down on that one-- but I wasn't sure I was going to do any good in a fight, as beat-up as Gorgon and I were. I'd left the healing doll at home, too; no magical way out of injury for me, at least not right now. I'd just have to pretend that I was doing fine, which I doubted would fool anyone who had spent more than a few minutes with me. And then, on top of everything else like the cherry on a particularly nasty sundae, there were other, smaller things-- where Murphy had disappeared to after the vampire attack at Zero, what Thomas was doing to keep himself well-fed, the variety of questions I had about Gorgon. The Denarian attack on Molly and I-- Molly herself. Lasciel. Dreams I couldn't remember, dreams I could. Trying to think of it all made my brain feel like I'd dumped it into a blender and put it on liquefy.

No matter how you looked at it, it was undeniable: I wasn't just in over my head, I was so far down that I couldn't tell which way was up.

There was a rustle of sound, and then a female voice came from the front seat, but it wasn't Susan's. "Master," Gorgon said, sounding slightly annoyed, "stop feeling sorry for yourself and sit up."

I cracked an eyelid to find her staring at me, leaning half-over the divide. Her purple hair spilled around her, brushing the floor of the car, but if she noticed then she didn't seem to care. There were no visible marks on Gorgon's skin, but she looked exhausted. Dark bags circled under her eyes, and her cheeks looked drawn, almost hollow. Her skin was sickly pale and shining with sweat, and her eyes were fever-bright. I was reminded heavily of how Assassin had looked last night, after Lara had gotten injured. Being the tactful person I am, however, I chose not to comment on it. "I can do one of those things, but I think I'm gonna rule sitting up as off the table right now."

"Fine. As long as the self-pity ends." Gorgon glanced at Vlad, her nose wrinkling slightly. Instead of saying anything about it, however, she nodded to him. "Berserker."

Vlad inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement. "Avenger."

"You and your Master took your time. How long were you planning on waiting before showing up to help?" Gorgon shifted uncomfortably as she spoke, presumably trying to find a more comfortable position. "Or were you going to let my Master get beaten into a pulp indefinitely before you swept in to act like a savior?"

Vlad blinked at Gorgon, but he didn't look offended, just curious. "We arrived as quickly as we could manage while maintaining some level of caution. While your Master was in the midst of his fight with Rider, you couldn't attack for fear of flattening him, and we couldn't-- how did you put it? Swoop in? Until she was sufficiently distracted. Thank you for that, by the way."

Gorgon let out a snort. "I wouldn't have pegged one of the most famous war criminals in history as a coward."

"And I wouldn't have believed history's greatest monster to be so protective of her Master, but here we are."

While Gorgon's words had been very clearly barbed, Vlad's remained solid and frank, like he was stating a fact. That didn't mean it stopped my eyes from widening, though. Protective? What? 

Gorgon's face wrinkled in response, her nose crinkling like she'd smelled something off. "If you think I acted as I did simply in order to protect my Master, you're mistaken. I need him alive to obtain the Grail. That's all."

"Which is why you refrained from attacking," Vlad said. "To avoid killing him yourself, and nothing more."

"Obviously," she said, her voice remaining nonchalant. I tried to look at her, to catch her eye, but Gorgon was already looking away, her attention now focused on examining her claw-like nails. I couldn't have told you whether she was deliberately avoiding looking at me or not, but the careful disinterest on her face seemed at odds with the tension bunching her shoulders.

"A shame." Vlad leaned back, tipping his head back to lie on the headrest. His eyes never left Gorgon. "Otherwise I'd have said your actions were awfully human."

Gorgon's eyes snapped up at that, focusing hard on Vlad. Her irises turned from purple to a bloody, fiery crimson as vibrations filled my chest and shook my already-painful ribs. When she spoke, her voice sounded like it'd been dragged across miles of bad road; it was rough, raw, torn skin and ripped muscle and bright, white bone. "What would you know of humanity?" Gorgon asked, and I could practically taste the blood and venom dripping from the words. "Enlighten me, Berserker. What could you possibly tell me about being mortal?"

Vlad's posture changed in an instant, his spine straightening. His eyes met Gorgon's, and I saw something shift under the skin of his face, the muscles and bone writhing in place to give the impression of something warped and skeletal lurking underneath. His fists clenched by his side, the skin of his knuckles pulling taunt as he and Gorgon stared at each other. "Very little, I suppose," he said, and the regal tones of his speech were gone now, replaced by something strangled and straining. "I can say one thing, however." Vlad leaned forwards, his face and Gorgon's now uncomfortably close.

"Mortality," he said, "is the struggle to maintain choice in the face of one's nature."

I took that as my cue to hop in, before things got violent. I cleared my throat, and both pairs of eyes snapped to me, making me feel abruptly like I'd been shoved under a spotlight. "Okay, I don't know about either of you, but my head hurts way too much to think about this right now. Is there any way the existential argument could wait until I'm less, you know, concussed?"

Gorgon looked at me for a moment, then shot another glance towards Vlad before nodding. Her posture slowly-- not relaxed, exactly, but settled back to where it had been. The red slowly faded from her irises, leaving them the same luminescent purple as before. After a moment Vlad leaned back as well, though his fist remained clenched for a moment longer. 

There was a long minute of silence as I slowly processed what Vlad had said. The struggle to maintain choice. The words struck a chord, but something in them left me wondering.

If someone gave up the struggle, could they take it back up again? Was choice a thing that could be regained, or was it a one-and-done? If you let nature take over once, was that it? Should that mean giving up?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gorgon looking at me, but I didn't look back.

There were noises from outside the car, and I sat up slightly, looking towards it. After a moment the driver's side door swung open, and Susan got in. I couldn't see her very well from my position in the backseat, but the set of her jaw and the way her eyebrows were drawn together spoke to me of concern. She gave Gorgon a long, appraising look, then glanced back at Vlad and I. "I see the car's still intact."

Barely, I added internally, but I didn't say it out loud. Instead I jerked my head towards the church (and immediately regretted it, as it throbbed in response.) "What did the padre say?"

Susan reached down and started the car, pulling out of the parking space. "Well, the first thing he said was that you hadn't been back to see him like you said you would." I winced, but thankfully Susan seemed to be feeling merciful for once, because she moved on quickly. "He also said that none of the representatives of the Red Court have come to see him either, which is pretty much as expected." 

"Yeah, not surprising, given their whole symbols-of-faith thing." I blinked, considering for a moment. "Huh. I wonder if that's why Forthill got made arbiter in the first place. I mean, the White Council's pretty tight with the Church in some ways-- maybe they decided to try and isolate the Red Court contingent that way."

"Or it's just them clinging to the way things have been done," Gorgon interjected. "The Holy Grail War has a Church mediator as a general rule, correct? Why would this one be any different in that aspect?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Given how atypical things have been, it wouldn't really surprise me." I changed the subject. "Hey, Susan. Can you--"

"I'm dropping you off with Murphy," she said. "I called her while I was inside. She says she's pretty sure she knows where Marcone's holed up, and she's waiting for you and Michael at her place so you can go to confront him."

"Not at the station?" I asked. Murph had been helping me out an awful lot lately, and I had to wonder if it was going to get her in trouble with her job. It hadn't before, given how high up she was on the totem pole at her work, but SI in itself was pretty low down, and there was always a risk. But Susan shook her head.

"It's her day off, apparently. She said something about how she was going to need it."

I nodded. "And you're sure you don't want to come with?"

Susan shot me a glance in the rearview mirror, but it was Vlad who responded. "That would be... unwise."

There was a moment of silence before Susan spoke again. "I'd like to, Harry, but..." She trailed off. "Unwise is probably an understatement."

I decided not to push her further on that; given her reaction the last time I'd brought it up, she and Vlad were probably right. So instead I settled back against the seat, leaning my head back against the headrest. My eyes focused on a stain on the gray ceiling of the car, and as I stared at it my mind drifted towards the upcoming confrontation with Marcone.

I had an uncomfortable feeling that no matter how things went down, there weren't going to be a lot of good options for the kid he'd summoned.

Chapter Text

"You're sure this is the place?" I asked Murphy. After Susan had dropped me off at her house-- and I'd taken a few of the ibuprofen she kept on hand, which had taken a little bit of the edge off-- she'd given me and Michael the rundown about where we were going. Murphy had apparently checked up on Marcone's general activities with a few of her contacts in other, more closely related departments, and she had a fairly good idea of where he'd be at around this time. But now that we were standing outside of it, I had to wonder if the information was good.

The building looked like just another newly-built apartment building; five stories, brick exterior, identical rows of perfectly square windows with white trim across the front. There weren't any signs that anyone was living there, but that wasn't in itself anything out of the ordinary. All in all, it was pretty unremarkable for Chicago standards, which was what was primarily making me doubtful that Marcone had holed up in it.

"If it isn't," Murphy said, "then we'll know that pretty soon. Until then, why don't we operate on the assumption that the people I contacted know what they're talking about?" She glanced up at me, and her lips pursed. "But then again, maybe it's better if I'm wrong. You look like shit, Harry."

"Believe me, if I thought we'd be able to schedule this for another time, I'd have jumped at that chance. But..."

