Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Second chances, those involving things that really matter, don’t come around very often.

I was currently staring at mine.

“I suggest,” Karrin Murphy said in a calm voice, her pistol aimed squarely at Mac’s chest, “that you put the gun down, Mr. McAnally. Otherwise, I will be forced to shoot you.” She had risen from her chair, her feet spread slightly in a shooter’s stance.

Mac grunted in response. The shotgun he held pointed at my head didn’t waver. Unlike Murphy, I hadn’t moved. I remained in my seat, hands raised, and watched him.

Mac was a spare man, lean and somewhat tall. He was bald, choosing to shave his pate rather than the result of hair loss, wearing a pair of jeans, a white shirt, and a pristine white apron which never seemed to get dirty, no matter how many steaks I’d seen him grill. His appearance hadn’t really changed ever since I’d moved to Chicago, but that was likely because he wasn’t human. I wasn’t exactly sure what Mac was, but I had my suspicions.

“I’m not a member of the Accords,” Murphy continued, chin jerking towards the wooden sign posted next to the door. “But I am a member of Chicago P. D., and I don’t appreciate having a weapon drawn in my presence and pointed at someone under my protection. Put the gun down.” She emphasized each word, her hands steady. “I won’t ask again.”

Mac could be hurt. I’d seen him beaten, and I’d seen him shot. Murphy’s threat wasn’t an idle one; even if his injuries healed at an accelerated rate, getting shot hurts. Take it from someone who knows.

Mac looked at her out of the corner of his eye, back to me, then lowered the shotgun. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he growled at me.

“All right,” I agreed, though I had no idea what he’d consider stupid.

He shifted the weapon, holding the shotgun mid-barrel one-handed above his head, and slowly moved back to the bar where he set it down on the polished wood counter.

Murphy holstered her weapon, and I lowered my hands as I got to my feet. Had anyone previously been in the pub, it was completely deserted now.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded, eyes flicking between us. With the immediate threat over, I wanted to stare at her. God, I’d missed her so much. Not just because I loved her, but because she’d been one of my best friends and staunchest allies. We’d shared triumphs and tears, laughter and heartbreak, long before anything resembling romantic intent.

An afterimage superimposed itself over Murphy’s face, her skin pale with blood loss, her lips blue, the life fading from her eyes. I swallowed and forced it away.

“Um,” I said helpfully, not having the faintest idea how to explain my presence, or Mac’s response to it.

“Disagreement,” Mac offered, and Murphy’s eyes narrowed in the cop face I’d seen so frequently while working with her.

“That does not explain what just happened. You pulled a loaded weapon in a bar filled with innocent bystanders. I should arrest you and haul your ass downtown,” she snarled. “Someone could’ve gotten killed.”

Now that the adrenaline flooding my system was receding, I noticed several things. My hand, the left one with burn scars, was nearly numb. When I glanced down at it, I saw I was wearing a black leather glove, one I hadn’t worn in years. Wigging my fingers barely moved them at all, and I fought down a burst of panic.

Oh, crap.

This wasn’t my body. Or rather it was, just one roughly ten years younger based on the nerve damage to my hand. Had I displaced Harry’s consciousness with my own? It explained waking up mid-conversation with Murphy, as if someone flicked on a light switch.

More disturbing was discovering the Winter Mantle… missing. Probing the core of my power, where the Mantle’s icy presence always took up too much room, found nothing. Which made an odd sort of sense, if the Mantle was tied to my physical body. It hadn’t come along for the ride while I’d been a ghost-soul, and that was similar to how I’d describe my current situation. My consciousness, occupying someone else’s physical form.

Which begged the question, where had Harry Actual gone?

Which led to another one: where the hell was Future Harry?

The mostly one-sided conversation had gone on while I’d been busy with my epiphany, and judging by Murphy’s expression, Mac hadn’t supplied answers she was happy with. I doubted he’d supplied any answers at all.

“What day is it?” I asked her, breaking her out of another staring contest with Mac. I couldn’t very well ask what year, but I had a pretty good guess.

Murphy frowned, glancing at me. “Monday. Your birthday’s on Sunday.”

Hell’s bells. I remembered this day. Murphy asked me to a late lunch at Mac’s, then acted off the whole time. She kept insisting nothing was wrong, but looking back on it with a decade’s worth of experience, I realized she’d been trying to get up the nerve to tell me about her vacation with Kincaid. In the end, she sprang it on me literally last minute. At the time, I had been shocked enough by the news that I hadn’t put up much of a fight. Or any fight, really.

“Don’t go to Hawaii with Kincaid,” I blurted out.

Karrin’s eyes widened. “How did you know about that? I just bought the tickets this morning.”

“Dresden!” Mac snapped, his furious expression making me rethink my response. Could he tell I was a future version of Harry? Likely, given he was (probably) a former angel, and even without his grace he had supernatural abilities. I’d bet a frosted donut - with sprinkles - that rapid healing wasn’t the only power left to him.

“Little Folk,” I lied. “They see a lot more than people give them credit for.”

Under normal circumstances, Karrin Murphy would’ve seen right through my lie. But Mac’s behavior was distracting her, and she barely gave me a second look.

“Karrin,” I said, waiting until her eyes shifted back to me. “What happened with Mac… it’s White Council business. I can’t tell you the particulars.” It wasn’t even a lie. Should the Council find out how I’d gotten here, they would declare me in violation of the Laws of Magic and kill me without a second thought.

Her frown turned into a scowl; she was about to object, but I held up a hand before she could. “It’s not dangerous to the citizens of Chicago, but knowing about it would be extremely dangerous to you. You cannot protect yourself against the Council, so please, let me deal with it. With them.”

Her scowl remained. “I can protect myself just fine, Dresden. Get off your chauvinistic high horse and tell me what’s going on.”

“I wish I could,” I said sincerely. “I really wish I could. But I made a promise, and I don’t take promises lightly. I can’t afford to. Will you just trust me on this?” It was a big ask for a member of Chicago P.D., especially for Murphy. But she was good people, and a good friend.

She studied my face, my expression, even my eyes without looking into them directly (which is harder than you think), let out a long, slow breath and nodded. “All right.” Then she shot Mac a look that meant business. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook. You ever point that gun at anyone while I’m around, I won’t give you a second warning. Got it?”

Mac grunted, nodding once.

“Good.” Murphy turned to me. “I’ve got to get back. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll walk you out.” I hurried to the front door before she could reach it, holding it open for her despite the glare she gave me. It was an old game between us, and butterflies swam in my stomach as I caught the tiniest twitch of her lips trying to suppress a smile.

The late October afternoon was overcast, the dark, low clouds promising rain. It was chilly, enough that I felt the brisk breeze on my cheeks as it rattled through the nearby trees, plucking off what few leaves remained. She walked around the side of the building to the small adjacent lot, where I stopped to stare.

My car.

My freaking car.

I knew I missed the Blue Beetle, but just how much became apparent as a swell of emotion punched me in the chest hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

I walked slowly over to my car, taking in every scrape and ding, the smattering of colored panels in white, red, yellow and green, the hood primer gray since I hadn’t the money to repaint it. Though the interior, once thoroughly stripped by mold demons and shoddily repaired by yours truly (again, no money), had been replaced.

I found the keys in my jeans pocket, unlocked the door, and just stood there.

“Uh, Harry?” Murphy asked, startling me by putting a hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, a lump in my throat. I remembered that smell. The musty, left-over mold demon smell, along with vinyl and a hint of woodsmoke. They say your sense of smell has, out of all the senses, the strongest ties to memory and emotion, and boy did I feel it. All the years the car had served me faithfully, and its ignominious end at the hands of a monster who’d crushed it like an empty beer can.

“You sure you’re all right? You don’t look so good.” Murphy’s hand was still on my arm.

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just tired, I guess.” While my poker face had never been anything to write home about, I’d apparently gotten better at it over the intervening years. Murphy looked up at me, worry in her eyes, but whatever she saw didn’t cause her to question my paltry excuse.

She smiled a little. “You work too hard. Get some rest, Harry.”

I tried to shrug it off. “Gotta pay the bills somehow.” Turning to face her, my hands itched to hold her once more, feel her body pressed against mine. She wasn’t breathtakingly, impossibly gorgeous in the way that Lara was, and still she took my breath away. Murphy was real and solid, and most of all, here.

And I’d missed her so damn much.

But holding her would be a mistake. This Harry had been too oblivious and that Murphy too cautious to move past friendship into something more. God, I’d been stupid. How much time had I wasted that could’ve been spent with Karrin?

“Can we talk before you go on vacation?” I asked. “Please?” I could barely contain the jealousy surging through me at the idea of Kincaid spending time with her. Touching her. Being intimate with her. I hadn’t liked it the first time around, and sure as hell hated it now. I knew I was staring too intently, waiting for her response, and couldn’t make myself look away. Just the sight of Murphy, vibrant and alive, was a balm for my battered, bruised soul.

Karrin looked uncomfortable, though her voice was steady. “You understand that I’m a big girl, Dresden, and can make my own choices.”

I drew in a breath and nodded, even tried for a brief smile to keep the words from sounding desperate. “I do. Please? I’ll even water your plants while you’re gone.” I still had no idea what I’d say, but I just couldn’t let her leave without saying anything. My sanity couldn’t take it.

A corner of her mouth turned up. “Was gonna ask you to do that anyway.” Then she sighed, peering up at me. “All right. I’ll come by Thursday after work.”

“Thanks, Murph. See you then.”

She squeezed my arm once more, then headed to her city ride. To this day, watching Murphy walk away from me is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,. After she backed out, she gave me a small wave, pulled into traffic, and was gone.

My heart… was in agony. For a multitude of reasons, but most of them started and ended with Karrin Murphy.

I took a moment to breathe, then a few more, fighting down the tears that threatened. Then I climbed into the Blue Beetle, its familiar cramped confines doing their part to ease the pain of Murphy’s departure. When I turned the ignition, I couldn’t help the smile tilting up the corner of my mouth as the sound of its distinctive, air-cooled engine filled the compartment.

Sure, the radio didn’t work, the Blue Beetle’s name was more wishful thinking than actuality, mold demons had completely trashed the interior, and a gigantic plant monster pancaked the hood, but the car was mine. As was the staff propped in the back seat, my old staff made on Ebenezar’s farm.

I patted the sun-cracked dash fondly. “Let’s go home.”

I didn’t expect the phrase “home is where the heart is” to be so literal.

As I drove down my street, it was a shock to see it once again pre-battle. More homes than I realized had been repaired, remodeled, or completely demolished and rebuilt after last July’s Fomor incursion.

And then… a large building on a corner lot came into view. It was an old boardinghouse, converted into apartments long ago. It wasn’t anything special; in fact, it was a bit run-down, which explained why the rent was (for Chicago) relatively cheap. Most of my neighbors were elderly, some having lived in the same apartment for decades.

There was a gravel parking lot to one side, next to the mailboxes and trash cans. After I parked and got out, I shuddered involuntarily as my eyes caught the brick planter I’d broken my back on. I remembered the pain, then numbness, then utter hopelessness consuming me. Had Sanya not arrived when he had, several of my neighbors would have died in the fire.

It’s in the past, Harry. Or in the future, which you now have the potential to change.

I shook my head, resolving to ponder that dilemma after I’d had some food, and maybe some sleep. But it did bring up a question I often asked myself: why here? Why had Marcone built his castle on top of the ruins of the boardinghouse? Marcone had access to prime locations with his construction business, and this was absolutely not one of them. It wasn’t even close to a ley line. It was, to put it bluntly, nothing special.

Unless one took into account where it touched the Nevernever. I discovered (completely by accident) that my godmother, the Leanansidhe, constructed a deadly garden in the spirit realm and had, over the years I’d lived in the apartment, thwarted all manner of monsters trying to sneak up on me from that direction.

How Marcone would know that fact and why he would care… I couldn’t fathom a guess. It’s not like he actually lived in the castle, or needed the extra protection.

The other potential reason was access to my lab and its contents. Yet he hadn’t used it as a lab, instead stripping it before tossing Thomas inside to keep as a prisoner during the peace talks. Marcone, at Lara’s request, had returned what he’d taken, though there was no way to know if the items I didn’t receive back were damaged by smoke and water, or if he decided to appropriate them.

Bob and I went through the entire inventory of what had been there prior to the fire, comparing it to what arrived in several gigantic crates. Things were missing (which I expected), but nothing irreplaceable. Though trying to find depleted uranium dust after an all-out war that destroyed a large swath of a major metropolitan city had proven impossible.

Neither explanation made much sense. But there was a third option. Marcone had built it as a statement, to let the supernatural community know there was a new sheriff in town and despite the death of Harry Dresden, wizard and Warden of the White Council, Baron Marcone wasn’t about to let monsters rule Chicago.

If that had been his reason, the results were dubious at best.

Perhaps he’d just wanted to infuriate my ghost. Which he had, but he didn’t have to know that.

As I walked down the concrete steps to my door, a gray blur shot towards me out of the corner of my eye. And then thirty pounds of gray tomcat rammed into my shin, nearly knocking me over.

“Mister!” I crouched down, eyes watering, and rubbed his face and chin, then scratched behind his ears. “I’ve missed you.” His rumbling purr kicked in as his stump of a tail twitched back and forth. Like most cats, Mister liked attention on his terms, and he disliked being picked up. But I picked him up anyway, holding him to my chest while blinking back tears; he tolerated it for maybe fifteen seconds, then began to squirm.

I set him down before he jumped (or clawed my eyes out), then lowered my wards and unlocked the door. “All right, let’s get you fed.” I’d barely begun to open the door before Mister dove through the widening crack, yanking it from my hand. It was dim inside, but it was always dim. Curtains over the two sunken windows blocked out much of the light, so it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust.

My first thought: What a pigsty.

My second thought: I’m home.

And as I stepped in, closing the door behind me, the familiar scents filled my nostrils. Old paper. Woodsmoke and charcoal. Melted candlewax. A hint of cold, musty dampness, as only a basement can smell. The faint fragrance of pine, left over from the last time the brownies cleaned my apartment.

Home.

I murmured a few words, and with a wave of my hand flames burned bright in the fireplace, throwing familiar patterns of light and shadow around the room. Over the large, faded tapestries occupying the walls. On the collection of rugs in differing styles, shades and textures covering the floors. On comfortable, mismatched second-hand furniture, and worn bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks.

On a card sitting on my fireplace mantel. I’d received it on my birthday several years ago, from Susan, with three words written inside.

I drew in a sharp breath. Susan. Susan was alive. I blinked back a few tears at the realization. And Maggie safe with her foster parents, approaching her second birthday.

I could reach out to Susan, and tell her… what? That Martin, her trusted parter in the Fellowship of Saint Giles, was a backstabbing double-agent who would divulge Maggie’s whereabouts to the Red Court in a few years? Yeah, I could imagine how that conversation would go. I could contact the Fellowship directly, warn them of Martin’s duplicity. But without any proof, why would they believe a random wizard of the White Council?

I touched the card with my fingertips, but didn’t pick it up.

Any action I took had the potential for huge repercussions later. Thinking of Susan and Martin and Maggie, the Red Court and Chichén Itzá, it brought a conversation with Michael Carpenter to mind. He’d asked me if I could go back in time and change the past, which of course I couldn’t, just to prove a point. And yet here I was, in that exact hypothetical situation.

I needed time to think before setting off on a course of action I might have cause to regret later. But time was the one thing I had going for me. The Darkhallow wasn’t for another week, though Mavra’s summons would come by Friday. Properly motivated, I could do a lot in a few days.

While Mister twined around my legs, randomly headbutting my shins, Mouse remained in the kitchen alcove quietly watching me with wary, alert eyes. I approached him slowly, hand out as if meeting him for the first time. It was clear he could sense I wasn’t quite the Harry he knew, but was close enough to confuse the heck out of him. So I decided to tell him the truth. Wasn’t like he could tell anyone.

“Hey, boy. It’s me, sort of. Something happened and… well, I’m still Harry, but a future version of Harry. I’m not quite sure how I ended up stuck in here.” I gestured to myself. “That’s probably why I don’t seem exactly right.”

Mouse sniffed my hand cautiously, ears swiveling as I spoke. Then he made a decision, leapt forward and showered me with doggie kisses. “All right, all right. I love you, too.”

I had forgotten that Thomas was living with me, which was clearly made evident by the mess and lack of water in Mouse’s dish. I refilled the dish, then quickly took Mouse out to the small back yard to relieve himself.

Upon return to the apartment, Mister greeted me with several loud meows and trotted into the kitchen, expecting his human to follow. Which I did. I plopped a can of cat food on a plate, filled Mouse’s bowl with kibble, and stood back to watch the inevitable. Mister abandoned his food, sauntered over to Mouse’s bowl, ate a bite of kibble and batted at the rest, sending kibble flying in every direction. Then he returned to his food, while Mouse, who’d waited for Mister to complete the daily ritual, began eating from his bowl with gusto.

“You two,” I said fondly, smiling. I rummaged through the icebox for a can of Coke, popped it open, and slugged down half the can. Then I wandered back into the living room, sitting on one end of the couch. I found myself trying to flex my left hand, and pulled off the leather glove carefully.

Holy crap. I had forgotten how truly bad my hand had looked; covered by burn scars, it barely resembled anything close to human, or at least anything that could be found attached to a living human. When trying to spread my fingers, two barely twitched in response. Only my thumb had any feeling whatsoever. While I knew for a fact my hand would heal given time, right now it was a major liability should it come down to a fight.

I tugged the glove back on.

What the hell do I do now?

I idly cleaned around the apartment as I finished off the soda, stacking books, picking up candles, pushing the furniture back into place, hanging up fallen tapestries. Then I stretched out on the couch to think. Bob was the logical choice to talk this through with. If I forbade him from discussing my situation with anyone, even if a change in ownership should occur, I deemed the conversation to be relatively safe. Maybe he’d have an idea of how I ended up here without my body. Or how I could get back to my own time.

Did I want to get back to my own time?

What if I stayed here, let the next ten years play out, and change what I could based on knowledge of what was coming? A second chance to fix all of the idiotic, blundering mistakes I’d made. But what if I screwed up everything trying to make things better? I’d read and seen too many altering-the-past storylines to believe that every change would work out as I intended it to. Some would set off a chain reaction of events I wasn’t capable of planning for, let alone predicting.

I had every intention of getting up and going down to my lab, but the warmth of the fire lulled me into a light doze. I felt the cushions shift, then a heavy, solid weight draped itself across my legs and struck up a vibrating purr louder than a motorboat’s engine. A few minutes later, a large form flopped down on the floor next to me with a doggie huff.

Home.

I drifted off into a dark, dreamless sleep.

“Harry? Harry. Dammit, wake up!”

I blinked a few times, disoriented, until an older version of my face appeared above me. “Finally.”

I sat up with a scowl. “Where the hell have you been?” Mister, I noted, had abandoned me to perch on his favorite bookshelf. He opened one eye sleepily, then closed it again, seemingly unbothered by the fact there were now two Harrys in the apartment.

“We have a problem,” he said, collapsing into the far recliner.

“Tell me about it. This -“ I gestured to myself “- was not in the travel brochure.”

Future Harry shook his head. “The problem’s bigger than that. I’m not actually here.”

I blinked at him. “Um, what?”

“You know how your consciousness is stuck that body?” He pointed at me.

“Yeah.”

“Well… I’m stuck in that body, too,” he said.

I got up and poked him in the shoulder. “You seem pretty real to me.”

He made a disgusted sound. “You know better than most how the mind can be manipulated. Somehow, the spell stuffed my consciousness into yours, and yours into the Harry that belongs to this time.”

I glanced down at my gloved hand. “If I’m him… where is he?”

“An excellent question. But we have an even bigger problem.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Bigger than I might have killed Harry Actual and replaced him with me? With us?”

He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back in the chair. “Unfortunately. We’re further back in the past than we should be.” He fell silent, staring at the glowing embers of what remained of the fire, then let out a frustrated sound. “ Flickum bicus,” he growled, waving a hand. Nothing happened. “Dammit,” he swore, face contorted into a snarl. “Not that I expected it to work, but… dammit.”

“Flickum bicus,” I muttered, and flames flared up from the fireplace. I got up, fed another log to the fire, then returned to the couch.

“Show off.”

I smiled faintly, though he wasn’t looking at me. “So, what was the plan, exactly? You never said, and you didn’t give me time to ask before dragging me through the mirror.“

He was silent for several long moments. Then he said quietly, “To stop Molly from becoming the Winter Lady.”

“What? How? By killing her?” My voice was sharp with anger.

“God, no,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was longer than mine, messier, streaks of gray at the temples. The Blackstaff I’d seen him holding before had vanished, though he was wearing the same clothes; tee, jeans, black leather duster. “By killing Maeve before Maeve kills Lily.”

My mind clicked, bringing up images of the night Demonreach nearly melted down on a scale that would have made the Mount St. Helens eruption look minuscule by comparison. “On Demonreach, you mean.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “The Winter Lady’s mantle would have passed to Sarissa, as Mab intended when she gave you the job of killing her daughter.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What aren’t you telling me? That’s a one person job. You didn’t need my help for that.”

Future Harry dragged his eyes from the fire to study me for a long moment. “I needed your help to get onto Demonreach, then into the summoning circle. Remember how the island’s defenses only let that of the island pass through the barrier?”

“Yeah. But… you’re me. We’re both of the island.”

He grimaced, flashing a pained expression. “I’m not. Not any more. I’ve… done things. Extremely foolish, desperate things that I deeply regret, but that angered Demonreach. It barred me from the island.” He rubbed at his chest. “A magical enchantment, inscribed into every rib. If I showed up without you, the genius loci would have killed me.

“I also needed your power. You’ve reached the point in your studies that you can use starlight as a weapon.”

I snorted. “Barely. I can’t force it to do anything.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I would have taught you how, for this specific spell. Summoning starlight isn’t the same as gathering power for a wizard spell, so none of the Sidhe present would’ve noticed the spellcasting until it was too late.

“The idea was once you - past you - went after Maeve and she was too busy turning on the seduction to pay attention to her surroundings, we launch the same spell at the same time from two different locations. Even if she sensed one coming and was able to dodge, the second would’ve killed her. One thing you haven’t had the opportunity to learn yet is that the Sidhe have no real defense against this kind of magic.”

“That seems…”

“A little on the Hail Mary side?” He chuckled as I nodded. “Well, the backup plan was to shoot her. I have - well, had - a gun, and my veils have improved considerably.”

I recognized the expression on his face. He was still holding something back, and I sifted through the clues he left me. Then my eyes widened. “And if that didn’t work, you were planning on killing me, weren’t you?” He looked away, which was all the confirmation I needed. “Can’t marry Lara if I’m a corpse rotting away in the past, right?” I wasn’t even all that angry. I’ve had to make hard choices before, and if my marriage was the catalyst for everything that followed… to save Maggie, my life in exchange for hers was more than a fair deal.

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

Future Harry let out a short bark of laughter that held no humor. “Lara fell in love, and everything fell apart.”

My mouth fell open, just a little, because that became a problem only if the love was reciprocated. “Uh, what? Her… and you? After what she did to you? To me?”

He gave me a rueful smile and ran fingers through his hair. “Yeah, well… it’s not like I planned it. Ten years is a long time, and I’m only human. And she didn’t do anything that night.”

I shot to my feet. “Like that makes what she sanctioned okay?” I demanded, pointing at him. “You are an idiot. You - we - I… I was sexually assaulted.” I stumbled over the phrase, unable to use the more accurate, more shame-inducing term, rape. I’d never admitted that out loud, not in those words, and just saying them made my skin crawl. “And forced to enjoy it against my will. Because of her.”

Future Harry couldn’t meet my eyes. He turned back to the fire. “What happened to us can never be undone. I didn’t forgive her, but I understood Lara’s reasoning. It made the marriage tolerable for the first decade. Even enjoyable at times, when Lara allowed herself to be a little more human. The Winter Mantle… she helped me control its urges far better than exercise alone could manage. And she never looked at me as though I was a monster. Never treated me as one.” His voice turned bitter. “Unlike my friends.”

He was silent for a long moment, then blew out a breath and said quietly, “It gets worse, you know. The urges. You’ve only had the Winter Mantle for a few years. Without Lara, I… I did so many things I regret.” His face was a mask of pain.

I studied his expression, the anguish and grief crawling like living things over his face. He wasn’t wrong about the Mantle, or Lara’s effect on it. Just in the few brief times we’d been together, I’d already noticed her ability to feed from it, to calm its urges either by draining its power or sating its needs. Likely both.

“I’m guessing Lara was burned by your touch in front of the White Court and was viewed as a weakness others could exploit.”

Future Harry nodded, eyes again on the fire. “It destabilized the Court. There were several attempted coups before one finally succeeded. It… destabilized me, as well. I’d come to rely on her Hunger too much and the Mantle… wanted. Needed. I couldn’t control it, not like I should have. The alliance between the Winter and White Courts disintegrated.

“Molly seized the opportunity to pay back Lara and her sisters for what they did to me, decimating the White Court. And Maggie…” his voice broke on her name, and his hands trembled until he clenched them in his lap. “I lost my mind, literally and figuratively. Marcone and the White Council got involved, and suddenly we were in a four-way war which was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. The adversary took advantage of the chaos and… it was bad. Really, really bad. Judgment Day bad.”

Future Harry looked up with haunted, hollow eyes.

“The gates are falling, and we can’t stop it. Winter is stretched too thin, and our allies are dead. According to Rashid, we have at most a week left before we’re overrun.” A ghost of a smile played over his face. “You can see why he thought breaking a Law of Magic was worth the risk.”

“Why not stop me from needing Mab’s bargain in the first place?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to prevent the Eebs from starting the fire? No broken back, no Winter Knight, no obligation to marry Lara Raith.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” Future Harry said with a shake of his head. “The one thing Vadderung and the Gatekeeper both told me was that becoming the Winter Knight is necessary if I want to prevent the Outsiders’ destruction of our universe.” He barked out another short, humorless laugh. “Of course, they wouldn’t tell me why it’s necessary, just that it is. Not that it’s done me any good.” He eyed me. “Maybe you’ll do better.”

I blinked at him. “That… seems more direct than they usually are.”

“Yeah. Shocked me, too. Like you, that was my first thought. If I wasn’t the Winter Knight, then Mab held no sway over me. But do you remember the conversation with Michael, after returning from a year on Demonreach?”

“Yeah,” I replied warily.

“The Winter Queen would have offered the job to another thug, one who might have been destroyed by it in a few short years. Perhaps even offered it to Thomas. We at least have a chance to remain who we are.”

I blew out a breath. “Sounds like we didn’t make it far.”

“My fault,” he admitted, idly scratching at the scar along his jawline. “I relied too heavily on Lara, and not enough on myself. I… should have talked to Thomas more.” He made a deprecating sound. “I should have done a lot of things differently.” Then he tilted his head, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “Might as well come on out, Lasciel. We both know you’re there.”

I startled at his words, then stared at the woman that stepped out from behind him. She was tall, barefoot, dressed in a white tunic that stopped just short of her knees. Hair the color of corn silk fell straight to her shoulders.

Hell’s bells, I’d forgotten that in less than a week, I would meet Lasciel’s shadow in the guise of Shiela, an alleged employee of Bock Ordered Books. I had forgotten she was a part of this Harry, and would be so until she saved his life in the Deeps more than a year from now. Which meant Lasciel’s coin was buried under a foot of concrete in my lab. I shivered a little at the realization, knowing the power of a Fallen angel was once again within my grasp.

I had wondered, over the past year, if I would have opted to join forces with Lasciel in a misguided attempt to gain knowledge and power, given a second opportunity to do so. That answer became clearly obvious as Lasciel’s shadow - the woman I had chosen to call Lash - knelt at my feet, head bowed. It was too close to yes for me to trust my judgment; I swallowed, looking down at her.

“How may I serve you, my host?” she asked demurely.

“About time,” came a new voice, one filled with smug satisfaction. Another Harry, this one completely dressed in black, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee I’d never managed to replicate in real life. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing an angular face that was just a little sharper than mine, a little leaner. A little more predatory.

My alter-ego, the baser part of me that enjoyed blood and violence, reveled in the Winter Mantle’s primal nature, and was responsible for me picking up the blackened Denarius instead of stepping on it to prevent Michael’s son from doing so. I’d met him face-to-face so to speak a few times, when I was unconscious or dreaming.

I clenched a fist, resisting the urge to punch him in the jaw.

“I’ve been trying to get Harry to talk to Lasciel for the past few weeks, but he’s fairly adept at ignoring my hints,” he continued, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Where is Harry Actual?” I asked.

He waved a negligent hand. “Safe. When you two came barreling into his mind, I tucked him into a far corner to prevent you from driving him insane, or worse. He’s unconscious, and will remain so as long as you’re here. It’s better if he’s kept ignorant of what you’re doing here, don’t you think?”

I looked at Future Harry, who was regarding Alt-Harry with a thoughtful look. “And what about you? Won’t you remember everything that happens and tell him?”

Alt-Harry raised a brow. “I keep secrets from him all the time. This is no different. Besides, most of the time when I try to tell him something, he either ignores me until it’s too late, or mangles the meaning so badly it would’ve been better not to say anything in the first place.” He shot me a look.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, then glanced around the room and sighed. “Terrific. Four people crowding my apartment and only one is real.”

“I can prevent the others from speaking to you if you wish it, my host,” Lasciel murmured, her gaze still fixed on the floor.

“No!” I shouted, echoing Future Harry. Alt-Harry gave Lasciel an appraising glance, but didn’t bother to object. “That won’t be necessary,” I added, just to be sure she understood. Then I looked between Alt and Future Harry. “So how does this work? Can we ask her for help or information without giving her further access to Harry Actual?”

Future Harry snorted. “You think I know?”

Alt-Harry stared at Lasciel. “What if I make a deal with you, sweetheart?” Her head jerked up, her expression unreadable. “You help us out, and I’ll give you permission to contact Harry once this is all over. Discreetly, of course. He can’t know it’s you. You’re good with illusions, right?”

“Of course, my host,” she replied, eyes flicking to mine as a slow, seductive smile grew. “Shall I demonstrate for you?”

“Absolutely not,” I snapped. “She can make illusions into a nearly flawless reality, trust me,” I told Alt-Harry.

“This is a bad idea,” Future Harry said.

“This is not our call,” I replied. “Not here, not now. Without Harry Actual to weigh in, it’s his decision.”

“He’s the one that picked up the coin in the first place!”

I eyed Alt-Harry. “True. I know you’re not usually one to think through the consequences of your actions, but right now you’re all that Harry has. Bear that in mind, because you’re speaking for him, too.”

That made him pause, and the look he gave Lasciel was more intense. “So, deal stands, but if Harry figures it out, sees through your illusion, you admit the truth to him. Do you accept?”

“I also want access to hellfire and your translation skills while I’m the one running the show,” I added quickly.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” chimed in Future Harry. “Hellfire? Really?”

Lasciel met and held Alt-Harry’s gaze. “I agree to your terms. I will assist in whatever capacity I may to restore the extraneous consciousnesses to their own bodies, and I will offer my knowledge of language and the power of hellfire for the duration. In return, once Harry has been awakened, you give me leave to contact him in the real world through illusion. Should he discover that illusion, I will reveal my true nature to him.”

“Done,” Alt-Harry replied.

A realization hit me. “Wait, do you think -“ I started to ask, but cut off my question when I felt the wards drop and heard the front door unlock. Four heads turned in unison to find my brother Thomas standing in the open doorway. Mouse trotted over to greet him, tail thumping against the nearby bookcase. Thomas rubbed his ears absently as he closed the door behind him, scanning the room. “Harry, who are you talking to?”

When I glanced to the others, I found I was alone. Figures.

“Um… Mouse.” Mouse’s tongue lolled.

“Uh, huh,” Thomas replied, setting his sports bag down next to the popcorn tin holding my staff, cane sword, and the wooden cane sheath for Fidelacchius. I hadn’t paid much attention to it, but seeing Amoracchius missing, I remembered Michael had yet to retire. He hadn’t been shot, trying to help me. He hadn’t died saving me. It gave me an odd pain in my chest, knowing my friend was still alive. The pain grew stronger as I remembered at this time in my life, I had been pushing him away, refusing to see him in person. Too afraid that he, as a Knight of the Cross, would sense Lasciel’s presence. And… do what? Kill me out of hand? A Knight’s purpose was to offer forgiveness and redemption. Had I really thought Michael, my best friend, would do any less?

He would have done more.

I’d been stubborn, and ashamed, and stupid, because Michael already knew. I should have trusted him.

“Is there anything to eat?” Thomas asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I sagged back on the couch and closed my eyes. “I have no idea.”

I heard rummaging through the icebox, then the opening and closing of the few cabinets I had. “Guess not. Pizza?”

“Sure.”

I listened with half an ear as he ordered a large pepperoni from Pizza ‘SPress. It might not be the epitome of pizza, but I loved it regardless because for a long time, it was all I could afford; heavy on the sauce, light on the cheese, and a thick, flaky crust that was utterly delicious.

“It’ll be here in twenty. Need to shower.” With that, he closed the door to the bedroom and a moment later, I heard water rushing through the pipes.

I closed my eyes, still inexplicably exhausted despite my earlier nap, and drifted off.

There was a knock on the door. As Thomas was still in the bedroom, either showering or changing, I went to answer it, pulling a handful of crumpled bills from my jeans pocket and subtly, almost unconsciously, gathering power into my right hand. An ingrained habit from a year of living in a castle where I made a rather inviting target.

So when I opened the door to find a Red Court vampire holding a pizza box in one hand, an athame in the other (its psychic stench hitting me at the same time I noticed the knife), I reacted instantly. “Infriga forzare!” I snapped, pushing too much undirected power into my spell without my staff. And oddly, not enough. Though the vampire froze, it wasn’t completely solid. When the wave of kinetic force hit, instead of the chunks of icy vampire I expected, it was more a shower of gore.

I was so shocked I forgot to shield, which meant several buckets’ worth of bloody vampire slush rained down over my head.

Crap.

No Winter Mantle meant no infusion of ice magic. Don’t get me wrong. I can and have used a number of ice- and cold-related spells, including freezing water into blocks of ice for my icebox. But I didn’t routinely use water magic, and my basic spells couldn’t compare with the Mantle’s augmentation of cold power.

Not to mention I was using a body ten years younger. If I’d learned anything from Luccio’s body switching, it was that magic grows as a wizard physically matures. I’d lost whatever power aging ten years granted me. I’d have to be more careful about picking my battles. Should there be actual battles to pick, instead of battles showing up on my doorstep. Which, let’s face it, is how most of my battles tend to go.

Thomas arrived a few seconds later, saber in hand, to find blood dripping from my face and hair, running down my neck to soak through both the front and back of my shirt. “What the hell happened?”

I grimaced. “Red Court vampire. Didn’t like the tip I gave him.”

“So much for pizza,” he sighed, staring down at the ruined box covered in dead vampire. “What do you think happened to the delivery driver?” He handed me a towel.

Thankful for the sunken stairwell keeping the mess hidden from the street and nosy neighbors, I blotted at the blood in my hair and on my face, then wiped off the worst of it from my limbs. “Knowing the Red Court, likely eaten. They wouldn’t waste a perfectly good meal.” The last part came out in a snarl. I’d forgotten how much I hated the Red Court.

“Go shower. I’ll take care of this, then pick up food. Chinese?” My stomach turned over at the thought of eating with the stench of dead vampire still thick in the air. Maybe I’d be hungry later.

“Sure,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. Hey, I had a reputation to uphold. Thomas’ smug smile told me I hadn’t fooled anyone.

One of the things I hadn’t missed was my tiny bathroom. With only a stand-up shower and no functional water heater, I was treated to a blast of icy water. I cringed and bit back a startled shriek as mind-numbing, genital-shriveling cold sluiced over me. I scrubbed quickly at the coagulating blood and gore, shivering the entire time. Living in the castle had spoiled me with its hot showers. Having the Winter Mantle’s resistance to cold would’ve come in handy right about now.

I turned off the water and dried myself, teeth chattering. I dressed warmly, layering long sleeve shirts under flannel, and went back into the living room. The warmth of the fire drew me to the hearth, where I sat on the brick next to Mister. My butt and back were instantly warm; my cat had the right idea. He opened one lazy eye, blinked at me, and closed it again, his purr starting up as I scratched behind his ears.

I was alone in the apartment; Thomas had taken Mouse with him.

“That was quite a show,” Alt-Harry said, draping his villianesque form on one end of the couch.

“That was pathetic,” Future Harry countered, disgust in his voice. He’d taken the recliner to my left.

I shot him a glare. “Like to see you do any better in this body without the Mantle,” I snapped. “So, ideas?“

Future Harry pointed to the trap door leading to my lab. Well, he pointed to the layered carpets covering said trap door. “Bob.”

“Right. Bob. I’ll do that after dinner.” My stomach growled at the mention of food, though it was still queasy. “I think I should tell Thomas, too.”

Future Harry objected vehemently.

“He’s got a point,” Alt-Harry said, nodding towards Future Harry. “Wouldn’t that alter the space-time continuum? I mean, keeping Harry in the dark is one thing, but you can’t erase Thomas’ memories later. You bring him in now, he’s in. Period. There’s no going back. Is that really wise, when we don’t know what the consequences will be long-term?”

He was right. They both were. I had no skill in mind manipulation as Molly did. And while I could have asked Molly to erase his memories, I couldn’t ask this Molly to do so. This Molly had barely come into her power. Besides, tampering with someone’s mind in an extensive manner was all kinds of dangerous. A single memory replaced by something equally valid wasn’t bad, but several days’ worth?

I threw up my hands in capitulation. “Fine, I’ll wait to see what Bob suggests. But he’s a vampire and my brother, and he’s already suspicious. The longer I have to hide it from him, the likelier it is he’ll figure it out on his own. Besides, it’d be nice to have someone to watch my back. Someone who can actually affect the physical world,” I clarified at Future Harry’s glare.

Thomas returned carrying several plastic bags, and the apartment filled with delicious smells that drove the last of my nausea away. I was starving, and searched ravenously for the pork fried rice and egg rolls. I grabbed two containers, a Coke, and a fork, then flopped down on the couch to eat.

Mouse sat next to me, watching with hopeful doggy eyes.

“Found the delivery driver’s car a couple blocks away,” Thomas said, sinking down in a recliner. “Kid’s probably still in high school, and alive, if barely. Called an ambulance for him.”

I paused and swallowed, gave him a smile. “That’s good news at least. Thanks.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes, then nodded in return after a moment with a faint smile of his own.

“How’s the job?” I asked after a few minutes, trying for a tone of polite disinterest.

“Fine,” Thomas replied. But I knew it wasn’t fine. He was about to lose his job - again - thanks to his Hunger causing a distraction for customers and employees alike. Losing his job because of what he was.

I studied my brother, his somewhat sullen, pained expression, and guilt set in. At the time, I’d treated Thomas as something of the monster I believed him to be, feeding off the life force of others in order to sustain himself. While I had been worried about him, I hadn’t completely understood the Hunger’s grip, its insatiable appetite, the strength he had to possess just to function. I blamed him for not being able to control his Hunger better. For not being in perfect control when faced with temptations too great to ignore.

What a hypocrite I was.

Taking on the Winter Mantle placed me in the same position as Thomas, fighting off similar urges day after day, trying to maintain my dignity. Sanity. Humanity. Holding on to hope that I wouldn’t give in and turn into a monster like so many had before me.

Now the shame kicked in. Sure, I’d been supportive, but not in a way that was useful. Definitely not in the way a brother should have. I was too busy standing on my moral high ground to look for alternate solutions to Thomas’ problem. Thankfully, he eventually figured out a solution on his own.

Perhaps I could push him in the right direction, and treat him more like my brother instead of as a burden. It’s not as if I was changing anything other than the timing.

I set down my container of fried rice. “I have a suggestion.” I waited until he looked up with wary eyes. “All I ask is you hear me out before you tell me to fuck off.”

He glowered. “Fuck off.”

I ignored him, passing half an egg roll to Mouse who crunched it enthusiastically. “What you need is a job that caters to your inner incubus.”

Thomas bared his teeth. “You mean like a stripper? Because I’m sure I could find a few clubs that are a bit… lenient on what their employees do off the clock. Or hell, even on the clock. I refuse to be that, and you of all people offer it as your suggestion?” He put the word in air quotes.

“It’s why your other jobs haven’t worked out,” I continued. “And no, I’m not saying you should become a stripper, or gigilo, or anything of the sort. But there has to be a job where your nature is an asset; you could offer pleasure without hurting anyone, and be able to feed at the same time. Like a massage therapist, maybe? Or… hairdresser?” I tried to make it sound like an afterthought.

He blinked. “Hairdresser?”

“Women go to the salon all the time, and getting your hair shampooed and rinsed is actually quite relaxing. Not that I have any personal experience,” I added quickly, noticing Thomas’ smirk. Georgia had done that for me a few times over the past year, after I’d been too busted up to manage it on my own.

“Right.” Then his smirk faded into a thoughtful look. “It might work with the right job, taking small bites from a large pool of customers.” He leveled his gaze at me. “Never thought you’d be the one encouraging me to feed.”

“You’re my brother, Thomas, and you’re not happy. All the jobs you’ve tried so far have only made you miserable. So you should try something different.” I glanced around. “And yeah, maybe I wouldn’t mind not having my place trashed every time you bring a woman home.”

He ducked his head. “Oh, uh… sorry.” He shoveled a few more forkfuls of chicken into his mouth. “It’s not a bad idea, actually. I’ll think about it.”

I sat back smugly, hiding a grin. Take that, time paradox.

Chapter Text

To my surprise, after dinner Thomas ducked into my bedroom, returning with a box in his hands. He tossed it onto the coffee table. “Up for a game?” Monopoly, one of the few I kept under the bed to relieve occasional boredom. It wasn’t like my brother, who preferred sleep or exercise to spending a quiet evening at home with me. I understood now, after having the Winter Mantle relentlessly push me year after year, how cathartic working yourself into exhaustion could be; at the time I thought he just liked the gym. Or more specifically, the women he “ran into” while he was there, though I didn’t hold that against him.

“Sure,” I replied with a lopsided grin. The lab, and Bob, could wait. I wanted to spend time with my brother, here and now, where the main topic of discussion wasn’t his sister, the White Court, or the Council. Where the world wasn’t so dark, and the future not so bleak. Which, considering the Council and the Red Court were at war right now, was a sobering thought. I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.

Vampires, monsters they might be, start out human no matter what form they take, which means their motivations are understandable. Outsiders, though, defy explanation. How do you stop an alien invasion when you can’t recognize the reasoning behind it?

I slid to the floor next to the table. It was easier than having to lean over from the couch.

He removed the board, set the stacks of money and cards between us, then took great care in removing the pewter tokens to stand each one right side up. “Don’t know why you go to the trouble,” I said, setting the boot on the board. “We always choose the same tokens. Car for you, because you think it moves around the board faster. Boot for me, because it’s all the better to kick your ass with, my dear.”

He cocked an eyebrow, moving the race car into position next to my boot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swept the remaining tokens into his palm and dumped them into the box, doling out money from the bank. We each rolled a die to determine who played first; as usual, Thomas beat my roll.

And the game was on.

Two-player Monopoly can take a while, but I didn’t notice as time slipped away from me, too busy enjoying Thomas’ company and our easy exchange of insults. We drank beer. We munched on a spicy snack mix he’d picked up along with dinner (Mouse getting a couple of pretzels for being the good dog he is). Thomas cheated by palming a few bills from the bank, which I pretended not to notice. I cheated right back, using the barest whisper of power to push a hotel from his property to one I owned when he wasn’t looking. Twice. And maybe a couple of houses.

The last time I did so, Thomas’ head snapped up. He stared at me, narrowing his eyes as he studied my face, then the board. I did my best to look innocent and scratched behind Mouse’s ears. He rumbled sleepily in approval. Eventually, Thomas picked up the dice to roll, but used two fingers to point at his eyes, then at me.

“I’m watching you.”

I snorted. “Then you’re not paying attention to how badly you’re losing.”

I honestly didn’t care if I won or not, though the expression on his face when he landed on one of the railroads and realized I owned three of the four was rather priceless.

We discussed my latest case, which after a bit of prompting, finally came back to me. Then the hairs on the back of my neck prickled with the sensation of someone else present in the room. I casually glanced around under the guise of stretching, and found Future Harry camped out on the couch, watching us. Well, watching Thomas at least. When I spotted the tears in his eyes, I quickly looked away and went about studiously ignoring his presence.

How long had it been since he’d seen Thomas alive? I remembered the sheer terror I felt when I thought he was dying, devoured by the very Hunger he spent his entire existence fighting. The agony when I thought he was actually dead, his neck broken by Kumori.

So I gave Harry space for his grief.

“That’s it,” I finally sighed, counting out the last of my money. “I’m bankrupt.”

“Hah!” Thomas exclaimed, punching the air with a fist. “I am the Baron of Chicago.”

I snorted. “Think there’s a mob boss that would disagree with you.” Then I froze, realizing John Marcone hadn’t yet signed on as a Freeholding Lord of the Unseelie Accords. But Thomas didn’t take the comment literally, and made a disparaging sound.

“Marcone wishes he could be as rich as I am right now. I am so getting all the women,” he preened, tossing his hair back disdainfully.

“You’re already getting all the women,” I remarked in a disgusted tone.

He blinked, then grinned wolfishly. “True.”

“Another round?”

“Nah.” Thomas slapped his absolutely flat stomach. “Think I need some gym time, work off all that beer.” Whether he’d actually make it to the gym was debatable. As a vampire, the need to keep his body in shape with exercise was non-existent, but as I’d found out, physical exertion could exhaust primal drives that otherwise might lead to someone getting hurt. I had no idea if it worked the same way for his Hunger as it did for my Mantle, though. It was more likely he would use the gym as a convenient place to pick up a snack.

By nibbling away at a woman’s life force, Harry, I chastised myself. I’d grown complacent with my brother’s feeding habits, apparently.

I began stacking up the money and cards. “You seem… different.” My head jerked up to find Thomas staring at me.

Oh, crap. “What do you mean?”

He narrowed his eyes a moment, studying me. “More relaxed. Less judgy. Didn’t even give me that look when I mentioned finding the delivery driver alive. The one where you wonder if I fed from him because I couldn’t control myself after stumbling across wounded prey.” Thomas’ tone turned far more bitter than I think he expected; he shook his head, sighed, then flashed me an apologetic grin. “Thought you finally gave up on sexual repression and got busy with Murphy.” He inhaled loudly, nostrils flaring. “But nope. Sexual repression is alive and well in Harry Dresden.”

“Hey!” I snapped in mock anger. “That’s an invasion of privacy!”

Thomas shrugged, his grin growing wider. “Vampire. It’s what I do.”

“Jerk.” I flicked the wheelbarrow token at him; he caught it easily and dropped it into the box.

“Don’t wait up.”

Mister took the opportunity Thomas provided and slipped out the front door on his nightly routine. I had to force myself not to lunge after him and lock him up to keep him from being hurt. Irrational fears, as Mister had lived for years prowling my neighborhood with little to show for it save minor scratches.

“Dammit,” Future Harry said softly, his cheeks a bit damp. “I’d forgotten how much I missed him.”

“He’s a prick,” Alt-Harry snarked, materializing in the recliner with one leg slung over its arm.

“Yeah, but he’s our prick,” I replied, grinning. “Let me take Mouse for a walk, then we’ll see what Bob has to say. You’re welcome to come along.”

At the word ‘walk,’ Mouse trotted to the front door and picked up the leash in his mouth to hand it to me. I scratched behind his ears a moment before clipping it to his collar. The collar wasn’t fancy, but did have reflective tape as Mouse’s fur was dark, making him hard to see at night.

“I’ll pass,” Alt-Harry said, waving a hand languorously. “Too much exercise makes Jack a dull boy.”

I shot him a look. “I don’t think that’s how it works. And you’re not even real.”

Future Harry had already disappeared. It was strange, how they both were able to come and go as they pleased. I pondered that as I donned my duster and picked up my staff, then headed out with Mouse. Yes, it was dark. Yes, it was foolish, knowing the Red Court vampires were still alive and filled with bloodlust, lusting after yours truly in particular. But I had Mouse, and my foci, and I’d learned a few things since then.

The walk was… nice, actually. The neighborhood was quiet, though I could hear the hum of traffic from busy streets a few blocks away. Most of the houses were dark, and a surprising number left on their porch lights. It was brisk, but the duster kept me warm enough and the earlier wind preceding the storm had died down.

I wanted to give the brownies enough time to clean my apartment, so took a circuitous route. Mouse panted happily as I broke into a trot, something to get my heart rate up a bit but that wouldn’t tire me out, nor cause me to stumble and fall when I couldn’t see where to place my feet properly.

By the time we returned home, the brownies had come and gone. The scent of pine filled the air, competing pleasantly with the smell of woodsmoke and candlewax.

I refilled Mouse’s water bowl, grabbed a Coke, and donned my warm flannel bathrobe before flipping back the rugs covering the trap door. The old, dark wood was scarred with nicks and scratches, but unblemished by scorch marks. I pulled on the steel ring to lift it up, revealing wooden folding stairs leading down into darkness. I managed one step before the phone in the kitchen rang.

“Figures,” I muttered, retreating to answer it. “Dresden.”

“He wants to see you,” a voice said on the other end of the line.

“Evening, Gard. What’s Marcone want with me at this time of night?”

She remained silent.

“Oh,” I said after a moment, realizing she meant her other boss. “Where?”

“Accorded neutral ground,” Sigrun Gard replied. That implied Mac’s. Mac had probably called Vadderung as soon as I’d left, which didn’t surprise me. They seemed to be, if not friends, friendly acquaintances.

“Now?” I asked, knowing it had to be close to midnight.

“Now.”

I sighed. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

Mac’s lot was empty when I pulled in and parked. At nearly one in the morning, Chicago’s downtown was mostly deserted, and I walked to the entrance as quietly as I could, keeping my awareness extended around me. There was always a chance another Red Court vampire would try a sneak attack. But I reached the door unscathed, and opened it to find Donar Vadderung already inside, sitting at the bar with his back to me. He was speaking with Mac, who was behind the bar but leaning down for what was clearly an intense, private conversation.

I hesitated, not wanting to disturb them, and my eyes landed on a tall, lean figure sitting at a table in the back. He was barely visible in the dim light the candles and lamps afforded, but I caught his gesture and tried to keep a tight lid on my panic. There was only one reason for the Gatekeeper to be here; my hypothetical comment to Murphy about this being a Council matter was now a very real threat to my life.

I briefly considered running, but dismissed the idea. There wasn’t anywhere the Council couldn’t get to me, not without the protection of Winter or Demonreach. He’d come alone, and as we were on neutral ground, I had to believe he wasn’t here to kill me out of hand. I swallowed my fear and walked over to him.

“Wizard Rashid,” I said quietly, inclining my head before leaning my staff against the wall and taking the chair opposite him.

The Gatekeeper was tall, taller than I am, his long, lean face weathered with age. The cloak he often wore was draped over his shoulders; though it was a dark purple, in this light it appeared black. He regarded me with a single dark eye, the other lost to claws that left wicked parallel scars from hairline to jaw. While the object replacing that eye had the appearance of a stainless-steel ball bearing, I knew now it was crafted from the same material as the walls protecting our universe from the Outsiders. It afforded him a kind of Sight that had to do with time, rather than magic. I suspected it was an ability to see probabilities of an outcome regarding a specific event.

“Wizard Dresden,” he replied with a slight nod in return. The title almost made me flinch; I hadn’t been able to claim it - not the White Council’s version of it, at least - for almost a year, and even now that thought flamed embers of anger and pain deep inside.

“Didn’t expect you to be here.”

Rashid shot a quick glance towards the bar. “I received a very… interesting call earlier tonight.”

I raised my eyebrows, keeping the rest of my face as neutral as I could. “Guess that can’t be good.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “That depends entirely on your point of view.”

“That sounds too close to Obi-Wan justifying his lie to Luke about Anakin’s death for my comfort,” I replied with a grimace.

The Gatekeeper chuckled, his voice deep and rich. “Indeed.”

“Dresden,” Vadderung said in a warm voice, his patent leather shoes clicking on the wood floor as he walked over to us. Mac was no longer behind the bar. In fact, Mac was no longer in the bar. He’d either left, or more likely, retreated to the small office in the back. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve had my eye on your progress for some time.”

“Donar Vadderung,” I replied, nodding to him. “Good to see you again.” At that comment, he raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged in response. “No sense in hiding it. I know why Mac called you.”

Vadderung pulled a chair around so he was facing me, putting his shoulders almost touching Rashid’s. He looked at me intently for a moment, his one eye very blue despite the shadows. “And what do you believe Mr. McAnally told me?”

“Though I’m in his physical body, I’m not the Harry Dresden from this timeline. He’s right.”

“Really.” It didn’t come out as a question, and while I couldn’t actually hear Future Harry talking to me, I imagined him telling me to keep my mouth shut. “If you would indulge me a moment.” Then Vadderung did something I’d never seen him do before.

He removed his eyepatch, and Odin the All-Father stared at me.

There was no eye beneath, nor was there an empty socket. Instead, it was a black void, engulfing my soul before I realized what was happening and had the chance to look away. I swore I glimpsed tiny pinpricks of distant light scattered in that abyss, reminding me of stars. It wasn’t anything close to a soulgaze; this was Odin’s well of power, his sheer force of will, an existence that spanned countless millennia.

Time stretched and slowed in that darkness.

“Interesting,” he said, replacing the eyepatch, breaking his hold on me. I blinked at the sudden brightness of the room, eyes watering until they adjusted to the candlelight. Then he spoke in a commanding, will-infused voice. “Come forth.” His power thrummed through my body, seeping into my bones, and while it didn’t hurt, it made my stomach turn over a few times in protest.

Three Harrys appeared in the room with us. Future and Alt-Harry were standing next to me, both wearing nearly identical wary expressions. Harry Actual was here as well, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, slumped over the bar. His head was pillowed on his arms, and he was deeply asleep.

Vadderung’s eyes flicked around, stopping on every Harry for several seconds.

“You can see them?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I thought they’re just visual representations of how my mind perceives them.”

He looked back at me with a faint smile. “They are as real as you are, and visible to those who know how to look.”

Wizard Rashid raised his right hand in a complex gesture, murmuring a few words in a language I didn’t recognize, and I felt the flutter of released magic against my cheeks. He drew in a breath as his eye focused on each of us in turn, lingering the longest on Harry Actual (who’d begun to snore softly).

“All of you,” Vadderung said, and this time his words rang with power and will. Sudden pain and pressure erupted inside my skull; I grabbed my head in reflex, wanting to keep it from cracking open like an egg and spilling brains all over the table.

Lasciel flicked into existence behind Harry Actual, halfway between us and the bar. Gone was the demure blonde in a white tunic, and in her place stood a woman wreathed in purple smoke and nothing else, offering tantalizing glimpses of bare skin. Her hair was liquid gold spilling over her shoulders, and from her back sprouted two enormous wings crafted of smoke and shadow. From wingtip to wingtip they stretched to encompass nearly the entire length of the pub.

“You,” she snarled, eyes flashing a brilliant violet, “have no claim over him.” The voice, like her face, was pure beauty even couched in anger. She was probably as close to a Fallen’s true angelic form as I’d ever witness.

Vadderung regarded her silently a moment, then dismissed her with a gesture of his hand. “I cannot help you with that.” He managed to turn the word into an insult. “She is of your own making.” Then with a snap of his fingers, Lasciel vanished, shoved back into the recesses of my mind so forcefully that I let out an agonized yelp. “Apologies Dresden, but she has no business with us tonight.”

I nodded, which was a mistake, ramping up the headache from dull throb to jackhammer.

His eyes rested on Future Harry. “I assume we have you to thank for this?”

Harry scowled in return, looking between Vadderung and the Gatekeeper. “Hell’s bells, I didn’t do it alone. I had help. And this,” he said gesturing to all the Harrys present, “wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to go back to a specific moment in time, not be shoved together in one body like nesting dolls.”

“Ah,” Wizard Rashid said. “Are we so desperate in the future that this was the best option?”

“It was the only option,” Future Harry said flatly. “The Outsiders are going to break down the gates, and there will be no stopping them once they do.” He let out a weary sigh. “There’s just not enough of us to make a difference.”

The Gatekeeper’s face paled, his mouth forming a thin line.

“So what do we do with you?” Vadderung mused, steepling his fingers as he shot a glance at Rashid. “What would happen if we kill him?”

While all three of us protested, my voice drowned the others out. “Hey, wait just a minute! This wasn’t even my idea!”

“It was his!” Alt-Harry yelled, pointing at Future Harry.

“It wasn’t exactly my idea either,” Future Harry snarled in response.

The Gatekeeper held up a hand. “Gentlemen, please. I need a moment of silence.” With that, he closed his human eye. It tracked back and forth as if studying an image in front of him. Likely his false eye was doing the same thing, although it didn’t appear to move.

Vadderung turned his head to regard Harry Actual.

And we waited.

It took Rashid a good thirty seconds before he opened his eye again. “If his body dies now, they will all die. And our cause will be lost.”

“Ah,” Vadderung replied, nodding. “Well, then. Can they be separated?”

The Gatekeeper waved a hand. “There is no need. I caught a glimpse of the spell used, and the echoes of it that reverberate in our timeline. Within four days, and very likely less, the Harry currently controlling his body will be returned to his own time, similar to a rubber band stretched to its limit springing back. Likewise, you -“ he pointed to Future Harry “- should return as well, though that is more difficult to say with any accuracy.”

“What?” Future Harry demanded, waving his hands around. “All of this, for nothing? I end up back where I started, just in time to watch our existence obliterated by the adversary?”

“We still have four days to change things,” I said, looking up at him.

“No, you don’t,” Rashid replied. “When that rubber band springs back, it will snap, breaking this timeline. We will be… reset, if you will, to the moment you arrived.”

“Dead, you mean,” I said.

He shrugged. “If you prefer to think of it that way.”

“Hell’s bells.”

“Fuck me,” Future Harry muttered. “I really picked the wrong week to quit drinking.”

“I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue,” Alt-Harry added.

“I picked the wrong week to get married,” I sighed, rubbing at my chest. I drew in a pained breath, knowing it was just a matter of time before that pain grew into debilitating agony. “So… I can’t save anyone? I can’t stop anything?”

“You can change nothing that has already happened,” the Gatekeeper said, with more compassion than I expected. “Those you have seen die will die.”

The ache in my chest grew worse. “You’re saying that Murphy’s death, Michael’s sacrifice, my marriage to Lara Raith… it only buys us ten years before we all die anyway?” My voice was getting louder and louder, and a hint of brimstone wafted through the air. “Then what’s the fucking point of any of it?” Without conscious effort, crimson flames erupted from my right hand, flaring in time to my pounding heartbeat. I barely noticed the pleasantly warm tingle washing over my palm.

“Dresden, enough!” Vadderung growled, slamming his fist on the table. My will drained away, the flames doused in an instant. I suddenly felt very nauseous, and very tired. I wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and never crawl out again. Meaningless, everything I’d done, everything and everyone I’d lost… meaningless. Maggie had no future. None of us did.

I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes.

Except…

I’d seen Murphy again. Held her. I was sure it would haunt me, as her death haunted me, but this memory was worth the price. No matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t real to her… it had been real to me.

“What the Gatekeeper is saying is you cannot change your past,” he continued in a quieter voice. “But…” he trailed off, and said nothing for so long that I looked up at him. He pointed to Future Harry with a fierce smile. “You can change his.”

A tiny spark of hope kindled in the depths of my heart. “How?”

“That is for you to determine, once you return to your own timeline.”

I glanced at Future Harry, who shrugged. “Maybe it will work. Hell’s bells, what choice do we have?”

What choice indeed.

“So… now what?” I asked the Gatekeeper. “Are you going to tell the Council?”

“No,” he replied without hesitation. “There is no need. As this matter will resolve itself by the end of the week, there is no reason you should be confined for its duration. And I might not be able to stop the more… devout members of the Council from taking action over your violation of the Laws of Magic.”

I snorted. “You mean Morgan.”

He inclined his head. “Indeed. Your death is in no one’s best interest, Wizard Dresden.”

“Least of all mine,” Alt-Harry quipped, then pointed to the sleeping Harry at the bar. “Or his.”

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Vadderung said, eyeing the three of us, “I need to discuss a private matter with the Gatekeeper. Harry Dresden, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

Taking the hint, I rose and retrieved my staff. “Sooner than you think. Gentlemen.” I nodded my head to both of them, then gathered my entourage and headed for the door.

Harry Dresden, one man army.

I wanted to laugh hysterically. I wanted to sob in frustration. In the end, I went outside and got in the Blue Beetle.

Alone.

Regret.

Everyone has something they regret. Perhaps it’s something trivial, like eating a dish of questionable origin at dinner that decides to make your life miserable a few hours later. Perhaps it’s something you can never forget, like a friend sacrificing himself for you, for your friends, and for those you wanted to protect but nearly failed in doing so.

After I left Mac’s, I had no idea what to do. Normally, I’d go for a walk, try to order my thoughts, but it was late and I couldn’t afford distractions when out in the city at night, not when the Red Court wanted my head on a platter. Especially when I didn’t have Mouse to watch my back.

I decided to drive for a while, aimlessly. Some cities have gorgeous roads winding past ocean cliffs or through mountainous forests. Chicago has high-rises, traffic, and the flat ground so commonly found throughout the Midwest, which meant there wasn’t much to see or many places to drive to.

I parked at Montrose Beach for a while, staring out at the black water of Lake Michigan. I couldn’t feel Demonreach’s faint tug from here, as Harry Actual wasn’t its Warden yet. In fact, Harry had no idea that the island existed. I wondered what would happen if I took the Water Beetle to the island and set foot on its shore. Would the genius loci recognize something inside me that resonated with its own nature? Would it put me through a battle of wills a second time?

For that matter, did Thomas even have the boat yet? He’d never mentioned it while living with me.

It was cold and damp, as late October usually is, and finally tired of shivering, I started the car and headed home. Or that was my intention, at least.

Twenty minutes later, I parked across from a two-story house surrounded by a white picket fence, then turned off the engine. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, finding myself outside of Michael Carpenter’s home. It had always been a source of comfort, more so in the past few years when my life seemed so much darker than it had before. Even if I hadn’t made the conscious decision to drive here, my subconscious knew me better, and knew what I needed.

“It looks like I remember,” Future Harry said from the passenger seat. I jumped and hit my head on the roof.

“Dammit, don’t sneak up on me like that,” I groused, rubbing at my scalp.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused, and I shot him an irritated glance. But he wasn’t looking at me, he was staring at Michael’s house. “I haven’t been back since… well, not since Molly died, I suppose.”

“How did that even happen? Halloween?”

He sighed. “No. Winter and Summer went to war. And in Chicago-over-Chicago…”

“Immortals can die,” I finished for him. It was how Aurora, Titania’s daughter, had died. I realized with a start that I’d been responsible (directly or otherwise) for four Ladies’ deaths, two from each court. Aurora, Lily, Maeve, Molly. It had the kind of symmetry and balance Mab would appreciate. “Who received the Lady’s Mantle after her death?”

Future Harry finally dragged his attention back to me. “Lucia Patel.”

“Lucia?” I frowned at the familiarity, then swore. “You mean the Winter changeling Molly wanted? The kid’s only fifteen!” And she looked so, so scared the last time I saw her. Now I had even more cause to regret turning Lucia and her brothers over to the Winter Lady.

“Twenty-five, now. Same age Molly was,” he said softly, but I could sense the underlying grief. “It drove her insane. She wasn’t prepared for that kind of power, or that kind of responsibility.”

“Hell’s bells,” I whispered. I could only imagine what that had done to Winter’s balance of power. Mab could have locked Lucia up, but at her own Court’s expense as it would expose further weakness to Summer. “Did Mab kill her?”

He shook his head. “No. Lucia was taken to Arctis Tor afterwards. And when she woke up… it was too late.”

“Hey,” popped up a new voice from the back seat. We both jumped this time, Future Harry adding a few choice swear words. “You going to sit out here all night, or go talk with Michael?” asked Alt-Harry, leaning forward so his head was between the front seats. “Harry’s been avoiding him.”

I glared at his smug face. “With good reason. You picked up Lasciel’s coin, remember?”

He widened his eyes. “I did? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Jackass,” Future Harry replied. “You are a jackass, and you don’t get better with age.”

“Look. Everyone in this car understands how incredibly useful power can be. I simply facilitated the means of acquiring it.” He smirked again. “Plus, it’s immensely satisfying when we pull a save out of our collective asses and smash bad guys in the face with what they least expect. Am I right?”

He wasn’t wrong on either count, but it didn’t stop my fingers from tightening on the steering wheel. I looked back at Michael’s house, wondering what I’d even say to him. He’d want to know why I - well, Harry Actual - had been avoiding him for the last… hell’s bells, had it been over two years?

I chewed on my lower lip for a while, thinking.

“Never took you for a coward,” Alt-Harry said, breaking the silence.

My head whipped around to look at him. “What did you say?” It came out low and angry.

Alt-Harry leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “You heard me. You’re a coward, sitting out here in the car instead of going over to talk to Michael.”

“That’s not… that isn’t… hell’s bells, you know why. This is your fault.”

“The coin, sure. But I’m not stopping you from discussing the situation like a grown up with your best friend, am I? That’s all on you.”

I drew in a breath to argue, then let it out again. “You’re right.” I would never forgive myself for passing up a second chance to spend time with Michael. Even if it changed nothing in my past, it could change my future.

It was petty and completely satisfying to slam the car door in their faces, even if it was ultimately futile. It’s not like they were actually trapped in the Beetle. I left them in the car as I crossed the street and opened the gate leading to Michael’s yard.

Arguing with yourself. Isn’t that a sign of mental instability?

Not when yourself is actually other selves.

Does that really make sense to you?

I told my mind to shut up.

It was early, the sky without a hint of light to indicate dawn was on the way. Only a few scattered clouds drifted by, and as I turned my face up to the stars I couldn’t see, I felt the faint brush of their harmony caress my cheeks.

Yep, still Starborn.

I knocked softly, grimacing as I thought perhaps Charity would answer the door. In my present, we got along more or less, but right now, she wouldn’t welcome my presence. Not only did I routinely get her husband hurt when helping me, but I represented that part of her life she’d turned her back on.

See, Charity was a practitioner when she was younger. It had led her down a dark path, got her into trouble with a man who sold her to a dragon. After Michael saved her, Charity left that part of her life behind, refusing to nurture her talent. It withered and died such a complete death that I couldn’t sense anything from her.

Magical talent scared her. I scared her, looming large in her life with enough power to bend her mind to my will, had I wanted to (not that I ever would, and psychomancy is not my forte). It would be worse, once Molly’s talent manifested, terrifying Charity into believing Molly’s circumstances would be an ugly, agonizing echo of her own. No one wants to see their child in pain, or watch them repeat costly mistakes so easily avoided.

I knocked once more, resolved to leave if no one came in a few minutes. Just as I was about to give up, the porch light came on, and Michael Carpenter answered the door.

He was younger than I remembered him, not a strand of silver to be seen in his dark hair, though his close-cropped beard already bore small patches of white. He was dressed in a set of cotton pajamas, a flannel robe loosely wrapped around his large frame, and his feet were bare.

“Harry?” he asked in a worried tone, frown lines appearing on his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

I immediately felt guilty. Guilty at waking him up, disturbing his morning routine, interrupting time he’d normally spend with his family. Guilty that I had so many secrets I’d kept from him for such a long time. Guilty that he’d died because of me.

Uriel - and Charity, for that matter - insisted it had been Michael’s choice, and he had made it knowing his death would save countless innocents. But I still blamed myself. Had I found Cowl sooner, Michael’s sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary. And I hadn’t done everything I could to find Cowl, had I? I could have made a bargain with the Leanansidhe. I could have bought Kincaid’s services. I could have thrown in with Drakul if he offered up Cowl to me in exchange.

I could have brought half a dozen naagloshii to the fight.

I could have brought the Eye of Balor.

“I…” I said, floundering for a reply, no longer able to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” I turned to go, but was stopped by a strong hand gripping my arm.

“Harry,” Michael said quietly. “You’re here for a reason. Why don’t you go wait for me in the workshop while I put on some coffee?”

I nearly broke at the warmth and kindness in his voice. “O… Okay,” I managed, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

Michael left the porch light on, which was enough to see by until I walked through the gate leading to the back yard. Before I stumbled in the dark and broke my ankle or something equally stupid, I pushed a tiny effort of will into my pentacle amulet, holding it in front of me. It brightened to a soft blue-white glow, and I reached the door to a small building with bones intact.

It had been a freestanding garage, once upon a time. Michael was a carpenter (and a Carpenter, heh), and converted it into a combined workshop and gym that contained a weight set, a punching bag in one corner, and a variety of tools used to sharpen, clean and repair all manner of weapons. Several of those weapons were mounted on the wall with hooks that kept them secure, but also allowed ease of removal if needed.

Michael’s job as a Knight of the Cross brought with it powerful enemies, and having a weapon close at hand was crucial.

When I flicked on the light, the fluorescent bulbs blew in showers of golden sparks and broken glass, though the light covers kept glass from littering the floor. After the first time I’d blown out every light simultaneously, Michael made the workshop as Harry-proof as he could. That meant he also kept two kerosene lamps hanging near the entry. I lit both and hung them on ceiling hooks.

The workshop had no insulation, making it bitterly cold in winter. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the Champion of Winter was shivering. I found the portable heater and plugged it in to the far outlet, crossing my fingers that it wouldn’t meet the same fate. I switched it on and hustled to the workbench, trying to think calming thoughts. Either it worked, or the heater was nigh-impervious to my hex. By the time Michael opened the door, the entire space was warm enough that my shivering had subsided.

He’d dressed in a flannel shirt, denim jacket, jeans and workboots. He was carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, the scent filling the air. He set one in front of me before sitting on the opposite bench, tilting his head up to regard the lanterns. “You blow the lights again?”

“Wizard,” I said by way of response, and Michael chuckled quietly. I cupped my hands around the mug, feeling heat seeping through the ceramic with only one of those hands; the other, secure in its leather glove, felt nothing.

He knew how I took my coffee, and it was the right shade of pale to contain more cream than coffee along with a teeth-rotting amount of sugar. I took a careful sip, relished the taste a moment and the way it warmed my insides, then took another.

“So what brings you to my doorstep this early?” Michael asked, waiting until I’d set the coffee down.

I turned the mug idly, staring at it. I didn’t dare look at him again. “I think I need help,” I said softly, surprised by the words. Had one of the other Harrys spoken for me? Could they? It was a disconcerting thought.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said after a lengthy pause. It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement of fact.

I drew in a breath, then met his gaze. I saw reflected there no judgment, no anger, just worry. “I don’t even know where to begin.” That much I was able to say before my throat constricted and grief welled up. Tears spilled over and I put my head in my hands, ashamed.

An arm went around my shoulders, holding me steady as I sobbed silently for a few minutes, until the tears dried up and the grief withdrew to a manageable distance. “It’s all right, Harry,” Michael said, giving my shoulders one last squeeze before moving back to the other side of the workbench, allowing me space. “Friends help when the burdens you carry become too heavy. Tell me what’s wrong, and let me help.”

I drew in a breath and blurted out, “I’m not the Harry you know.” Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m the Harry ten years from now, and my consciousness is trapped in his body thanks to a spell gone horribly wrong.” I had expected some kind of response from Michael, denial perhaps, or incredulity, but he continued to regard me with those calm, steady eyes. “You believe me?”