Saber's voice came from behind me, cutting me off. "Time is a limited resource. The more of it we waste on this irrelevant endeavor, the more we risk allowing our enemies to gain a stronger foothold." When I turned towards her, she was staring at me with her unnervingly pale eyes, her corpse-like skin looking nearly translucent in the morning light. Her face didn't move as she looked at me, but I got an impression of annoyance with this venture.

Next to her, Michael stood, his gaze fixed solidly on the building. "And the more of it we spend without confronting Marcone about his actions, the more likely it is that a child will be put into a situation of unimaginable danger-- if she hasn't already." After a long moment his eyes moved to me, and I saw discomfort crease his face, leaving lines around the corners of his mouth and on his forehead. "But setting that aside... the way you're treating yourself is unsustainable. I wouldn't fault you if you decided to sit this one out."

Master, as ironic as it may be, the swordless Knight has a point. Gorgon's voice was matter-of-fact, but she still sounded tired, and I didn't have to look back at her to know that she didn't look much better than she had in the car.

I hesitated, considering it, then shook my head. "Nah. There might be consequences for confronting Marcone this way, but I don't think it's going to come to blows here or now. Plus, we're allies for the moment. I don't think Marcone's going to want to put that in jeopardy."

Besides, even if Michael wouldn't fault me for bailing, I would. Terminal get-involved disease strikes again.

There was a moment of silence, and then Saber took a step towards the building, as if she was preparing to walk right up to it. Panic sparked in me, and without thinking about what I was doing I stepped out in front of her, waving my hands in a frantic stop! gesture. "Whoa, wait just a second! You can't just walk in! "

"And why not?" Saber lifted her chin, staring me down. It was a look that, despite the fact that I'd spent my morning kicked around like a hackey sack by a goddess and playing diplomat between two people who could kill me and barely notice, I still found unnerving, because of the sheer lack of anything that it conveyed. Saber looked like a fairly normal human, but there was, underneath that stare, a complete lack of personhood.

Instead of letting Saber intimidate me, though, I jerked a thumb back towards the house. "If that place really is where Marcone's holed up, it's going to have some pretty intense defenses, and I'd be willing to bet that includes serious wards. If you trigger something wrong, it's entirely possible the building would go up-- and more likely than not take us with it. The possibility is definitely higher because I don't know what the wards are like yet. So can you do us all a favor and hold onto your horses until I figure it out?"

Saber stared at me for a moment longer, then rolled her eyes and made a gesture with her hand, like she was shooing away a cat. "Go."

I blinked. "Alright, then," I muttered. "Thank you for your blessing, Your Majesty." Then I turned around to face the apartment building, closed my eyes, and reached out.

I had been right about the wards; they were there, they were serious, and there were a lot of them. They were different from my own wards, too. My wards are mostly like a big wall-- they need to be, to make up for how weak the threshold on my building is-- with one big red button set right in the middle that would go off in the face of anyone who pressed it. These wards were both more complex and more powerful. I couldn't really get an idea of what they would do to anyone who tripped them, but I did get the distinct impression that it wouldn't be good.

Focusing harder, I tried to get an idea of what exactly the wards were hardwired to detect. Mortal magic, definitely-- I'd have bet dollars to donuts that me knocking on that door would have resulted in either a dead or severely maimed Harry Dresden-- but there were other, subtler things woven into the wards. The shape the patterns formed in my mind made me think of a magic circle I'd seen, years ago, that had been built to contain both beings of spirit and beings of flesh. If I had to guess, a ward like that would work just as well at keeping spirit-beings out as it would in, and probably be able to damage them too, if it had the chance. And among those wards I recognized were ones that covered creature after creature. But among them all, there was one ward I didn't sense.

After a moment, I opened my eyes. "Okay. Michael, Murphy, it's going to have to be one of you who rings the doorbell."

The statement was met by twin stares from both of them, and I sighed. "Look, that place is warded against basically everything but vanilla mortals. If I had to guess why, it's probably because Marcone doesn't want to risk taking out a random kid playing ding dong ditch or something; he's not super big on collateral damage." I paused. "Either that or he just prefers to use mortal weapons for mortal threats. But whatever it is, the fact stands that if any of us--" I gestured to Saber, Gorgon and myself, "--go up there, it's going to blow up in our faces for sure, and that's not going to happen to you two."

Murphy opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then closed it and shook her head. "Fine. I'll do it, and you watch my back while I do." She began to walk towards the building, but was stopped by Michael.

"Let me do it," he said. Murphy raised an eyebrow, but Michael continued. "As far as Marcone knows, I'm a participant in this Grail War and, if not an ally, then at least not openly hostile. If I go to the door, I suspect it would be far more likely to open."

Murphy opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind and nodded. "Okay, then we'll both go, and you can be the one to knock on the door. It's better to have backup than not, right? Especially since we don't know exactly what's going to happen when we go in there."

"That's acceptable," Michael said. Then he turned on his heel and began to walk towards the house, Murphy close on his heels.

As Murphy and Michael headed over to the house, I took a minute to consider what was about to happen-- and more importantly, why it was happening. Marcone was a naturally ruthless person, sure; the first time I'd met him he'd tricked me into a soulgaze, and it had shown me that the inside of Marcone's soul was fundamentally a well-structured, barren place. Marcone's soul hadn't been cruel, but it had been coldly practical, a place where even anger took on a calculated edge. His soul was the soul of a predator. And yet... there had been a place in it, that first time, a little, shadowy corner where something shameful hid. I hadn't learned what it was until later on, when I'd been involved in an altercation involving Marcone, a few of the Denarians, and the Shroud of Turin-- yes, that Shroud of Turin-- and it was part of why it didn't exactly make sense to me why Marcone would consciously summon a kid.

When Marcone had been a younger, more impulsive, more hands-on gangster, he'd gotten into a shootout with the son of one of the leaders of a rival gang. The rival had aimed to kill Marcone, but ended up shooting a kid, a little girl who had been in a nearby park with her family. She hadn't died-- though her parents thought she did-- but she'd ended up comatose. I'd seen her. More importantly, I'd seen Marcone with her. All these years later, and I knew for a fact he hadn't stopped visiting her. And that was why it didn't make sense , that after all the guilt and shame the otherwise shameless Marcone had spent on this kid who'd been inadvertently injured because she'd been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, he'd turned around and pulled another child into his business.

Then again, just because I didn't understand it didn't mean he hadn't figured out some kind of internal logic to justify it. Thankfully, I wasn't anywhere near close enough with Marcone to be able to tell how his mind worked.

Over by the apartment building, I could see Michael evaluating the panel outside the door, the kind that has the names of each inhabitant with a little button next to them that you can ring. After a second, he began pushing a series of them-- probably ringing the doorbell for every apartment in the place. I almost laughed, watching that. If that wasn't going to get Marcone's attention, nothing would. For a long moment, nothing happened, and I felt my doubts began to creep back. Even if this was his building (which, judging by the wards, it was), that was no guarantee that Marcone was in there, or that he was in a chatty mood. But then Michael grabbed the door and swung it open, and Murphy turned around to gesture for the rest of us to come over. I took that as my cue and headed over, hoping that the wards weren't going to blow up in my face.

I felt it when I crossed them-- all of the hairs on my body stood up, and something passed over me, like a wave of static electricity. You ever rub a balloon on fabric and then run it over your arms? If felt like that, but orders of magnitude bigger. For a second it felt like a storm was building and I was about to get struck down by lightning, but then the moment passed, leaving me standing on the concrete sidewalk next to a considerably more uncomfortable looking Gorgon. I shook off the prickling feeling after a moment, then headed over to the door, which Michael was still holding open.

Gorgon beat me to it, since her legs were longer, and she walked into the hallway like she was expecting a fight. I followed her, then Saber, then Michael and Murphy making up the back. Then we just stood there for a moment, taking the interior of the building in.

It looked... like a completely normal apartment building. As far as I could tell there was nothing particularly special about it; the carpet was that weird, thin stuff you sometimes get in places that aren't cheap but aren't anything fancy, and while the hallway was wide, it wasn't opulent or anything. It didn't branch off, either, or end in a lobby. There was the hall heading straight down, and there were some lights on the walls, and at the end of the hallway there was another door-- a door that opened suddenly to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered blonde woman who looked like if she wanted to she could pick me up by the scruff of my neck like a kitten.

Ms. Gard stopped in the doorway and crossed her arms, evaluating us. I'd met her once or twice before; she was one of Marcone's bodyguards, a pro from Monoc Securities. I wasn't sure what her deal was, exactly, but I knew that she was scary strong, scary paranoid, and just plain scary. Her eyes swept over our group, taking in details with an unhurried patience. After a moment she spoke. "I've been instructed to bring you back. Stay close and don't go anywhere you aren't supposed to." Then she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving us all to follow her-- which, after briefly exchanging glances, we did.

The inside of the building was mostly in keeping with the innocuous look of the outside and the entryway, but with a few things that seemed distinctly... off. Everything in it looked fresh and clean and new from the carpet to the numbers on the doors we passed, but it seemed like a stale sort of cleanliness, as if it had been built and no one had lived in it since. Gard led us down one hallway, then abruptly turned down another one I hadn't noticed branching off and began walking down that one, and she repeated this multiple times, at one point even doubling back on herself like she was trying to lose a tail.

At some point during the runaround I felt something tap against my side. The impact was light, but it was still enough to make me hiss through my teeth before I looked down at Murphy, who had evidently just nudged me. "Couldn't have just said something?" I said, under my breath.

Murphy winced, then shook her head. Without saying anything, she nodded down towards the side of the hallway. "Look," she murmured.

I followed her gaze and looked down, at the space where the carpet and the wall met. For a second my eyes didn't focus on anything as we walked, but after a second I noticed something: a series of light scratches into the white paint of the wall, going down in a line all along the side. When I focused harder, I was just about able to make out the harsh-looking shapes the lines made up, but even with my best squint being put into practice I couldn't see them very clearly. From what I could see, though, they reminded me of sigils, or of runes. After a moment I extended my wizard's senses to them-- and withdrew almost immediately from the unpleasant snap of sensation that followed, like I'd just touched my tongue to a 9-volt the size of a car battery. Whatever these were, they were magical, and I was willing to bet they were wrapped up in the wards of the place.

In front of us Gard let out a low chuckle, and I glowered at her back. 

After a few minutes walking down hallways Gard stopped at a door that looked exactly the same as all the others and, with a single, smooth motion, pulled it open. It opened silently, though I noticed as it did that it was several inches thicker than I'd expected; reinforced with steel, most likely, like mine but more balanced. Gard didn't enter, instead electing to stand next to the open door, her eyes solidly on our little group. I bit the bullet first and walked in.

The room the door opened onto was a living room that some people would have called mid-sized but was still bigger than half my own apartment, with hardwood floors, a couple of rugs, various chairs and sofas, a dining table made of some kind of dark wood that looked expensive, and a variety of weaponry on every available surface. From my position just inside the entrance I could see several knives, an honest-to-god war axe, and at least four guns-- the last of which, a handgun that looked like it had been modified, was sitting on the table between Marcone and Hendricks.

"I gotta say," I said, "I love what you've done with the place. Makes it seem real homey."

Marcone looked up from his conversation with Hendricks leisurely, like he'd only just noticed that something had changed. "Mr. Dresden," he said, then looked behind me. "Ms. Murphy, Mr. Carpenter. What a pleasant surprise." Murphy scowled at him in response, and I could practically see the storm clouds gathering over Michael's head as he stood and stared at Marcone. To his credit, Marcone's expression didn't change in the face of all the hostility directed at him, instead remaining perfectly neutral in a way that made my jaw clench. "I wasn't expecting to see you today-- or your Servants, for that matter." He inclined his head towards Saber and Gorgon. "What seems to be the problem? Is there further news on the Grail War?"

Michael was the first one to respond. "How dare you?" His voice was quiet, but it had a hard, immovable quality. "You sit there and pretend to be unaware of what you've done. How dare you act like this when, out of all history and legend, you chose a child to summon to fight for you?"

Any casual traces immediately vanished from Marcone's demeanor as he stood. His posture was straight, his lips drawn into a thin, hard line. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?" I asked. "Because unless your Servant somehow isn't an eight-year-old in a Christmas sweater, I'm pretty sure I've met her." I shook my head. "You know, I've been disgusted by you before, but this is a new low."

"I--" Marcone started, but he cut himself off. "I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter."

"That's bull--" I started to say, but before I could finish, a tiny voice near the ground cleared its throat. I looked down to see Marcone's Servant.

She was dressed in a different set of clothes than before; her sweater this time was red, with a pattern of running reindeer and snowflakes in white. Her eyes were concerned, her pale eyebrows drawn together. "Excuse me," she said, "but you're hurt. Why didn't you have Mister Gill with you?"

Everyone in the room froze, all eyes staring at me and the kid. I opened my mouth to answer her question, then closed it again, looking up at Marcone. He shrugged helplessly, and I let out a long, slow breath, considering what to say before I looked back down. "...I forgot him at home, I'm sorry. You were right, though. He did come in handy, when I was hurt before."

The kid's face lit up, and she beamed at me for a moment before seemingly forcing herself to become serious again. "But now you're hurt again." She scrunched up her face for a moment like she was considering something, then gave a decisive nod. "Come with me and I'll fix you."

"I, uh." I reached up and scratched the back of my neck, considering my options. On the one hand I wasn't loving the idea of breaking off from everyone else, but on the other hand, even with all five of us on his case, it was doubtful that Marcone was going to give away too much. This might be a good opportunity for me to question the Servant herself, get an idea of who she was and why Marcone had summoned her. I looked around at the others, who hadn't stopped looking at me, and made eye contact with Michael, who nodded. With a slow exhale, I looked back down at the kid and offered her my hand. "Alright then. Tell me what you need me to do, doc."

"Follow me," she said. The Servant reached out and grabbed my hand, then began pulling me towards another door, at the back of the room. She reached up and turned the handle, then pulled me inside. Once I was in she let go of my hand and moved to shut the door behind me, which allowed me to look around a little bit.

The room looked like a little kid's room, but like an IKEA catalogue's idea of a kid's room. Every piece of furniture in the room looked shiny and new and matching, like it'd been bought at the same time from the same set and hadn't really been used yet. The bed was made, the floor was clean, and there were overall no real signs that someone had been living in it, let alone a kid. The only thing there that gave away signs of life was the dresser in the corner; one of its drawers was part of the way open, and inside I could see a mess of red and green and white fabric. If I'd had to guess, I'd have said they were more Christmas-themed clothes. When the Servant was done shutting the door, she turned around and pointed to me. "Sit down on the ground."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She sighed, putting her hands on her hips and puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. "I need to fix you, and I can't do that when I can't reach. Sit down!"

"Okay, okay." I sighed and leaned down, arranging myself as best I could on the floor. The process of actually lowering myself onto the ground made my body ache, but I gritted my teeth through it. Eventually I was sitting down, which still left me higher than eye level to the girl. She seemed to accept it, though, because she nodded once and stepped back.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice becoming much softer. "This won't hurt at all." I saw red and green lights begin to glow and flicker around her fingers, twining in-between them, and from somewhere I couldn't pinpoint there came a smell-- sharp and cold, like fresh snow. Marcone's Servant reached out her hands and put them on my head, and I felt a feeling of incredible peace and well-being wash over me like a wave, sweeping away the pain all at once. I felt simultaneously relaxed and incredibly alert, like I'd slept for about 36 more hours than I actually had. The Servant hummed a little as she worked, the lights in her hands pulsing rhythmically in time to the familiar tune. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake...

"You really like Christmas, huh?" I said it as softly as I could, but Marcone's Servant still startled, jerking slightly in place before calming down. Her wide eyes latched onto my face, and I winced internally, but kept my face neutral, determined not to show it. I nodded to the reindeer on her sweater. "Very festive."

The Servant's face brightened instantly. "Thank you! My Master did a good job finding clothes fit for a Santa like me." She smiled as if she hadn't just said something completely insane.

I blinked. "Wait, what do you mean you're Santa?"

"I mean I'm Santa!" The lights around the Servant's fingers pulsed one more time, then slowly dissipated, fading into nothingness. As they went, so did the last of my discomfort, leaving me sitting on the floor feeling better than I had in weeks-- physically, at least. The Servant stepped back and spread out her arms like she was presenting herself to me. "I'm Lancer Jeanne d'Arc Alter Santa Lily." Then she lowered her arms and wrinkled her nose, making an exaggerated face of disgust. "I just wish it wasn't so hot here!"

Jeanne d'Arc Alter... stars and stones, what? There was no way on Earth that I was going to be able to remember that spiel, even if I had understood it, so I turned to the easy part. "...Alright, then. Uh. I'm Harry Dresden. Is it okay if I call you Lancer?"

Lancer nodded. "That's fine," she said. "Lancer, Jeanne, Santa. It all means the same thing, and that thing is me!"

That was the other thing-- the Santa thing. As far as I knew, Santa was... well, chances were good that the guy was real, as a supernatural and/or mythical figure somewhere in the Nevernever. People have been pouring massive amounts of belief into Santa Claus and any number of Claus-like beings for centuries, and belief is one of the primary wheel-turners in the supernatural world. (It definitely seemed to be a mover in the Holy Grail War, too. If I'd had to guess, part of the reason the Grail War focused on summoning mythical, historical, and/or legendary figures in the first place was because the amount of energy poured into a collective belief of them made them easier to summon.)

Then again, even if Santa Claus was both real and technically summonable as a Servant, I was pretty sure that none of the belief that went into his legend was going to be spitting out a third-grade girl.

I must have looked slightly concerning as my mind raced to try and figure out what was going on, because Lancer's face changed, looking concerned again. "Are you feeling okay? Did I not heal you well enough?" She reached out and put the back of her hand against my forehead like she was trying to take my temperature, and I felt the same calm feeling as before begin to wash back over me.

I sighed. "Lancer, do you know why you were summoned? I mean, do you know what a Holy Grail War is?"

Lancer's face turned serious. "Yes. I'm... yes, I know." Her eyes flicked away from mine, locking onto one of the far corners of the room.