“Harry, you’ve told me about the Laws of Magic the White Council enforces, and I remember one of them has to do with time. There wouldn’t be a Law against it if it wasn’t possible in the first place. But I have to confess, I hadn’t thought of it in quite these terms.”

I sighed. “Neither had I. Not until this.” I gestured to myself. “My own future self showed up the day of my wedding to Lara Raith, told me the balance of the universe was at stake, and convinced me to go with him. I thought we’d end up somewhere in the past, trying to change one thing to prevent whatever nightmare scenario was playing out in the future. Instead, I’m here but without my body, and future me is somehow trapped with me.” I tapped the side of my head gently. “Also without his body, but I’m the one in control.”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he looked a little horrified. “Married? To Lara Raith?”

This sigh was lengthy and heartfelt. “It’s a long story.”

He gave me a smile. “I don’t doubt that. I have time. But…” he hesitated. “Will telling me of future events alter them in some way?” I gave him the side eye. “What? I have seen Back to the Future. All three of them.”

“No,” I replied, wincing at the pain of it. “I’ve been told that by coming here, I managed to create a dead-end branch of this particular timeline. It will reset when I’m pulled back home in a few days. By Friday at the latest. You won’t remember any of this, and neither will Harry.”

“He’s all right, though?” Michael asked with a worried frown.

“Oh, yes, he’s fine. Unconscious and unaware of what’s happening.”

“Well, then. No reason not to tell me, is there?” His smile faded as my expression slipped, filling with grief and pain. “I died, didn’t I?”

Future Harry materialized next to me, a presence without substance. Still, he was here, offering what strength he could. He understood my hesitation, the grief that hollowed out my heart, and the guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat; even a gulp of coffee didn’t help much. “A few weeks ago,” I rasped, blinking rapidly a few times. “And I’d do anything to change that.” When my vision cleared, Michael was watching me with a faint smile.

“It’s all right, Harry. We all die. I trust that God has a plan for me until my time comes, and I know He will take care of my family after I’m gone.” He finished off his coffee and set the mug down with a thump. “So. Tell me the story.”

And I did, if not always in the proper order, starting with the Darkhallow taking place next week. I only hit the highlights, moving through the years. I edited (severely) Molly’s magic and how she came to be my apprentice, which caused Michael to smile. “She couldn’t ask for a better teacher.” I had my doubts. Not at the time, really, because there was no other option. But now? Perhaps I should have been harder on her, pushed her more. Would she have been better prepared for my death, or Lea’s training? Or becoming the Winter Lady? Hell’s bells, I’d used snowballs to teach her to shield.

Then, thinking of Maggie, I knew I could never motivate her with pain as I’d been taught. Just as I hadn’t been able to put Molly through that.

I told him of Demonreach, what it was, what it held, and how I became Warden of its inmates. Michael’s expression grew grim, understanding my responsibility and the potential danger, though he didn’t comment on either.

Then, when I reached Susan and Maggie, Michael interrupted me with a laugh. “What?”

Michael wiped at his eyes, which were still smiling. “Picturing you as a father. There is no greater joy in our lives than our family, especially our children. Watching them learn and grow is something I greatly miss when my job takes me away. It fills my heart with happiness that you will experience such love in your life. It helps balance you in a way that nothing else can, and you could benefit from a little more balance.”

A corner of my mouth turned up. “You’re not wrong. You know, I’m actually a father already, even if Harry doesn’t know. Maggie is currently living with her foster family. She’ll be two next month. I missed out on so much of her life,” I added in a quieter voice.

“But you’re in her life now,” Michael said, “and that’s what matters the most.”

I nodded. “Dads show up. It’s what we do.”

His grin was wide. “We do.”

My tale stuttered when I spoke of Michael’s injury and subsequent retirement from the Knights of the Cross. That grim face reappeared, then turned pensive. “Retired? Hmm… that means I’d be home to spend time with my family, with my children while they’re still young enough to be living at home.” He brightened a bit. “I could coach little league.”

“I think you do, actually. You’re not… angry? Upset?”

Michael snorted. “Hard to be angry or upset over something that hasn’t happened. You don’t understand what this means to me, Harry. A chance to live my life after retirement. That is an exceedingly rare thing, for a Knight. Unheard of, really.”

He’d told me that before, after his recovery, but I thought perhaps it was colored by his injuries and the knowledge he’d never be whole or healthy enough to continue the fight. Hearing the same thing now, before it happened, only confirmed that Michael had told me the truth. As if Michael would lie to me, about anything.

I drew in a breath. “Speaking of Knights…” My acceptance of the Winter Knight’s mantle was difficult to talk about, and I stumbled through it rather awkwardly. It was impossible to convey how desperate, how hopeless, how utterly terrified I had been at the time, but Michael understood nonetheless. He put his hand on my arm gently for a few moments as my words faltered.

“Sometimes all your choices are bad ones,” he said somberly. “It’s what you do after that matters.”

I grunted. “Yeah, about that.” Then came Chichén Itzá and Susan’s murder at my hands. The subsequent death of every Red Court vampire, and most of the half-turned, as Susan had been; with their vampiric half burned away, any older than a normal human lifespan had aged and died.

Michael bowed his head and murmured a prayer after I finished. Then he lifted his eyes to mine, and they held such sorrow and regret. “I am so sorry, Harry.”

“So am I.” My throat was thick, and I gulped down the rest of the now-cold coffee.

I glossed over my suicide by Kincaid, omitting completely Molly’s role in it, but Michael stopped me.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, eyes full of compassion. “I am sorry I was not there for you in your hour of need. To believe that death is preferable to living under the Winter Queen’s aegis…”

I choked back a small sob at Michael’s unnecessary apology. “It wasn’t your fault, Michael. It was just…” I shrugged. “A horribly timed set of circumstances, lined up to funnel me into a choice I never thought I’d have to make. But to save my daughter, I would have done worse. I couldn’t risk turning into a monster because of it.”

He looked at me for a long, silent moment. “And now?”

I frowned. “Now, what?”

“Do you feel the same? I assume you’ve been living as part of Winter’s court for a few years. Would you make the same choice?”

“I…” I ran fingers through my hair. “Well, it’s a difficult question to answer. Would I have arranged my death a second time around, had my life been the only thing at stake? No.” Molly wouldn’t have had to hide from the Council, or learn from the Leanansidhe, but then again, without those skills, could she have handled the power of the Lady’s Mantle, or would she have ended up insane as Lucia did?

“But it wasn’t just my life, Michael,” I said in a softer tone. “My death served as a catalyst, and prevented an evil from being unleashed on the world. Looking at it that way, I wouldn’t change anything.” Except perhaps involving Molly, though there was no one else I trusted as I trusted her, no one with her particular skillset who could have removed the memory from my mind without damage.

So maybe some things I wanted to change are best left alone. Who would’ve thought?

Telling Michael of Molly’s transformation into the Winter Lady… was hard. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide. “May God have mercy on her,” he whispered, then went through a lengthy murmured prayer. Though it wasn’t exactly private, it still felt as if I was intruding, and didn’t listen too closely. Being a father of a daughter who someday would wield considerable power of her own, I understood the need to protect, and to ask for protection on her behalf when I couldn’t be there.

He finished with a quiet, “Amen,” then looked up at me, worried. “If you’re the Knight and she’s the Lady, does that mean you two -“ I had a brief moment of pure panic, thinking the conversation was going in a direction I really didn’t want to discuss, when he finished “- work together?”

I offered a shaky smile, remembering Molly riding to my rescue on a bull shark. “Occasionally. But mostly, the Queen keeps her occupied with Winter business I’m not privy to.” His frown deepened. “Whatever it is, she seems to enjoy it,” I added, hoping it would help.

Michael considered this quietly for a span of time. “I’m glad she will have you in her life, Harry. I imagine the path she walks will be dark and treacherous, and having a good friend helps.”

I was drowning in so much guilt I might as well have been Catholic. “I’m there if she needs me,” I said, which was a pathetic response if I ever heard one, though Michael didn’t seem to notice my discomfort.

He was understandably upset with the raid on Hades’ vault; though there was a grim satisfaction in knowing Deirdre died, his voice still resonated with sorrow as he said, “The kind of personal punishments Hades inflicts on his charges will be far worse than what she would suffer in Hell. It grieves me to know she will never be redeemed, even if the world is better off without her in it. And it is heartbreaking to hear her father’s hand was the instrument of her death.”

It was such a Michael thing to say.

“The other Holy relics are safe?”

I nodded. “Hidden away in the safest place I know. No one will be able to break in and steal them. You know, Hades called them weapons. Said that he was merely holding them until such time the world needed them again. I think it’s why he let me walk out with them.”

Michael frowned. “Weapons?”

“Well, we know what the Shroud is capable of, and that wasn’t even the actual Shroud. I have no idea why Nicodemus said he wanted the Grail, but I don’t believe that was what he truly wanted. I think it was the knife, because it’s not a knife at all.”

He pursed his lips in thought, then nodded. “The Spear of Destiny.”

“I used it to save Chicago.” At that, his eyes widened, and I told him about the Fomor, the Titan, and the Battle of Chicago. And… Murphy.

“Oh, Harry.” His hand briefly squeezed mine, which I barely felt. “I am so sorry.”

I nodded acceptance. “It was really hard, seeing her again when I showed up here.”

“I can only imagine.“

I covered the last year in as a succinct fashion as I could. The dates with Lara Raith, the fight with the Black Court, the cult in Los Angeles. When I reached the day of Cowl’s ritual, my words faltered, then stopped altogether. “You… died. Sacrificed yourself to stop him.”

Michael drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. “But it prevented a malevolent god from being born, and all the suffering and death he would have caused in this world. It is a fair trade, in my mind. One life for countless others.”

I wiped away the few tears that’d escaped the corners of my eyes. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one,” I said softly, sniffling. “That doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”

“Then think of it this way,” he said, smiling faintly. “I kept my family safe, and that’s all I have ever wanted. If my life is the price I must pay… well, I accepted that a long time ago when I picked up the sword, my friend.”

“I should have stopped Cowl long before then, and I didn’t. You shouldn’t have to die for my failure.”

He shook his head. “Not every bad thing that happens in the world is your fault, Harry. Not even if it happens in Chicago.”

“Sure feels like it,” I muttered, closing my eyes briefly. I wouldn’t win this argument, if it was even an argument. Michael had such faith, in God, in himself… in me, of all people, to do the right thing.

I finished with the day of the wedding, the appearance of Future Harry, and my subsequent arrival in the past. “So, yeah,” I said with a bitter tinge to my voice. “Now I’m here with ten years’ worth of knowledge I can’t use to change anything at all.”

“Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden,” Michael said, and though he didn’t put any will into the words, his inflection was perfect, and I shuddered involuntarily as he Named me. “I have never known you to back down from a fight, especially those you believe in but don’t think you can win. And I’ve seen you win, despite impossible odds. You’re telling me, based on the word of a wizard and the CEO of some company I’ve never heard of that you’re ready to give up? That, my friend, doesn’t sound like you. Not at all.”

I lifted my hands in a gesture of futility. “He’s not just a CEO, Michael. He’s Odin, or some incarnation of him. He managed to squash me like an insect with nothing but his will. And the Gatekeeper has knowledge of the future. Both are exponentially more powerful than I am, with centuries and more of experience. What am I compared to that?”

He laughed, deep and genuine, hard enough that his eyes watered “You are Harry Dresden,” he said when he regained his voice. “You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, and you absolutely hate being told what to do.”

“I, uh… I do,” I agreed, feeling confused.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t they telling you what to do?”

“Not exactly. More like they told me nothing I do matters.”

He reached over the workbench to tap my chest lightly, right over my heart. Right where Kincaid’s bullet scar would be. “It matters in here,” he said with conviction. “Always.” I bit my lip, mulling his words over. “Why don’t you come inside, have something to eat?”

“I’ve already taken up too much of your time,” I protested, glancing at the window. The sun had risen, and there was enough light coming through that the lanterns were no longer needed.

Michael shot me a look. “You are my friend, Harry. No time spent with you is ever wasted. You’ve given me much to think about.”

The workshop door opened to reveal a slightly gawky teenager in a school uniform with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Molly. She wasn’t yet at odds with her mother, rebelling by dyeing her hair, getting piercings and tattoos she was much too young to have. “Dad? Mom sent me out here to tell you breakfast’s ready.” Her eyes shifted to me, and while I didn’t meet them directly, she quickly looked away as her cheeks turned faintly pink.

God, she looked so young. So innocent. I knew by this time she’d already begun exploring her magic, mostly through Internet research. Which was to say she’d learned precious little of how magic actually worked, and the few things she found - big, flashy spells - weren’t the type of magic she excelled at.

“You sure you won’t join us for breakfast?” Michael asked, gathering our mugs and rising.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. Charity already has enough reasons to hate me.”

He snorted. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“She hates that when I show up, you get hurt,” I clarified.

Michael conceded with a slight nod of his head. “Yes, well. That is inevitable in my line of work.” He turned off the heater, then gripped my shoulder and shook me slightly. “Take care of yourself, Harry. I expect to see you more often. Or at least before you go.”

With effort, I stifled the grief and the tears that threatened. “I’ll do my best.”

“Bye, Mr. Dresden.”

“Bye, Molly.” I waited until I heard the back door open and close, doused the lanterns, then walked back to my car with purpose, because Michael was right. What I did with my time while I was here mattered to me, and I wasn’t going to waste such an opportunity. I had a plan, and unlike most of my plans, this had a decent chance at succeeding.

When I got home, I found Mister waiting for me. I gave him the appropriate greeting after he attempted to send me sprawling, let him in, took Mouse out, and fed them both before grabbing the open can of Coke I’d left on the counter. I gulped down its warm, flat, syrupy sweetness, then dialed a number.

“Dresden?”

“Kincaid, I have a job for you.”

A slight pause. “You barely scraped enough money together to pay me for the last job. Besides, I’m on vacation.”

“I’ll find a way to pay you. And you’re not leaving until Friday.” It was hard not to snarl the words into the receiver, but Kincaid sensed my unspoken anger.

“Is this about Karrin? She’s a grown woman, Dresden, and can make her own decisions. She doesn’t need you making them for her.”

I gritted my teeth. “I know that. It’s not about Karrin.” Okay, maybe it was a little about Murphy. But the job was real, as was its timeline; if it happened to foul up Kincaid’s Hawaiian vacation, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. “It’s about a job, nothing more, nothing less, and it has to happen by Friday. If it manages to interfere with your plans, that’s on you.”

He grunted. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to kill someone.”

Chapter Text

There was a long pause on the other end, interspersed with tiny bursts of static. “This a joke?” Kincaid finally asked.

“Does it sound like I’m joking?” I snapped.

“How do I know it’s you?” he demanded. “Because the Harry Dresden I’m familiar with nearly got us all killed by insisting on saving people instead of going with my smarter, less risky plan.”

I clenched my jaw. It had been the right call, despite the burns on my hand. Besides, this wasn’t remotely the same.

“If you hurt Karrin Murphy in any way, if she so much as suffers a paper cut when she’s with you, I will hunt you down and half-demon or not, we’ll learn how tough you really are.” The line crackled in response to my anger, though I suspected Kincaid was silently mulling over what I said.

When the line cleared, he sighed. “All right, Dresden. Give me the details.”

“A necromancer by the name of Cowl. Know him?” Mister, having finished his breakfast, rubbed against my shins. I leaned over to scratch his back and behind his ears for a moment.

Kincaid grunted. “Heard of him. Wears a robe and hooded cloak to hide his features. Travels with a woman… Kumori, I believe.” He clicked his tongue. “She also a target?”

“No.” With Cowl dead, Kumori would likely apprentice with one of the other necromancers, but she wasn’t a threat. I could try reasoning with her, or get Harry to do so in my place. Maybe even take her as an apprentice, or find someone in the White Council who could mentor her. She was in the same position I would have been, had DuMorne not attempted to force my loyalty.

Here I am thinking there’s a future in what I’m about to set in motion. But if I accept that nothing I do here matters, that the Gatekeeper is infallible, I will drive myself insane.

Says the man with four other people running around in his head.

I forced myself to focus on the conversation. “Cowl should already be in Chicago, or here within a day or two,” I continued. “It’s likely he travels exclusively through the Nevernever. His portals are better than some wizards on the Senior Council.”

“And this needs to happen by Friday?”

“Yes.”

Kincaid thought it over, then asked, “Why don’t you take care of him?”

“Did you miss the part where I said he’s a necromancer?”

“Fuck, Dresden,” he muttered. “You must be truly desperate to use my services.”

“You have no idea,” I said in return. Guilt was already worming its way through my gut, despite what Cowl had done. Killing someone while protecting the innocent or defending your own life is one thing. This, what I had just asked of Kincaid, was murder for hire. But if there was a chance it could save Michael’s life, I would bear the weight of my choice.

“Well?” I asked.

“All right, though I’m probably going to regret it.” He gave me a number, along with his account information. I dutifully wrote it down, wondering how I’d ever come up with the money. If I’m gone before Friday, it won’t really matter, will it?

It’ll matter to Harry.

I had to swallow a few times before I could reply. “Agreed.”

“I’m tossing the phone, so don’t bother calling again. I’ll contact you when it’s done.” Then he disconnected, leaving me to stare at the receiver until it began blaring a fast-busy tone. I dropped it into its cradle, sighed and rubbed my eyes. My soul felt ancient and weary, even if my body wasn’t suffering any ill effects from having been up all night.

Is an evil act justified if it prevents further evil? Are the bad things I do outweighed by the resulting good, or am I destined for the southbound train as Chauncy seems to think I am?

Hell’s bells, when did life become so complicated? It used to be that locating Mrs. Petrowski’s missing poodle was the most exciting thing that happened to me all week. Prince, as he was called, routinely escaped at night from her ground floor apartment after learning how to unlock the deadbolt. I usually found him several blocks away, eating out of a dumpster.

Until the day I found a pack of malks picking over poor Prince’s remains outside an abandoned warehouse. Turned out there was a basement entrance to Undertown, and Prince stuck his nose into the wrong building.

I rubbed at my eyes a second time and let out a long breath. I felt… lighter. Inexplicably so. I had considered on the drive home the consequences of Cowl’s death before the Darkhallow ritual. It would mean one less necromancer fighting for control, putting Harry in a better position to stop (or kill) the others. It was even possible he’d be able to prevent Corpsetaker from switching bodies with Luccio.

“Stars and stones!” Future Harry swore, his face twisted in rage.

I whirled around. “Where have you been?”

“Locked up. By you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He began pacing in front of the fireplace, where Mister was grooming himself and paying absolutely no attention to either of us. “Turns out when you get so focused on a thought to the exclusion of all else, there isn’t room for me to breathe, let alone get out of your head.”

“Welcome to the party, pal,” Alt-Harry quipped, lounging in the chair facing me.

Future Harry stopped and looked at me. “Do I want to know what you just did?”

“You couldn’t hear me?”

He shook his head.

“I could,” Alt-Harry replied, holding up his hand as if we were in class. “He called up Kincaid and put out a hit on Cowl. Didn’t think you had it in you, Harry.”

Future Harry stared at him, then at me. “Tell me you didn’t. Hell’s bells, do you not remember anything Bob told you about temporal paradoxes and changing future events?”

“Um…”

He waved a hand angrily in the air. “Regarding the Gatekeeper, when you were planning to use Little Chicago on locating black magic?”

Alt-Harry suddenly sat up straight, looking far too interested. “Little Chicago?”

“Maybe?” I said, trying to dredge up the memory.

“Bob said if you try to change something big in a direct fashion, you could end up with ‘Paradox-egeddon.’ His word, not mine. The best way to go about altering future events is in an indirect manner. Get you to move your car by saying it’ll be stolen, but it actually saves your life as the original thief would have murdered you.”

My head spun a little as the blood drained from my face.

“So murdering Cowl is a bad idea?” Alt-Harry asked.

“Yes!” hissed Future Harry. “It might set off a cataclysm that destroys our entire existence.”

Alt-Harry made a dismissive noise. “To hear you talk, that’s gonna happen in another twenty years regardless, so why not take the risk?”

Had both Harrys been in actual bodies, their argument would have devolved into a brawl right about now. I saw the look in Future Harry’s eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking, because I’d seen that look in mine as well. Plus, wanting to punch Alt-Harry was my default reaction to most conversations with him.

“Crap,” I muttered, then desperately grabbed the phone.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service,” came a woman’s automated voice.

“Crap!” I slammed the receiver down. Glancing around frantically, my eyes focused on the rugs slightly askew covering the trap door to my lab. “Bob. We need Bob.”

Mouse, whose head jerked up at the noise, shuffled over with a whine.

“Sorry, Mouse,” I said, patting him with one hand while flipping up rugs with the other. Once the trap door was open, I bolted down the stairs, muttering a few words and gesturing. Candles sprang to life, their flickering light enough to bathe the small room in a warm, wavering glow.

Despite the urgency, I took a minute to study the subbasement.

While Marcone returned the stuff - my stuff - he’d taken from the lab, I’d had to replace all the shelving, work tables, and stools. Seeing it in its original form was not as comforting as I thought it would be, partly due to the disorganization, party due to the dust covering the work tables. Harry Actual clearly hadn’t been down here in a while.

Both ends of Bob’s shelf were covered in volcanoes of multicolored melted wax, and next to the skull was a stack of paperback novels, romances with bare-chested men and damsels whose clothing looked ready to fall off. Or be ripped off. The shelf back home (a weird way of thinking of it, I know, but it was easier) was much tidier, since Bob spent most of his time inside the castle’s defense system watching porn on the internet.

A ring of copper embedded in a mostly clean area of my floor served as my summoning circle. I shivered involuntarily as I stared at it, knowing that the only thing separating me from Lasciel’s coin was a few steps and a foot and a half of concrete.

“We were right not to accept the coin,” Future Harry said quietly beside me. “Can you imagine what would’ve happened with the Winter Mantle in play?”

I frowned, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t have needed Mab’s bargain to begin with. I could have destroyed the Eebs. Hell, I could’ve walked straight into the burning boardinghouse and come out unscathed. You saw Asher. Not a mark on her, and I can’t believe that a house fire would be more intense than flames from the Underworld.” I sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if it would’ve been the lesser of two evils.”

Future Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t seriously believe that. You’d want to be under Nicodemus’ thumb?”

I gave him a look. “Hasn’t done Marcone any harm, has it?”

He glowered. “It will.”

“Oh,” I said after a moment. “Good to know. Bob. Bob! Wake up!” I thumped the top of his skull with my fingers a few times.

Bob’s orange eyelights winked on, growing brighter after a few seconds. “You always pick the worst times to wake me up,” he groused, the skull rotating until it faced me. “I was having a perfectly lovely dream, surrounded by nymphs. And let me tell you, you’ve never experienced an orgy until you’ve crashed a nymph party.” He chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. “We’ve got work to do. Look alive.”

The eyelights narrowed. “Jokes, he comes to me with jokes, thinking he’s the second coming of Abbott and Costello. News flash, Harry: you’re not that funny.”

“That’s because I’m hilarious,” I countered.

“I didn’t remember Bob being such a smartass,” Future Harry said, watching the skull with an amused expression.

“That’s because I’m the smartass,” Alt-Harry countered.

“Fair.”

“Gah,” I exclaimed, waving them to silence. “Bob. You ever hear of a mind sharing space with a second consciousness?”

“Oh, sure. There were a few psychomancers running around in the eighteenth century experimenting with all sorts of things. Transferring thoughts, wiping minds, shoving multiple souls into one body -“

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Psychomancers can manipulate souls?”

Bob rolled his eyelights. “Of course.”

Huh. “What happened to them?”

“Hunted down and executed by the White Council. Obviously.”

I gritted my teeth. “The victims, Bob.”

“They all went insane,” he replied cheerfully. “Also executed.”

“What if all the souls were of the same person, but at different times?”

The skull clicked his teeth. “Never came up. You’d need a chronopsychomancer for that, and those just don’t exist.”

I gestured to myself. “Then explain how there’s four of me in here.”

“Plus that sexy blonde,” added Alt-Harry, smirking. I ignored him.

The flames in the skull’s eye sockets grew brighter. “Really?”

“Wish I was joking, but yes. Really. Future Harry, me - also a future Harry, but not as far in the future as he is, Harry my alter-ego, and Harry Actual, who is actually asleep.” I slumped down on the stool, glancing over at Future Harry. “And… I might have done something rather rash.”

Bob’s orange flames subtly changed color as he stared at me. Still orange, but a different shade. “I need to come out and examine you,” he said after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

“Fine. Bob, you have my permission to leave the skull for that express purpose.” Orange sparks trickled out from the eyesockets, swirling around me several times in a slow clockwise motion.

“Oh. Ohhh…” the sparks said, Bob’s voice hollow and tinny without the skull’s acoustics to contain it. “Your magical essence is intertwined with another. Actually… two others. They’re close, but not an exact match.” The sparks stopped moving, forming an amorphous shape in front of me.

“That’d be them.”

The spirit flowed back into his skull, and the eyelights winked on. “Seems like you’ve got a problem. But, cheer up, boss. The temporal energies surrounding you are bending out of shape, and the stress will soon exceed the limit of what reality can hold. When that happens…”

“We all get sent back to our original timelines?” I asked.

“Hmm. Well, yes, I suppose that’s one possibility. It’s far more likely your mortal body will simply explode.”

I nearly fell off my stool, sitting up so fast. “What?” I heard the question in stereo from both Harrys, and wondered briefly if we could take up life as a barbershop quartet. Though someone would have to wake up Harry Actual.

“That’s not what the Gatekeeper said!” Future Harry sputtered.

I repeated it to Bob, though I had a hard time suppressing the laugh that threatened to bubble up. Just a typical Tuesday in my life.

Bob clicked his jaw a few times. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

I explained what had happened, starting with the morning of the wedding and Future Harry’s abrupt appearance, ending with my call to Kincaid. Bob, as usual, fixated on the wrong thing.

“You’re marrying the hot vampire porn star?” he asked when I finished.

I sighed. “Retired porn star, Bob, and that’s not the point. I’m more concerned about the Paradox-egeddon you mentioned, and how badly I’ve messed things up by calling Kincaid.”

“Oh, right.” His eyelights dimmed in concentration, then brightened again. “We’re probably screwed,” he said cheerfully. “Your confession to Michael Carpenter didn’t help, either. What exactly did you tell him?”

I absolutely did not inform Michael of his daughter kneeling naked in the middle of my living room, fully expecting me to take advantage of her as part of her apprenticeship. “Mostly about things relating to my life.”

“You didn’t tell him about the swords,” Future Harry said softly.

I looked at him. “I… what?”

“You didn’t tell Michael about the swords. What became of Amoracchius after he retired. Murphy breaking Fidelacchius and Butters turning it into a lightsaber.”

I furrowed my brow. “Are you sure? I could’ve sworn…” I trailed off as he gave me that look. The patented Harry Dresden you-are-being-an-idiot look. It was rather effective, and I made a mental note to use it more often.

“Trust me, I was there.”

I turned back to Bob. “So what does that mean?”

The skull stared, blinked, and stared some more. “You realize that I’m only hearing half of the conversation, Harry.”

“This would be a lot easier if you could just see them,” I grumbled. “Can’t you use some kind of spell for that?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, which translated to dimming of his eyelights. “I am a spirit of air, not a spirit of the mentally challenged and possibly insane. Do I look like a wizard to you?”

I blew out a breath. “Right, right.” He’d been able to power Butters’ wizard gadgets, including my duster’s protective spells, but he wasn’t the one to enchant them. “I didn’t tell Michael what became of the Swords of the Cross.”

“Hmm.” Bob pondered that a moment. “He’s a paladin -“

“Knight,” I interrupted.

He made a dismissive noise. “Same thing. It’s possible the Gatekeeper put a whammy you, boss. Subliminal suggestion not to bring up the Swords. Although it could have been Vadderung.”

“Why? And wouldn’t I have noticed?” I rubbed at my face.

“Not if they’re good, Harry.”

Mab had gotten into my head years before I became the Winter Knight, blocking off my knowledge of pyromancy and hiding my blasting rod for good measure. True, it was to save my life, but the anger regarding her actions still smoldered.

I blew out a breath. “But -”

I’d left the trap door ajar, and heard sounds of the front door opening, then footsteps on the ceiling. “Harry?”

“In the lab!” I called back, walking over to the stairs. Thomas’ face appeared framed in shadow, features shifting as candlelight played over his skin. Mouse poked his head around Thomas, tongue lolling.

“Heading to bed. Don’t wake me up unless the building’s on fire.” I hid a wince. “Actually, not even then.”

“You got it. Night.”

He grunted and gave a half-hearted wave. Both he and Mouse vanished, and I heard the bedroom door click shut.

I walked back to Bob, who’d dimmed his eyelights as soon as Thomas appeared. “None of this makes any sense,” I huffed out in frustration. “He tells me nothing I do here will change anything, but also blocks me from remembering to tell Michael what happened to the swords? How likely is it the Gatekeeper was lying about the timeline resetting when I leave?”

“You’re asking me to answer a question regarding a hypothetical situation based on a wizard I’ve never met,” Bob replied. “Honestly boss, in his shoes I would tell you the exact opposite of what I’d want you to do. You never did like following orders.”

Alt-Harry barked a short laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

“But then… what about Kincaid?” I asked.

“Well, the event you’re trying to prevent is ten years in the future, so it’s possible Cowl’s death won’t result in a time paradox, or at least one that doesn’t kill us all,” Bob replied.

I growled in frustration. “So either nothing I do here matters, or everything I do here matters.”

“Pretty much,” Bob said cheerfully.

“There’s a simpler explanation,” Future Harry said, shooting a dark glance towards the other end of the lab. “Lasciel prevented you from mentioning the Swords to Michael by tucking away their memories for a little while.”

That made a hell of a lot more sense than either the Gatekeeper or Vadderung messing around in my mind. “That -“

“- bitch,” Alt-Harry finished for me.

The phone rang. We all stared stupidly at each other for a moment.

“You should probably get that,” Bob said as the phone continued to ring.

I grumbled as I climbed the stairs. The fire was nothing but embers, and with the curtains blocking most of the outdoor light, the apartment was mostly shadows. Mister was curled up on his favorite bookcase, his eyes slitted as he watched me, while Mouse’s tail thumped from the kitchen alcove.

The bedroom door was closed, Thomas either refusing to get up and answer the phone, or more likely, was so deeply asleep it hadn’t woken him. He could sleep through a remarkable number of loud noises and foul odors that occasionally happened when working on a new spell or potion.

I picked up the receiver. “Dresden.”

“Harry, I need you to come down to the station,” Murphy replied in a short, clipped tone. Something was wrong, involved me, and she didn’t want to say anything where others could overhear. Regarding Mac’s yesterday? None of Mac’s patrons would have reported the confrontation to the police, and with the pub’s sunken entrance, no one walking by could see inside.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it Lieutenant?” I asked, keeping my question professionally neutral.

“Now, Harry.”

“You sound stressed, Murph. You should think about taking a vacation.” Yeah, sometimes I open my mouth and words come out that, in retrospect, probably should’ve remained in my head.

“Dresden,” she growled, her patience gone, and I didn’t blame her.

I sighed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I stopped on the way and got Murphy coffee as an attempt at an apology. The station’s coffee was usually hours old and tasted more of burned motor oil than anything drinkable. It was an acquired taste, and she always drank it without complaint, but I knew she preferred the good stuff. And since I was already stopping for Murphy, I ordered myself a cup as well.

I parked in a visitor spot outside the station, clipped the visitor’s badge to my duster, and headed inside with the coffee. The sergeant at the front desk let me through with a casual inspection of the badge and a pleasant nod. He was a familiar face, though it’d been so long since I’d seen him that I’d forgotten his name. Daniel? Dennis?

I climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, where the office for Special Investigations resided It was a mostly open room, with desks and cops shoved up against one another. The desks and chairs here, like the detectives, were cast-offs that no other department wanted, which meant most of them had a phone book (or two) shoved under one or more legs to keep them from wobbling.

Karrin Murphy, the Lieutenant in charge of S.I., had a tiny office in the back. As she hadn’t said to meet her anywhere specific, and she wasn’t already in the room glowering at me, I made an educated guess and wove through the maze of furniture and people, nodding to those I recognized as I went.

Her door was partly open. I knocked on the doorframe, having learned not to barge in as it usually resulted in her computer crashing. It occasionally resulted in her computer frying completely, and she already seemed to be in a bad mood.

“It’s Harry.”

She muttered something under her breath, then louder, “Give me a minute to shut off the computer.” Hearing her voice set my heart to thumping in my chest, even as it threatened to break. Priorities, Harry. You’ll have time for maudlin later. I packed up all those emotions and carefully stowed them in my overhead compartment, hoping to avoid any turbulence that’d dump them all over my head. Then I sipped at my coffee and waited.

“Come on in.”

Murphy had shadows like bruises under her eyes. She’d been up late, maybe all night, working. It took a strong effort of will to resist my desire to touch her. Not to kiss or caress, though my body would’ve been thrilled with either, but something as simple as reaching out to hold her hand. She looked like she could use the comfort of a friend, though I doubted anyone but me would notice. I’ve known her for a long time.

Instead, I set her coffee down on her desk - on top of a coaster, I learned a painful lesson about that a while ago - with a flourish and a conjured smile. “An apology.”

I hadn’t been inside her office in years; she’d been demoted, losing her rank (and thus her office) to Stallings, then lost her job completely. Seeing Murphy once again behind her desk (which, in contrast to the rest of the furniture in S.I. was both new and modern) made me believe, just for a moment, that everything was right in the world.

On a shelf were a number of marksman’s awards and aikido trophies. I had been at the tournament where she’d won the trophy resembling an oddly-shaped ice cream cone. Being who I am, of course I had to take her out afterwards for celebratory ice cream; strawberry for her, vanilla for me. Can’t go wrong with vanilla.

Looking around the tiny makeshift office, I couldn’t help but wonder if Murph would have been better off never having met one Harry Dresden, wizard for hire. She’d lost her department, her job, her mobility, and finally her life all because of me. But her eyes were open every step of the way, every choice hers, and she never flinched. Even when I convinced her to drive her motorcycle straight into Lake Michigan. She had only done that because of her faith in me.

We all die eventually. What matters is what we do with the time we’ve got. And hell’s bells, Karrin Murphy had made a difference to the people of Chicago.

She looked pointedly at her own mug, still half-full (though I’d bet money the coffee was cold), then at my peace offering, and only someone who knew her well would see the ghost of a smile. She picked up the paper cup and took a few long gulps. “Didn’t know I needed that,” she said, eyeing it appreciatively before setting it back down. “I think -“

“Lieutenant Murphy?” I shot a glance over my shoulder to the man now occupying her doorway. “You,” he snarled as our gazes met. He was a good-looking man, dark hair in a neat, short style, wearing an expensive tailored suit.

Rudolph.

You idiot. You could have sent Kincaid after Rudolph.

In all honestly, the thought never crossed my mind. I’d been so focused on Michael and preventing his death that nothing else registered. Even so, looking at the bastard now and knowing what he would do - had done - I like to think I couldn’t be so cold and calculating as to arrange the murder of a police officer for no other reason than being a cowardly, selfish, self-absorbed ass with poor trigger discipline, tempting though it was.

But he was right here, in my face, and suddenly I found out how furious I could be without any assistance from the Winter Mantle.

I let the growl out that’d been building in my chest and grabbed Rudolph’s collar with both hands. I hadn’t the strength to lift him completely from the ground (well, technically I did, but wouldn’t be able to hold him long), though I did get him up on tiptoe as I pushed him back into the wall, keeping his arms immobile. The last thing I wanted him to do was go for his gun.

A tiny voice far in the back of my head was screaming that I was an idiot for attacking a detective of the Chicago P.D. while in their station and in plain sight of other cops. Most of me just didn’t give a crap. Because the afterimage of Murphy’s face, her skin the color of ash, her lips turning blue, was branded on my retinas. Like something I’d seen in a soulgaze, it would never dull with time.

“Dresden!” Murphy snapped. “Let him go!”

I didn’t want to put the fear of God into him. I wanted to put the fear of me into him. Had we been somewhere without witnesses, I would have called up my face-melting sphere of fire. I wanted him to cry in terror. I wanted him to suffer. It wasn’t the desires that surprised me; it was the fact there was no Mantle pushing me now, looking for weakness and a fight. This was all me.

But then again, I’ve always held a great deal of anger inside.

I didn’t answer her, and ignored Rudolph’s threats delivered with a side of spittle. “You might not believe in what I am or what I can do, but I promise you this. You would not like me when I’m angry. So let me give you a little bit of advice.” I leaned in, my face mere inches from his own, and stared at a spot between his eyes. “Learn how to use your gun properly in stressful situations. That does not mean putting your finger on the trigger every time you draw your weapon, because that’s how people get hurt. That’s how people die.” The last few words came out a snarl, and I almost met his wide, panicked eyes with my own.

Almost.

But I didn’t. From what I knew of him now, there was a better than average chance he’d suffer a psychotic break if he saw what lurked in my soul, and what I was capable of.

A hard jab to my ribs startled me into releasing Rudolph with a grunt and exhalation of pain. I gasped for breath and held my side, knowing Murphy could have sent me crashing to the ground with contusions and broken bones had she chosen to be more aggressive. I’d gotten off lightly.

“Dresden!” Murphy snapped, putting herself in my way, then turned to Rudy with her palm up. “Calm down, Rudolph.” Rudy, damn him, was reaching for his gun. “You draw your weapon here and I’ll have IA shoved so far up your ass you’ll pray you were back in S.I. I still outrank you, Detective.”

“Arrest him!” Rudolph demanded, pointing at me. “He just assaulted a cop!” Which was true, and everyone in the office had seen it.

Some of the detectives in S.I. didn’t like Murphy much, but she was still their commanding officer and cops respect the chain of command. None of the detectives liked Internal Affairs in general, or Detective Rudolph in particular. He’d made no friends while working with them.

Every member of S.I. turned away from us, suddenly preoccupied with pressing business elsewhere. Lieutenant - no, still Detective - Stallings went so far as to whistle a tune as he strolled by, his eyes making a detailed study of the ceiling. I had to bite my lower lip not to break into a grin.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” Rudolph snarled, reaching for a pair of handcuffs. “Dresden, turn around.”

“Rudy,” Murphy said calmly, putting a hand on his arm. “You let this go, and I’ll lose the disciplinary notification on my desk I haven’t gotten around to sending up the chain.” Rudolph frowned at her. “Regarding the civilian last week you threatened? The one you pulled a gun on when she was absolutely no threat to you?”

The detective’s face turned bright red, and his lips compressed into an angry line. “That’s blackmail,” he stuttered, looking around for support. No one came to his aid. No one even glanced in his direction.

“That’s compromise,” Murphy corrected. “I need Mr. Dresden as a consult on a case I’m working, and he can’t do that if he’s locked up. And you don’t need anyone kicking mud over your stellar reputation.” Somehow she said the words with a straight face and no inflection whatsoever. I don’t know how she managed it.

“Fine,” Rudolph replied, stalking into her office. Murphy followed, shuffled through papers until she pulled one out and gave it to him. He straightened his jacket, tucked the paper into a pocket, and walked away, keeping his eyes on me until he disappeared around the corner.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He’s going to kill someone, someday,” I said bleakly. He’s going to kill you, someday.

Murphy’s eyes flashed as she jabbed me again, this time with a finger in my chest. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d just kept your hands to yourself. What the hell was that about?”

Her words trickled like ice water through my veins, freezing me from the inside. How could you have been so stupid as to threaten Rudolph? Here of all places?

I shook my head. “Sorry, Murph,” I sighed. “I just… sorry.” I still didn’t regret it, though.

She looked at me for a long moment, then away as she blew out a frustrated breath. “Dammit, Dresden.” She snatched a folder from her desk, one hidden beneath a pile of paperwork. “Follow me.”

I did, keeping my eyes down and mouth shut. I’d cost Murphy enough.

She led me to one of the interview rooms, barely larger than a closet holding a table and two metal folding chairs. In lieu of the one-way mirror was a single camera in the corner nearest the door, its red light indicating it was recording.

Murphy looked at me, then pointedly glanced in the direction of the camera without turning her head. I raised an eyebrow, and she gave a tiny jerk of her chin.

I spread my hands on the table, angling my right towards the camera. Then I closed my eyes a moment, gathered my will, and shot a tiny burst of power outward along with a word whispered under my breath. “Hexus.” A buzzing sound inside the camera grew louder until it whined and popped; wisps of smoke dribbled out from its plastic housing, and the acrid stench of burning electronics filled the room.

“Murph, that’s more property destruction and theatrics than you’re usually comfortable with.” I kept my tone light, joking, but she didn’t smile.

“Didn’t need anyone listening in, especially after what you just did,” Murphy said. Though she spoke quietly, there was an undercurrent of steel in her voice. She opened a folder, removed a photograph and pushed it towards my side of the table. “Because I need you to explain this.”

It was in black and white, probably taken from a security camera, but one with excellent optics. There was nothing fuzzy or pixelated about the figure featured prominently in the image. The figure with my profile, wearing my duster, holding my staff. The timestamp at the bottom was just before one in the morning, two days ago.

“What is this?” I asked, frowning.

Murphy flipping through the report. “Let’s see… description is of a while male with dark hair, between six-five and seven feet, wearing a black trenchcoat and carrying a walking staff. Broke into the Tremont Building on the morning of October 24th and destroyed Indigo Digital’s entire server room, including physical backups. When confronted by security, suspect ran up to the roof where he subsequently disappeared. Fifty floors up.” Her eyes flicked to mine briefly. “Tell me that isn’t you.”

“It’s not.”

“Where were you at the time this was taken?”

I reined in my temper. “Hell’s bells, I have no idea. Sleeping?” It was a likely guess, but still just a guess. I hadn’t been here two days ago, and couldn’t remember a random Sunday morning that far back in my past.

“Can anyone corroborate your alibi?”

“Thomas, maybe?” Murphy had on her unreadable cop face, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “What, you believe I destroyed an entire room’s worth of computer equipment then flew off the roof of a skyscraper? On the magic carpet I conveniently stashed behind an air conditioning unit? Come on, Murph. You know me. I can do magic, but I can’t fly.” I could, however, fall slowly with the right potion. I had never tried using it from that height, and though I didn’t suffer from acrophobia, wouldn’t dare unless I had no other choice. Like running into a monster about to rip my face off.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yesterday I witness an argument involving you and the business end of a shotgun, and today you’re assaulting a detective. In a police station, in plain sight of other officers, forcing me to give up my only leverage over that jackass to keep you out of jail. I know you, and this isn’t you.” She made a vague gesture with her hand.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. But after the discussion with Bob, I didn’t dare tell her why. “Something bad is coming, Karrin,” I said quietly. “I can feel it, and it’s putting me on edge. I’m sorry about Rudolph, truly. I wasn’t thinking.”

Or maybe just thinking too much about one thing in particular.

Murphy blinked and sat back slightly. “Precognition?”

“No, nothing like that. Very few wizards have skills in that area, and those that do have a few centuries’ more experience than me. But…” I sighed, trying to find the right words. “All wizards get occasional flashes of insight, for lack of a better term. In my case, I will sometimes get a feeling that where I’m standing will be important someday, or this object in that location is exactly where it should be. Sorry, I’m doing a bad job explaining this.”

She snorted. “Actually, that’s more coherent than you usually are when trying to break down how magic works.” Then her faint smile faded. “If that isn’t you,” she said, tapping my twin in the photo, “then who is he?”

“More likely what. There’s a number of Fae that can mimic human appearance, along with a few other things. The real question is why. Anyone can break in and fry computer equipment, you don’t need to be a wizard for that. Hell’s bells, from what I’ve seen in movies, you don’t even have to physically be in the room. Why would someone want it to look like me?”

Her eyes flicked up to my face. “To focus the blame on you. The better question is who stands to gain?”

I studied the picture again. “He doesn’t just look like me, Murph. He looks exactly like me, down to the runes on my staff and the pentacle amulet.” I pointed at a silver smudge visible against the black shirt. “Is this why you ended up with the case?“

Murphy shook her head, sighing. “No. It took a while to get the surveillance video, and I haven’t shared that photo with anyone just yet. It’s because the perp disappeared from the roof without a trace. You think the boss wants regular cops investigating criminals that can fly, or turn invisible?” Her mouth twisted in a grimace.

“What do you have on the company? Indigo Digital?”

She shuffled through the pages. “I’ve had Detective Palmer working that. He’s new, just transferred here two weeks ago for pissing off the wrong Lieutenant. Not sure how he’ll handle the supernatural side of things, but he has a detail-oriented mind and a knack with computers. Ah, here. It’s under the umbrella of Allied Global Enterprises.”

I snorted. “Gotta love the generic name that describes exactly nothing of what they do.” Probably a shell corporation, set up for the express purpose of hiding the company behind the curtain. Most of my investigations over the years had been small and unglamorous, but I’d had to track down a company or three like that. It always surprises me the amount of paperwork hidden away in dusty filing cabinets, fading and forgotten. Even in a city that lost a good deal of its early history due to a fire that burned for two days, destroyed over three square miles and killed hundreds, there was no urgency to transfer those records to electronic storage.

All of that meant I spent weeks pulling files, tracing ownership, deciphering minuscule handwriting that gave me a headache if I stared at it too long. But in the end, Mr. Stephen Harrell got his grandfather’s pension back.

Sometimes I love my job.

Murphy made a noise of agreement, scanning through the page. “That’s not the interesting part.” She leaned closer, elbows propped on the table. “The interesting part is who owns Allied Global Enterprises.” Murph paused for a dramatic moment.

I raised an appreciative eyebrow and prompted, “Who?”

“Avadura Incorporated.” She sat back, looking smug as she folded her arms across her chest.

I blinked at her. “Who?”

“A subsidiary of Raith Enterprises.”

Oh, crap.

“Guess it’s safe to say whatever was on those servers probably wasn’t pictures of puppies and rainbows,” I said with a sigh.

Murphy nodded. “Likely blackmail material, escort services, porn…”

I snorted. “All the things the White Court excels at. If you add in my double destroying a lucrative business enterprise, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Red Court was behind it.” She raised an eyebrow. “With Lara in charge, the White Court has backed away from openly supporting the Reds in the war with the Council. But if a White Council wizard starts trashing the place -“

“Lara Raith would have no choice but to denounce you and the Council, or risk looking weak in front of her Court.” Murph may have come late to the supernatural party, but she understood playing politics, even if she didn’t subscribe to the idea herself. “She can’t afford to give the Council any leeway. It also removes a source of income - probably a considerable source - from the White Court, letting the Reds stab the Raiths in the back without having to shoulder the blame.”

She drummed her fingers for a few seconds on the table. “What about Marcone? He single-handedly took over all the businesses Bianca was handling. For him, the White Court is competition.”

I mulled over what I knew of Marcone, at least, what I thought I knew about the man who had yet to partner with a Fallen angel. “Not his style,” I said at least, feeling fairly confident in my instincts. “He’d use extortion, blackmail, or quietly disappear a few uncooperative bodies if necessary. He might stoop to explosives, if he warranted the gain outweighed the risk, but he wouldn’t send in a wannabe Harry Dresden to fry a few computers, even if he wanted to implicate me in the process. If John Marcone comes after me, he’ll make sure I see him coming.”

“Well, isn’t that a cheery thought,” Murphy replied with a frown.

“He also has no reason to intensify the war between the White Council and Red Court by stirring up the Raiths. That particular kind of war isn’t good for his bottom line. Dammit,” I muttered, running fingers through my hair. I thought I was done dealing with the Red Court. This was like a nightmare case of déjà vu. “If I could find out who - what - that is, I might get some answers. If nothing else, confirm or eliminate the players involved. What about the rest of the video this was taken from? Anything interesting?”

She shrugged. “I have Palmer going through the video. He doesn’t know you, and hasn’t been here long enough to hear the gossip about you. Well,” she added with a smirk, “not all the gossip, at least.”

I blew out a breath. “So he already knows I worked as an extra on a porn set.”

Murphy’s smirk grew. “Exactly.”

“Don’t suppose you found any forensic evidence that might help?”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag holding several dark strands of hair, holding it up with a grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

In the large pool of suspects that wanted me out of the way, there was another possibility that rose to the top of the list. Nicodemus Archleone, leader of the Denarians, had a number of reasons to want me dead, mostly starting and ending with the humiliation he suffered that I played a part in. He’d lost his followers, his respect in the supernatural community, and the only family he trusted, murdered by his own hand.

But that was the Nicodemus ten years from now. The Nicodemus of today wanted me alive and well to serve as Lasciel’s host; he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, which is why I hadn’t bothered to mention his name to Murphy. In retrospect, I had to wonder why Nicodemus waited four years to collect his prize. He assumed I would fall to Lash’s temptations eventually, but “years” seemed excessive, even for someone as stubborn as I am.

Maybe he had better things to do than check up on Lasciel’s progress. Like plan to rob Hades’ vault.

Was he still considered the Denarians’ de facto leader? It wasn’t something I thought about, having more pressing issues to deal with (like the Fomor and the Last Titan visiting Chicago and dating the Queen of Vampires). For that matter, how did Thomas’ excursion to the Mediterranean fit in with their plans?

“Harry?”

I blinked at Murphy’s voice. Speculate later. I took the evidence bag from her, holding it up for a better look at the strands.

“No roots,” Murphy said, “so no DNA. Best forensics can do is microscopy for comparison. Human hair, not dyed and most likely shed, not cut.”

The bag wasn’t sealed, the tape slit by one of the techs in the crime lab in order to examine the hairs. In a normal investigation, one where an arrest and prosecution was expected, the evidence would be sealed afterwards, but this bag was open.

“May I?” I asked, lifting the flap.

She raised an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

I snorted. “I like to be polite.”

I pulled out one of the strands and held the end with thumb and forefinger. There was no sense of magic from it, and on first glance, it looked exactly like my own hair. Probably would under the microscope, too. That eliminated any Fae capable of disguise only via surface glamour, which didn’t shrink the suspect pool much. Since the hair hadn’t come from me, with a small working of thaumaturgy and a bit of luck, it would lead me to its actual owner. Assuming the owner hadn’t changed out of my skin and back into their own.

One problem at a time.

“You can use that to track him, right?” Murphy asked.

I dropped the strand back into the bag. “Provided he hasn’t changed his appearance. Even switching back to me wouldn’t help if that happens, as this hair couldn’t form a sympathetic link to what in essence would be newly-grown hair.”

“Which means we should hurry,” Murphy said, pushing herself to her feet. “Outside?”

I nodded, pocketing the evidence bag. “My staff’s out in the car, along with my kit.” Once I started working regularly with Murphy and Special Investigations, I bought a backpack and filled it with a variety of magical tools I found useful on the job. Markers (both dry-erase and permanent), chemical glow sticks, candles, a box of waterproof matches, extra chalk (I always had a few pieces in my duster’s pockets), quartz crystals, salt, and a small plastic container of sand, among other things.

We walked down the stairs, all five flights, and out into the cool, overcast October morning. I shifted myself so I was on the edge of the sidewalk closer to the street. It put me between traffic and Murphy, and wasn’t really a conscious decision on my part; more an ingrained habit. She was used to it and rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother to comment.

Something brushed against my senses, sending the hairs on my neck crawling. I’d (sadly) been in enough similar situations that my body reacted before my brain fully processed the threat. I wrapped my arms around Murphy, turning my back to the street as I dropped into a crouch, hunched my shoulders and ducked my head.

I presented a nice, inviting target with my leather duster when the gunfire started.

Bullets impacted my ribs, spine, and kidneys, and each hit with agonizing force. I would be covered in bruises tomorrow, provided I lived through the next fifteen seconds. They whizzed past us as well, smashing into the building, cars, and judging by the screams barely audible through my damaged hearing, bystanders.

Whoever the shooter was, they were going for chaos and reckless disregard, rather than stealth. It was a constant barrage of bullets until the car sped away in a squeal of rubber, leaving the stink of gunpowder thick in the air.

Murphy smells of sunlight and strawberries. My nose was buried in her hair, trying to cover as much of her as possible. The random, completely inappropriate thought hit just as hard as the bullets did.

I counted to ten, readying my shield as I did, then cautiously looked around. It was hazy with smoke, but the car was gone. Then I stood slowly, bringing Murphy to her feet with me and turned her around. She had blood splattered on her face, but I saw no injuries. “Are you hurt?”

She probably couldn’t hear me, but got the gist of the question and shook her head, jerking her thumb to indicate someone behind her. On the ground not ten feet away was a woman. Bullets ripped into her in multiple places, and she was lying in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. It was clear by her half-open, staring eyes she was already dead.

She asked me the same question, wiping blood from my forehead. Like as not it was the same woman’s, as we’d both been facing the same direction. I shook my head, took two steps, and collapsed on my hands and knees as the adrenaline wore off. Every impact was screaming in agony, and breathing shallowly was the only way I could get air into my lungs. Everything hurt, and I wasn’t used to being in this much physical pain without the Winter Mantle’s cold to numb it.

“Harry, come with me,” Murphy said, and I could just make out her voice through the loud ringing in my ears. She put my arm around her shoulders and half-dragged me to the stairs as cops spilled from the building like a nest of angry hornets. “Wait here.”

Murphy took control of the scene until the higher ups arrived. The street was closed off with cop cars and crime tape. She set up a makeshift triage with fellow officers, checking pulses, moving those who could be moved closer to the station. Several of the wounded joined me on the stairs, and as my hearing gradually returned, moans of pain and sobs echoed all around me.

Dizziness hit unexpectedly, throwing my vision into spin cycle. I leaned my head down and closed my eyes for a few minutes, focused on controlling the nausea. To make matters worse, it began to rain. A cold, steady drizzle that did nothing for the people sitting on the sidewalks and stairs still in shock, myself included. The cold water slithered down the back of my neck, and I began to shiver.

Eventually the paramedics arrived, and those that either refused treatment or weren’t injured enough to warrant further examination were shuffled into the precinct’s lobby where it was warm. Some of the officers were handing out paper cups of hot coffee.

Murphy wouldn’t let me go inside without the EMTs checking me over, though she shoved a cup of coffee into my hand. I drank it gratefully, not caring that it burned my tongue as it warmed my insides admirably. They made me remove my duster and shirt, poking and prodding at the contusions all over my back.

“You might have a few cracked ribs,” Saxon said, one of the responding EMTs. A good man, I’d met him a few times. He, like Lamar (who was also here), knew of the supernatural, but chose to stay on his side of the street. I could respect a man who understood his limits; not everyone shared Waldo Butters’ ability to work with - and despite - their fear. “I don’t think anything is broken, but we won’t be able to tell without an x-ray. You should go to the hospital, but you won’t, will you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, wincing as his fingers probed one of my kidneys.

“Possibly bruised,” he said at last. “If you find blood in your urine, do yourself a favor and go see a doctor, all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” He helped with my shirt and duster, ignoring my muttered curses which weren’t directed at him, but at the universe in general.

Saxon took a moment to look around. All the seriously wounded had been transported to the hospital, and rivulets of rain mixed with blood snaked across the sidewalk, dripping into the gutter. Two bodies remained where they’d fallen, now covered by blue tarps. Several homicide detectives were going over the scene with crime techs collecting evidence, mostly bullets and bullet fragments. It looked like the majority of casings had fallen into the car instead of on the street. “What the hell happened, Dresden?”

I sighed. “Drive-by. Don’t know more than that. Didn’t even get a good look at the car.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your kind of thing?”

I tried to shrug, then hissed at the pain. “Not sure.”

Saxon put a hand on my arm before I could get up. “A bit of advice, not that you’ll listen to it. Ibuprofen, ice, bed rest.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a faint smile, pushing myself to my feet. He sighed and shook his head as he walked away.

I pushed through the doors into the precinct’s lobby. It was packed with people, half of whom were officers taking witness statements. I hadn’t realized that many had been on the sidewalk, or that the gunfire extended over two blocks. If the gunman had only meant to take me out, it was sloppy as hell.

Murphy had cleaned up and was speaking to a woman with two small children. I nabbed another cup of coffee and gingerly sat in one of the few open chairs to wait. I had to lean forward to avoid putting pressure on my back, and even that strained muscles that would’ve been happier lying down.

I really, really wanted to go home and sleep for a day or two. But I had a suspicion as to who’d been responsible for the carnage outside, and as soon as she finished here, Murphy was going to demand answers. Speaking of which, I glanced up and caught her gesture. She meant for me to meet her at the elevator, presumably to head upstairs to S.I. where we’d be able to talk without so many ears listening in.

I rose, stiff and sore, and shambled to the elevator past the desk officers, nodding politely as I went. Murphy came up behind me and pressed the button. Usually I take the stairs; S.I.’s only on the fifth floor, and the risk of getting stuck in the elevator isn’t worth it. But I was grateful now the building had one, as I doubted I could climb that many floors. I was having trouble just lifting my feet to walk.

Several other officers got in with us, which precluded us talking for the ride up. Lieutenants, I saw, heading to higher floors. One kept giving me a hard stare, which I ignored. Probably blaming me for the mess outside, and he probably wasn’t wrong to do so.

Murphy took my elbow and steered me out of the elevator, into the hall leading to S.I.’s office. Inside, it was deserted and deathly quiet. Clearly everyone was still downstairs, helping where they could. The rest of CPD might make fun of the officers in Special Investigations, but they were still officers, sworn to help the citizens of Chicago.

I slumped into one of the worn chairs in the small waiting area with a groan.

“Here,” Murphy said, pushing several wipes into my hand. “You still have blood on your face.”

“Oh.” I tore one open and cleaned off my forehead, cheeks and chin, but I’d obviously missed some of the blood as Murphy opened another wipe. I leaned forward, bracing elbows on my knees, as she completed a second, more thorough cleaning. And even though the reason her hands were touching my face wasn’t something I cared to think about, I couldn’t help but enjoy it. This close, I could even smell a hint of strawberries from her shampoo, enhanced by the rain.

She drew back and gave my face a once-over, then crumpled the wipe into a ball. “Better. Now… how did you know it was coming?”

I grimaced. “Years of attracting predators’ unwanted attention. I sensed undivided focus on me, though I didn’t consciously realize they were going to attempt a drive-by shooting until it was too late. Murph, believe me if I had, I would’ve tried to stop it.”

She frowned but nodded. “Did you see anything?”

I spread my hands in a futile gesture. “Just a glimpse of the car. Dark color, maybe an SUV or van.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Dammit, Dresden,” she huffed in frustration. “We’ll be able to pick up that much from the camera footage. You’re a licensed P.I. I expected better from you.”

A flicker of anger at her tone quickly evaporated beneath the throbbing ache my body had become. “I was more concerned about living through the shooting to pay much attention to the car or who was inside. If I’d had time, I might have used a shield and gotten a better view, but that could’ve caused a lot more damage from ricochets. My duster usually absorbs the bullet’s energy rather than redirecting it.”

Murphy’s face softened as I spoke, the hard, angry lines fading. “God… I’m sorry, Harry. I… haven’t said thank you, have I?”

“No need. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

She covered my hand with her own. “Thank you.” It was a friendly gesture, but my heart suddenly sped up.

I love you, I wanted to tell her. I didn’t. Still, she must’ve seen something in my expression, because she withdrew her hand as she looked away and cleared her throat. When she looked back, Lieutenant Murphy was all business.

“Do you have any idea who’s behind this?”

“The White Court is the obvious choice. I did, after all, allegedly destroy their server room.”

“That assumes you were the target.”

I snorted. “My instincts tell me I was the target.”

“But… White Court? You told me they prefer subtlety to open warfare. And that -“ she waved her hand in the direction of the street “- is the complete opposite of subtle.”

“Usually, yes. But there are factions within the Court that don’t like to play by Raith’s rules. The Malvoras come to mind. Instead of lust, they prefer to feed on fear, and this generated a lot of fear. They’re also not particularly patient, and if they believe I interfered with business, they might get it into their heads to try a more direct approach than Lara would favor.”

Murphy scowled. “Lara never mentioned that.”

My eyebrows lifted. I knew that after the Red Court’s obliteration and my subsequent death, she and Lara had worked together, though I had no idea how extensively. But Murphy had never mentioned working with Lara before that. “She’s a vampire,” I said, somewhat at a loss for words.

“I’m well aware, Dresden,” she snapped. “Are you implying I’m incapable of doing my job? That I need your permission, assistance or protection to speak to a member of the supernatural community?”

Add to the list of aches my head as I considered how best to remove myself from the hole I’d dug for myself. I settled on, “Cut me some slack, Murph. I was just shot, repeatedly, and my entire body is one giant lump of pain. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just surprised, since you’ve never mentioned working with her before.”

Karrin watched me a moment, head tilted as she considered my apology, then sighed and gave me a wry smile. “You’re right. I should save my ire for a time when you can better appreciate it, which is definitely not now. Screw appointments. I think it’s time to pay Lara Raith a visit.” She stood, then eyed me when I didn’t follow suit. “What’s wrong?”

I looked up at her, which from this position almost put us at eye level. “I can’t move.”

Murphy rolled her eyes and offered me her hand. “Come on, before I kick your ass and leave a spectacular shoe print on it.” I let her haul me to my feet.

“Is it too late to go to the hospital?” I groaned, only slightly exaggerating. It was an underhanded move to feel Murphy press up against me to help steady my steps. She withdrew her support as we reached the door, and the ache in my heart wasn’t from a bullet impact.

“Thought you wanted to protect me from the big bad vampire?” she said, straining her sarcasm to near-heroic levels as she batted her lashes at me. “You being a powerful wizard and all.”

I made a disparaging sound. “All right, all right, I get the point, Lieutenant,” I said, emphasizing the last word as she opened the door and I made my way into the hall.

The sunny smile she gave me was dazzling, for a number of reasons. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Murphy drove. She preferred to drive, which was a good thing considering my vision kept blurring at the edges. As her car was in the lot on the back side of the building, we managed to avoid the snarl of traffic and emergency vehicles out front.

She produced an industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen from the glove box, then stopped at Burger King to get me a soda. I took more than the recommended dose, washed it down with several gulps of sugary, caffeinated goodness, then leaned back in the seat and tried to think calming thoughts so as not to destroy her car. I don’t fit in Saturn coupes easily, and shifted around trying to find a position that was less painful than any other position I tried.

“Harry,” Murphy said quietly, “while I’d like your take on Lara’s answers to my questions, you don’t have to come. I can drop you off at home so you can get some rest.”

“I just need a few minutes,” I replied, shaking my head slightly. “I have a technique that will block out most of the pain temporarily, but need focus for it to work. Besides, we still have to track down my double. The longer we wait, the more likely it is the tracking spell will fail.” Considering it had already been two days, there was an excellent chance it was already too late.

I felt her eyes on my face, even as I closed my own. “You don’t look good. You’re too pale. Should’ve gotten you something to eat.”

“Sugar in the soda should help. Don’t think my stomach could handle food right now.” As the silence grew, I used the pain management Lash had shown me years ago. It was surprisingly effective, though it’d only buy me a few hours. By the time we reached our destination, my bruises were faint, dull aches, enough that I would be able to face Lara Raith without showing weakness.

“Why am I not surprised,” I muttered to myself as we walked up to the building. It was the same office I’d negotiated my marriage contract in. Likely it was her preferred place of business, chosen because she felt the most comfortable there.

“What was that?” Murphy asked.

“Oh, nothing.” I lengthened my strides abruptly, reaching the door before she did and pulled it open. “After you.”

She eyed me. “You’re still a pig, Dresden.”

I left my staff in the Blue Beetle, forgetting to retrieve it before we left. It was probably better that way. A wizard bringing his staff to a meeting with a supernatural creature implied violence was imminent, and I did not want to throw down with Lara right now. Ever, really, but even at my best any victory would come at a cost. She was preternaturally fast, strong, and damned sneaky. Unless I could take her by surprise, shut down her Hunger before she could act on it, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Could I even still shut her Hunger down? It was a spell I’d practiced and perfected, not something tied to my physical body, so likely the answer was yes. I pictured it in my mind’s eye, ran through the spell a few times until I was certain I could call it up at a moment’s notice.

We walked across the lobby, and it helped work out the remaining stiffness in my muscles. Unlike my last visit, this time the lobby’s upholstered white chairs had a number of people sitting in them. Several were on their cell phones, others occupied with folders and briefcases. All were in business suits, and I felt woefully underdressed. Not to mention I had a few spots of dried blood on my shirt. It was black, so at least they weren’t readily visible.

Karrin dropped her badge on the counter, in front of the security staff. “Lieutenant Murphy, to see Ms. Raith. I have an appointment.”

“One moment,” said one of the men, picking up a handset. “Your appointment isn’t for another three hours,” he told her after a brief conversation with what I assumed was Lara’s secretary. “She suggests you come back then.”

Murphy bared her teeth. “I suggest I see her now. There’s been an incident that I believe Ms. Raith has knowledge of. An incident that resulted in the deaths of three people.”

Three? I’d only seen two bodies outside the station, though I lost track of how many critically injured had been transported to the hospital. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, and so help me if Lara was involved, knowingly or not, she would answer for it.

Another quick conversation, then the man gestured to the pair of elevators behind him. “It seems Ms. Raith has an opening in her schedule, Lieutenant, and asks that you meet her in her office. Twenty-third floor.”

Murphy snatched her badge from the counter, clipping it to her belt. “Thank you.”

We rode up in silence. The mirrored walls gave me a good image of my face, and Murphy was right. I am normally pale, thanks to the amount of time I spend in my lab, but today I was ghostly white. I checked for blood, but Murphy had done a decent job cleaning me up. Though when I tried finger-combing my hair into a style that didn’t stick up so much, my fingers caught on several clumps.

Fabulous, I have dried blood in my hair. Lara was sure to smell it on me, but nothing I could do about it now.

We were met by Lara’s secretary when the elevator opened. Like all of Lara’s secretaries, she was young, pretty, dressed in a black skirt and teal blouse that showed off her curves to their best advantage. “Lieutenant Murphy, right this way.” She didn’t acknowledge me or give me a second glance, proceeding us down the hallway in the opposite direction of the conference room I’d been to before.

She led us to a door that opened on a private reception area and desk. Presumably her desk, as she sat in the chair behind it and gestured for us to do the same. “Ms. Raith will be right with you.”

Murphy chose to stand, walking over to the wall of windows. I sat, watching her, which in my opinion was a better view than the one the windows provided. She pulled out her cell phone, and with a glance in my direction, moved as far from me as possible to protect its electronics from being inadvertently hexed. Her side of the conversation consisted of one-word responses; I assumed she was getting briefed on the investigation, and on the victims’ conditions.

“Dammit,” she snarled, snapping the phone closed. She used a flip phone for work as it was cheaper to replace when I inevitably blew it up. “A little girl had to have her arm amputated just below the elbow. She’s five.” She glared at the closed door leading to Lara’s inner office. “If she had anything to do with this…”

“We’ll handle it,” I replied in a quiet voice. All I could picture was Maggie, bleeding out from gunshot wounds on the sidewalk and me unable to save her. “Our way.”

Murphy’s blue eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. “Damn right we will.”

“Lieutenant? Ms. Raith is ready for you,” said the secretary, offering a smile as she gestured to the door.

I stifled my groans as stiff muscles once again protested when I stood. I let Murphy precede me and open the door to Lara’s office, knowing this wasn’t the time for my antics, as amusing as they were. Murphy looked ready to murder someone, and I was planning on staying out of the line of fire.

A cop and a wizard walk into a vampire’s office. It sounded like the start to a bad joke. I knew if things got ugly, I could protect Murphy. I’d faced off with Lara’s Hunger before, and could resist its lure long enough to put it to sleep. But… I no longer had the Winter Mantle’s protection. The realization caused an icy ball of fear to knot my stomach. Could I resist her without it? Or would it be easier without the Mantle’s lust-addled urges pounding in my head?

Lara’s office… wasn’t what I expected. Based on the waiting room, I had thought it would be sleek, modern, a soulless sea of glass and chrome. It was larger than the door hinted at, and appeared to take up one entire side of the building. Part of that space was set aside for a large conference room table that was more rustic than polish. She had candles set in glass-covered sconces for illumination, leaving the overhead fluorescents off. Though I suspected that was for my benefit, I noticed the white tapers had dried beads of wax dripping down their sides, indicating this wasn’t the first time they’d been lit.

And the windows offered a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, even though we were several blocks away from Lake Shore Drive. Apparently no one had dared build anything tall enough to obstruct that view. It would not have surprised me if Raith Enterprises owned all of the properties from here to the lake. The Raiths had been in Chicago since… well, I wasn’t sure exactly when they had moved to the Midwest, but it was assuredly long before Marcone had been born.

In one corner where two walls of windows met sat a low gray couch, coffee table, and matching cozy-looking chairs, all accented with aqua and white pillows. It was clear that corner received a long measure of sunlight in the morning hours, as numerous potted plants were situated around the furniture, tall and well-cared for.

While the floor was immaculate white marble shot through with veins of silver, carpets woven in reds and golds covered parts of it, including the space in front of Lara’s desk. It, like the table, was a rustic wood with wrought iron accents. She had two monitors perched on top, along with a conference-style phone, a mixture of pens and pencils in a round, black holder.

Lara Raith was sitting behind that desk, waiting patiently as we walked across the expanse of floor. I’d last seen her… hell’s bells, was it only a day ago? Luminous in her wedding attire, watching me with those silver-sheened eyes. And now, I had no idea how I should feel with Murphy here, warm and real and alive, even knowing she would be gone in a matter of days.

“That’s who we’re marrying? Harry, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Alt-Harry’s smirking voice came from directly behind me, and I stumbled a little on hearing it. Both he and Future Harry had been missing all morning, and to be honest, I hadn’t given either a second thought until now.

I couldn’t turn around to glare at him, not without attracting Lara’s attention. But it seemed the stumble was enough, and she narrowed her eyes as she watched me take the chair to Murphy’s right.

Lara was gorgeous. It was partly her, but also partly her Hunger’s doing, making her appear more desirable, more sensual, more eager to please. Her blue-black hair was pinned up in a bun, her crimson and black blouse opened perhaps one button more than was strictly warranted, and her makeup minimal. I had cause to know that she looked just as good without it as with, and a hell of a lot more sexy with sleep-tousled hair.

Conflicted feelings warred with each other, and I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Sitting here with Murphy, I nearly choked on guilt. It felt like I had betrayed her memory by giving in to my attraction to Lara, but Murph was gone and my world that much colder and darker without her in it. In some ways we were well suited for each other, two monsters abandoning all semblance of humanity as we sought comfort in shared company.

The White Queen and the Knight of Winter.

My body reacted to her as it typically did, though without the driving need of the Mantle nipping at my heels, the pull of her sensuality was easily overcome. It felt like nothing more than the attraction to a beautiful woman I saw passing by on the street, and left my emotions tangled in knots. Not to mention the… scent? sense? feel? of her Hunger was subtly different. More reserved, less welcoming, less… pleased to find me here? It seemed as confused as I was, trying to react to or ignore whatever signals I gave off without meaning to.

Lara, if she noticed anything amiss with her Hunger, did not visibly react to it. But the delicate tendrils of its essence gradually withdrew, leaving me with a hollow ache in my chest I didn’t want to think about.

“Lieutenant Murphy, a pleasure as always.” She paused as she looked at me. “And Mr. Dresden. What a lovely surprise.” Her tone indicated it was anything but, and someone was probably going to get fired for not doing their job to her satisfaction. “I assume you are here regarding the incident outside your precinct?”