"So you know why you were summoned? What you're being asked to do?"

Lancer swallowed. Her voice was quiet, but steady, almost surprisingly so. "I was summoned because someone here asked for my help, and I gave it to them. Even if they didn't know what they were doing." Her eyes moved back to my face, and she looked at me. "Even if it isn't Christmas here, there's still some things that a Santa needs to do, and delivering presents is one of them. It's my responsibility."

Yeah, well, I'm not sure Marcone falls on the Nice list. But at the same time, there seemed to be a piece of important information in there, and I leaned forwards. "What do you mean they didn't know what they were doing when they asked for your help? Did your Master not know that he was summoning you?"

Lancer shrugged listlessly. "I don't know. I don't think so, since he seemed pretty surprised."

Huh. If Marcone hadn't summoned Lancer on purpose-- which I wasn't convinced about yet, but given Lancer's testimony and how helpless he'd seemed when she'd showed up to talk to me, it at least sounded like a possibility-- then I felt simultaneously a little bit less murderous towards him and way more confused about how this situation could possibly end. "And what about when you're asked to fight?"

Lancer's demeanor changed in a second. Her posture straightened, her eyes blazing with indigence, and she let out an annoyed humph. "Asked to fight? My Master keeps telling me not to fight!" 

My eyebrows went up involuntarily. "What?"

Lancer scowled, the expression more than slightly adorable on her. "That's the thing. He asked for my help, but whenever I try to give it, he tells me not to." She swallowed, her lower lip wobbling slightly. "How am I supposed to give presents when no one likes them?"

I didn't have an answer to that. Whatever this kid's deal was with regards to being Santa, she clearly took it seriously enough that she considered it part of her identity-- and whatever else was up with her, identity is a huge part of what makes up a Servant. Trying to argue with her, or trying to take that away, probably wasn't going to go well. So instead I just shrugged and changed the subject. "For what it's worth, I liked your present." I was planning on ending there, but my mouth just kept moving, betraying me with every word. "And if you want, I can talk to your Master about letting you help. Maybe we'll be able to figure something out, something that will keep you safe and allow you to help." As soon as I'd finished talking I winced internally, cursing myself.

"You'd do that?" Lancer sniffled slightly, raising one sleeve to her face and wiping her eyes. "Do you think he'll listen to you?"

For everyone's sake, I really, really hope not. The last thing I needed was to inadvertently talk Marcone into letting this kid on the battlefield. Instead of saying that, though, I raised one of my hands and moved it in the universal gesture for "maybe". "I don't know, but it's worth a shot." 

Lancer smiled shakily, then reached out and grabbed my arm. With strength that I wouldn't have thought was possible from a little kid, she hauled me bodily up onto my feet. "Come on, then!" Then, without waiting for me to fully stop wobbling, she yanked open the door and dragged me back into the living room.

Everything was still in one piece when we came back out, which was good, but no one exactly looked comfortable (barring Gorgon, who seemed to have decided that the couch was now her territory and was taking up the entirety of it with her sprawl). Marcone was on his feet now, and he and Murphy and Michael seemed locked in a three-way stare-off as Saber stood in the background, her eyes on Gard and Hendricks. As soon as the door opened, all heads turned to me-- and to Lancer, who looked instantly uncomfortable with all the attention. Before she could say anything, I looked at Marcone.

"John," I said, "I'd really like to talk to you. In private."

Chapter Text

Marcone pulled me away into a side room off the living room, one that seemed like it had been modified to be a sleeping area in case the safehouse had to be used for its intended purpose. It was surprisingly bare and spartan, especially compared to Lancer's bedroom-- there was almost nothing in it besides a cot, a desk, one chair, and a wardrobe that I suspected would be full of clothes that looked more expensive than the furniture they were in if I were to check. Even if he was in hiding, there are some things that come with being the most powerful crime lord in Chicago, and one of those is keeping up appearances. Marcone ordered Lancer to stay outside-- which she didn't seem particularly happy about-- but I gave her a thumbs up, and the last thing I saw before Marcone swung the door shut with a decisive click was the look of hope on her face.

My heart hurt at that, like someone was pressing down on a bruise somewhere beneath my ribs.

I settled in one of the chairs, next to a desk covered in stacks of papers that I wasn't sure I wanted to look at too closely, and just watched him for a minute, trying to gauge the veracity of what Lancer had told me. She'd clearly believed it, but just because she believed it was true didn't make it so. Marcone stared back at me as I did, the look on his face just as cool and unflappable as usual, clearly waiting for me to say something. So I did, nodding at the door to the room. "She seems like a sweet kid." I kept my tone as neutral as possible, watching for Marcone's reaction.

It was fleeting, but something flickered over his face, and I got a brief impression of intense discomfort before he opened his mouth. "Yes, apparently so," he said, and somehow that short, curt sentence gave me a clearer picture of what was going on in Gentleman Johnny Marcone's head than I'd had since the split-second I soulgazed him. Lancer had been right-- not just right, she'd been downplaying it. Marcone's discomfort with having summoned Lancer was more than obvious, and he seemed to know it, too. "Was that all that you wanted to say?"

"Not by a long shot," I said, "but it's as good a place as any to start. She seems like a sweet kid, so I want to know just how, exactly, someone like you ended up summoning her-- that is, assuming you really weren't trying to get her to show up." I paused for a moment. "And I want to know what the Santa thing is about, because I really didn't get what she was talking about."

Marcone opened his mouth, and then something seemed to drain out of him. He sat down on the side of his cot, the bed creaking slightly beneath his weight, and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. The red of his Command Seals was visible on his skin as he did, a series of clean, thin red lines in a simple geometric pattern that contrasted heavily with the heavy strokes and sharp, curling points that made up my own. The action made him look younger, for just a moment, before it was gone again. "I performed the summoning ritual," Marcone said slowly, "as best and as tailored to myself as I possibly could." The corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly, and his voice became dry. "At least, given my complete lack of inherent magical talent."

I blinked. "...Alright, you do realize that tells me approximately jack and shit, right?"

One of Marcone's shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug that contrasted heavily with his dead-serious face. "I'd be willing to provide more details, but first, Mr. Dresden," he said, sitting forwards and leaning his elbows on his knees, "how did you come to be aware of Lancer's existence?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't know?" Marcone cocked his head, affecting interest, and I sighed. "She came up to me after the meeting at Mac's." I explained my encounter with Lancer and her gift of the doll, as well as how it had healed me. "Gonna be honest, I didn't realize she was a Servant at first. I didn't really put the pieces together until Michael told me about the Christmas present one of the Reds attacking you had gotten, courtesy of Acme Incorporated."

Marcone hesitated, then nodded. "Well, that explains a fair amount." He closed his eyes, straightening up and exhaling slowly before opening them again. His money-green eyes landed on my own, utterly lacking in fear, but I caught him rubbing his thumb over his Command Seals in an almost unconscious gesture in the corner of my eye. "In return, I suppose I can provide some background." He paused for a moment, apparently considering his words before he began to talk again. "When I first learned about the Holy Grail War, I found myself in the unenviable position of being drawn into a situation that, if left unchecked, could cause a wide variety of problems for my more important ventures. And on the other hand, though getting involved would run heavy risks to myself, there was also the possibility of having slightly more control over the course of the altercations to come-- enough that my wider interests wouldn't have to deal with too many logistical issues."

I leaned back and crossed my arms, digesting that for a second before speaking. For the most part I believed him-- Marcone might have been a crime lord, but he ran a tight ship, and I could see him deciding to get involved just to protect his operation-- but at the same time, there was something significant that he hadn't mentioned. "Uh-huh," I said, not bothering to keep my skepticism out of my voice. "And the idea of getting to wish for anything you could possibly want wasn't a draw for you? Not even a little bit?"

"Was it one for you?" Marcone fired back immediately, with surprising intensity. "Tell me. When you learned that you could get a wish, a wish for anything you could ever want, was that what motivated your involvement in this Grail War?" I opened my mouth to answer, but he didn't wait for me to continue. "No, Mr. Dresden. I am well aware of the strings that wishes often have attached, and if something seems too good to be true, it almost always is." His jaw clenched, and he took a deep, slow breath before letting it out. "The Holy Grail... if I acquire it, then I'll find a use for it, as any good businessman would. But no matter if you believe me or not, that wasn't my primary goal.”

I considered that for a moment. Something about the way he said it gave it the ring of truth to me; don't get me wrong, I didn't trust Marcone as far as I could throw him without using magic, but I'd known him for years. We'd never exactly been close, but I liked to think I knew enough about how he operated to have a more than surface-level understanding of the man by now. And overall, I knew that Marcone was right-- war is never good for business, unless the war is your business, and made sense that his reaction to the Holy Grail War would be to make it his.

Then again, he'd compared my motivations to his own, and god knows how accurate that was.

Regardless, none of this answered my question, so I went ahead and asked it again. "Say I believe you. Even if I did, none of this exactly explains how you summoned Lancer."

"Lancer's summoning was... something of an oddity." Marcone regarded me for a second before nodding. "As far as we understand, her base Spirit Origin-- the figure she is based on-- is Joan of Arc, but with a variety of other modifiers attached. As for why this may be... regretfully, of the two of us, I am not the one listed in the phone book under "wizards".”   

"Huh," I muttered, thinking out loud. “I mean, you’re right, it could have something to do with the fact that you’re a vanilla mortal.” I raised my head and looked at Marcone. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he responded, his voice dry. 

I made a mental note to look into what could have influenced Marcone’s summoning, then nodded and continued. "So it absolutely wasn't intentional? You summoning her?"

Marcone's face hardened. "Not particularly, no. As you can imagine, it put some rather large kinks into my proposed approach." I rolled my eyes, and he sighed. "To be honest, I had assumed that I would get a Servant more akin to Mr. Carpenter’s-- tell me, how did he pull off her summoning? He doesn't seem the type."

I winced internally at the question, considering my options lightning-fast. I could try lying to Marcone, but I'm not exactly known for my skills as a liar-- and even if I was, I had no doubt that he'd sniff it out immediately anyways. Making a vague excuse would go the same way. I decided that the best way to deal with the question was to play his own game and avoid it entirely. "That's why you've been keeping Lancer out of battle," I said, changing the subject back with about as much tact as a hammer to the forehead. "You know she's not happy with that, right?"

Marcone’s eyebrow twitched, and I knew that he’d noticed me avoiding the question. "I'm well aware." His face twisted, and I got an impression of awkwardness , which was so out of the norm that it almost made me laugh.

"Well," I said, before pausing for a second. "I mean, I don't know very much about being a single dad, but can I give you some advice?"

My phrasing actually seemed to phase him for a moment-- his mouth opened slightly wider, his jaw working on air. "I'm not--" Marcone began, then quieted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What advice, exactly, would you like to offer me?"

"Six words," I said, holding up my fingers and ticking them off. "Hell's bells, just talk to her." Marcone drew back, looking confused, but I kept talking before he could get any words out. "You feel responsible for her, I get that. You are responsible for her. But you summoned her, and she is desperate to help, and she has no idea why you won't let her. Have you tried communicating with her at all? Or has it just been you ordering her around while she tries to get around what you're telling her? Because I gotta say, man, if you don't make an effort to grasp why she wants to help you so bad I don't think you're ever going to reach an understanding with her." 

Even as I said the words, I felt a twinge of hypocrisy in my chest. After all, I'd tried talking to Gorgon-- kind of-- but had I really tried communicating with her? Or had I left that up to assumptions, just like Marcone had with Lancer? The fact remained that even though I had theories as to why I'd summoned her, I didn't really understand it-- or Gorgon herself.

I tried to avoid showing my own sudden insecurity on my face as I looked at Marcone, watching him take in what I had said. Emotions that I couldn't quite recognize flickered across his face one after the other, before settling on a look of acceptance. Marcone nodded slowly, and I let out a long, slow breath. "As much as it surprises me," he said, "in this case, you may be right."

"It happens more often than you might think," I muttered. 

Marcone ignored me, instead standing up, which was a pretty clear signal to me that the conversation was over. I sighed and pushed myself up too, cracking my neck and stretching my arms. "I trust that the conclusion we've come to is satisfactory for you as well?"

Apart from the fact that I'm 97 percent sure that you're keeping your hand so close to your chest that it might as well be inside your ribcage, I thought to myself, but I managed to exercise my considerable self-restraint and keep my mouth shut this time. Marcone had been, considering the circumstances, surprisingly open about his involvement, and I doubted that he would have given me even as much as he did if he hadn't been so disoriented about summoning Lancer. You can say many things about me, but I am (at least sometimes) smart enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead I made a noise of acknowledgement. "Good talk, Marcone." 

Then I opened the door to the living room and stepped out, leaving Marcone standing in his room, alone. 

Chapter Text

 By the time Gorgon and I arrived back at my apartment in the Beetle (which Murphy had taken me back to, much to Gorgon’s disdain), it was already well into the afternoon, and the day was in full swing. This one seemed to be shaping up to be even warmer and more humid than the one before, and since the Beetle’s AC wasn’t getting fixed any time soon, I was feeling every inch of it. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I hurried towards the blessed shade of the sunken stairwell, and between that and the way my duster seemed to trap all the heat right up against my damp skin, I was starting to gain a new understanding of what being a lobster in a pot must be like. 

Gorgon was already at the bottom of the steps by the time I got down, leaning against the side and looking pensively at the door. I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on, but she interrupted me, jerking her chin at the door. “Look.” 

I followed her gaze onto the door and saw a note taped to the door a fair ways below my eye level, written in a dark blue ink and with a familiar handwriting. I walked over and pulled it off, scanning it quickly. 

Harry, it read, stopped by, but you weren’t here. Don’t call me when you get back— meet us tonight, and bring any information you find. — Susan. Under that , the note named a place and time. 

I almost put the note in my pocket without looking any further at it, but the little bit of light that shined down into the stairwell illuminated the dark shapes of letters on the other side. I turned it over to find another note, this in a scrawling, ornate script that I had to struggle slightly to read. It may not fulfill your wish for free Burger King, but we can offer you free Denny’s. I gave a quiet laugh, then put the note into the pocket of my duster and set to work hauling open my door. 

I had an inkling of a few people I could talk to between now and my meeting with Susan, and I wanted to have the more pleasant conversation first. 

--

I opened the door to the Denny’s and was immediately greeted with a wave of warm, breakfast-y smells that instantly reminded me that the last time I'd eaten had been sometime before the last Ice Age. My stomach growled loud enough for Gorgon to look down at me, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. "What?" I demanded. "I'm hungry. Even wizards need to eat sometimes."

"So it seems," Gorgon said, her voice deadpan. She looked away from me and started to scan the diner, stretching her body and swaying as she did in a way that reminded me vaguely of a snake charmer's cobra, looking for where Susan and Vlad were sitting. 

I looked around a little bit too as she did. It was late-- almost midnight, by my watch-- but not quite late enough for the various drunk and tipsy people to start heading for a bite to eat, so the diner was mostly empty, save for tired-looking employees and a few people I assumed to be college students sat at a corner booth, staring with glassy, exhausted eyes at an assortment of textbooks and laptops and talking in hushed tones. Nowhere did I see Susan or Vlad, and I was just starting to feel a creeping dread that we might have missed them— or worse, that something had happened to them— when Gorgon grabbed my arm and began dragging me towards one of the few corners of the restaurant that I couldn’t see.

I sputtered in surprise, trying to yank my arm from Gorgon’s iron grasp with a complete lack of success. “Wh— hey, what do you think you’re doing?” A couple of the students looked up at us, and I winced. Gorgon didn’t answer, instead continuing to pull at me hard enough that I was forced to keep up with her or risk falling over entirely. We rounded one of the partitions, and I saw Susan and Vlad. 

They were sitting in one of the booths. Susan, looking considerably less tired than most of the other clients, was talking to a waitress, while Vlad's attention seemed to mostly be focused on the row of syrup bottles that sat next to him. As Gorgon and I approached his eyes snapped up to us, and he reached out and tapped the table in front of Susan, drawing her attention. Susan smiled wanly and lifted her hand in a tentative wave, then said something to the waitress, who nodded and stood aside while Gorgon dragged me over. She only let go of my arm once we were standing in front of the table, staring imperiously down at Susan. "Move."

Susan raised a dark eyebrow, but obligingly slid over in the booth, leaving an empty space next to her that Gorgon promptly occupied. Her body took up most of the room on the booth, and there was an audible scraping sound as her knees rubbed against the bottom of the table. To her credit, Susan only made a mildly uncomfortable face at the situation, despite the fact that Gorgon was functionally taking up a full three-fourths of the space in the booth. Gorgon’s eye caught Vlad’s, and they looked at each other for a long, breath-holding moment before she nodded at him. Some of the tension went out of my body; given how their conversation had ended last time I’d been expecting open hostility at the very least, but if Gorgon didn’t seem exactly happy to see him, she seemed to at least be willing to tolerate him for the time being. 

I waited for a moment as Gorgon got settled, then slid into the booth next to Vlad, who gave me a nod of acknowledgment. “Harry.”

I nodded back at him. “Vlad.” Then I turned back to the waitress, but she was already walking away. Defeated, I sank back into the booth. "Could have at least asked her to wait," I grumbled in Susan’s general direction, already aware that I sounded nothing short of incredibly petulant.

Susan shrugged. “I already ordered for you, so there didn’t seem to be much of a point.”

The annoyance mostly fled my body at that, replaced with confusion. “Wait, what?” I paused, considering a few different responses, before speaking again. “...Thanks, Susan.”

A hint of a smile touched Susan’s mouth, and she inclined her head a little, her soft, dark hair brushing her neck. “Don’t thank me. I remember some things, including the fact that your budget is—“

“Nonexistent.” I sighed. “I might be a Warden now, but believe me, they do not ascribe any importance to the concept of a minimum wage.”  

“Form a union?” Susan’s voice was wry in a way that made me feel suddenly nostalgic for simpler times. Some things never change, I guess, even if it would be easier if they did. 

I couldn’t stop the little bit of warmth that flared in my chest when I looked at her eyes, but I did my best to squash it down as quickly as possible. 