Murphy had on her cop face, a perfect mask for whatever emotions she held tightly hidden inside, but I saw her hands clench into fists in her lap. “That incident resulted in three dead, two critically wounded, and another dozen seriously injured, not counting those that witnessed the drive-by shooting but were not hurt. I know that early Sunday morning, someone resembling Dresden’s description destroyed a computer room leased to Indigo Digital. I know that company - through a long and winding electronic trail - is owned by Raith Enterprises. And I know you are one to balance the scales as you see fit.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “You believe I am behind the attack?”

“I believe other members of your Court are behind the attack,” Murphy countered. “I would like to believe you did not countenance the attack, nor knew of its planning and execution. You don’t strike me as someone who wishes the mortal authorities involved in any part of your business.”

Lara regarded Murphy coolly. “True, involving them results in headaches I wish to avoid. Which members do you believe responsible for the shooting?”

“The Malvoras,” I said, stepping in smoothly before Murphy could. “Probably Vittorio and that mother of his, Cesarina. Though I’d bet a frosted donut the shooters were local muscle, and not very bright ones at that. I mean, really, does shooting up two city blocks in downtown Chicago, in front of a police station, sound like a smart decision to you?”

Lara blinked at me. Her face gave little away, but I’d just spent the last year in close proximity to her, and caught the faint surprise flickering in her gaze. Being a wizard of the White Council, I shouldn’t know any inner workings of her Court.

Oh, hell’s bells. She’s going to blame Thomas for divulging family secrets.

“And before you ask, I am a private investigator. Finding things out is my job. Thomas has nothing to do with this.”

The gray in Lara’s eyes turned flinty, but she waved a hand as if it didn’t concern her how I’d come by my information.

“I want the shooters,” Murphy growled, and Lara’s eyes shifted back to her. “I want their names, and those behind it.”

Lara’s eyes again flicked to me. “And what of the destruction of my property, Lieutenant? As you have no doubt seen on the security footage by now, this man broke into a business that I own and caused irreparable harm to my reputation and my livelihood.”

I didn’t need to consult with Murphy before answering. We’d been through situations like this before, and knew what she’d say. I leaned forward in my chair, trying not to wince as my back twinged in pain. “Lara. We both know if you truly believed I was the one behind it you would’ve paid me a visit long before now. Probably within an hour or two of reviewing the security feeds.”

The vampire inclined her head in agreement. “While I know you can be subtle when you choose, you rarely exercise that option. On the surface, this reaction does fit your character. But I have given you no cause to come after my assets, as considerable as they might be.” She smiled, those red lips reminding me how lovely and soft they were, how much they begged to be kissed.

Damned hormones. But this time, I couldn’t lay the blame on Winter. This was all me.

Murphy made a choked sound. Lara ignored it, focusing on me and her eyes glinted with the tiniest flecks of silver.

“You, my dear wizard, are rather direct. You also are fond of threats before employing more… drastic measures.” She clucked her tongue thoughtfully. “Bianca really should have listened to you. But no, I do not believe you are behind this. Someone is playing a game and attempting to play me for a fool, trying to implicate you so that I will be forced to renounce the White Council and add my full support to the Red Court. I am having the incident investigated.”

I exchanged a glance with Murphy. Not surprising that Lara came to the same conclusion as I had. She was in part dangerous because of her exceptional intelligence and intelligence-gathering tactics.

“The shooters,” Murphy prompted.

Lara sighed. “I will investigate the matter internally. I have no issue with turning over mortals to the mortal authorities, but you must understand that I cannot countenance giving you one of my Court, no matter how misguided his intentions might have been.”

Murph stiffened in her chair. “What?”

Lara merely raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Do you really believe your system of justice would find a man guilty when he has the ability to change mortal minds with a touch and bend them to his will? Do you think your prisons could hold such a man?”

I could almost hear Murphy’s teeth grinding together, but Lara wasn’t wrong. Putting a vampire of the White Court into the captive population of a prison was stupidity on an epic scale.

“I promise you this, Lieutenant,” Lara continued. “If any member of my Court orchestrated this attack, it was against my explicit orders. They will be censured. Most severely.” She smiled, and it wasn’t a friendly smile. Or a smile at all, really. This was a predator anticipating inflicting pain and suffering on those who had violated her laws. Not mortal laws, but the laws of the White Court and by extension, Lord Raith. The deaths of a few easily replaceable kine in her eyes wasn’t worth the effort. But bring shame to her family, and Lara would offer no mercy.

Murphy’s lips compressed into a thin line, but she gave a sharp nod of her head. “I expect to hear from you within twenty-four hours.”

“Of course, Lieutenant Murphy.”

Murphy stood and offered her hand. “Thank you, Ms. Raith. I appreciate you taking the time to see us today.”

“Yes,” Lara said, drawing the word out as her eyes assessed me. “The pleasure was mine.”

Did I just imagine that throaty purr, or the pull of her Hunger? I adjusted my duster as I stood, concealing my body’s betrayal, but Lara didn’t need to see any physical reaction to her to sense my arousal. It’s just hormones, nothing more.

That knot, heavy in my chest, said otherwise.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other soon, Mr. Dresden,” Lara said as we walked away. I didn’t reply, and her soft laughter followed us into the reception area.

Murphy vibrated with barely-controlled fury, but she kept a neutral expression on her face for the entire elevator ride to the lobby. It wasn’t until we were inside her car that she let out a muffled scream of frustration, hitting the steering wheel with her hands a few times for emphasis.

“God, I want to go back in there so bad and arrest her.”

“For what?”

She glared at me. “I’d think of something.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Doesn’t sound like you, skirting the law to suit your needs.”

She punched me in the shoulder, hard, and I let out a surprised yelp of pain. A very manly yelp, if you must know. Murphy immediately raised her hands in apology. “Oh God, Harry, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“Nothing a week’s sleep won’t fix,” I rasped, tears in my eyes as I tried not to move my arm. My left shoulder had been hit a few times, all nearly in the same spot. The pain management technique I used was good, but nothing’s that good.

“Dammit,” she sighed, gingerly touching my gloved hand. “I let her get to me. I should never have taken my frustration out on you, especially when you’re right.” She then used her hand to turn my head towards her, slowly, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Some friend I am.”

Even through the agony, her touch was heavenly. Strong fingers, gently brushing my face. A contented sigh escaped my lips, though Murph probably thought it was related to the pain. “I’m really sorry, Harry. Should I take you home?”

My inner defenses crumbled under the onslaught, pain surging, and black spots danced in my eyes. I drew in a shaky breath, let it out in a groan. “Yeah, I think you’d better,” I finally said. “There’s no way I can scrounge up enough concentration to track down my double, let alone go toe to toe with him if necessary.” I awkwardly leaned forward, trying to take more pressure off my back.

“You shouldn’t rest your head on the dash, Harry. Airbag.”

I groaned but complied, the dizzy sensation growing stronger as I straightened in my seat.

“Will Lara be true to her word, do you think? About the punishment?”

I snorted softly. “You know what she did to Lord Raith. I can’t imagine she’d be any less forgiving to a distant relation than to her own father.”

She shuddered involuntarily, then let out a breath and started the car. “Seat belt.”

“Look at you, Murph. It’s almost like you care about me,” I said, reaching for the belt. I hissed in pain as that same shoulder flared in agony and dropped my arm.

“I’ll get it.” She reached over me to buckle me in, a certain part of her anatomy unselfconsciously brushing against my chest as she did. I wanted to hold her, feel her, and never let go.

Oh, God, Murph. How can I bear to lose you all over again?

By the time we reached my apartment, I was nearly senseless with pain. I just barely stumbled to the door under my own power, and it was a good thing Murphy had a key to lower my wards as I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. Not to mention my brain was muzzy enough that I couldn’t remember how.

She kept up a litany of quiet encouragement and eased me through the door.

“What the hell happened to him?” barked a sharp voice, and I winced when the volume set off an additional jackhammer punishing the inside of my skull.

“You heard about the drive-by downtown?”

“Dammit. I should’ve figured he’d be in the middle of that. Here, give him to me.”

“S’okay Thomas,” I mumbled.

“No, you’re not okay.” Gentle but firm hands held me upright, stripped me of clothing until all that remained was my boxers.

“Jesus,” Murphy breathed. “I knew it was bad, but…”

“Lie down, Harry.” Those same hands pushed me face first onto the couch, angling my back towards the warmth of the fire, tucking in my legs so they didn’t fall off the edge. Bright blossoms of pain flowed from neck to waist, and my breath came in ragged, harsh gasps punctuated by whimpers.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” Thomas crooned. Then his touch became featherlight, fingertips stroking down my neck, shoulder blades, spine. It felt amazing, better than Elaine’s reiki technique by far. Somewhere in the depths of my pain-addled mind I knew it was Thomas’ Hunger making the difference, nibbling away at my pain. My brother was feeding from me, and I couldn’t care less. He was replacing agony with a much more pleasurable sensation, and for the first time since before the shooting, I was able to breathe without the burning in my chest.

“Thomas, what are you doing?” Murphy asked in a clipped tone. “You’re feeding from him? He’s your brother. Stop right now, or I’ll make you stop.”

“Mmrgh,” I managed, mangling Murphy’s name but she understood. I sensed her lean over me.

“Harry?”

“S’okay. No pain.” Speaking that coherently cost more effort than I had left in me, and I let myself drift.

“I’m doing this because he is my brother,” Thomas confirmed, his tone soft and soothing. “He’s in so much pain that I can literally taste it. I’m draining off what I can, swapping pain for pleasure. Don’t look so shocked, Lieutenant. I am an incubus, after all.”

I groaned in agreement.

“Besides, Mouse is here. He won’t let me go too far, or hurt Harry.”

Tension coiled in my gut, a building of energies that whispered promises in my ear.

Why fight? Why struggle? You can just let go…

I was home, surrounded by comforting scents and people I loved. People I trusted with my life, my very soul. So I listened to the voice, and gave myself up to it. Pent-up energy broke in a wave, washing away the last vestiges of pain, replacing them with a most delicious sensation of warmth. I heard myself moan in relief, shivering under Thomas’ touch.

“Did he just…”

“Yeah.” Thomas let out a sigh. “You should go, Karrin. I’ll clean him up. I’ll have him call you when he wakes.”

A small hand, the touch familiar and welcome, rested on my head. Then gentle fingers ran through my hair. “Get some sleep, Harry.”

And the world went away for a while.

Chapter Text

I sat at a table, darkness surrounding me. I could see, despite lacking any source of illumination, but not beyond the table itself. It was round, made of dark-stained and heavily polished oak, with five other chairs besides mine pulled up to it.

Immediately to my left was my alter ego, my true alter ego, and not Alt-Harry from this time. Though he was dressed almost identically to Alt-Harry, his subtly different presence gave him away. That, and the glittering snowflake pin fastened to his chest in a place of prominence.

“Huh. Haven’t seen you around for a bit,” I commented, glancing around at the empty chairs.

He shrugged. “Been busy.”

“What’s with the pin? I’m not the Winter Knight here.”

He arched a brow, which always made him look like my evil nemesis. “You’re still the Winter Knight, trust me. Mab wouldn’t let a tiny thing like a potential time paradox prevent you from fulfilling your duty.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning she’s going to come looking for you.”

I snorted. “Mab’s many things, but altering the space-time continuum isn’t something she’s known for.”

He rolled his eyes, giving me the patented Harry Dresden “you are being an idiot” look. I really needed to use it more. “The Mab of this time.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Our bargain isn’t for another six years!” But I picked at the table with my fingernail, trying to settle my nerves. What would happen if Mab demanded my obeisance? Without the Mantle, without my broken back, she had nothing to leverage. Could a Fae hold you to a bargain made by your future self?

The thought made my head ache, and I rested it in my hands. “I really don’t need this right now,” I muttered.

“Mab might be able to send you back before the timeline shreds itself, possibly taking us with it,” he suggested, in a softer tone than usual. I glanced up at him through spread fingers. One nice thing about this being a dream (or a possible hallucination) was having two working hands.

Hell’s bells. Mab.

“Won’t that just make things worse, if she tries to force the timeline? Stars and stones, is she even capable of that kind of chronomancy? If it was simple, Vadderung could have sent me home before I managed to screw things up by calling Kincaid.”

“Bob doesn’t know everything.” He tapped a finger against his chin for a moment. “I’d say she has the power, but normally wouldn’t have a good enough reason to tamper with the timeline. She might not be allowed to tamper with it. No matter how big you are, there’s always someone bigger.”

“Someone with an army of angels,” I said, and he nodded.

“Same goes for Vadderung. He’s not what he once was. But you struck a bargain with Mab, and I don’t think He can gainsay her sending you back. Big believer in free will, that one. Future Harry, too, since he also falls under her aegis.”

I rubbed my forehead, hoping it would help stifle the brewing headache. “It’s probably a bad idea. Anything involving Mab is usually a bad idea.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Just a thought. She has the motivation to return you unharmed to when you belong.”

“I have my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it.” Good thing I found the quote amusing; my alter-ego didn’t even crack a smile. “Bah, you know you love it. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing,” he replied. I suddenly held a ball of wadded-up paper, so did the most respectable thing I could. I threw it at him. It hit the end of his nose, bounced off, and rolled over the table’s surface, stopping just before the edge. “Very adult of you.”

I smirked in response. “I try.”

“Well, I’ve said what I wanted to without them listening in. What you choose to do with that suggestion is up to you. Time to unload this clown car.” He snapped his fingers, and the empty chairs were empty no longer. Three additional Harrys appeared, one deeply asleep and snoring. Lasciel’s shadow took the final chair, though she was gagged and bound, hands behind her back.

Her blue eyes blazed in fury, but she didn’t struggle.

Alt-Harry gave her a sideways glance. “What’s with the BDSM? Not that I don’t enjoy the view, but… seems counterproductive to have a discussion with Lasciel if she can’t actually talk.” Then he noticed my alter ego, and raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Fancy meeting you here.”

Future Harry glanced between the two nearly identical Harrys, sighed, and shook his head. “One of you was bad enough. I take it that was your idea?” he asked my alter ego, gesturing with his head towards Lash.

“A precaution. Last time you three let her out for a conversation, you made a bargain with her. A bargain that wasn’t even necessary since we’ll all be returned to our own timelines in a matter of days. But have it your way.” He snapped his fingers, and Lasciel’s bonds dissolved into wisps of smoke. She rubbed her wrists and glared at him.

“We already know how her story ends, and we’ve got bigger issues to deal with,” Future Harry said, looking at Lasciel. “What do you know of time paradoxes? Is it likely that when ours catches up to us that we’ll be ripped apart, like Bob said?”

She rolled one bare shoulder. “I do not have the direct experience with wizards as your spirit does, but I do know something about time manipulation.” She glanced around the table, then laughed softly at our equally skeptical expressions. “I was an angel, Harry. It came with the job description, though we seldom made use of it. Mostly to slow the passage of time to make slight adjustments as necessary, but I did travel the pathways occasionally.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “That doesn’t answer the question though, does it?”

Lasciel’s eyes fixed on mine. “I do not believe the consequences are as dire as that, otherwise you would have already suffered hallucinations. Glimpses of the past, the future, things that could have happened, but didn’t.” Just like I’d seen in the days leading up to Future Harry’s arrival. “The energies building inside your physical body only indicate the timeline’s resistance to your presence. Much like your immune system fighting off an infection. Two of you don’t belong here.”

She did have a vested interest in our well-being, or at least the physical body we currently shared. If it died, she would also die. Not Lasciel, the Fallen bound to the coin, but Lasciel’s shadow, an independent sliver cut from the whole who could rejoin Lasciel only if we took up her coin.

And as I had discovered over the years living with her in my head, she had a strong sense of self-preservation.

“Not the most glowing of recommendations,” Future Harry said dryly.

“Where the hell have you been all day, anyway? He -“ I hooked a thumb at Alt-Harry “- decided to show up at Lara’s office. But not you.”

Future Harry glowered. “None of your damn business.”

Alt-Harry cupped a hand around his ear. “What? What did you say? It couldn’t possibly be that your whereabouts don’t concern us.”

“That brings up a good point,” I said, cutting off Future Harry’s reply. Or not-reply, as he didn’t seem inclined to respond. “How far can you move away from our physical body? If I waited outside the precinct, could one of you reach S.I. and listen in on conversations? Not that I’m advocating it,” I added hastily. “I’m just curious. I assume there has to be some sort of distance limitation.”

My alter-ego looked thoughtful, eyes flicking between the others. “We should test that out. Could come in handy.” Then he looked at Future Harry. “You’re avoiding Murphy.”

“No!” he replied. “I mean, yes, it hurts to see her again, but not as much as it’s hurting you.” He looked at me. “For you, it’s only been a year. For me, it’s been a decade and change. It never gets easy, but it does get easier. Isn’t that what you told Maggie?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Mostly… it’s because of Lara. She died saving me, and… it’s only been a few weeks.” His voice was raw with pain, and it resonated inside me because I’d felt that same pain, intimately, several times over. “So forgive me,” he continued, spitting out bitter words, “if I can’t be around a living, breathing past version of her right now.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry. You’re the one that has to deal with this world. You don’t have the luxury to hide from your pain.”

Alt-Harry tilted his head up, staring into the darkness above us. “Speaking of, think this meeting’s adjourned.”

I followed his gaze. “What do you mean? There’s nothing there.”

Two luminous emerald orbs appeared, a pair of colossal eyes with slitted pupils staring down at us. Their cold malevolence washed over me in a wave of gooseflesh and terror.

“Um… guys? Anyone else see that?”

I woke up in the wrong underwear. Well, I mean they were my underwear (which I was extremely thankful for), but they were definitely not the underwear I had on when I passed out on the couch. These were my pair of cotton boxers featuring images of Goofy’s head patterned on a navy background. Susan bought them for me as a joke, and I remember after she left, I couldn’t bear to wear them or to throw them out. I buried them in my drawer instead.

Mouse came over, tags jingling, as I slowly sat up. He wore an expression of doggy worry, and nudged my hand with his nose. I obliged and scratched behind his ears, taking stock of my injuries. “I’m all right, boy.” I was somewhat surprised to find I was speaking the truth. My back ached, of course, small areas of throbbing pain reminding me where each bullet hit, but it was no longer a chorus of screaming agony.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Thomas moved into the light, bearing an equally worried expression.

“Susan got me these,” I said, gesturing to my boxers.

Thomas’ eyes grew wide. “Shit, sorry. I’ll get you another pair.”

“No, it’s fine.” Thomas, halfway to the bedroom, stopped in his tracks. “What I would like to know is why I’m wearing them, instead of the ones I had on earlier and don’t remember taking off.”

“There was, ah… an accident,” he replied. “After you got home. I had to clean you up.”

A flush crept up my cheeks, and I decided less information was better. I remembered nothing after stumbling over my threshold with Murphy and Thomas helping me to the couch. “Oh. Thanks.” But as I stared at him, fragments came back to me. Fingers caressing my skin in sensuous patterns, pain replaced by pleasure. My face grew hot with realization. The underwear change wasn’t because my bladder decided to misbehave.

Thomas watched me carefully. “I don’t want things to be weird between us,” he said, standing to one side so I could see his profile in the firelight. Though he hid it well, I recognized the pain in his eyes, and the fear I would reject him.

“No, it’s fine. We’re fine,” I said hastily. Too hastily, because yes, it did make my skin crawl knowing my own brother had brought me to the brink of pleasure, then pushed me over without a second thought. And all it required was his hands on my back. The price of being an incubus, I suppose. But I also knew he’d done it to help me, in a way only he could.

Thomas flinched and turned away. “Won’t happen again.”

I stood, wobbled on my feet and nearly fell. Thomas managed to catch me and ease me back to the couch. “Okay, yes, it’s weird, and truthfully creeping me out a little. Thomas, wait.” I caught his arm before he could walk away, and looked him in the eyes. As we’d already shared a soulgaze, all I saw was storm cloud gray flecked with silver. “Thank you,” I said softly. “You are my brother, and nothing you do will change that. All right? I love you, man, and nothing you do will change that, either.”

He nodded, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought I saw the shimmer of tears he quickly blinked away. It was replaced by a smirk a few seconds later. “This isn’t going to be a gay thing, is it?”

I frowned. “What gay thing?”

“Where this turns into an incestuous rom-com now that you’ve declared your undying love for me?”

I tossed a pillow at him. “Jerk.”

His smirk widened as he caught it and threw it back to me, with less strength than he usually employed. Then his expression softened. “You hungry? How’s the pain?”

“Yes, and manageable. Sore, stiff and achy, but what you did is helping.” I stretched my arms over my head carefully, then to either side. “Think my ribs got the worst of it, though the burning in my chest hasn’t returned.”

Thomas went into the kitchen, returning with two pills and a glass of water. “For the pain. Stronger than ibuprofen, but they won’t put you to sleep. Even though you could use another four hours at least.”

I swallowed them with the water, handed the glass back. “What time is it?”

“Not quite two. You were out less than two hours.”

I rubbed my eyes. “That’s all? Felt like a lot longer.” And not nearly enough, my body told me in no uncertain terms, but I couldn’t waste any more time. I had to call Murphy and track down whatever broke into Lara’s server room, and that was safer for me to do by daylight. Especially if the Red Court was involved.

Thomas rummaged in the icebox, tossing a package he pulled out onto the counter. “Up for hamburgers?”

“Since when do we have hamburger?” I hadn’t remembered seeing it in the icebox earlier when I’d grabbed a soda.

“Since I went out to pick up your car. It’s still a mess outside the station, but the visitor’s lot was open. Stopped by the supermarket on the way back, got a few things.” Thomas looked down at Mouse, who’d immediately gone to sit at his side at the magic word “hamburger.” He chuckled and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Yes, I think I can even make one for you.”

A quick glance towards the front door confirmed my staff was in its usual place, sitting in the umbrella holder. My backpack was next to it on the floor. “Thanks. And yeah, I’d love a burger.” I rose, this time slower than before, and though my legs felt a little shaky, I remained upright. “I need to shower. Mouse, make sure Thomas doesn’t burn anything.”

Mouse woofed softly, then turned his attention back to my brother, who was busy shaping patties and dropping them into a cast iron skillet. A set of eyes opened high on the bookshelf, reflecting light through slitted lids. Mister, in his favorite spot. It made me smile.

I lit the candles in the bathroom with a word and wave of my hand, stripped off my boxers and stepped in the shower, turning on the water as I braced myself. The water stung my skin with needles of ice, though dunking my head under the stream did help lessen the pain and pressure across my scalp.

“I can provide you hot water for your shower, my host,” Lasciel said. I bit down on a startled yelp at her sudden appearance, even if I couldn’t see her because of the shower curtain. I considered myself lucky she hadn’t appeared in the shower with me; that would’ve been awkward.

“No thanks,” I replied, reaching for the shampoo. Unlike Murphy’s, mine was cheap and smelled only of soap. “What you offer is merely the illusion of warmth, and I’d rather keep my head clear.” I worked the shampoo through my hair, making sure I thoroughly cleaned the stiff clumps of dried blood.

She drew back the curtain. With shampoo in my eyes I couldn’t see her, but fingers gently traced over my exposed flesh from shoulder to elbow. Lash wasn’t actually here; she was a master manipulator, an expert at sensory illusions, and I only believed she was here thanks to her Jedi mind tricks. Sith mind tricks would be more accurate.

I tried to ignore her, but when a beautiful woman touches you in a way that could be construed as intimate (even if it’s just your arm), it might cause your body to react. And react I did, despite the icy water sluicing over me.

“Stop,” I ordered her, wiping the soap from my eyes.

Her hand withdrew, and she stared back at me without apology. “Of course, my host.”

I turned my back to the stream, hissing as it made each bruise throb. But it also quickly numbed them, and I sighed in relief even as I kept shivering.

“I only want to help you,” Lasciel said, stepping into the shower with me. She clearly altered my spatial awareness, because I knew from experience the stall was not big enough for two people, not when one was my size. “Why deny yourself small pleasures such as this?” She waved her hand towards the water. “It costs you nothing to accept.”

“Hah,” I barked. “Slippery slope. Start small, get me thinking, ‘Why not?’ when you ask. Gradually your offers become more attractive, and soon I’m thinking, ‘Why not pick up the coin? What’s the harm?’ Not going to happen. Ever.” I chose to forget all the times I asked Lash to make my mind believe I was standing under a hot shower in winter simply because I was tired of being cold. But I paid for it afterwards, my half-frozen body suffering from hypothermia and shivering as I’d stayed in the water too long.

“Would that be so bad?” she countered, her dark eyes looking up at me through thick lashes. “I am offering you a partnership, one beneficial to us both. Our relationship would not be one-sided as you have seen with some of my brethren, those who enjoy breaking their hosts’ minds. I could -“

“He said no,” Future Harry snarled, throwing her from the shower.

I blinked. “Where’s the kaboom? There was supposed to be an Earth-shattering kaboom.” I shut off the water and pushed the curtain aside, but I was alone in the flickering candlelight. “No one appreciates the classics.” My teeth chattering, I dried off and spent a few minutes shaving. The stubble on my chin was beginning to itch.

I picked out clean clothes from the closet, dressed, and was met with the odor of woodsmoke and charred meat when I opened the bedroom door.

“That smells delicious,” I told Thomas, my stomach growling in agreement. He handed me a paper plate with burger, a handful of potato chips, and a pickle spear.

“Tastes even better. Right Mouse?”

My Temple Dog’s tongue lolled as he panted happily, clearly having sampled a burger already and was looking forward to a second helping.

“I’d offer you a beer,” Thomas said, tucking a cold can of Coke into the crook of my elbow, “but you’re not supposed to drink while on those painkillers. Plus, I’m assuming you need to work since I told Murphy I’d have you call her as soon as you woke up.”

“Yeah, but food first.” I sat on the couch to eat, lifting the bun to verify the appropriate amount of mustard and ketchup had been applied, along with fresh-cut tomato, onion and lettuce, then took a large bite. And moaned in appreciation.

“Keep that up and we might end up in a rom-com after all,” Thomas quipped. I didn’t even spare him a glance as I took another bite.

“Hah, hah,” I mumbled through a mouthful of food.

He prepared two more burgers, one without the bun or fixings for Mouse, and joined me in the living room. We ate in silence; I focused on my food, Thomas on me, though it was only through subtle, oblique glances when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

I set my completely clean plate on the floor, where Mouse proceeded with large swipes of his tongue to make sure it was really, really clean. “All right, what’s going on?”

At least Thomas didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Lara told me what happened at Indigo Digital, and about your visit today with Lieutenant Murphy. She thinks I told you about the Malvoras.”

I groaned. “I’ll tell you what I told her. I’m a P.I. It’s my job to find things out, especially things others don’t want me to find out. I looked into White Court because you won’t discuss ‘vampire matters’ with me.” I put the words in air quotes. “What did you expect me to do, just forget they exist because you won’t talk about them? They’re your family, and you’re mine, you idiot.”

Every word I spoke was the truth, though it had nothing to do with how I learned of the Malvoras.

Thomas’ face, naturally pale, was as white and still as carved marble. He stared at me without blinking, without breathing, for several long seconds. “Oh.” When the word finally came out, it was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. I couldn’t read his expression.

“You’re not the only one who wants to protect his family, Thomas,” I said quietly, then gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ll have you know I’m a wizard of the White Council.”

That got him to snort, and his face relaxed into its usual smirk. “She also sent me something to show you. Be right back.”

He went into the bedroom, returning with his laptop. He mostly didn’t use it, not willing to risk me hexing it into a useless pile of electronics. “Try your best to keep your wizard powers to yourself,” he said, sitting next to me and turning the laptop so I could see the screen easily. I rarely saw a working computer, and then typically for only a few seconds before I shorted out the circuitry.

I did my best to breathe slowly, keep my emotions in check, but that became difficult once I saw the image on the screen. It was me, in black and white, and I recognized the background. This was from the surveillance video inside the server room. “Watch.” Thomas hit a key and the video played in real time, without sound. My double wandered through the room, rows of racks filled with equipment, until he was roughly in the middle. Then he closed his eyes and raised his right hand. The runes on the staff began to glow, and it was from this piece of footage that Murph’s photo came from.

His lips formed a word, and a wave of invisible energy flowed out in every direction. Equipment exploded in showers of sparks and black smoke. Several racks caught on fire. Several more at the ends of rows tipped over, sending broken glass and plastic spilling over the floor.

“Wait, go back.” I resisted the urge to move my hand closer to the screen, to point at my double’s face. Thomas did, skipping back second by second. “There.” He let it play out, and I could clearly read the man’s lips.

Hexus, he’d said.

So not only did he look like me, have the same runes carved into his staff, but he knew my spells. Or at least the words I used with them. It’s not like they were a big secret; words were only there to help a wizard’s focus. They (usually) weren’t required as part of the spell, and certainly not required for this one.

“Play that part one more time?” I asked Thomas. He did, and I studied how the energy of his spell interacted with the equipment in that room. My Sight wouldn’t work on a video recording, so trying to see the energy currents - or even inside my double’s essence - was futile. But there was something off about his spell, almost as if he wasn’t using wizard magic to create it. Intuition told me that much, but little else.

“I don’t think he’s a wizard,” I said, frowning at the frozen image on the screen. Then the laptop screeched horribly like a wounded animal, its screen dissolving into roving bands of green before going completely black.

“Dammit!” Thomas swore, hastily setting the laptop on the hearth where it began to sputter and smoke. “Third one this year,” he said with a sigh. “Lara’s going to kill me.”

“We could roast marshmallows,” I offered. He shot me a glare. “Hey, don’t blame me, I did my best. It lasted three minutes, and that’s a new a record for me.” We both watched the laptop’s last moments, until the popping inside its case quieted.

“Why do you say he’s not a wizard?” Thomas asked, examining its charred remains. He poked a finger at it a few times, but it failed to respond.

“Something about the way his magic behaves. He went through all the right motions, even used the same word for his spell that I do. But…” I sighed and leaned back gingerly against the cushions. “The magic’s not the same. Not Fae, but not wizard either.”

Thomas picked up the broken laptop. “Gonna go toss this.” As the outside trash bins were ten steps from my front door, he reappeared as quickly as he disappeared, running fingers through his hair. “Rain’s getting worse.” He flopped down on the recliner. “Can I ask you something?”

“Nothing good ever comes of asking if you can ask a question, Thomas,” I said. “Just ask.”

“Were you talking to yourself in the bathroom?”

Oh. Of course he heard me. His preternatural senses allowed him to hear individual heartbeats a few blocks away. Me talking in the bathroom, behind a closed door and with the water running, presented no challenge for him.

I made a snap decision. I’d never told Thomas the whole story, even after I had returned Lasciel’s coin to the church. I should have. If anyone understood temptation of their darker nature, it was my brother.

“No. Lasciel.”

Thomas frowned. “Who?”

I peeled off my glove and held my palm up, indicating the roughly circular patch of unscarred flesh in the center. Unscarred, but not unmarked. “This is the symbol for Lasciel, one of the Denarians, fallen angels bound to thirty silver coins. Nicodemus tossed hers in front of me two years ago. I picked it up just before Michael’s son did.”

He blinked at me, then squinted, as if trying to see through my skin to the soul inside. “You’re… possessed by this Fallen?”

“No. Haunted would be a better way to describe it.” I told him an abbreviated story of Nicodemus and the Denarians, the shadow of Lasciel I had living in my head, and her coin buried beneath the summoning circle in my lab. “She has the ability to manifest, but only to me. It’s a trick of the mind, allowing me to see and hear her as if she was physically in the room with me.” I grimaced. “She tried to join me in the shower just now.”

Thomas’ face had turned into a mask as I told my story, and he lifted a single eyebrow. “Is she hot?”

I rolled my eyes. “I tell you have a demon living in my head and that’s what you think to ask me about?”

“Vampire.”

I snorted. “Touché. She can appear as anyone.”

He gave me an oblique look. “Aren’t you… tempted?”

“Of course I’m tempted. Lasciel offers more power and knowledge that I could ever hope to gain as a wizard. Yet it comes at a price, and I’m not willing to pay it.”

“Someday you might be,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“Someday I might,” I acknowledged. I almost had, in my quest to save Maggie. If Mab hadn’t accepted my offer as Winter Knight, Nicodemus had been next on my speed dial. “But not today. It still raining out?”

Thomas tilted his head, listening for a moment. “Yeah. Heavier than before.”

I sighed and got to my feet, heading to the front door. “Can’t draw a chalk circle in the rain. Guess I do this downstairs.”

“Do what downstairs?”

I held up the evidence bag I pulled from my duster’s inner pocket. “Tracking spell. My lookalike left this behind. Lara said she’d investigate the White Court’s involvement with the drive-by downtown. Will she?”

“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “It drew a lot of unwelcome attention and went against her strict ‘do not involve the mortal authorities in our business’ policy she put in place after taking over for dear old Dad.” If I hadn’t known him as well as I did, I never would have noticed the slight sneer his lips curved into.

“So. She works that angle, I work this one. When I’m done, I’ll call Murph.”

“Murph, is it?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up.” Thomas pulled back the rugs and opened the trap door to my lab while I grabbed my staff. “Mind taking Mouse out for a walk while I work?”

He grimaced. “In the rain?” Mouse grabbed his leash where it hung by the door and trotted back to him, sitting politely at his feet.

“A little cold won’t bother either of you. And I just showered.”

Mouse’s tail thumped as Thomas regarded him. Thomas threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. Come on, Mouse.” He took the leash from Mouse’s mouth and clipped it to his collar. “If I catch pneumonia, it’ll be your fault.”

“That’d be a neat trick,” I called back as he opened the front door, “since you never get sick.”

“Hmph.” The front door closed, and I descended into the subbasement, lighting candles as I did. I ignored Bob, who appeared to be asleep. I didn’t need his help for my spell, and didn’t need the distraction. Instead, I went straight to the far shelf, sorting through containers and boxes.

It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for, a battered brass compass stuffed inside a cardboard box with two others, and brought it with me into the copper circle embedded in the floor. As I stood there a moment, I imagined something stirring beneath my feet. Lasciel, the Fallen angel, trapped inside a blackened silver coin some two feet below me. I wondered if she could sense my presence.

Focus, Harry.

I sat down cross-legged on the cold concrete, touched my finger to the copper, and pushed a small amount of will into it to close the circle. It snapped shut with a slight change in pressure, the trapped energy humming over my skin.

Removing the strands of hair from the plastic bag, I held them in place on top of the compass with my thumb. I crafted the spell in my mind, the simple tracking spell I’d done countless times before. “Interessari, interressarium,” I murmured, releasing the power and will I’d woven into the spell. Tiny silver motes of energy flowed out from my fingertips, over the strands of hair, and into the compass. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Then the needle spun violently, responding to the proximity of the hair I still pressed to its surface.

Careful to return every strand to the evidence bag, I swiped my hand over the copper ring. The circle broke, trapped energy rushing out with a slight pop, and I watched the compass needle anxiously. Its spinning slowed, rocked back and forth, then stopped. It pointed to the southeast of my apartment, a vast area that included almost the entire city.

But it had worked.

I’d have to keep the compass out of the rain to prevent it from nullifying the magic, but it gave Murphy and I until dawn tomorrow to find whoever - or whatever - was wearing my face. Putting out the candles, I climbed up and closed the door, covering it with several rugs. Though it was partially to hide the fact it was there, it also prevented me from tripping over it in the dark.

Mouse and Thomas were still out on their walk, though Mister remained on the bookcase. When he saw me emerge, he jumped down and rammed his shoulder into my shin in greeting, then demanded food loudly and insistently. I fed him (using canned food, as the hamburger Thomas cooked seemed of little interest to him), then reached for the phone.

“Harry,” Murphy answered. “How are you feeling?”

“Better after the nap, shower and food. Tracking spell worked. How soon can you be here?”

There was a pause, then the slight click of a door closing. “An hour, hopefully less. It’s still a mess at the station. Camera footage caught the car. Stolen, of course. Patrol found it torched in an alley in Archer Heights, behind a manufacturing plant. Doubt the techs will find anything inside.” Her voice vibrated with cold, controlled rage.

“You eat anything yet?”

The question caught her by surprise. “I, uh… no. Been too busy.”

“You should.”

“Bossy much?” she asked with a snort, and I pictured her cute nose wrinkling. My heart turned over in my chest at the image.

“I just worry about you, Murph,” I said, mouth moving before brain could approve the words. I added a smile into my voice as I continued, trying to turn it into a joke. “Can’t have you passing out from low blood sugar just as we’re taking down a nasty Fae. It’ll decide to take a bite out of me instead.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. Need me to bring anything?”

I thought a moment. “Steel-jacketed ammunition. If we’re after Fae, every advantage will help.”

“I have two magazines already loaded and ready to go. See you in an hour. And Harry?”

I halted my motion to hang up the phone and pressed the receiver back to my ear. “Yeah?”

She drew in a slight breath, and her voice held a softer edge “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Me, too, Murph.”

“Dammit, Dresden, couldn’t you have used something that provided directions?” Murphy growled, taking a right turn hard enough it nearly threw me into her lap. While I wouldn’t have minded so much, I preferred not to crash into the streetlight, and grabbed for the door. The bruises covering my back were unhappy with the muscle strain, and protested their mistreatment.

“I did. It’s a compass.”

She grumbled words under her breath, ending with, “smartass wizards.”

I hid a smile. “Another right.”

My compass led us to a shabby one-story motel just south of the interstate. I had Murph circle the block once just to be sure, and the needle kept pointing directly at the building.

“Not what you expected?” she asked, pulling slowly into the lot.

“I figured it’d be holed up in an abandoned building, or a warehouse, or even Undertown. Not… this.” I waved my hand towards the motel. “Not hiding in plain sight.”

The darker side of the supernatural in Chicago preferred Undertown, a network of tunnels and buried buildings beneath its city streets that had once been used for the Manhattan Project, before someone decided the smart thing was to move atomic bomb research far away from a densely populated metro area. And before that, they were primarily used for bootlegging. Nowadays, you wanted to find something revolting and nasty, something that abhorred sunlight and preyed on the weak in the depths of night? You went to Undertown.

Murphy nodded. “Meaning he’s not attracting attention. No foul odors, no dead bodies littering the pavement, no changing forms into a hideous monster. At least not where the public can witness it, otherwise we would’ve gotten a few calls, even in this neighborhood.” She gave me a quick glance. “Is that good or bad for us?”

“He might think twice about starting anything the cops will show up for.” I held up the compass in my hand, watching the needle slowly swing to the left. “There, that one. Room six.” Its curtain was drawn, making it impossible to tell if someone was inside the room or not.

Murphy continued to the end of the lot, a small section of asphalt with additional parking beyond the motel’s footprint. She backed in, then shut off the engine. We had a clear view of the door through the windshield.

“How do you want to play this?” she asked, checking her weapon before sliding it back into her shoulder holster and tugging the jacket in place.

“This is your case, Murph. You’re the cop, not me.” She gave me a sideways glare. “You know what my normal approach is. Had this led us somewhere isolated and abandoned…” I spread my hands. “I’d do what I do best.”

She arched a brow. “Burn it to the ground?”

I snorted. “See, you do know me.”

Her eyes flicked around, studying the scene for a few seconds. Then she nodded. “I’ll identify myself, see if I can get him to open the door. I expect once he sees you, he’ll either give up, attempt to run, or get violent. Didn’t look like the rooms have a back window, so if he does run, he’ll come straight at us. Stay to my right so you’re out of my line of fire. Let’s go.”

I extracted my staff from the back seat and shook out my shield bracelet, mentally drawing power and preparing the shield spell. I’d have very little time to cast it should we need it.

I walked behind Murphy down the length of the building, following its narrow sidewalk past the other rooms until we reached number six. The window was on the side opposite me, so even if he glanced through the curtain before opening the door, he wouldn’t be able to see me from that angle.

Murphy knocked on the dingy white door, one hand not quite resting on her gun. “Chicago P.D., we’d like to ask you a few questions.” There was movement inside, a soft thump that could have been anything. She knocked a second time. “Hello? Chicago P.D.”

The door opened a crack, then a little wider, revealing an identical copy of Harry Dresden. His eyes widened as he recognized Murphy, then blinked in shock when they landed on me. We stared at each other for several seconds.

“Hell’s bells,” we said at the same time, with exactly the same inflection. And for a split second, my double’s eyes flashed a bright yellow.

My stomach dropped to my feet. I knew what - who - he was. “Goodman Grey?”

I’d clearly surprised him. “How did you…” He trailed off, staring a moment longer, then let out a sigh and pulled the door all the way open. “Might as well come in.”

Murphy, hand still hovering near her gun, shot me a look. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t want to explain what Grey was while standing on the sidewalk. I went inside, figuring if Grey wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead.

He closed the door, then dropped his Harry Dresden visage, taking up what I believed was his actual appearance, or something close to it. A man in his late thirties, average height, solid build, medium complexion, brown hair threaded through with a few strands of gray. The only notable feature were his eyes, golden brown flecked with bronze carrying a slight metallic sheen when viewed in the right light. Eyes that weren’t human.

“What the hell are you?” Murphy exclaimed, watching Grey’s transformation. It was rather impressive, happening in the space of a single heartbeat. One moment Harry, the next, Goodman Grey wearing Harry’s clothes, which were a poor fit on the much shorter man.

“Scion of a naagloshii,” I replied, quickly scanning the room. Standard cheap motel, nothing stood out, nothing conveniently posted to the wall that said “My Employer” in red marker. “A Native American skinwalker, a demigod of sorts. I’ve been told they can’t procreate, and yet here you are.”

His expression turned decidedly flinty. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Who hired you to break into Indigo Digital, Mr. Grey?” Murph asked, her cop face back in place.

Grey looked down at her, then broke into a wide grin and turned on the charm. “Not many would hire someone who turned on their previous employer, Lieutenant Murphy,” he drawled. He seemed to think affecting a Southern accent made him sound trustworthy.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care. You were paid to destroy their server room, to look like Mr. Dresden while you did it, and to provide the cameras a nice, clear view. I want a name.”

“Darling, you can ask all you want, but I’m not giving you one.” Then Grey made a mistake. Well, he’d already made one mistake, calling Murphy “darling.” The second mistake was patting her shoulder in a condescending manner. Putting a hand on her at all was a mistake, but treating her as inferior?

She grabbed him, forcing him to his knees in seconds. Grey yelped in pain as his arm was extended and locked in a tight hold. “I am not a child, Mr. Grey. I am a member of the Chicago Police Department, and I could arrest you for assaulting an officer. Now, would you like to have a civil discussion here, or would you like me to take you down to the station in handcuffs?”

While Murphy could take care of herself, and I’d bet on her every time when going up against a wide swath of nasties, Grey’s shapeshifting ability wasn’t something she could easily counter. A rampaging T. Rex wouldn’t be stopped by aikido, or even by using every bullet in her gun. An introduction to nine hundred pounds of Bengal tiger wouldn’t be much fun, either.

I made an effort of will, gathering power, shorting out the television in an explosion of plastic as I raised my right hand, palm up, and spoke a word. “Infusiarus.” A molten sphere of crimson flame (bolstered by hellfire, courtesy of Lasciel) shimmered into existence, heat radiating from its surface. I pushed it towards Grey’s face, letting it hover a few inches from his cheek. The scent of brimstone grew thick, making my nose itch. “You should really listen to her.”

I had no idea how much of the naagloshii’s power Grey actually had, as I’d never gone up against him in a fight. He had access to some magic, evident by the server room’s destruction. Could he shrug off wizard spells as effectively as his father? I was gambling on the answer being “no.” But I knew he was dangerous. Very dangerous.

And you never let the truly dangerous things see your fear.

He also didn’t want to attract attention, as shown by his choice of motel. I was also gambling he’d want to keep this low-key, which a fight between a wizard, a cop and a shapeshifter wouldn’t be. Hell, we’d be lucky if the building remained standing.

“All right, all right!” Grey growled. I released my spell and Murphy relaxed her grip, stepping back and out of his reach before he had a chance to get up. He glowered at me as he stood, rubbing his shoulder. “He didn’t tell me you’d bring Blondie.“

Murphy’s posture stiffened at the comment, exchanging a glance with me.

“Who didn’t tell you?” I asked.

”That bastard Vadderung.”

Chapter Text

“Vadderung? Vadderung hired you?” I asked, confused. We weren’t friends. We were barely friendly acquaintances. But Donar Vadderung had helped me out a few times when no one else would. He’d told me where my daughter would be, and later showed up to save her life (and mine). I owed him more than I could ever pay back in a lifetime, even though he’d offered up the information - and the assistance - without obligation.

That bought a lot of good will in my ledger.

So why set me up in a scheme of his own creation? The timing was suspicious, though I was a suspicious person by nature. Comes with the job, and from having an upbringing such as mine. Less than two days before I get dragged ten years into my past and dumped into Harry’s body? Something was rotten in Denmark. Might be a Dane.

Grey frowned. “Normally I wouldn’t be telling you this,” he replied, dropping the Southern accent in favor of a bland midwestern one, “but Vadderung said if you managed to locate me, then I was to confess his role in it. How did you find me?”

“Ran a tracking spell on hair left at the scene,” I replied, and he scowled.

“Did you see the destruction? That’s not possible,” he grumbled.

Murphy smiled at him. “My techs are just that good. Under the floor tiles, near the entry. Wasn’t a lot of damage to that part of the room.”

Grey let out a loud breath. “Explains why he contracted me for the week. If I had slipped out of the disguise, the hair wouldn’t have worked to track me down.”

My eye caught on his staff, leaning in a corner next to the bed. When I picked it up, it felt wrong. Same dimensions, same runes, but carved from different oak. The weight and balance were off, the color a lighter hue that hadn’t been evident in the black and white images. And this staff wasn’t imbued with wizard magic.

Wizards - usually - couldn’t use a staff carved and imbued by someone else. Every wizard has their own way of crafting spells, of drawing energies in, their own complex mental process that allows them to create magic in the first place. Because Ebenezar McCoy taught me how to shape and carve a staff, how to create the runes and imbue it with power, I’d been able to use his temporarily after mine was destroyed. But that was a rare case.

“This is a fake,” I said, twirling it in my hand a few times, then thunked it on the floor and looked at Grey. “He provided you my blood, didn’t he?” When he gave me a dirty look but didn’t respond, I prodded, “it’s the only way you’d be able to get the runes that accurate. You’d have to be so deep in my head that you would think like I do.”

Murphy cleared her throat. “That’s possible?”

Grey huffed out a breath and narrowed his eyes at me. “Yeah, it’s possible. Though I’d like to know how you know that.”

“Wizard,” I said with a shrug. It was a good, generic answer that most of the time worked. “I’d like to know how he got my blood. It’s not something I leave lying around.”

“I was contracted for a job,” Grey said. “Not to ask questions.”

“But you clearly know who I am. And you didn’t wonder why Vadderung wanted you to assume my likeness before destroying the server room?”

Grey sat on the bed, still massaging his shoulder. A sudden loud pop made him wince, then he let out a breath of relief. “As I said, not my place to ask questions. You’d have to ask Vadderung.”

“Then call him and set up a meeting,” Murphy snapped, clearly out of patience.

“He’s not in Chicago. You want to talk, try his office.”

My eyebrows shot up. “He told you to send me to his office?”

Grey shrugged nonchalantly. “He didn’t tell me not to send you there. You planning on arresting me, darling?” he asked Murphy.

Her scowl returned. “Thinking about it.”

“For what? From what I understand, Harry Dresden was caught on camera destroying Indigo Digital’s office. Goodman Grey had nothing to do with it.” His smug smile was enough that I wanted to punch him in the face. I could only imagine how much willpower it took Murph not to do the same, but I did notice her hands twitch slightly.

“I could inform Lara Raith of new developments in the investigation,” she replied, her jaw tight. “Let her deal with you as she sees fit.” It was a hollow threat, but Grey didn’t know that. She’d never compromise her beliefs in law and order to let a vigilante have free reign, though it’d been a long road and a number of hard lessons to convince her that when the supernatural world is involved, sometimes you only get the illusion of justice. Sometimes not even that.

Grey barked a laugh. “You think I’m scared of the little vampire queen who can’t fill her daddy’s shoes? She comes after me, it’ll be the last thing she does. Tell her if it makes you feel better. But if you’re not going to arrest me, then you need to leave. The job’s done, and I’m planning on treating myself to a steak dinner.” At least he’d refrained from calling Lara a whore. Murphy took general exception to the word, regardless of who it was applied to.

The muscles in her jaw jumped a few times before she spoke. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Grey.” Then she marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Anger issues, that one,” Grey said, smirking. “I appreciate a woman with fire.”

I knew he was trying to get a rise from me, but that didn’t stop the red hot rage from bubbling up. I loomed over the man, my staff spitting crimson and the stench of hellfire. “You touch her, you even think of touching her, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

He opened his mouth, probably to reply with an equally suitable threat. But his gaze caught on my staff, and he closed it again as he eyed me with a far warier expression than before. Likely he’d had previous encounters with Denarians, and recognized what the smell of sulfur indicated.

“Understood, wizard.” It wasn’t capitulation, merely acknowledgment. But it was enough.

I joined Murphy outside. She was pacing next to her car, hands clenched into fists. “Get in,” she snapped as I approached, eyes flashing with anger. She waited until we were both inside the car to vent. “Dammit! He’s right. I can’t arrest him, because I can’t prove it was him and not you. And I’m going to assume human isn’t all he can shapeshift into.”

I shook my head. “Anything you can think of. Loup garou. Dragon. Terminator.”

She gave me the side eye. “Terminators are robots.”

“Cybernetic organisms,” I corrected haughtily.

She stared for a few more seconds, then burst out laughing. “I can see the Midwestern Arcane’s headline now. ‘Man from the future arrested for company’s destruction.’”

I blinked at her. She’d managed to come very close to the truth without even trying. It was impressive, and rather scary.

Murphy sighed, her anger spent. “What’s the deal with Vadderung? Who is he?”

“Donar Vadderung, CEO of Monoc Securities,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “But in other circles he’s known as Odin the All-Father.”

“Odin? As in the Odin? The Norse god of war?”

“So it would seem.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Just when I think I have a handle on this supernatural shit, you casually mention that you’re friends with Odin.”

“We’re not friends. I’ve met him a few times, and he’s helped me out on occasion, that’s all,” I replied irritably.

Murphy started her car. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but… I guess our next step is to talk to a Norse god. So… Monoc Securities is what? Valhalla?”

I stared at her a moment. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but… the lower levels, yeah. The mortal world’s version of it, at least. It’s actually an office building somewhere in Oslo.”

Her mouth fell open. “Norway? How the hell are we going to get to Norway? You said it’s too risky for you to fly.”

I grinned. “We’re going to walk.”

After a quick stop at Murphy’s house for a winter-appropriate coat, we drove to the zoo. As we got out of her car, Murphy donned a white puffy down jacket that covered her to her knees. She looked adorable, and bore an uncanny resemblance to the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

“Not a word,” she cautioned, poking at my chest. “You said to dress warmly, and this is the warmest jacket I own. No laughing, and absolutely no Ghostbusters jokes.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Hadn’t considered any.” Which was absolutely not true, but I filed the joke away for later use. Still, the image she presented made my mind drift to other things. Cold nights, a roaring fireplace, thick blankets, hot chocolate, and a slow, delicious exploration of bodies. Starting with what was under that coat. For a few breaths, I thought I was having a heart attack, the pain in my chest was that unbearable. So many things I’d wanted to do with her, things I thought we’d have time for. Romance, and candlelight, and sex that wasn’t a series of awkward contortions on the couch (even if that experiment ended magnificently).

She frowned at me. “You all right? Your face is flushed. Back hurting again?”

“A little. I’ll manage.” It wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the reason, either. You’re sounding more like a Fae all the time. I shook off the thought. “Come on.”

The entrance to the Way we needed was in a small stand of trees just north of the zoo, and this late into October, most branches were bare. Our shoes squelched through piles of wet, dead leaves as we walked, but at least the rain had stopped. I followed the energy currents, stopping several feet in front of a large oak tree where the ground was littered with acorns.

“The Way is here,” I told Murphy, pulling my left glove off with my teeth and extending my hand towards it.

She looked around. “Here? In the middle of a park? What if a jogger runs right through it?”

“Nothing happens. It takes a concentrated effort of focused will and power to rip open the fabric of our world, and it takes a lot of study and practice to create a stable entrance large enough to use. A few of the more sensitive folks might notice a temperate drop, or shiver involuntarily for no reason, but to most it’s just another patch of grass.” I toed the leaves with my boot. “Well, piles of fallen leaves and dead grass at the moment.”

Murphy cautiously extended her hand close to mine, slowly waving it back and forth through the air. “Guess I’m not one of the more sensitive folks,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t feel anything.”

I moved behind her, gently grasped her left wrist with the barely twitching fingers of my burned hand, and lifted her arm. “Here, use your left hand and spread your fingers. The left is for drawing energy into your body, and for defensive magic. The right is for pushing energy out.” I extended my senses and moved Murphy’s hand into the swirl of energies that indicated the thinning of reality.

“That’s why you use your right hand for most of your spells,” she said, as if putting a troublesome puzzle piece into place. “I mean I’ve noticed, but never thought there was a particular reason for it other than being right-handed.” Then she sighed, leaning ever so slightly against me. God, it felt good. She felt good. I wanted to mold myself around her. “Still nothing. Appears I’m a failure as a wizard.”

I released her hand and stepped back before she became aware of my body’s reaction to the proximity of hers. “Lots of people have a whisper of magic inside, but it usually manifests in ways you’d never expect. For cops, it tends to fuel that ‘cop intuition’ you pick up after you’ve been on the job for any length of time. Where you can walk into a crime scene and just know how it played out. How you believe the victim’s death was murder and not accidental, even when the evidence is telling you a different story.”

Murph turned around and stared up at me, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I’ve had a few cases like that. You’re saying it’s magic?”

I shrugged. “You’re sensing the energies around you, but your body doesn’t know what to do with the information. Your mind translates it into something you can understand.”

She gave me an oblique look. “I can’t decide whether to be impressed or irritated.”

“Why not both?” The comment managed to garner a fleeting smile. “All right, stand back,” I cautioned her, and she took a few steps away as I gathered will and focus. “Aparturum,” I said, slashing the air with my staff. A faint shimmer appeared, like one created by heat rising in the desert, causing the trees directly behind it to blur and waver.

Murphy stared, started to reach out her hand, then stopped. “You can see through it, but not into it. How do you know what’s on the other side?”

“Experience. Also being prepared for a worst case scenario helps.”

She snorted. “Dresden, always so nonchalant about monsters waiting to disembowel us.”

“It’s a gift.” I gestured to the portal. “But I’ve used this portal before. I know where it leads, which isn’t the bottom of the ocean, or to a pocket of methane gas inside an active volcano.”

Murphy blinked at me. “That’s possible?” she asked after a moment, casting a wary glance back at the portal as if she expected Mothra to emerge.

“The Nevernever contains a lot of very nasty places with very nasty inhabitants. That’s why you should never use a portal when you don’t know what’s on the other side.”

“Have you?”

I made a dismissive noise. “Of course. You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“You big dumb idiot,” she said fondly, smiling up at me.

“Describes most of my life. Ready?” Murphy looked at the portal again and nodded. “All right. I’ll go first, in case I need to toss up a shield.” I felt the slight tingle as I passed through the portal, from the mortal world and into the realm of spirits and monsters.

The landscape was bleak, skeletons of dead trees rising from bare rock. Their bleached white branches reaching for the sky were a sharp contrast to the darkness above. I stepped sideways to give Murphy room, and she stumbled as she came through. I caught her arm before she could fall.

“Thanks. I was expecting… I don’t know, to feel something. But it was just like walking through an open door.” I hadn’t let go, and was staring down at her upturned face. There was enough ambient light to see by, though there was no source for it.

Oh, how I wanted to frame her face with my hands, lean down, and… kiss her.

I saw the moment she became uncomfortable, her cheeks flushing as she dropped her eyes. I let my hand fall away when she stepped back, trying not to let the rejection hurt. Instead, I channeled my emotions into closing the portal, feeling the rift between worlds seal shut.

Murphy looked anywhere but at me. After a handful of seconds, her embarrassment faded, replaced by curiosity. “This is the Nevernever? From your description, I thought we’d end up in the middle of a centaur orgy, or running from giant fire-breathing bats.” She quickly scanned the sky. “There aren’t any giant bats around, are there?”

“Probably somewhere. But we don’t have far to walk, and I’ve never seen any signs of life in these woods.” I turned thirty-eight degrees to my right and began counting out fifty-two steps. I had to shorten my stride to match my memory, from when Sigrun escorted me to Vadderung’s domicile the very first time. As the woods stretched as far as I could see and there were no discernible landmarks, it would be easy to miss the Way back to the mortal realm if I didn’t pay close enough attention.

When I stopped, there was nothing physical to indicate the Way’s presence, but the reality in this small area felt porous, a tissue-thin barrier between worlds that I could almost push my hand against. “We’re here.”

She frowned, glancing back the way we’d come. “Here? We’ve barely gone a few dozen feet, and you’re telling me opening a portal here will take us to a completely different location?”

“Welcome to the magic of the Nevernever. It touches our world, but isn’t an identical copy of it.”

“And you can get anywhere in the world this way?”

“Lots of places, sure.” I touched my pentacle amulet out of habit, but this one was missing my mother’s red gem at the center. No voice spoke in my ear, telling me of the Ways she knew, and a pang of sadness welled up at the silence. It was the only tangible thing I had left of my mother, and hearing her had been a comfort through more dark, lonely hours than I could count.

Murphy’s brow furrowed. “You all right?”

I shook myself free of the dull grief. “Yeah, fine. Let me open the Way.”

We emerged into a dark, snowy landscape.

Murphy drew in a sharp breath at the bitter cold, then tilted her head up. Above us shimmered trails of emerald and violet across a sea of brilliant stars. “Where are we?” she asked in a whisper.

“Iceland,” I replied in kind. “Somewhere in the north, I think.” A low, ominous rumble came from behind us, and when I looked around, I let out a shocked, “Oh.”

Her head swiveled to follow mine. “Oh,” she repeated.

A volcano, close enough to see its outline bathed in fire, belched out bubbling lava and smoke. “That wasn’t active the last time I was here.”

She glanced up at me, her blue eyes catching the faint light. “Is that a problem?”

“No. We don’t have far to walk, and not in that direction. It’s just something you don’t see every day.”

Murphy snorted. “I count that as a win. If an active volcano decides to erupt in downtown Chicago, we’d have a hell of a mess to clean up.”

“True.” I lifted my pentacle amulet, pushed a tiny amount of power and will into it, and murmured a word. It began to glow with a soft blue-white light. I wanted to be able to see the ground, but not be completely blinded by it. “This way.”

We trudged over the snow-covered landscape, leaving tracks behind us in the undisturbed snow. Not that I was worried about anyone following us, but it was a surreal feeling, like being the first people to walk on the moon. Other than the volcano’s incessant rumbling, the night was silent, the air still. My eyes kept wandering up to the sky; with a bit of concentration, the cool power of the stars slid over my cheeks, adding a quiet song of its own that only I could hear.

The valley stretched between two immense mountain ranges, though we followed a path along its lowest point. Probably a riverbed, used when the snow melted in the summer months. If it melted. It was possible this part of Iceland had snow year-round.

“That is beautiful,” Karrin said wistfully, staring up. “I’ve seen pictures, but never thought I’d see the aurora borealis in person. Always too busy for a vacation.”

I pointedly said nothing about her upcoming travel to Hawaii. With Kincaid. But she must’ve had something else on her mind, because the silence stretching between us remained comfortable.

“Why do you think Vadderung tried to set you up?”

Ah, that explains it. She was preoccupied with the case, as I should be. But I found myself studying her profile, trying to memorize every detail, wondering how different my life would have been if I hadn’t been so blind to my feelings for her for so long.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” I replied, shoving my hands into my duster’s pockets. It was cold, and I wasn’t used to being cold. “Who knows why he does anything? I still don’t know why he bothered to help me in the first place.”

She glanced at me. “What did he help you with?”

Oh, crap. I couldn’t very well tell her Vadderung gave me Maggie’s location in time to save her. Hell’s bells, she didn’t even know I had a daughter. Of course, allegedly neither did I. “Well, maybe help is the wrong choice of words. He asked me to meet him last night regarding the misunderstanding Mac and I had, and brought along a wizard of the Senior Council to straighten things out.”

“Oh.” The snow crunched beneath our shoes for a while. “So the matter’s resolved?”

“More or less.” I felt her assessing eyes on me, and met her gaze for a moment. “Enough that Mac’s not going to come after me with a shotgun a second time.”

“Good.”

I veered off the path, climbed twenty paces, then stopped as a faint eddy of energy swirled around me. “This is it. One more trip through the Nevernever. Brace yourself, it’ll be even colder there than here.”

“Anything to worry about?” she asked, looking at the footprints we’d left in the snow.

“Not that I’ve noticed. Just have to cross a frozen lake.” I opened the portal, and its outline could clearly be seen in the frosty air, a doorway seven feet tall and three wide. As before, I went first, my shield bracelet freed from its sleeve and the spell in the forefront of my mind.

The cold was bracing, the cloud-free sky a brilliant blue with the sun high overhead. In every direction stretched an expanse of frozen lake, covered by a layer of snow a few inches deep. A large tree was visible in the distance, branches bare of leaves, the only landmark in sight.

I started walking towards it, Murphy at my side. She shaded her eyes, squinting against the sun. “Is that… Yggdrasil?”

I huffed out a laugh. “You know about Yggdrasil?”

“I read,” she said with a shrug, her breath pluming frost in the air. “After your revelations about what’s really going on with the supernatural, I did a bunch of online research. Which, granted, isn’t always the best place to start, but it was convenient. You said that a lot of myths and legends have basis in fact, so I started with the popular ones. Greek, Norse, Celtic, Egyptian. And that -“ she pointed ahead of us “- looks exactly how I’d imagine the World Tree to look. Is it true Odin hanged himself from it to gain knowledge?”

“I have no idea. Never seemed polite to ask. He does wear an eyepatch, so at least that part of the myth is true.” I tripped over a large branch hidden by snow and nearly fell. “Careful, there’s a branch here.”

She chuckled, stepping over it with ease. “Yeah, you almost falling on your ass warned me of the danger.”

“But I was very graceful about it,” I countered, grinning at her. “I do believe it’s Yggdrasil, or the Nevernever’s version of it, at least. I can’t say that it connects to nine worlds, but the portal it guards definitely connects to Monoc Securities. Don’t think anything lives around here, despite the legends. I got the impression the last time I was here that the tree is deeply asleep, waiting. I assume that’s why its branches are bare.”

I felt her eyes shift to my face. “Impression?”

Murphy always did pick up on the details, because details matter, especially to a cop. “Well, I’ve told you about my wizard’s senses, how I can push them out from my body to draw in the energies around me. I did that with the tree, put my hand on its trunk.”

“It talked to you?” she asked after a moment.

I shook my head. “No, not like that, not in words. It just felt… dormant, only the faintest trickle of life left deep within its roots. But not sick or dying. Merely waiting.”

“For what?”

“Spring, I suppose. Same thing trees in Chicago wait for.” I glanced around the barren, snow-covered, ice-encrusted landscape. “I think it’ll be waiting a long time yet.”

She sniffled, the cold, dry air causing her nose to run. “Wizard intuition?”

“Something like that,” I replied, shooting her a brief smile. “I read somewhere that Yggdrasil will wake only after the destruction of the world. Which could be why it’s here in the Nevernever, so it’ll survive whatever apocalypse comes for the rest of us.”

Murph let out a breath. “Cheery thought.”

If the Outsiders had their way and managed to destroy our universe, I had to assume the Nevernever would likewise fade from existence. Why else would Mab and the Winter Court give everything to protect it? It wasn’t altruism, it was a matter of simple survival.

We walked for a few minutes, Yggdrasil growing ever larger before us. Its massive trunk could easily contain my apartment twice over.

“When we go through the Way, we’ll probably be greeted on the other side by dozens of heavily-armed Einherjaren. So don’t be surprised if we have guns pointed in our faces, but they won’t shoot on sight.” At least… I hope they won’t. This was my first visit to Vadderung’s domain uninvited.

Murphy frowned in thought. “Those are warriors that died in battle and were brought to Valhalla by the valkyries, right?”

And you’re one of them. My heart bled with pain, but I managed to keep a straight face. “Yep.”

“Vadderung uses them as guards?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Isn’t that… overkill?”

“I think that’s kind of the point. It’s his whole business model. He rents them out to whoever can pay his price for their services.”

Her eyes lit with a fire I recognized all too well. “Wonder if I can talk one of them into a practice bout.”

I didn’t bother with objections of how they were all generally twice her size, crazy with bloodlust, and preferred to carry a two-handed double-bladed axe in each hand. And very, very hairy. I’d seen her fight them, in the gym at the Brighter Future Society, and knew she could hold her own. Not that it hadn’t terrified me, watching her in the ring, and it made me want to kill the guy for hurting her. Even if it had just been a practice bout.

“Wait until you see their armory.”

Those blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. Murphy always held an appreciation for the finer things in life, like racks stocked with weapons from every conceivable century. She just didn’t know it yet.

A low keening sent the hairs on the back of my neck crawling.

We both paused mid-step, listening. It came again, this time with directionality. I glanced over my shoulder to find twenty warriors charging across the lake directly at us. Some bore axes, others spears, or two-handed swords. Their armor was tarnished, rusted in spots, and didn’t sufficiently cover what was underneath. And what was underneath was clearly an emaciated corpse, skin pulled taut over its bones, eyes burning with an otherworldly blue fire.

These weren’t zombies. They were something worse.

“Run!” I screamed, bolting for the tree. The lake’s surface, which had been a pleasant hike, turned slick and treacherous. My boots slipped and skidded, trying to gain purchase, and I had to slow considerably.

Murphy wasn’t doing much better. “What are they?” she gasped, gun in hand. She’d had to unzip her jacket to reach it.

“Draugr. Undead warriors,” I panted. “We need to get off the lake.”

Pulling power in the Nevernever is rarely what you expect. Sometimes, it behaves as it would in the mortal world. Sometimes, it decides physics are merely suggestions. And I really didn’t want to try any magic while standing on top of a frozen lake. I could fracture the ice, or melt it completely, and either way it would probably result in a quick death by drowning in the frigid water. But another glance behind me told me we weren’t going to make it to shore before the draugr reached us. The ice hindering our escape provided no obstacle to them.

Dammit, of all the times not to have the benefits of being the Winter Knight.

The only way to kill draugr was by decapitation, then burning the remains. Kinetomancy would do the trick, but it’d take several casts to dispatch the entire horde bearing down on us. It was safer to run for the portal, and to do that, we needed time. I had no choice but to risk a spell.

“Get behind me!” I slid to a stop, and the runes caught fire on my staff, blazing crimson down its length. The stentch of sulfur and woodsmoke filled the air as I used the power of Lasciel’s hellfire to supercharge the spell. “Ventas servitas!” I screamed, arcing my staff in front of me. A wave of hurricane-force wind barreled into the draugr, hurling them more than a hundred yards back. “Go! Go!”

We raced for the bank as fast as we dared, shooting occasional looks behind us to gauge the draugr’s progress. They recovered quicker than I expected, charging towards us as soon as they regained their feet.

Dammit.

I was badly winded, the icy air burning my throat and lungs. Unlike the rigorous training I’d undergone for the past two years just to keep the Winter Mantle’s urges in check, this body wasn’t used to this much cardio. My legs were trembling, and still I pressed forward, boots stumbling through the layer of snow on top of the ice.

By the look on Murphy’s face, she wasn’t doing any better. Her aikido practice didn’t involve sprinting, and I could hear her labored breathing as loud as my own.

“Almost there,” I gasped, pushing the last thirty feet. I tripped on one of Yggdrasil’s roots and caught myself on its massive trunk before I smashed into it. Concentrating, I felt out the edges of the portal, moving until I faced it. “Entrance is here.”

“God those things are fast,” Murphy muttered, lungs heaving. “Will iron take them out?”

I glanced over my shoulder. The draugr would be on us in a matter of seconds. “No, but it’ll hurt. Cover me while I open the Way.”

Murphy didn’t hesitate, dropping to one knee and sighting along the barrel.

I extended my senses into the fabric of reality, grasping the thin barrier with my hand and twisting. “Aparturum!” I shouted, slashing downward with my staff. It ripped a seam through the Nevernever and into the mortal world, slowly expanding as I pushed my will into it.

Their bloodcurdling shrieks grew louder, and Murph’s gun began to bark.

“Come on!”

She turned and dove through the faint shimmer without hesitation. I followed, an icy hand closing over my ankle just as I passed through the portal. My forward momentum broke the draugr’s grip, but it was enough to send me tumbling, slamming hands and knees into cold concrete as I tried to roll and absorb the impact. I managed to land flat on my back, which set off a wave of agony so intense I couldn’t even breathe to scream.

Close the portal!

I flailed a moment in panic, then froze as my view filled with barrels of dozens of rifles, all aimed at my head.

“Do not move,” growled a voice thick with an accent that I couldn’t place. Eastern Europe, maybe.

I still couldn’t breathe, and lifted a hand weakly in acknowledgment. My face was on fire, my lungs burned, and tears started leaking from the corners of my eyes.

“Move!” I heard Murphy snap in her no-nonsense cop voice. “Move, or I’ll make you move! He can’t breathe.”

The guns withdrew, at least far enough where I could no longer see them, and Karrin’s face swam into view. She lifted my head from the floor and cradled it in her hands. “Here, Harry. Take a breath.” The position change triggered a spasm of coughing, but it enabled me to draw in lungfuls of air even as it hurt. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

I kept coughing. She pushed me carefully into a sitting position, holding tight to my shoulders to prevent me from falling forward. The coughing gradually eased, as did the throbbing pain from the bruises on my back.

“Get out of my way.” The familiar voice made my head jerk up. A figure blurred by tears walked up to stand over us. After a few blinks to clear my vision, I could just make out her disgusted expression. And the red hair.

“Freydis,” I croaked. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Wizard. You do know how to make an entrance.” She sounded exasperated.

“Would’ve called ahead, didn’t have the number.” I put my hand over Murphy’s and briefly squeezed. That small gesture conveyed a number of things, all of which she understood without needing words. She released me with a gentle squeeze of her own. I rolled to my knees, then pushed myself to my feet. Very, very slowly, as we were still surrounded by Einherjaren holding an excessive amount of firepower. At least none of the weapons were pointed directly at us.

“Murphy, this is Freydis Gard. Freydis, Lieutenant Karrin Murphy,” I said by way of introduction. The valkyrie inclined her head to Murphy. Her tailored suit in dove gray complemented her physique, all muscles and curves in the right places. Murphy saw me notice and rolled her eyes, even as I offered an apologetic shrug. Freydis, like her sister Sigrun, was gorgeous and worth looking at.

Freydis missed the interplay, scowling at me. “Under normal circumstances, wizard, I would let the Einherjaren kill you. But my lord has commanded me to bring you both to him, unharmed.”

Murphy blinked at her. “He knew we were coming?”

Freydis looked over the guards and made a complicated gesture with one hand. They grumbled but filtered out of the room, most heading down the hall. Several set down their weapons and rejoined an interrupted card game at a nearby table. Some variation of poker, I thought, giving the cards a quick inspection.

“Of course. My lord believes in being well-informed, especially where he is concerned.” She pointed at me. “Though I cannot fathom why. You, from what I understand, are a magnet for idiocy and playing with things better left alone.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like Dresden.”

“He could’ve called off the draugr,” I muttered under my breath.