I let out a dry laugh in response, only a little bit too late. “If only.” I sighed and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. In contrast to the humid heat of the outdoors, the air conditioning in the restaurant was working almost a little too well, and the chill was starting to raise goosebumps on my skin. After a moment I spoke again. “So, got anything?”  

Susan’s eyes flicked to Vlad, who shifted next to me, clearing his throat. As he moved, I caught a wet, coppery scent, strong enough that I could smell it even over the delicious perfume of the diner, and my muscles tensed without my say-so. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gorgon’s forked tongue flick out and over her lips, her gaze locked on Vlad. 

If he noticed the way either of us were looking at him, he didn’t show it. Instead he gave me a slight smile that would possibly have been sheepish had he been anyone else, but instead just seemed courteous. “Some matters are best avoided before eating. If you have no objection?” 

I could have contradicted him, but instead I nodded, forcing myself to relax. “As much as I love talking shop on an empty stomach, I’ll let it slide just this once, for both of your sakes.” Gorgon wrinkled her nose, and I picked up the spoon, pointing it at her. “And you can have some of my food, if you ask politely.”

“If I wanted any of your foul human concoctions I would simply take them.” 

Yeah, like you took the leftover KFC out of my icebox, I thought. Instead of saying that, I leaned back. “If it makes you feel better, we can arm-wrestle for it or something.” 

Gorgon tilted her head in a slow, languid motion. “Is the correct modern phrase “I’d like to see you try”?”

“Personally,” Vlad said, less in response to Gorgon and more as if he were voicing his inner monologue, “the way cuisine has changed within the past five hundred years interests me. So many of the things you take for granted would have been rare or unheard of in my time.” He gestured to the row of syrup bottles again. “For example, there was no equivalent to these, and while the knowledge the Grail has implanted in me allows me to recognize what maple syrup is, there is as always a clear disconnect from knowing about something and seeing it for yourself.” His eyes flicked to Gorgon. “Just as there is often times a difference between history and reality.”

Gorgon noticed his glance and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, displaying her sharp, white fangs. “Is that what you want to discuss, Berserker? History?” Her tone of voice held some of the venom that I’d heard in the car earlier that morning, but I got a hint of something else in it— not quite amusement, but close, as if she and Vlad were sharing a joke that no one else was in on. 

Vlad ran long, pale fingers through his hair, brushing strands of it delicately behind his ear. “Would you like that, Avenger? Or how about a reprise of our conversation this morning?” 

Susan met my eyes, the muscles of her face taunt with what seemed to be sudden anxiety, and I was sure that the look on her face was echoed on mine. I was just about to jump in for damage control again when Gorgon laughed, her voice quiet and low. The sound made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I decided to take it as a sign that she wasn’t planning on demolishing the diner any time soon. 

Whatever she was about to say was abruptly cut off by the arrival of the waitress, bearing the gifts of food and caffeine. With practiced motions she set down a plate piled high with artery-clogging, mouth-watering food in front of me, along with a glass of Coke, the ice cubes clinking enticingly inside. In front of Susan she put a considerably less full plate and a glass of water. After a round of thank you-s from everyone at the table (barring Gorgon, which didn’t surprise me at all), the waitress left, and I began a vigorous attack on my plate that aimed to leave no survivors. 

"So," Susan said, after a few minutes of me practically inhaling food. She put down the fork that, I noticed, she'd only really been using to pick at her food. "Your conversation with Marcone. How did it go?"

I swallowed the mouthful of eggs and pancakes in my mouth and sat back, thinking for a second. "It went..." I exhaled slowly, remembering the conversation. "Honestly, better than I'd thought it would." I sighed. "Marcone's a scumbag, but at least he didn't try to summon a kid on purpose." I shrugged, sitting back up and picking up my utensils again. "Lancer seems really adamant on staying with him, for some reason, and since she's a Servant we can't exactly try and take her away, so Michael and I gave him the best advice we could and we left."

At that, Susan looked surprised-- more surprised than I would have expected, if I was honest. " You gave him advice?" Her voice was incredulous.

"Yeah," I mumbled, through food-filled cheeks. I swallowed, then kept speaking. "Mostly just told him that he might want to try communicating once in a while. Why? Is that surprising somehow?"

Susan blinked at me, and next to me I felt rather than saw Vlad turn to me. I expected one of them to say something, but instead both of them just looked at me. I started to feel like I had been issued some kind of test, and I wasn’t sure I was passing it. It killed my appetite a little bit, and I put down my utensils and pushed my plate away slightly. “Something wrong?”

Susan shook her head, just a little bit too fast for it to be convincing. “No, it’s nothing. Just trying to picture how Marcone must have reacted to that.” There was strain in her voice, but I decided not to push it. Whatever Susan didn’t want to talk about, I got the feeling that if I tried to force it out of her before she was ready, she’d just stonewall me. 

Instead, I changed the subject. “Got any more information about—“ I almost used Quetzalcoatl’s name, but decided against it at the last minute. Someone’s name can be powerful from their own lips, but sometimes— especially with the names of gods and other supernatural heavy hitters— saying their name was as good as flashing a great big Bat-Signal in the air that read “here I am! I’m calling you!”. I doubted Quetzalcoatl would have been all that interested in that under most circumstances, especially since a proper summoning requires a considerable amount of power that I wasn’t going to be putting into a casual use of her name, but it was better safe than sorry. “—Rider’s deal?”

“Other than the obvious?” Susan asked. "There's a lot of information about her, but I'm not sure how much of it is accurate. She's said in turn the god of air, wind, life, the sun, and a variety of other things, and she’s recorded as male in Mesoamerican mythology, but—“

“Mythology,” Gorgon interjected, “is often inaccurate, especially with regards to the natures, powers, and appearances of gods.” 

Susan raised a hand, gesturing slightly. “Exactly. Mostly we’ve been checking out the area around the Field Museum again, trying to find the definitive power base for the Reds.” 

“Anything?”

Some of the old spark reappeared in Susan’s eyes, the same sort of look she used to have when she was looking into a story and had just found a lead. “We thought they’d holed up somewhere near the Field Museum, but that’s not the case.” She leaned forwards, almost putting her elbow in her plate by accident. “They’re under the Field Museum, in Undertown.” 

I drew back slightly, my forehead creasing in confusion. Undertown was the unofficial name of the network of tunnels, passages, and sunken buildings that laid underneath the above-ground city of Chicago. Some of them were still in use, mostly for public transportation, but most were abandoned, and many were dangerous— not just because they were unstable, but because of the things that still lived down there, beings that hated the light and everything that lived in it. There were tunnels running underneath the Field Museum, for sure, but as far as I knew they’d been sealed off after a flood in the early 90s and hadn’t been opened since. I said as much to Susan, then added “And why would they be hiding in Undertown in the first place? That is, if Rider’s providing them with supercharged magical sunscreen and all.” 

Susan shook her head. “That’s the thing— if Rider’s giving them protection, it definitely doesn’t extend to all of them. Which makes sense, given what one of the ones we found was able to tell us.” Her eyes flicked to Vlad. “Under some duress.” 

I suddenly became aware of the smell of blood coming from Vlad’s direction again, but tried my best to ignore both it and the shiver it sent down my spine. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea of Susan and her Servant apparently torturing the Reds— if I had to put a name to it, I’d say not good— but it didn’t entirely surprise me, either. She’d spent a considerable amount of time in South America, seeing the kind of large-scale carnage the Reds were capable of up close and personal. It made sense that she had no compassion for the things, and even less empathy for them. So I tried to push it out of my mind, even if I couldn’t quite forget about my discomfort. 

Gorgon took advantage of my momentary distraction to reach across the table and slide my plate towards her, spearing one of the sausage patties on it with her knife and shoving it whole into her mouth. She swallowed it, barely chewing, then gestured at Susan. “We do not require endless discussion of the details. Skip to the information you gathered.”

Susan raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll pose you both a question: how well do you think Rider and the Red Court really get along?”

—

The drive to the lake was quiet, but in no way peaceful. I’d driven into battle plenty of times before, but usually I’d had more time to mentally prepare myself for what was coming— to at least try to come to terms with the fact that I might die. Here I hadn’t had nearly that long, and while I was as armed to the teeth as I could possibly have gotten under the circumstances, it wasn’t particularly helping. Optimism, Harry, I reminded myself. Keep your chin up. Everything’s going to turn out fine.

There’s some times that I really wish I was a better liar. 

Susan parked, and I let out a long, slow exhale, consciously unclenching my hand from I’d been clutching my blasting rod in a white-knuckled grip. She turned the car off and turned to me. “So who are we going to be meeting here?” 

I grimaced. “Unfortunately, an ally, at least for the moment.” I unbuckled my seatbelt, then opened the door and stepped out, gesturing for Susan to keep behind me and watch my back. As we’d discussed, Vlad and Gorgon both shimmered and dematerialized, leaving the two of us (apparently) alone. When I was satisfied with that, I started walking down the paths towards Lake Michigan. 

As I walked, Gorgon’s voice appeared in my head. This is suicide. 

Thank you for the vote of confidence, I replied. I reached up and ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face. Listen, if we figured all of this right, it should work, and since I’m thinking optimistically right now I’m going to say that none of us should die in the process.