Freydis’ lips curved up in a smile that displayed a large number of teeth in a predatory fashion. “Where would be the fun in that? Proving your worth is why he requested you to be brought before him. This way.”

We followed her down a hallway, past rooms filled with weaponry of every kind, from modern assault rifles to vicious-looking spears. Murphy paused briefly at each doorway, giving the room a quick, assessing glance before lengthening her strides to catch up to us. She was most interested in the katanas and other various Japanese swords mounted on one wall. She had a katana display at her home, on the fireplace mantel, though I’d never seen her actually train with one.

“Like what you see?” Freydis asked over her shoulder, a small smile playing across her lips.

“I’d love to spend some time here,” Murphy confessed, shooting a longing glance at another room displaying centuries’ of experimentation with explosives.

That seemingly random, innocent comment stabbed my chest with a serrated knife. It took a few seconds to be able to breathe around the pain.

She’s not dead yet.

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

We entered an elevator at the end of the hall. Its walls were metal mesh, allowing us to see out as we rose. Floor after floor we passed, some with exercise equipment, some with offices, some with what could be considered research labs, and one that gave off a sense of dread from the creatures housed within it.

We reached the ground floor, which opened into an atrium that rose for most of the building. It had a glass ceiling, but though there was only night sky above us, the entire space was illuminated with light bright enough to mimic sunlight. Then we passed into an elevator shaft, cutting off the view. We stopped a few moments later, the doors opening onto a stainless steel lobby. Not just the floors, or the walls, but everything was made of stainless steel, displaying distorted reflections of us as Murph and I exited, following Freydis’ lead.

“Wait here,” she murmured, then disappeared through a door behind the repetitionists’ desks. The women behind those desks were not human, though they wore human form. They had identical striking features, short raven-black hair, dark eyes, black suits, and each wore a headset. Both were murmuring quietly, presumably speaking to someone on the other end of a phone call, but their eyes watched us with twin hostile stares. Instead of a monitor, a semi-transparent cloud of color floated above the desk’s surface, pulsing and moving in random patterns.

“Who are they?” Murphy whispered, warily watching the two women.

“H and M,” I whispered back. Though they’d never been introduced to me, I had a good idea who they were.

“Huginn and Muninn, his ravens?”

“Think so, yep.”

Murphy watched them for a minute. Then she began to laugh and quickly smothered it. I glanced at her sharply, worried the two might take offense. It was one thing for me to irritate preternatural beings that could rip my arms off and beat me to death with them, but quite another for Murph to garner their attention.

Because having their attention was terrifying.

One was focused on Murphy, nails tapping the top of her desk as her dark eyes glittered. But Murph was a cop, and she shrugged off the stare’s intensity.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered, hand over her mouth. “I just can’t get over the fact that Vadderung’s network of information is run by two secretaries with headsets.”

“Times change, Murph. Those who adapt, survive.”

She sobered. “Isn’t that the truth.”

The click of Freydis’ shoes heralded the Valkyrie’s return. “Wizard Dresden, Lieutenant Murphy, follow me please.” We passed the receptionists’ desks, and their heads turned in unison to watch us. I felt the weight of their gaze until we went through the door, which led to a stainless steel hallway lined with odd hatches the size of dinner plates down its length. Murphy studied one as we walked by it, then shot me a look, eyebrow raised. I shrugged, not knowing what they were, or what Vadderung used them for.

I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to find out.

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors, also in stainless steel, that swung open soundlessly as we approached. Behind them was Vadderung’s office, the desk he sat behind taking up most of its space. It, of course, was also crafted from stainless steel.

Before entering, Freydis dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “My lord, your guests have arrived.” Unlike my original introduction by Sigrun, Freydis either didn’t see the need to announce our names, or had been instructed not to bother.

Vadderung gestured for her to rise, and she moved swiftly out of our way. “Wizard Dresden, Lieutenant Murphy, please sit. Would you care for something to eat or drink?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” I replied. Never turn down hospitality when offered in the supernatural world. One, you run the risk of greatly offending your host, and Vadderung - in the guise of Odin - had been known to punish those who did not observe guesting laws to his satisfaction. Two, it provides protection while under their roof. No harm will come to you if you maintain the peace. Three, it was the polite thing to do, and Ebenezar had spent nearly four years drilling manners into me.

I was the poster boy for the second, the face shown to young wizards while admonishing them, “Dresden didn’t follow guest right and dragged the White Council into a war with the vampires because of it.”

What a legacy of infamy to leave your daughter.

But I’d done it to save her mother, and in that, I somewhat succeeded. Susan hadn’t died, or become a member of the Red Court, at least. I’d do it again without a moment’s hesitation.

“I don’t -“ Murphy began. I kicked her foot before she could finish. She cut herself off, then smiled faintly. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

Vadderung nodded to Freydis. “Yes, my lord.” She bowed her head again, then walked out. The doors closed behind her, leaving us alone with one of the most dangerous, powerful beings I knew.

“I imagine you are here because of Goodman Grey. He told you I hired him to break into a company owned by Raith Enterprises, destroy their server room, and use your likeness while he did so. Am I correct?”

“Why?” Murphy asked, taking the initiative. Very little intimidated her. Her cop instincts had to be screaming how dangerous Vadderung was, but she showed no sign of discomfort. That’s my Murph. “Why this company? Why go to the trouble to hire a shapeshifter? Why tell him to confess when we found him?”

Donar Vadderung smiled. “You are your father’s daughter, Karrin Murphy.”

Her mouth fell open, then closed quickly with a click of teeth. I could see questions brewing in her eyes, but she wasn’t one to be easily sidetracked. “Indigo Digital? Why that company?”

His cobalt eye twinkled with amusement. “To bring you here, to this moment, Lieutenant. If it happened to cripple the financial stability of the White Court, consider it a bonus. Lara Raith overstepped in a matter some weeks ago, and I found it prudent to balance the scales.”

Murphy and I exchanged a glance. “That seems a rather complicated way to arrange a meeting,” she said after a moment. “Why not just call?”

“Or talk to me last night?” I asked.

“Because this must be kept private, due to its sensitive nature. I needed you to come to me for a visible and unrelated matter. We need to discuss your situation without involving the White Council.”

“But… you set this in motion before I got here.” It took me a few seconds to realize what I’d said.

Oh, crap.

“What does that mean?” Murphy asked. I looked guiltily away and didn’t answer. She grabbed my chin and forced my head back around. “Dresden, you promised me you wouldn’t keep me in the dark, and I’ve trusted you to keep that promise.” I couldn’t bear the barely concealed hurt in her voice, the wounded look in her eyes. “This is about Mac’s, isn’t it? You lied to me.”

I swallowed. “What I told you was the truth, from a certain point of view.”

“A certain point of view?” she snapped, then made a frustrated sound and released me. “If you hadn’t just been injured saving my life, I’d punch you in the gut.”

“You didn’t tell her,” Vadderung said. I had the impression he was amused by our exchange.

“Tell. Me. What?” Murph demanded, eyes flicking between us.

“I, uh…” I ran a hand through my hair nervously, feeling Murphy’s stare bore into the side of my skull. “I didn’t think it was prudent, given what might result. The fewer who know, the safer we are.” When Vadderung didn’t respond, I frowned. “Aren’t we?”

“Someone better explain what the hell is going on,” Murphy snarled, interrupting his response. Or lack of response.

I focused my attention back to her, blue eyes snapping with anger. “It’s not about believing you can’t do your job, Murph, or trying to protect you. Well… it is about trying to protect you, but not just you. It’s about protecting everyone.”

“God, you sound like you’re a member of the Justice League,” she said in a disgusted tone. “Is the evil villain planning on killing us with his death ray?”

I clenched my jaw. “It’s not like that. It has to do with a temporal paradox, which can generate enough energy to rip the fabric of reality apart, or in some cases, violently explode and destroy it completely.”

Murph eyed Vadderung. “That true?”

“It is,” he said with a nod. Her anger faded as her face paled. “Though I do not believe that will happen in this case.”

“You believe?” I asked.

He steepled his fingers, looking for an instant like John Marcone. “My confidence level is high.”

A snort of disbelief escaped before I could stop it. “Because that’s never screwed me over before.”

His smile displayed a number of perfectly white teeth. It wasn’t meant as a friendly gesture, but as a threat. “Dresden, I have given you far more leeway than I usually offer anyone, especially those who arrive on my doorstep unannounced. I suggest you do not push this particular issue with me.”

Any reply I might have offered was interrupted by Freydis’ return (which was well-timed, as I’ve been known to mouth off to dangerous, powerful beings I really shouldn’t have). She carried a covered silver tray, setting it on the edge of Vadderung’s expansive desk. She removed the cover, bowed her head, and returned to her post near the door.

Murphy eyed its contents, then eyed Vadderung. “Donuts?”

He chuckled. “They are a favorite of Dresden’s. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line of disapproval, but she picked up one of the delightfully frosted white confections and bit into it. I’d already done so, managing to smear frosting all over my lips. I washed the bite down with a gulp of coffee the perfect temperature a few degrees shy of scalding.

Murphy did the same, glaring at me, at Vadderung, even at Freydis over her shoulder, though she waited to speak until she finished off the donut and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Now. If you two don’t explain what the fuck is going on, I’m going to start arresting people on general principle.”

Vadderung threw back his head and laughed.

I gave him a dirty look. “Chronomancy is the ability to affect and alter time. It’s against the Laws of Magic, and if the White Council discovers you practicing chronomancy, they will kill you. Messing around with time can cause paradoxes. The more you tamper with time, the stronger the paradox. And I, through no fault of my own, traveled back ten years in time to land here in Harry’s body while you were having lunch at Mac’s yesterday.“

I expected an outburst, a denial, a jab at my ribs, even a look of disbelief from Murphy, but she surprised me. She stared at me intently with brow furrowed, as if searching my soul for a Harry she would recognize. “That explains a few things.”

“I, uh… it does?”

“Mac’s response, for one. And your behavior has been off ever since. I’m not just talking about what happened with Rudolph. Small things, like not responding to every comment with a wiseass remark. Or the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice…” her face flushed as she trailed off. Then she cleared her throat and brought her eyes back up to mine. “So you’re telling me you’re basically the human version of a Time Lord.”

I was taken aback Murph knew that much about Doctor Who. Didn’t seem like her kind of show. “Uh… kind of, I guess.”

“You try stuffing me into a phone booth and I’m pulling out my gun. Fair warning.”

I snorted and held up my hands. “Understood.” Then my tone softened. “You’re handling this better than I expected.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up. “I’ve built up quite a tolerance for accepting what I believe is impossible when it smashes me over the head.” Her smile faded. “If you’re here in Harry’s body, then where is he?”

“Harry Actual is fine. He’s sleeping, and won’t remember a thing after I leave. There’s, uh… also another one of us in here. Future Harry, who is from ten years in my future. He’s the one that thought this would be a grand adventure. He’s the one that actually cast the spell, not me.” My eyes shifted to Vadderung as suspicion blossomed. “A spell he got from you. A spell that was flawed, wasn’t it? You wanted us here. Why?”

Vadderung smiled, and this one was warm and genuine. His gaze flicked between us. “I need you both to do what you do best. I need you to save Chicago.”

Chapter Text

Save Chicago? No pressure there. Just another Tuesday in my life…

Murphy leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, and fixed Vadderung with a stare. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You, working with Future Harry some twenty years from now, arrange to send him back to pick up this Harry in your past, which is ten years in my future. Then, once collected, Future Harry uses a second spell, presumably to send them both to a different point in time, presumably where both Harrys would do something to alter their collective future. Instead, future you redirects them here by providing a different spell and lying about it because you need us to save Chicago?”

Vadderung’s eye sparkled with amusement. “That is the essence of it.”

Her gaze narrowed. “How did you know you would need us when whatever’s coming hasn’t happened yet? And how, precisely, were you able to contact your future self and ask for them to be sent here?”

My mouth fell open. Not because Murphy had grasped the entirety of the situation - that was her job, and she excelled at it - but because I hadn’t. She considered those completely valid - and concerning - questions while I was too distracted sorting through the list of beings powerful enough to give Chicago a very bad day.

“For that,” he replied, tapping on his keyboard, “you will need to see this.” A transparent cloud of color took shape, hovering a foot or so above his desk. It writhed and pulsed, in constant motion. “My intelligence network. You may have seen similar displays on my secretaries’ desks. It collates information from the past, present and future. But not just our future. Other futures. It extrapolates which future events are virtually guaranteed, which are likely, and which possibilities would be considered long odds.”

I leaned closer, trying to make sense out of the imagery.

“That doesn’t answer either question,” Murphy said.

He chuckled. “You are correct. The answer you are looking for is simple. I told myself. This terminal exists in all times, so Future Me, as you put it, informed me of the impending crisis. I requested Dresden’s assistance, and he provided it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have just asked the Harry here for help?”

“In this particular case, no. I require the Winter Knight, and Harry has yet to accept that burden.”

Murphy shot me a look. I held up a hand to forestall her next question. “But I’m not the Winter Knight. In case you haven’t noticed, the Mantle didn’t come along for the ride.”

He smiled, and it chilled me to the bone. “I have requested assistance from someone I believe can help. We are currently in the midst of… negotiations.”

Hell’s bells. He means Mab.

As Queen, Mab held control over the Winter Mantle. Presumably she could strip it from Slate and provide it to me, on loan or otherwise. But I’d be damned if I would agree to it a second time.

Even if it means saving millions?

What was one life compared to that? One bad decision I’d already made once to save a single child? How could I do any less to save the people of my city?

I picked up my coffee with a shaking hand.

“You told me the Winter Knight was a psychopath and a rapist, and that he’s missing,” Murphy said, eyeing me. “Lloyd Slate, right?” I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. “So is he saying you became the Winter Knight, took Slate’s place?”

“I…” words stuck in my throat, and I swallowed down the rest of the coffee. Murph deserved the truth, not excuses or deflections. “Yeah, he is. I made a choice, because a little girl’s life hung in the balance. The Queen of Winter provided the means to save her, and in return I accepted the Winter Knight’s mantle.” Phantom pain caressed my spine a moment, at the exact spot I’d broken my back.

Vadderung was watching me. “You will incur no obligation, wizard, if that concerns you. Your choice has already been made, and cannot be made a second time. If the agreement comes to fruition, the debt is mine. For the duration of your stay, she will have no power over you. It is the one condition I insist upon.”

Dread coiled in my gut. “Why not negotiate with this Harry? You’ve taken a risk - potentially a huge risk - by bringing us here.”

“Mab would never agree to it, not without him accepting the Winter Mantle in truth. And we both know he is not yet desperate enough to make that bargain. He would not take the threat to Chicago as seriously as he should, and by the time he realizes his mistake, it will be too late.” Vadderung gestured to his terminal, tiny pinpoints of light winking on and off as it slowly rotated. “That much is certain. You, however, already know the cost.”

I let out a shaky breath and set my mug down, rattling the tray. “I had to murder someone,” I said quietly, not daring to look at Murphy. “A man who probably deserved killing, a man who begged me for death as a mercy. But it was my decision, my hand that sliced open his throat. I won’t…” I trailed off. I had planned on saying, “I won’t do it again.” But truth be told, I would do it again, if every other choice facing me was even worse. I’d bear the guilt if that’s what it took to keep my friends safe.

If it meant Murphy would live.

An image of Slate filled my mind. The bronze knife I held tracing a line of death across his throat, blood coursing over his skin to fill the carvings on the Stone Table beneath him. I shivered at the remembered chill in my soul, and at what followed. At the time, I had been pushed past the breaking point, so desperate and determined to save my child that taking Slate’s life barely registered.

But murder should never be easy. In an ideal world it would never happen, and I’d had a lot of time since then to think on it.

A small, warm hand closed over mine, stilling its tremors. Murphy squeezed, telling me she understood, and stood by me regardless if she agreed with my decision or not. I blinked back tears, though one managed to sneak through and run down my cheek. She leaned over and used her other hand to brush it away.

“Don’t go all maudlin on me, Dresden,” she said, lips quirking up in a smile. “Sounds like we have work to do. Can’t have you moping about.”

Warmth and love bubbled up inside me at her words. There were few people I trusted as I did Murphy, fewer still who could bring me back from the brink of despair so easily. I flipped my hand over to squeeze back. The forced smile I started with turned genuine as her eyes almost met mine. “You’re right. We have work to do.” I let go of her hand and faced Vadderung, straightening in my chair. “So what exactly are we saving Chicago from? Godzilla? Terminators? The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man?” The last earned a jab in my ribs from Murphy’s elbow.

“The sea serpent that encircles the world,” Vadderung said gravely.

Jörmungandr.

Some instinct told me he’d deliberately withheld its name.

“Isn’t that -“ Murphy began, but I quickly cut her off.

“Don’t. Names have power, and they attract attention. And the last thing we want to do is attract anyone’s attention by using it.” I eyed Vadderung. “Are we supposed to sail off into Lake Michigan with the head of an ox for bait?” Murphy shot me a questioning look, probably wondering if I was joking. I really hoped I was joking.

Vadderung’s expression didn’t change. “That will not be required. Normally, the beast exists outside the boundaries of our reality, but something has awakened it, and is even now drawing it here. More precisely, to Chicago.”

“Why Chicago?” Murphy asked.

“Chicago is one of the world’s great magical crossroads, and it draws preternatural creatures like a moth to flame. None of the other cities have as much activity as Chicago does,” I said.

She frowned. “Why?”

I hesitated only a moment before offering the truth. “There’s an island in Lake Michigan, about twenty miles east of Chicago, but you won’t find it on any map. Beneath it lies a supernatural prison. Probably the supernatural prison, like Alcatraz as envisioned by H.R. Giger, though less organic and more crystalline. It contains beings of such malevolence and unimaginable power that it creates its own ley line, filled with dark, insanity-inducing energy. It’s a beacon to those of the spirit world, calling like to like.”

Murphy’s mouth hung open. “You’ve been there?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I’m its Warden. Not now, of course, but…” I trailed off, waving a hand in vague gesture to indicate my present and her future.

I saw the look on her face. She was filing the information away for later examination, and I imagined a wealth of questions about it later. Then she sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The why doesn’t matter, in the end. How do we kill it?”

An excellent question. What little I’d read of Thor said he would defeat Jörmungandr by fatally striking it in the head with his hammer, Mjölnir. A hammer allegedly forged by the svartalves. But as I didn’t have a serpent-killing hammer, svartalf-made or not, my thoughts turned to another weapon I had used once before to bind a Titan. A knife that wasn’t a knife, locked away on a Demonreach ten years in the future. Currently, the Spear of Destiny’s blade was secured in Hades’ vault, presumably inaccessible as Marcone had yet to become Baron Marcone, banker to the supernatural elite. Or at least the Way to the Underworld wouldn’t be found inside his bank. If he even owned the bank.

And there was the small problem of Jörmungandr’s poisonous breath. In the tale of Ragnarök, while Thor defeats the serpent, he himself dies immediately thereafter.

Vadderung spread his hands in a futile gesture. “I cannot say.”

“Cannot, or will not?” I asked.

“Cannot,” he repeated. “And to clarify, it cannot be killed, though its physical representation on the mortal plane can be destroyed.”

Was its body made from ectoplasm, matter conjured from the Nevernever as it manifested here? I was liking this less and less. Well, to be honest, I hadn’t liked a single thing Vadderung had said. “By banishing it?”

He inclined his head, but didn’t answer the question. “To say anything further would cause catastrophic damage to the timeline. It is not evil or good, the serpent. It is merely a harbinger of change, and while there will be a time for such change in the world, that time has yet to come.”

“It’s your vassal,” I said, sudden insight offering me context. “That’s why you brought us here. You are responsible for its actions, and yet the time paradox prevents you from acting directly. Why didn’t you just send Future Harry here? Why bring me?” But even as I asked, I knew the answer.

“He’s not you,” Vadderung replied.

I’d lost friends. I’d lost Murphy. But I still had Thomas. Maggie. My grandfather, and my few champions inside the Council. Molly, and the whole of the Winter Court behind her. Future Harry had lost everyone, and by the soulgaze we shared, it had broken something in him. He wasn’t the same man I was, but what future version of ourselves is?

“So why bring him?” Murphy countered.

I knew the answer to that, too. “I wasn’t desperate enough to consider going back in time to change any part of it. Too much risk, and too much to lose. Future Harry has nothing left to lose. He told me they were facing the destruction of the universe in a matter of days.”

Murphy’s eyebrows shot up. “Told you?”

Oh, crap. “Um… probably best if we discuss that later.” I caught the smile Vadderung quickly hid out of the corner of my eye.

She frowned, but nodded, then looked back at the former god ensconced behind his desk. “If you can’t tell us how to kill it, I assume you also can’t tell us when it’ll show up.”

He spread his hands a second time, his expression apologetic. “I am afraid I cannot. But I can say this. You will have ample warning.” Which could mean five minutes or five days, though I’d bet on at least a few hours. That likely indicated the serpent’s arrival would be heralded by some sort of phenomenon, like a series of earthquakes or a storm. Hell’s bells, it could be as simple (and disgusting) as a rain of toads.

“What now?” Murph asked. “We go back and sit on our collective asses until something happens?”

Vadderung chuckled. “Unfortunately, though I do not believe my negotiations will take much longer.”

She blew out a breath and studied him a moment. “In that case, I have a request.”

Karrin Murphy got her fight.

We accompanied Freydis down in the elevator, stopping on one level that held an enormous gym with a boxing ring cordoned off in the exact center. Surrounding the ring was a variety of exercise equipment, from weight sets to treadmills and stationary bikes to a thirty-foot climbing wall. Several Einherjar were climbing it when we entered, and none of them were using anything resembling safety equipment. In fact, two barely had on anything resembling clothes, and I really didn’t need the eyeful of dreadfully hairy bare buttocks I ended up with.

“Feeling inadequate are we, wizard?” Freydis said, amused.

I waved a hand nonchalantly. “Why bother climbing walls when you can just blast your way through them?”

Murphy sighed. “Men. This isn’t about you, Dresden.”

Well, she had me there.

Freydis smirked, then shouted something in a language that could have been from one of the Scandinavian countries but was likely something far, far older. Every single Einherjar in the gym froze and looked at her, leaving those on the wall suspended, hanging from fingertips and toes. She went on, gestured to Karrin, then to the ring.

A deafening cheer sounded once she finished, then it was a flurry of activity as the Einherjaren lined up in front of Freydis, as if presenting themselves for inspection. And watching Freydis study each man and woman (though I’d say the ratio was roughly five to one), that was exactly what had happened. She took her time, sizing each one up, then returned to her original position.

“Hilde!” The Einherjar Freydis indicated stepped forward to the cheers of her brethren. Just a few inches shy of my height (and she was barefoot), she wore a sleeveless black tunic over grey leggings, highlighting her well-muscled arms and legs. Her platinum hair was woven into a single long braid, coiled and pinned to the top of her head. Icy blue eyes studied Murphy, and after a moment, Hilde saluted her with a fist over her heart.

“I am honored to be chosen,” she said, her accent strong but intelligible.

Murphy responded by bowing at the waist. “I am honored to accept.”

“Come,” Freydis said to Murphy, gesturing to a doorway. “You will find a change of clothes in the locker room.”

They were gone several minutes, during which I sized up her opponent as she lightly sparred with a partner, dropping the much larger (and much hairier) man with a surprise sideways swipe of his ankle. She was fast. Not inhumanly fast, but not far off. She’d have a longer reach, but size isn’t everything. I’d seen Murph take down opponents larger and heavier than herself - which, let’s face it, was most of her opponents. Hell’s bells, she’d taken Kincaid by surprise the first time they met, and he actually was supernaturally fast.

But, as Rudolph’s bullet proved, Karrin Murphy was as fragile as any other human. She could be hurt, badly. She could be killed.

And I worried for her here, surrounded by warriors who’d shrugged off death and come back for seconds. I kept the fear to myself, pushing it down as best I could, and gave her a raised fist salute when she finally emerged. Though she didn’t return the gesture, I did see a fleeting smile pass over her lips.

Then it was all business as she and Hilde entered the ring.

Hilde moved first, a blow intended to smash Murphy in the gut. She sidestepped, grabbed Hilde’s wrist, and used the Einherjar’s forward momentum to throw Hilde over her shoulder. Hilde turned the fall into a roll, coming up in a crouch and sweeping her leg towards Murphy’s knee. Murphy twisted away, but the leg changed direction and managed to clip the edge of her chin.

She spun, dodging Hilde’s rapid fire blows, then exchanged them for one of her own that caught Hilde in the throat. Murph slipped through Hilde’s attempt at a wrist grab, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the foot that hooked around her ankle, pulling her to the ground. She rolled, avoiding Hilde’s barefooted stomps chasing her, then reversed direction, pulling Hilde down as she scissored her legs around Hilde’s ankle.

Then came a series of dodges and kicks, punches and spins, moving faster and faster until they were little more than blurs of motion. But at the end of it, Murphy was on her knees, arm stretched behind her and locked in a hold. Hilde pressed her advantage, causing Murphy to gasp in pain as her arm twisted at an alarming angle.

“I yield!”

The Einherjaren shouted and cheered, offering raised fists as they did.

Hilde released her immediately, then offered a hand to help her up. Murphy took it, rolling her shoulder a few times. Nothing appeared broken, or her expression would’ve held a lot more pain than it did. They exchanged a nod, then Murphy gingerly climbed out of the ring and headed to the locker room.

I followed, though I waited outside the door for a minute before entering. “Murph?” She had already changed, though her back was to me. When she turned around, I saw a smear of blood on her lower lip; it’d been split sometime during the fight. “You all right?” I asked, dabbing at the blood with a rag I found. I pocketed it, planning to burn it when we got back. There was no way I would leave Murphy’s blood here in Vadderung’s domain; I’d already seen what he could accomplish with mine.

Her eyes shone. “A bit sore, and I’ll have bruises in the morning, but that was incredible.”

“You didn’t win.”

Murphy snorted. “That wasn’t the point. It’s not always about winning, Dresden. Sometimes it’s about challenging yourself.”

“An excellent attempt, for a mortal,” Freydis said, walking in with a dazzling smile. “I must confess, watching you fight did things to my libido that I haven’t felt in a while. Might I interest you in a somewhat more pleasurable activity? I promise I’ll return you to Chicago afterwards, unharmed. Well… mostly unharmed.”

The valkyrie was gorgeous, and my own libido sat up and took notice.

Karrin’s cheeks turned pink as she glanced at me. “I, uh… perhaps another time.”

“The wizard is welcome to join us,” Freydis said, smirking as her eyes flicked to an area below my belt. Murph’s face turned a brighter shade.

“Unfortunately the wizard and the lieutenant are needed back in Chicago,” I said, doing my best to ignore my hormones.

Freydis sighed. “A pity. Very well.” She slipped a small box out of her pocket, murmured a few words, then crushed it between her hands. As she scattered the remains on the floor, flickers of green lightning coalesced in mid-air, framing an invisible door that took on a slight shimmer. “The Way back to Chicago, with my lord’s compliments.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Directly back?” I had known Vadderung capable of creating Ways to points of his choosing. What had my godmother said, back in Chichén Itzá? I negotiated with its creator. And that same portal Vadderung and his cadre of Grey Council disappeared into had taken me, my friends, and my daughter directly to Chicago.

The valkyrie inclined her head. “As he wills it.”

Murphy cast a critical eye at the lightning-framed door. “This goes straight to Chicago? No frozen lake, no Iceland, no… draugr?”

“Yes.”

Murphy looked at me with her own eyebrow raised. “Don’t look at me. I don’t have that kind of power, Murph,” I said, answering the question she hadn’t asked.

She muttered something under her breath, then, “Wizards.” The disgusted tone she used sent Freydis into a burst of laughter, musical and beautiful and joyous all at once, here at the heart of Odin’s strength.

Murphy drove me back to my apartment, with a stop on the way to pick up two large pizzas. It filled her car with a delicious aroma, though I had to hold the boxes above my jeans to avoid the grease leaking through the cardboard. Not to mention they were hot enough to burn skin, if held in one place too long.

She shook her head while stopped at a light. “What is with you and that pizza?” The pizza in question was from Pizza ‘Spress.

“I had very little money when I first moved here, and it was affordable. It grows on you.”

“Like a fungus,” she replied, flashing a smile.

“Careful, or I might have to order one with pineapple.” It wasn’t my favorite, but I’d eat it. Unlike Murph, who considered pineapple on pizza akin to blasphemy.

True to form, she made a face. “Ick. I don’t know how you can stand to eat that. Give me something normal, like pepperoni.”

By unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss anything Vadderung had confessed. The hairs prickled on the nape of my neck, a silent signal that someone - something - was watching, perhaps listening at that very moment. In my apartment, my wards would keep them out. Unless I was merely imagining it, of course

She pulled into my small gravel lot, parked next to the Blue Beetle and shut off the engine.

“Murph.” Her name on my lips stopped her from opening the door, and she looked back at me questioningly. “Thomas doesn’t know about me.”

Her eyebrow raised. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No, for the same reason I hadn’t told you.“

“The paradox.”

I nodded. “If I trust Vadderung’s information, then it’s not much of a risk, but I’d rather not spring it on him right now. We have more important things to deal with.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

She led the way to my apartment door, using the key I’d given her to lower my wards and unlock it. Upon opening the door, I nearly fell as thirty pounds of feline crashed into my shin unexpectedly. Murph laughed as I balanced the boxes one-handed, reaching down to stroke Mister head to tail. Mouse came over, tail wagging, to give me a sloppy doggie kiss.

“Eww, my lips touched dog lips!” I complained, ruffling his ears. He grinned, tail thumping even harder against Murphy’s leg as she did the same. “All right, all right, everyone inside.”

Thomas appeared in the bedroom doorway, a smirk crossing his face as he folded his arms across his chest. At least he had on a shirt and pants; that wasn’t always the case when I arrived home. “Karrin, always a pleasure.”

“Grab some pizza, we need to talk.” I set the boxes on the kitchen counter.

“Oh?” Thomas asked, sauntering over. “Regarding?”

“Total destruction of Chicago,” Murphy said, opening one of the lower cabinets to pull out a stack of paper plates.

Thomas considered that for all of two seconds. “Is that all? Must be Tuesday.” It didn’t escape my notice that he echoed my earlier thought. In some ways, he and I were a lot alike.

I flipped up my rugs and opened the trap door to the subbasement. “Be right back.” I waved the candles to life with a muttered word and climbed down the folding stairs to find Bob already awake, reading one of his romance novels. The skull turned as I descended.

“Hey, boss! Looks like you got your mojo back,” Bob said, eyelights flicking up and down over me.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your pyromancy. You haven’t used it in what… a year? Glad you finally listened to my advice and took the horse by the horns.”

“Bull, Bob. It’s bull by the horns. Horses don’t have horns.”

He made a disparaging sound. “Whatever. You think I want to keep up with all the idioms you humans keep inventing?”

“Come on, we have work to do.” I picked up his skull and headed for the stairs.

“All right, prison break!” he cackled with glee. I rarely took him out of the lab, finding it more convenient to work with him in the subbasement where I kept all my magical reagents and research. But tonight, I wanted his advice and didn’t see the need to confine Thomas and Murphy to the small space. Not to mention it was freezing down here while upstairs had a roaring fireplace.

When I emerged from the lab, Bob saw Murphy and Thomas staring at us from the couch, shrieked, “Eek!” and his eyelights went out.

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, he’s a bit of a drama queen.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Like someone else I know.”

“Is that a human skull?” Murphy asked, pointing to what I held.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your detective skills, Lieutenant,” I said, brandishing the skull with a grin and ignoring her glare. I pushed a few paperbacks off the coffee table and set Bob on the edge. “Everyone, this is Bob. He is my research assistant.”

“Spirit of intellect,” Bob objected, eyelights flickering on briefly before dwindling again.

“Fine. A spirit of intellect and my research assistant.” I tapped the skull with my finger. “Hey, wake up. Don’t be rude.”

One eyelight winked on and stared up at me. “You said never to reveal myself to anyone.”

Thomas poked at the skull. “Is it… alive?”

“Hey, watch it! You don’t know where that finger’s been,” Bob groused, fixing him with a stare.

“Tonight’s a special case, Bob. I need your advice, o wise one.” It never hurt to stroke his ego with a little praise. Flies, honey, and all that.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” His eyelights turned to Thomas. “So you’re the brother. You sure got the short end of the gene pool, didn’t you Harry?” Bob began chortling at his own joke. “Short, get it…”

“Wiseass.”

Bob finally subsided, fixing his attention on Murphy. “And you’re the hot cop Harry wants to snog.”

Thomas snickered.

My face flamed with embarrassment and I thumped him on the skull to shut him up. “Bob! Focus!” Picking up my pizza and the remaining bottle of ale Thomas left for me, I settled on the floor between the fireplace and the coffee table. The chill in my bones hadn’t left, and a slight pressure was building behind my eyes.

Murphy waited until I’d chewed and swallowed a few bites before asking, “What is he?”

“A spirit of intellect,” Bob said promptly, preening. “I am a repository for over six hundred years of accumulated knowledge, passed down from wizard to wizard.”

“He’s the wizard equivalent of a computer,” I clarified, taking a swig of beer.

Thomas’ eyebrow went up once more. “So you really were talking to someone down there. I thought…” he trailed off, and I could guess what he hadn’t said. Harry might be losing his mind. “Where’d you get him?”

“Stole him from DuMorne.” I’d told both Thomas and Murph some of what I’d been through with Justin DuMorne, but by no means all of it. They knew enough, knew that I had been responsible for his death, and that he had left me no choice.

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” Thomas said, licking his fingers clean of grease, “want to tell me what’s coming to Chicago to kill us all? Oh, and when? Because there are a few things on my bucket list I’d like to cross off before then. Visiting the Playboy mansion, perhaps -“

“Count me in!” Bob declared, cutting the rest of Thomas’ musings off. “I can do a ride-along!”

“No one is going to the Playboy mansion,” I said with a sigh. “Bob, tell them what you know about the serpent of Norse myth.”

“Jörmungandr?” Bob asked, turning around to face me.

“One and the same.”

Murphy sat up. “I thought using its name would draw the wrong kind of attention to us.”

Bob flipped back around. “For you, maybe. I’m a spirit, not a mortal. I don’t play by the same rules.” He proceeded to sing a song consisting only of the serpent’s name repeating ad nauseam to prove his point.

“Enough, Bob,” I ordered him, and he quieted. “Tell them.”

While he did, which mainly consisted of Thor’s animosity towards the great serpent and the final battle where he would finally slay it, I finished off my two slices and nabbed two more. Along with a second beer. I didn’t believe he’d be able to come up with any information I didn’t already know, and to be honest, we didn’t really need his help. But it was time - past time - that Thomas and Murphy knew who and what Bob was.

When he finished, Thomas leveled a look at me. “And how are we supposed to kill something large enough to encompass the world?”

“It’s being drawn into the mortal world, so its body will have to be relatively manageable,” I said.

He cocked a brow. “Define manageable. We talking bus-sized or Godzilla-sized?”

“It has to obey the laws of physics here, if nothing else. Make a body too large, too heavy, and it’ll collapse in on itself. But it’s not like Vadderung gave us a manual on the thing.”

“Based on Bob’s description -“ he waved a hand at the skull “- its scales are impenetrable, it spits poison - or possibly poisonous gas - and can only be killed by caving in its skull with a svartalf-made weapon we have no access to. That about sum it up?”

“Vadderung wants me to become the Winter Knight,” I said quietly, staring at the rug I was sitting on. It was one of the Persian-style carpets, though merely a cheap imitation. I’d picked it up at a yard sale just after I moved in.

Thomas drew in a sharp breath. “The job Mab offered you? You told me it was a Faustian bargain and you’d never agree to it.”

I glanced up at him, holding his gaze. “Temporarily. I think he’s negotiating with the Winter Queen to loan me the Knight’s Mantle specifically for this. Vadderung said the Knight of Winter was required to defeat it.”