Should, Gorgon said. There was a long pause as she seemed to consider what else to say, and when her thoughts came again there was a note of something else to them— pride, maybe. You’re partially correct, Master. This is suicide for the rest of them, but I do not intend to die here. 

I sighed, but decided to stop arguing. I focused once more on walking instead, keeping an eye out as I did.

In the end, I didn’t have to find who I was looking for— they found me. A shower of light appeared from next to me, and a hand landed on my shoulder. A shock went through my whole body, and I was halfway to drawing up a fireball and blasting the Servant who’d grabbed me before I registered the swish of blue-white robes and the familiar smell of flowers. 

Caster pulled me to face him, the usual smug look already on his face, and with a conscious effort I let go of the power I had been about to unleash on him. “A good effort,” he said, smiling, “but could be faster. I give it a solid six out of ten!” 

I shrugged off Caster’s hand, annoyed. “Where’s Morgan?” 

“If you had any awareness,” came Morgan’s voice, from directly behind me, “you would have noticed already.” I turned to face Morgan, giving him a quick once-over. He was dressed as usual— long, dark coat, charcoal shirt and trousers, and the ever-present grey cloak of the Wardens. His sword hung at his hip, the shining metal reflecting the light of nearby street lamps. I noticed that his long face looked even more sour than usual when he looked at Caster, and just barely avoided smiling at that. “I see you’ve brought the half-vampire with you, Dresden,” Morgan said, looking from me to Susan and back again. “Typical of the company you keep.” 

I gritted my teeth, but managed to keep my cool. “Stow it, Morgan. We’re not the enemy tonight and you know it, so keep your opinions to your damn self.” 

Morgan opened his mouth indignantly to respond, but a menacing hiss came from everywhere and nowhere at once, cutting him off. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, resting there as he looked for the source of the noise. Unable to find it, he settled for glaring at me again. I glared back, though we were both careful not to meet each other’s eyes. 

Susan broke the silence this time, clearing her throat. “Harry,” she said, “there’s not that many hours left. If we’re going to do this, we need to start now.”

I hesitated, then nodded, looking away from Morgan and out towards the east, over Lake Michigan. “Right,” I said. “Okay, yeah.” I cracked the knuckles on my good hand. “Let’s get this party started.”

I walked closer to the edge of the lake, took a deep breath, and called out, putting a whisper of power into my words as I did. "Rider! Goddess Quetzalcoatl, I invoke your name and call for you to join me in this battle!" Despite the sheer insanity of what I was doing I felt the tingle of exhilaration deep in my bones— or was that the adrenaline? My lips drew back from my teeth, and I wasn't sure if I was baring them or smiling. Projecting my voice as far as I could, I poured more of my will into it, deliberately making it a beacon that Rider couldn’t have ignored if she wanted to. "Quetzalcoatl! Quetzalcoatl! Quetzalcoatl! The wizard Harry Dresden is calling, and he owes you a rematch!" 

For a moment, absolutely nothing happened. The waves lapped calmly at the shore, the night silent except for the sound of cicadas and distantly passing cars. Then there was a sound like the howling of wind, and I felt a rush of hot, humid air over my skin, heavy with thick, rich scents. Light burst forth from the east, almost as bright as sunlight, and I shielded my eyes as Rider’s laughter came from within it, echoing across the lake. “Back for more so soon, Avenger’s Master? And you’ve brought an audience to our fight this time, how kind!” The light mostly faded, leaving the still-shining figure of Quetzalcoatl standing across from me, the gold of her jewelry still bright even under the night sky. “I hope you’ve come ready, Master Dresden.” Her face twisted into a sharp-toothed smile, and my mouth felt suddenly dry. “I’d like to teach you more about lucha this time!“

Chapter Text

 Rider’s feet had scarcely touched the ground before I whipped my blasting rod up, pointing it directly at her and letting out the power I’d gathered in an explosion of white-hot flame. “Fuego!”

The air between Rider and I blossomed into heat and fire all at once, the inferno I’d summoned splitting the night and heating the air around it to near scorching, and I didn’t stick around to see what Rider would do about it. I took advantage of the distraction to dart to the side, praying that Caster had done his job, and silently yelled a command. Gorgon, now!

A concussive blast of air and noise strong enough that it was nearly a physical push originated from the space just behind me, and I stumbled, catching myself just in time to avoid a nasty fall. Gorgon’s voice came from within it, a bass rumble of a hiss that rose and pitch and intensity until it made my lungs feel like they were about to shake right out of my chest. I kept running, resisting the urge to look back even when dust began to rain from the air onto the shoulders of my duster, until I skidded to a stop behind a statue, dropping into a crouch and catching my breath. The sounds of destruction from behind me continued, and I caught the sound of Vlad‘s resonant baritone voice among the rest of the noise, though I couldn’t catch what he was actually saying.

When I looked down at my hands, I saw the air around them rippling slightly, their shapes distorted slightly, like I was looking at them through a shallow layer of water. Caster had come through with the veil, which meant that I would be the next best thing to invisible to everyone but myself— including, if I was lucky, Rider. 

Me getting lucky is a rare event, but it has to happen some time.

My ill-advised moment of relief was interrupted by a wrenching sound from above me, and I threw myself bodily away from the statue. The plinth I had just been sitting behind cracked and shuddered as the statue was ripped fully away, leaving nothing but the twisted metal bars that had once held it in place. I caught a glimpse of Rider’s eyes, flashing the same bright, unnatural green in darkness as they had in daylight, before she whirled and swung the statue out in front of her, at a flicker of rapidly-approaching white and blue-black that I assumed was Vlad. The air whistled, and there was a clang as the statue connected, throwing Vlad backwards. I didn’t see him land. 

I pushed down the suicidal urge to jump in and help and instead focused on getting my bearings, looking around for the spot Susan would be in. The fight between Rider, Vlad, and Gorgon was in itself an attack on the senses, but about a hundred yards away I spotted it— a blank, featureless wall that for all intents and purposes seemed to be just the outer wall of one of the buildings. I started moving towards it as carefully and quietly as I could, but almost immediately had to change my strategy as a laser-like ray of purple energy carved its way across the ground towards me. I threw myself out of its path and managed to dodge out of the way before it could slice me into perfectly seared Harry steaks, but it passed so close to my feet that I could practically smell the rubber on their soles melting. My heart pounded as I ran faster towards Susan’s hiding spot, calling out to Gorgon as I did. Hey! Focus on Rider, not on cutting me into little pieces as collateral damage! 

Then stay out of the way, Gorgon snarled back, her mental voice tense and strained. A flash of pain came across the link, and she inhaled sharply before lashing out, triggering another explosion and rain of dust.

I hunched my body and kept running, the smooth surface of the wall getting closer and closer until I was almost on it— and then I was through it, into the darkness of the tunnel the illusion had hidden. 

The surrounding air abruptly became several degrees cooler, and the world was suddenly much darker, and quieter, and wetter. I slowed to a stop before I could trip and break my own neck. As soon as I quit moving a hand landed on my shoulder, and even though I’d known it was coming I barely stopped myself from blasting its owner on instinct. Instead I turned the movement into a kind of full-body spasm, half-turning towards the direction the hand had come from. “Harry,” Susan’s voice came from the darkness, and I caught what little light entered the tunnel shining dimly off her teeth and eyes as she spoke. “Breathe. It’s me.”

It took a second for the words to get out of my mouth. “Yeah,” I replied, then let out as slow of a breath as I could manage. “Yeah, I know.” That had been the plan, for Caster to provide Susan and I illusions until we were both safely in the tunnel, but I hadn’t expected how jumpy I’d be by the time I got there. Ignoring how much my keyed-up body was telling me to either keep running or turn around and throw myself back into the fray, I channeled some of my energy through my staff and my pentacle, pouring my will into them until the space around Susan and I lit up in a variety of hellish and icy hues. 

The tunnel we were standing in looked old— I was no architecture buff, but even I could tell that the exposed supports and deteriorating, mold-covered brick walls weren’t exactly modern. According to Susan, the tunnel had been one of the earlier parts of the system going under the Field Museum before the flood had drowned most of them. It had been hidden in plain sight for decades, courtesy of what must have been a pretty heavy-duty illusion placed on it by one of the previous supernatural residents of Undertown. She and Vlad had apparently sniffed it out as the Red Court’s probable base of operations— or at least the entrance to it. At the edges of the tunnel I could see marks carved into it, where the runes that kept the illusion running had been scratched directly into the bricks. The dual lights of my necklace and staff flickered and cast shadows that made my lizard brain convinced something was about to come at us, and in the furrows of some of the runes I thought I saw the flaky, rust-colored residue of old, old, blood. 

The place was, not to put too fine a point on it, a damn sight creepier than the usual darkened alleyway. Something about it put me on edge, but whether it was the residual energy of whatever creepy-crawlies had lived here in the old days or the result of the Red Court taking up residence was hard to say. Either way, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Hopefully I wasn’t going to have to open up my Sight at all, because if I did I was absolutely sure I wasn’t going to like what I saw. 

The light I was putting out wasn’t much, but Susan still drew back from it, lifting her hand to shield her face and letting out a quiet hiss. I looked at her, confused, and she shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “My eyes adjust quicker to the dark, ever since...” She trailed off, and I caught the edge of a bone-deep pain and self-loathing in her voice. 

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. I winced and let the light from my pentacle die, leaving just the orange-red lights of the runes on my staff. I was tempted to apologize to her, but I knew that if I did I’d be apologizing for something far, far deeper than just having too many lights on, and opening that old wound any further wasn’t going to do either of us any good, especially not right now. 

Knowing someone else blames themselves for your pain never makes it hurt any less. 

So instead I jerked my head towards the depths of the tunnel, down into the murky darkness of it. “Lead the way.” Susan rolled her eyes at me before turning and walking away, her steps barely making noise on the floor of the tunnel.

After a moment I followed her, and together we headed into the gloom of Chicago’s very literal underbelly. 

—

As Susan and I worked our way through the cramped, slick tunnels of Undertown, I did my best to keep my breathing calm and steady. It was an uphill battle. My heart was pounding, and my hands had started to shake so much that I had to clench them into fists to keep them still. It didn’t stop the jitters running through the rest of my body, though, and I swallowed hard. That’s the problem with adrenaline rushes. They can spur you into pretty effective fight-or-flight in the moment, but there’s always a crash, and if our plan didn’t start working soon I was headed directly towards mine.

The muffled thump of a distant impact echoed down the length of the tunnel from the entrance, and my heart skipped a beat. Reaching out with my mind, I looked for Gorgon’s presence. How are you holding up?

Her response was strained and curt, only one word. Hurry. Then the connection snapped off, like she’d cut it off deliberately on her end. 

I couldn’t help but feel a little miffed that she’d hung up on me, but I was less miffed than I was worried. The plan hinged on Susan and I being able to find the Reds before Rider could manage to get too many hits in, but the tunnel had been empty, almost barren of life. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I asked the silhouette of Susan’s back in front of me. “Because so far—“ 

Susan’s shadow turned her head slightly towards me and she opened her mouth like she was about to answer, but instead she stopped abruptly, holding up a finger. At the signal I hastily snuffed out the light of my staff, and then we were both standing in the darkness, waiting. My muscles were tense— not just tense, but spring-coiled, all energy bound up and waiting for an explosive release. In the silence I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing. 

Somewhere down the tunnel, I heard the scrape and clatter of claws on stone. 

That was all the warning Susan and I got.

Susan and I might have been expecting them, but no matter how prepared I was and how much better her eyes had gotten at adjusting to dim light, the Red Court was always going to be better at operating in the dark than we were. There were a series of high-pitched chittering noises that I heard more in my eyes and teeth than in my ears, a gasp from Susan, and then three oily shadows just barely darker than the surrounding tunnel darted towards us, moving faster than they had any right to. 

If I wasn’t a wizard, Susan and I would probably have died there. 

Fortunately for us both, I am. 

I didn’t have to tell Susan to duck— she was already moving, flinging herself to the side to give me a clear line of fire. I raised my palm towards the Reds and barked a command, channeling my will into the word. “Forzare!”

A blast of invisible force came rushing from my fingers down the tunnel and towards the Reds, who split to each side to avoid it. One went to the left and another went to the right, but the third, who must have been the slowest of the bunch, either underestimated me or overestimated itself, because it had only just started moving when my spell hit it. What happened next was probably similar to what would have happened had the thing just run into oncoming traffic— there was a crunching noise, and then its crushed body sailed out of view back down the tunnel, carried by the shock wave. I didn’t hear it land before the other two were on us. 

I’d leveled the playing field back down to two-on-two, but apparently taking out one of their buddies had made me the more attractive target, because they both went after me. The one that had split to the left sprang at me, its gangly body sailing through the air with an unsettling, bat-like grace. I ducked to the side to avoid it— which I instantly realized was a mistake, as the one to the right slammed hard into me, its razor-sharp claws ripping at my stomach with the intent to disembowel even as it drew its rubbery lips back from its fangs, its long, piebald tongue stretching out towards my neck. The vampire’s claws glanced off my duster, but I felt a sting of pain and heard the ripping of fabric as one of its talons caught on my T-shirt. Gritting my teeth hard, I brought my staff up against the vamp’s neck and twisted it hard to the side to break its grip. The Red let out an ear-piercing screech as I shoved it off of me. As I did I heard the sound of rapid footsteps and caught a glimpse of something blurring past me, and then Susan let out a shout, followed by the thud of an impact and a sickening squelching sound. I shoved myself to my feet and glanced to the side, just in time to see Susan withdrawing a gore-slick fist from the hole she’d punched in the other vampire’s stomach. Blood poured out of the vampire’s blood reservoir, leaving its once-bulbous belly now concave and empty, and it let out a guttural, animalistic hissing noise of pain and rage as it lunged at Susan in a last-ditch effort to separate her head from her spinal cord. 

Before it could touch her, Susan’s arm shot out again, ramming the vampire’s face so hard that a cracking sound echoed through the tunnel. The vampire crumpled, a fist-shaped dent beaten into its skull, and hit the floor with a sound like a sack of meat being swung into a cement wall. 

The last vampire left standing apparently decided that it didn’t want to take its chances 2-on-1, and it darted back down the length of the tunnel. Instinctively I began to channel my will through my staff, filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke and sulfur as I prepared to roast it as it fled, but at the last moment I stopped myself, letting the energy drain. The vampire disappeared back into the gloom, and Susan and I were left in silence again. 

There was a moment before Susan spoke again. “So,” she whispered, and I dimly saw her raise her hand to her shirt, wiping it off on the hem. “What now?”

“Now,” I said, “I do what I do best.” I raised my voice, channeling enough magic into it to project all the way down the tunnel. My words bounced off the walls, leaving echoes in their wake. “Hey!” I called into the darkness. “Is that all you’ve got? I swear, you Reds get more pathetic every time I fight you. It’s not even fun anymore, there’s no challenge to it!”

“Harry,” Susan said, her voice tight. 

I ignored her and kept going. “I mean, c’mon, we came all the way in here and you can’t even do us the courtesy of giving us a real fight?” I banged my staff on the ground to punctuate my words, and the sound came out as loud as a gunshot as the runes on it flared back into an ugly reddish glow. “Come on out, cowards! Come and get it! I’ll even let you get a free shot in!”

“Harry,” Susan said again, more urgently. 

There was a whisper of noise from down the tunnel, and then the darkness erupted into vampires. 

There were too many to count, all moving towards us at once from a variety of angles all along the tunnel’s floor and walls— I even spotted some on the ceiling, scuttling in an unnerving, vaguely bug-like motion. They came towards us fast, and I knew instinctively that there were too many of them to fight. So I didn’t try. Instead, when the wave was almost on us, I yanked my necklace over my head in a quick motion and held it out before me, towards the endless numbers of vampires coming at us. 

I brandished my mother’s pentacle necklace in front of me and drew upon my faith.

I’m not a religious man in any meaningful sense— I might know that gods exist, but I don’t have many expectations for them, especially not the proverbial Big Guy that Michael worked for. If it’d been a cross I’d been holding, the vampires wouldn’t have slowed a step. But the pentacle was a symbol of magic, and if there was one thing I held unshakeable faith in, it was that.

My necklace began to glow again, the blue light spreading out in a circle from Susan and I and casting shadows along the walls and floor. The Reds faltered, slowed, and stopped in the face of that light, skirting around the perimeter of it, unable to take a step closer. Wherever the light touched, the Reds drew back, a chorus of hisses and high-pitched clicking noises rising from their throats. But even though they were being held at bay the restless wave of grotesque bodies pushed in on all sides, surrounding us. My stomach grew cold and heavy as I realized that the situation wasn’t exactly going to plan. I hadn’t fully expected how many of them there would be, and my mind raced as I frantically tried to figure out how we could get out of this. If I lowered the amulet, Susan and I would get killed in seconds, but I couldn’t keep this up indefinitely— eventually, I was going to run out of energy, and then we’d be torn apart. 

My train of thought stopped dead as the sea of vampires started to part in front of Susan and I, the vamps silently moving aside. A woman stepped out of the ring of vampires, just into the halo of blue light emanating from my amulet. She was beautiful— she was too beautiful, her features too symmetrical, her proportions too perfect to be human. She looked more like a statue come to life, Galatea stepping down from her pedestal with the smooth, graceful movement of a born predator. The way she was dressed presented a sharp contrast to the dank, decrepit surroundings of the tunnel; her red blouse and black pants were simple in an elegant, expensive way, and gold jewelry with blocky designs that reminded me of Rider’s decorated her neck and wrists. Thick, shining waves of blue-black hair that reminded me of a bird’s wing curled around her shoulders, and her dark eyes shone, reflecting the light of my pentacle back at me. She took one more step towards me, her shoes— sneakers, surprisingly practical for someone otherwise dressed so expensively— making no noise on the tunnel floor. 

I’d never seen her before, but I recognized her anyways.

“Harry Dresden,” Duchess Arianna Ortega of the Red Court said, “I must admit, this is an unexpected pleasure.”