“Can he do that? Can she?”

I shrugged. “She’s the Queen, and the Mantle is part of her power. She could, but the question is, will she?”

Murphy’s fingers tapped a rhythm on her knee. “I’m curious what Vadderung is offering in exchange.”

“Whatever it is,” I answered, scratching Mouse’s ruff, “will be his obligation to honor, not mine.”

Thomas leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to study me intently. “You can’t tell me that you’ll be able to walk around with that kind of power and remain unscathed. What will it do to you?”

I let out a long sigh. “It’s much like your Hunger. Powerful - but controllable - urges that aren’t necessarily against your nature, but are extremes of your nature.” Sex and violence were part and parcel of who I was (more violence than sex, much to my chagrin), but both would be my choice. My decision, not one made for me by a magical construct.

His expression turned wary. “How do you know that?”

Experience, I wanted to say, but that would lead to an entirely separate conversation I wasn’t ready for. “I saw what it did to Slate.” Which was also true. “He ceded control to the Mantle a long time ago.”

“Two questions, then,” Murphy said, holding up her fingers and ticking them off. “One, when will it happen? And two, what powers does the Winter Knight have that you don’t?”

I’d thought about that on the ride home. “Physically, it removes the natural inhibitors a human body has to prevent damage to itself. Kind of like when you hear stories of a mother lifting a car to save her child from being crushed. We all have the capability, but are prevented from using that strength unless faced with exceptional circumstances. But I don’t think strength is what Vadderung had in mind, but rather its magic. I don’t use cryomancy - a derivative of hydromancy - all that often, but the Winter Mantle offers power taken from the depths of Arctis Tor itself. I could freeze something solid in an instant and shatter it.”

Thomas snorted. “Is that what you tried to do to the vampire.”

“Yes, and you saw the results. With the Mantle it would’ve frozen completely, leaving only icy chunks of vampire instead of the gorefest we ended up with.”

“You’re saying you could completely freeze the serpent?” Murphy asked skeptically.

“Likely its mass will be too great for even the Winter Mantle to overcome. But part of it, maybe. Or freeze the water around it, lock it in ice. Water’s a lot easier to freeze.”

A slow smile spread across Murphy’s face. “I have a friend who likes weapons. I’m sure he could get me whatever I asked for.” She was referring to Kincaid, she had to be. But then again, she’d managed to acquire a rocket launcher for the Battle of Chicago that I would swear he hadn’t supplied. “You get it stationary and I’ll ram a rocket down its throat.”

“While I stand on the sidelines looking dashing,” Thomas quipped, brushing his hair back as he struck a pose.

Murphy eyed him. “Oh, I think I could find another rocket launcher, if you think you can handle the thrust, big boy.”

My mouth hung open at her innuendo. Was she flirting? With my brother?

He smiled, a sly, predatory thing that held more than a hint of sex lurking in its depths. “Lieutenant, I am the master of thrust.” It came out a low purr.

“Oh my God, I’m not hearing this,” I muttered, putting a hand over my face.

“Afraid so, boss,” piped up Bob.

Murphy’s laugh was strained. She felt Thomas’ Hunger in that moment, an echo of what Lord Raith forced her to feel that night in the Deeps. I could sense it even now, questing, wanting, pushing… and then it withdrew, Thomas reeling it back under his control. A hint of silver flashed in his eyes.

I cleared my throat, breaking the sudden tension. “For now, we wait for Vadderung to contact me again. Or until the Winter Queen does.”

Thomas slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Well, then. Time for us to go, Bob.” He picked up the skull.

“Hey, unhand me you lumbering Neanderthal!” Bob ranted all the way down the stairs, his complaints cut off only when Thomas closed the trap door and covered it with carpets.

He blew out a breath. “Does he ever shut up?”

“Give him an issue of Playboy and he’ll be too distracted to talk,” I replied.

Thomas blinked. “Porn? You provide him with porn?”

I scoffed. “Did you really think all those romance novels were for me?”

My brother shook his head. “Now I’ve heard everything. An incorporeal, centuries’ old spirit gets off on pictures of naked women. Well, now that I have that image in my head, I’m heading to the gym. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows a few times, that damned smirk lighting up his face.

I threw a pillow at him. “Quit being an ass.”

He tossed it back. “Have fun, you two.” Then, picking up his gym bag by the door, he was gone. Mister darted through the door before it closed, off on his nightly adventures.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Murphy asked into the silence. I looked up at her, but her gaze was fixed on the fire.

I frowned. “Talk about what?”

Her lips hovered in an almost-smile. “You always were so oblivious to what should be obvious. Why should I expect a future version of you to be any different?” Then her eyes flicked to my face, and what I saw reflected there broke my heart.

“Murph…” What could I say? What did I dare say? I love you, and held you as you died, watched the life fade from your eyes. I never thought to see you again. My throat closed up, preventing me from saying anything at all.

She sighed, a real smile forming at last. “Sit with me.” She patted the couch next to her. I got up, stifling a groan, and joined her, wincing as my battered back slumped against the cushions.

“It might be easier if you lie down on your side, head in my lap,” Murph said.

My eyebrows raised. “Why Ms. Murphy, are you coming on to me?”

Her mouth twisted. “Only in your dreams, Dresden.” And that dream, still so vivid almost two years later, clawed its way up out of the depths of my mind. Of Murphy and me, entwined on her bed, sheets smelling of sunlight and strawberries as she urged me on. It had been amazing… right up until she shot me, with Lasciel’s violet eyes glowing on her forehead.

Sometimes my alter-ego is an ass.

I did as ordered, curling my legs so they didn’t fall off the edge, resting my cheek on her leanly muscled thigh. It reduced the pressure on my back, and the throbbing pain subsided to a dull agony that was manageable even without any pain suppression techniques.

“Tell me what you didn’t tell Thomas,” she said at last, her eyes once again drawn to the fire. “Tell me what it means to become the Winter Knight.”

I sighed in pleasure, in relaxation, as her hand ran through my hair, even as her words simultaneously sent a shiver up my spine. “In essence, I’m the Winter Queen’s hired gun. The one she sends on errands that she cannot herself perform.”

She exhaled a soft breath. “That’s not what I’m asking, Harry. What does it mean for you?”

Oh. She always could read my expressions, and what she saw in Vadderung’s office concerned her. “Winter… is not kind to those who serve it. Winter is wolves at the door, the bitter cold of darkest night, bloodthirst and lust, pain and violence and sex, baser instincts laid bare. Most Knights only live a few years after taking on the Mantle, eventually going insane from the inability to control their own urges. The power it holds is designed to make the Knight more capable in his role as a killer.”

Murphy’s hand stilled, resting lightly across my forehead. “Is it truly that bad for you?”

“Sometimes,” I said, offering her a truth I scarce wanted to admit to myself. “Exercise helps, so I adhere to a rigorous schedule. Mostly running, but boxing and weightlifting, too.”

“You had to kill someone?”

“The former Winter Knight,” I said, sighing.

“Slate?”

“Yeah. By the end, the Queen had broken him so completely he wasn’t recognizable as human. I don’t think he even knew I was there, or that he was about to die.” I remembered his soft sigh as his life’s-blood spilled down over the table.

Murphy was silent for several minutes, but her fingers never ceased moving. It felt incredible, the touch of her hand through my hair, and even the pressure behind my eyes receded. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly. “To us?”

My heart lurched in my chest, because my instincts knew instantly what she was asking. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of her face, the weight of her eyes on my own.

“I died,” I replied hoarsely, “and came back as the Winter Knight. I hid, out on that island I mentioned, learning to control the Mantle’s urges. You were… badly hurt, helping me with my obligation to Mab. And then… war came to Chicago, and you…” my voice broke and I couldn’t continue, swallowing down the tears.

“Died,” she finished for me, which my silence confirmed. “I’m dead, in your past.”

My throat closed up, and this time I couldn’t stop a few of the tears from running down my face, soaking into her jeans as they fell. All I could do was nod.

“And you loved me.”

Oh, God. “I love you still,” I whispered, surrounded by grief, knowing I would lose her a second time.

I barely felt my head lift as Murphy slid out from under me. When I next opened my eyes, she was kneeling at my side. Her face was in shadow, the firelight a halo around her, and I couldn’t make out her expression.

She leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’m not dead yet.”

Then it was a brush of her lips against mine, tentative, hesitant, and all too fleeting. There came a second attempt, and this one was raw desire and pent-up frustration, which started out as a good kiss and progressed to near transcendent fairly quickly. Our breaths intermingled, growing more labored as the kiss continued.

I have a rather vivid imagination. All those years spent with my nose buried in books, dreaming of other, better worlds than my own after I’d lost my dad. But without the Mantle’s incessant drumbeat throbbing in my head, I wasn’t treated to an array of Things To Do With Karrin as I had been before. Instead, I basked in sensory overload, the softness of her lips, the light caress of fingertips down my face, the lingering scent of strawberries and sunshine, the ache of desire coiling in my gut, the inferno igniting my blood.

I wanted to drown in that kiss.

I reached out with my free hand, intending to pull her on top of me, wanting a better angle for… a number of reasons.

The phone rang, its shrill tone breaking the kiss quicker than a bucket of ice water dumped over our heads. My heart hammered in my chest, my body tight with need, as I stared at Karrin’s shadowed face. She said nothing, and the phone continued to ring.

“I should get that,” I said stupidly, my mind still dizzy, whirling with emotion I never thought to feel again. Not with her.

Murphy snorted and rocked back on her heels. “Probably, since we’ll go deaf if you don’t.” I had no answering machine, and the phone would only stop if the other party decided to hang up.

Whoever this was, they were persistent.

I heaved myself off the couch and to my feet, shambling over to the phone. My current state of arousal made it uncomfortable to walk. “Dresden.”

“What the hell have you gotten me into, Dresden?” demanded a male voice, nearly shouting in my ear through static on the line. It took me a few seconds to connect that voice with a name.

“Kincaid?”

Murphy’s head jerked up. She repositioned herself on the couch, listening intently. Her face was flushed, though with embarrassment or arousal I couldn’t say.

“Who in the fucking hell else would it be?” I wanted to tell him to forget the whole thing, but before I could form a reply, he added, “I shot Cowl, but the bullet didn’t hit him.”

I blinked. “You missed?” Kincaid never missed.

“You’re not listening. I didn’t miss. I don’t know what the hell Cowl is, but consider me no longer under your employ. Keep your money, and keep me the hell out of it.” The line went dead.

Hell’s bells.

I set the receiver down, staring at nothing for a moment as I tried to process his words. Cowl was a necromancer, but that didn’t make him bulletproof. If Kincaid attempted to kill him as he’d once killed me, how could Cowl know the shot was coming from a quarter of a mile away? Unless… he wasn’t alive to begin with. I never discovered why his corpse had disintegrated into a pile of obsidian.

The Golem of Prague. Maybe the idea wasn’t as far fetched as it sounded.

“Dresden, what did you do?” Murphy asked. Her anger was palpable, a living thing writhing between us, filling up the empty space in my apartment.

Whatever moment we had… whatever moment we might have had… was lost.

I didn’t want to see her expression, but turned around anyway. “Contracted Kincaid.”

“To kill someone?” At my silence, she kept pressing. “I am not an idiot, Dresden. I know what Jared does for a living.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “To kill a necromancer who wants to turn himself into a god. If he succeeds, thousands will die from the spell’s backlash.” It was a great excuse, though my actual reason for contacting Kincaid was far more selfish. But I found I couldn’t bring myself to tell her of Michael’s fate.

Her eyes turned hard. She stood, all five feet nothing, and marched over to jab a finger in my chest. “I am disappointed in you. There are some things you just don’t do. Murder for hire is one of them, and you are better than that.” Then without another word, she grabbed her coat and walked out, slamming the front door behind her.

No, Murph, I’m really not. It’s easy to have morals when you haven’t watched your friends die. When you haven’t watched the woman you love die. When you haven’t seen tens of thousands die and the city you swore to protect reduced to rubble.

That future Murphy would have understood. She lived with my own death for a year, subjected to countless imitation Harry Dresdens trying to kill her, or seduce her, or God knew what else. She hadn’t talked much about that year with me, though I gleaned a few insights from Butters’ offhand comments.

This Murphy - for the most part - still believed in justice, in law and order, and in her job. She had yet to lose that job because of politics and choices she made, and because she helped me save a girl from having her mind ripped apart by living nightmares.

I sank on the couch and put my head in my hands, only to have my arm bumped by a cold, wet nose. “Hey, Mouse.” I scratched behind his ears. He’d moved into my bedroom to give us the semblance of privacy when things got a little heated between me and Murph, but returned to comfort me. He sat, his tail thumping against the legs of the coffee table.

“Guess I screwed up, huh?” The ache in my chest rivaled the throbbing bruises on my back, and the pressure behind my eyes grew. Tired, I felt so damned tired, and old. “I just need some sleep,” I told my dog, who thumped his tail a few more times in response.

I stretched out as much as I could on a couch that size, draped a blanket over my legs, and let the darkness claim me.

Chapter Text

It was dark, and I was alone.

But that was a lie, because it wasn’t quite dark. My surroundings held a surreal quality, a sense of walking through fog at night with unseen streetlights chasing only the barest of the gloom away.

And I wasn’t alone.

The nape of my neck prickled with the weight of unseen eyes focused on my every step, every breath. Dread coiled in my gut, and grew stronger with each passing second.

Fear is the mind killer.

The thought didn’t help.

It was around then I discovered I was completely naked, with only my mother’s pentacle amulet around my neck.

“Hello?” I called, my voice oddly muted. Nothing answered me, not that I expected it to. I was in a low-budget slasher flick with no weapons, no clothes, and no place to hide.

I moved forward a few cautious, quiet steps, and an object ahead of me took on shape and substance. I froze as I recognized it.

The Stone Table. Which meant I was in its Valley, a place created by the Fae Queens when the courts went to war. Or when one meant to make a Knight of a wizard with a broken back. It was gray upon shades of gray, no color to speak of. Certainly not the blues and purples and deep greens of Winter I remembered from my previous indoctrination.

A broken ring of stones emerged next from the mist, caught halfway in an ethereal light I was unable to see beyond. Fifteen feet, maybe a little more, and the world faded away,

“It is time we spoke, my wizard.” The cold whisper of a voice slithered over my skin, making me shiver with fear… and with pleasure. Mab, in all her inhuman, terrible beauty, stepped out from behind one of the upright stones. She wore a simple gown of deepest blue, her long silver-white hair bound only by a crown of ice-encrusted thorns. And those eyes, emerald orbs with slitted pupils, burned in anticipation.

“Queen Mab,” I said with as much politeness as I could muster, considering I was naked and all. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Her lazy smile showed a great many sharp teeth. “A bargain has been offered and accepted, wizard, with you the beneficiary. I have come to bestow a portion of my power to you, albeit for a small measure of time.”

At a gesture of her hand, stars fell from a starless sky, leaving trails of icy blue, pale yellow, brilliant white. They streaked around us, just beyond the broken stones, and I felt the circle close with me at its epicenter. Trapped in the tigress’ den, and the tigress was hungry.

“I would see the mortal intending to bind his life to mine,” Mab said, those too-wide feline eyes boring through flesh and bone, into the spirit it contained.

I clutched my head against the sudden, sharp spike of pain, but it was gone before I drew in a second breath. Both Future Harry and Alt-Harry were now standing next to me, frozen in place and partially transparent as if they were nothing more than hologram projections. Harry Actual was lying prone on the Stone Table, arms crossed neatly over his chest. It was a disquieting image, seeing him displayed as a sacrifice. A ghostly image of Slate superimposed itself over him, and I wasn’t all that sure it was only in my mind.

After a few seconds, Lasciel coalesced, her visage halfway between the one she normally wore when speaking to me, and the painfully exquisite Fallen angel I’d seen at Mac’s. She was clad only in ribbons of purple smoke, her eyes a violet hue, but her hair was a normal shade of blonde and her tattered wings were missing.

She, too, appeared immobile and translucent.

Mab’s eyes widened. “You have consented to host one of them.” Her lip curled into a snarl as she said the final word. “She may offer you power, but she will lie and deceive you, and one day betray you. I am Mab, Queen of Winter, and I am true to my word, wizard.” Her eyes flashed with emerald fire. “Remember that.”

She gestured, as if waving away an annoying insect, and the other Harrys vanished. As did Lasciel’s shadow.

“I did not consent to host Lasciel,” I said, more weary than angry. “Nicodemus placed the coin in my path, putting me in a situation that necessitated picking it up. I never accepted the coin, and in the end returned it to the church.”

She regarded me with razor-sharp focus. “Without acceptance, there can be no repudiation.”

I regarded her in return. “That is my business, not yours. And that is not why you have come.”

Blood, bone and breath, you are mine, whispered the cold breeze as it teased my hair. Then my body bowed, nerves scraped raw, and I screamed. Fiery pain lanced my chest, my gut, and my lower back where my spine had been severed by a bad fall. It felt as if razor-tipped fingernails dug into and through my skin, penetrating muscle and bone, and through that to my very soul.

When the agony receded, I found myself curled on my side. The ground was stone, not the grass I remembered, cold and unyielding. Shivers wracked my body as I tried to stand, teeth chattering so hard I feared they might crack.

“This is a bit more sadism than I’m used to from my dreams,” I quipped, leveraging the table for support. I froze at the glimmer of metal on its surface. The ancient leaf-bladed knife, crafted from bronze, lay there. Hungry. Waiting. Urging me to pick it up, use it, bloody its razor-sharp edge once more. What had Mab called it? Medea’s bodkin? “That isn’t part of the deal,” I said, lifting my head to meet Mab’s burning emerald gaze.

She inclined her head a fraction. “That is true, my wizard. The power I grant you comes at a price, but it is not your responsibility to pay it. However, I must needs hear your words, that you accept what I offer freely and of your own will.”

I could reject the Mantle’s power. But if I did so, I risked every life in Chicago. Vadderung might be a fading god, but he still claimed immense power. Power enough to rival Mab, in the right circumstance. He had never lied to me, and I had no reason to doubt that should I forgo the Mantle, Chicago might be destroyed.

Don’t lie to yourself, Dresden You miss its cold, hungry power. You miss feeling powerful.

I did, and I did. Once, that would have terrified me. Now it was merely one more dark facet of my soul I’d chosen to live with.

I straightened and faced the Winter Queen. “I, Harry Dresden, wizard of the White Council, freely accept the Winter Knight’s Mantle, as stipulated in the bargain forged between Donar Vadderung and Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen of Winter.” A ripple of magic flowed over my skin at the words.

“Ah,” she breathed, head thrown back in delighted pleasure. I blinked, and Mab stood mere inches from me. One ruby-nailed hand snaked around the back of my neck, pulling me down until our lips touched. Then Mab claimed my mouth hungrily with hers, and it was as far from Karrin’s kiss as could be. This was bitter cold and sharp teeth and immovable strength. I flinched as she broke the skin, tasting blood, but couldn’t pull away from her. She refused to let me, a grip of stone and ice locking me in an embrace.

The last time - the first time - I acquired the Winter Knight’s Mantle, I had been unconscious. The bargain I struck with Mab allowed me to remain Wizard Harry Dresden until my daughter had been rescued and returned to safety. But my last moments alive weren’t spent in fear. Instead, I’d anticipated meeting Karrin for our first officially unofficial date. A “let’s meet for drinks and see where it leads” kind of evening.

Then Kincaid’s bullet pierced my heart and left me in a coma for nearly a year. And when I’d woken at last, deep in the caves beneath Demonreach, the Mantle’s power woke with me.

This time, it was like drinking liquid nitrogen.

I screamed, and kept screaming as the ice in my heart spread, tendrils of numbing cold invading lungs and gut, from toes to fingertips. But my blood was boiling, sweat dripping down my face. It felt like my skin was ready to melt like wax and slough off.

Arms locked around my chest, pinning my own arms in place. My instincts told me it was not Mab, but a predator nonetheless, looking for weak prey. I struggled in vain; whatever had hold of me was stronger. Burning and freezing and frantic, I pushed those emotions into a shape with my will, intending to strike out.

“Forza-“ I never completed the spell. I was hurled through the air, head smashing into a hard surface before it gave way. I crashed to the ground, hard. Every nerve lit up in agony, dampened almost as quickly by the Winter Mantle’s numbing chill, turning it into mere background noise. Noise I should probably pay attention to, but even without the pain, my head continued to spin, harder and faster until my stomach twisted and I began to retch and shiver uncontrollably.

“Harry?” I knew the voice, but couldn’t place it. This time, the arms encircling me felt familiar, comforting, and my instincts told me I was safe. My body relaxed; the ice melted, the fire extinguished, and I sagged backwards. “Fuck, Harry, don’t do this to me.” The familiar patter of hungerhungerhunger thrummed in my mind.

Thomas.

My sight returned next, a blurry image of my bedroom as seen from the floor. The bathroom door, which should have been in its frame, was lying several feet from me, a section splintered as if hit by a large object.

Probably my head, I realized.

“I…” I managed that much, my throat was raw and swollen so it came out a whisper.

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“Empty Night,” Thomas sighed in infinite relief. “I thought you were dying. You wouldn’t stop screaming, and your skin was nearly too hot to touch. All I could think of was to dump you in the shower, hope the cold water shocked you awake, or at least prevented your brain from boiling inside your skull.”

That explained why water was dripping from my hair and down my face. He’d stripped me out of my clothes, leaving only my boxers, and they, too, were drenched and uncomfortable.

Hungerhungerhunger. Thomas’ bare arms were touching my bare chest, which explained my reaction to sensing a nearby predator. I’d done something similar after touching Will that first time with my new senses opened, nearly blasting him in the process.

I swallowed a few times. My throat didn’t hurt, precisely, but it was still difficult to force the words out. “What happened to the door?” I gestured weakly.

He snorted softly. “You nearly die and that’s the first thing you ask.” Then he blew out a soft breath, almost a sigh. “I couldn’t just leave you in the shower unconscious. You might have drowned. So I held you upright until you tried to blast me with that force spell you like to use. I recognized the word, and tossed you away before you could complete it.” He sighed again, more forcefully this time. “I guess I used too much strength, because when you crashed into the door, you just kept going. Are you… all right? You threw up afterwards.”

I moved to sit up, causing Thomas to release me, then took stock of my injuries. “Think so.” I rolled over on my knees, then used the bed as a brace to stand slowly. “Bit dizzy.” But it wasn’t bad enough to drop me to the ground, or cause another bout of vomiting.

Mouse’s head poked through the doorway, a worried doggie expression on his face. “I’m okay,” I told him, hearing his tail thump thump against one of the bookcases just outside the bedroom.

“What the hell happened?” Thomas demanded, bounding to his feet. He had on a soaked pair of jeans and nothing else, which didn’t surprise me.

“The Winter Queen made good on her deal with Vadderung,” I said, rubbing at my chest. Not that the Mantle hurt, but its numbing cold was a distinctly odd feeling, having lived the past thirty-six hours or so without it. It had more definition than I remembered, a part of me that hadn’t quite meshed with the whole. Apart from me.

Maybe because it’s on loan.

Thomas’ eyes took on a sheen of silver, his body language a hint of threat. “You’re the Winter Knight?”

“Temporarily. I’m still the same Harry Dresden, Thomas, just with a mantle of Fae power augmenting my own. You seem to forget that I’ve already been the Winter Knight few years, and know how to handle its urges.”

His froze, statue-still, not even breathing. “What did you just say?”

What had I just said? I did a quick rewind, then wanted to strangle myself. Oh, crap.

“Dammit. This wasn’t how I meant to tell you.”

The silver motes in his eyes grew brighter. “Oh?”

The Winter Mantle clearly viewed Thomas as a threat. Boiling rage rose up, and my hand twitched at my side as I tried to keep the desire to fling power around in check. I pushed it down, down, until I could breathe without needing to clench my teeth first. “Let me shower. A real shower, this time. And then I’ll explain everything, all right?” When he didn’t move, I added, “I’m still your brother, Thomas. Just a future version of him.”

At that he blinked, then those silver eyes of his narrowed. “You look the same, but… it would explain your recent behavior.” Then he glanced at Mouse and gestured to me. “You believe him?” Mouse padded into the room, woofing softly as he wagged his tail, and sat at my side. I ruffled his ears. “And you’re okay with it?” Mouse gave him a doggie grin, tail thumping harder. Thomas blew out a breath. “And now I’m asking the dog for advice.” Mouse’s grin grew wider.

“Fine, shower,” he said irritably, waving towards the bathroom. “But then you will explain yourself to my satisfaction, or I will throw you out of this apartment so fast you land in the lake.”

I raised an eyebrow, ignoring the Mantle’s violent suggestions of a response. “You can try. You seem to forget what happened to the last vampire that tried to kill me.”

Thomas considered that a moment, then broke out into a smile. Stupid perfect white teeth. “You definitely sound like my brother. I’ll leave you to it. Come on, Mouse.” They left, shutting the bedroom door for privacy.

Not like Thomas hadn’t seen me naked before.

The door frame to the bathroom had splintered when the hinges ripped free, and the door itself broken beyond repair. Thomas must’ve kicked the door closed after dragging me unconscious into the bathroom, then thrown me right at it. I gingerly felt the back of my head, finding a lump that should’ve been agonizing to touch but was merely uncomfortable. It was possible I had a concussion, as the Mantle might numb pain but it didn’t accelerate healing, and it didn’t prevent me from being hurt in the first place. I had to be careful not to aggravate my injuries, which wasn’t all that easy when you can only feel the barest whisper of pain.

I draped a towel over the floor, covering any bits of wood I might step on, then stripped out of my boxers, kicking the sopping mess into a corner. The water, as expected, was on the cool side, though tolerable. I still longed for a hot shower, but at least I wouldn’t freeze.

Though I assumed I’d be visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, I remained undisturbed. It allowed me to quickly wash up, dry, and change, finger combing my hair so at least it wasn’t standing on end.

Thomas had built up the fire and lit a few candles. It was a warm, cheery glow, and I felt that deep sense of home settle into my bones, something I’d never felt living in the castle and likely never would. It was too big, designed like a commercial building instead of livable space.

He tossed me a can of soda as I fell onto the couch with a heartfelt sigh, joining me a moment later with beer in hand. “Let’s hear it, and it better be good, because I don’t want to waste one of Mac’s premium brews on a shitty story with plot holes large enough to drive a tank through.”

I told Thomas an abbreviated version of how I ended up ten years in the past, what Vadderung and the Gatekeeper told me about the paradox, and Bob’s thoughts on it.

He raised a brow. “You are marrying Lara? You?”

I chucked the now-empty soda can at his head, which he caught one-handed without even sparing it a glance. “That’s your takeaway from this? Not that the universe might implode, or I might explode, but that I’m marrying your sister?”

He smirked. “Priorities.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. If I refuse to follow through, the Queen of Winter can make me. Either directly, by forcing her will on mine, or by threats against those I care about. Oh, that reminds me.” I wore a smirk of my own. “You’re an uncle. And a dad. Congratulations!”

Thomas choked on his swallow of beer (his third) and spluttered, causing him to foam at the mouth. I burst out laughing. He finally wiped his face with a sleeve. “Dammit, Harry, you can’t just drop that kind of news and not expect a reaction.”

I continued to laugh. It felt good, better than good, to see him in an awkward position for once. “Sorry, sorry,” I managed, trying to get myself back under control. “You should’ve seen your face.”

His expression sobered, and he asked softly, “Justine?”

I couldn’t help my grin. “Yeah. Your daughter’s beautiful, by the way. And I think we are both getting the hang of the dad thing.”

He looked… wistful, if I had to put a name to it. “You and… Murphy?”

“Whoa, hold on there partner!” I stammered, putting my hands up. “You remember Susan’s visit a few years ago?”

Thomas blinked. “Susan? She hasn’t told you?”

That deep, familiar anger seethed in my gut, but I’d learned how to live with it. “No. Said it was for Maggie’s protection. That’s her name, after Mom.” I blew out a breath, ran fingers through my damp hair. “In a lot of ways, she was right to keep knowledge of our daughter hidden, even from me. As soon as the Red Court found out about her, she was taken. I - we - took her back. But… I’m still angry. I missed years of her life, Thomas. Years I’ll never get back.”

He pointed at me. “You’ve got them back now.”

“Eh, technically,” I said, waggling a hand back and forth. “But the disturbance in the flow of time is growing, I can feel it. Whatever else Vadderung and the Gatekeeper told me, I definitely believe it will pull me back to my present.”

“You really think this timeline will disintegrate after it does, wiping out everything you’ve done here?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Honestly I have no idea. It makes the most sense, since I don’t remember any of this happening. But it could turn out like Back To The Future, where I return to a present which doesn’t resemble my present at all.”

“Marcone’s empire taken over by Biff?”

I snorted. “See, that’s what I like about you. Unlike the White Council, you actually get my pop culture references.”

Thomas finished off his beer with a flourish. “I could be dead and understand more about pop culture than those stodgy self-righteous assholes.” He thunked his bottle down on the coffee table. “Daughter, eh? Well, if I do happen to remember this, it’ll give me time to get used to the idea. Because frankly, right now I’m terrified at the thought. To be responsible for a new life… it’s a lot. Not to mention she’ll be of the White Court.”

“But not at first. Not until she’s a teenager, right? With Lara in charge, you’ll at least be able to explain it all to her well in advance,” I said.

He cocked his head and stared at me a moment. “There’s a lot you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Thomas, if I told you everything that has happened, we’d be here for days. I don’t have that kind of time, and I need to talk to Murph.”

“How is she taking it?” he asked.

“Taking what?”

“Your impending marriage to the unofficial queen of the White Court.”

Pain the Mantle could do nothing about squeezed my chest. “I, uh… she’s dead.”

He winced. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” I looked down at Mouse. He’d listened to my explanation, and now raised his head with a small whine.

“Fuck,” Thomas repeated softly. “It must be hard seeing her again, especially knowing that your time here…” he trailed off.

“Yeah, it is.” I suddenly wished I’d joined Thomas, drinking Mac’s ale. Lips turning blue… I shook myself free of the memory. “I’d better go.”

“You know they have this new invention called a telephone. You can use it to talk to people even when they’re several miles away.”

I looked around for another soda can to throw and came up empty. “Jerk.”

“You want to spend time with her,” he said, drawing his own conclusions.

“Of course I do,” I snapped. “I also owe her an apology, one that’s best said in person.”

He clicked his tongue. “Which I’m guessing has something to do with the reason you were asleep, alone, when I came home. Right before you started screaming and I dragged you into the shower.”

My anger was quickly replaced by chagrin. “Thanks.”

Thomas rolled a shoulder with a liquid grace I couldn’t hope to match. “You’re my brother. It’s my job to look out for you. It’s also my job to tell you to quit being an ass and tell Murphy you’re in love with her.”

I gave him an ironic smile. “That’s the problem, I did. Wait a minute, how do you know I’m in love with her?”

He gestured to himself. “Harry, I’m an incubus. I know what love looks like. I know what love feels like. And you, brother mine, have it bad.”

At that, I chuckled. “Fair point.”

I no longer felt the cold.

For as much as I complained about being cold since I’d arrived, I found I missed the fall chill, the briskness in the air stinging my cheeks. While it wasn’t balmy, it was pleasantly cool, even with the unseasonably frigid temperature this early in the morning. Usually weren’t subjected to this kind of cold until almost Thanksgiving. Influenced by Mab’s appearance, perhaps. The Fae Queens could affect the weather by mere presence alone.

I hadn’t missed the Mantle’s throbbing drumbeat in my blood pushing for sex or violence, or a combination of the two. I didn’t have time to run myself into exhaustion, not today nor any of the few remaining days I had left. Less than seventy-two hours, and the stresses of my trip through time would recall me home. Or kill me. Either way, no time to waste, not with Jörmungandr on its way.

I glanced at the sky, cold and clear with the faint blush of dawn to the east threatening to obscure the stars. While there was no hint of a storm - which is what I suspected would herald the serpent’s birth into our world - there was a disturbance in the Force.

Yeah, I went there.

The energy patterns, especially over the lake, were disrupted, swirling chaotically in place only to settle moments later. The people of Chicago might be oblivious to its imminent arrival, but the city itself knew, the same way it’s said animals can sense earthquakes before they happen. Wizards, or anyone more sensitive to those energies, would notice.

I’d stopped by Murphy’s house, but the lights were off and her car absent from the driveway. As it was too early for the dojo she frequented to be open, the station was the logical choice. After parking the Beetle in the guest lot, I carried coffee and a large paper bag inside, turning so that the officer on duty could examine the consultant ID clipped to my duster.

Officer Patrick O’Shaughnessy - probably one of the most Chicagoan names ever - gave it a quick glance. His black hair and neatly trimmed mustache were streaked with gray, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Of all the officers working the front desk, he had never been anything but friendly towards me, regardless of the rumors that swirled around my name. “You’re here early.”

“Lieutenant in?” I asked, pulling one paper cup out of its holder and setting it on his desk. From the bag, I retrieved a freshly-made cherry danish with a napkin, placing it next to the coffee.

His eyebrows went up as he eyed the offering. “Hey, thanks. Never went home. Go on up.” He’d already taken a large bite of the danish before I made it to the stairs, grunting appreciatively.

I seldom visited S.I.’s offices, and less seldom brought anything edible with me when I did. But it was early, and it never hurt to be in the good graces of the officer behind the front desk.

I found the office door open. It was almost always open, because there was almost always someone working, even late into the night. The overheads were off, leaving a few scattered desk lamps as the only light in the room, but all the desks were empty. Without the white noise of computer fans, I could faintly pick out the sound of fingers typing on a keyboard coming from the back.

“Hey, Murph?” I called, loud but not too loud. I didn’t want to startle her by appearing in her doorway unexpectedly. The woman had a gun, and a number of trophies proving she knew precisely how to use it.

The typing stopped, and I heard squeaky hinges indicating a door opening. “Dresden?” Murphy appeared at the end of the row, her hair slightly mussed, clothes slightly rumpled, as if she’d slept in them. I knew the couch in the small waiting area was used occasionally by S.I. for a quick nap, and knew there was a room in the back with a single cot in case someone had to spend the night in more comfortable surroundings. Murph had used it a few times when the weather was bad enough she hadn’t dared drive home.

I raised the cardboard holder so she could see it better. “Brought sustenance.”

“Oh, God, yes,” she breathed, almost running in her haste to grab the nearest cup of coffee. She took a few gulps, then let out a pleasurable sigh. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

Don’t even think it, I warned myself. Keep it professional.

“Hungry?” I proffered the bag, and she snatched it from my hand like a ravening wolverine.

“Starving,” she confessed, biting into one of the danishes. “Have a seat.” Though the words came out mumbled and muffled because her mouth was full.

I did, finally able to free my own cup of coffee and doctor it to my liking. I’d brought sugar packets and tiny cups of cream, adding them and stirring it with the supplied wooden stick. Murphy took one of the chairs, watching me as she finished off the first danish.

“Don’t know why you bother with coffee at all,” she quipped. “Might as well be drinking chocolate milk.”

I scoffed. “You’re just jealous mine tastes so much better than yours.”

She licked her fingers clean of crumbs. “I’m a cop, Dresden. It’s in my DNA to drink my coffee brewed from the dregs of Lake Michigan.” She had a smear of cherry filling on her chin, and it took a great deal of willpower to keep from wiping it away.

Or licking it away…

Focus, Dresden.

“You’ve got…” I gestured to my chin.

“Oh.” She swiped at hers with a napkin. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Murph seemed in an amicable mood, and I didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up the incident at my apartment directly, so sidestepped the entire evening. “Heard you didn’t go home last night.” Though by her change of clothes it was clear she stopped by her house before heading to the station.

“I came in to figure out how to write up my report on the incident at Indigo Digital, now that we know who did it and who was behind it. I had no idea how to spin this one in light of the camera footage that clearly shows your face, so imagine my surprise when I checked the video again only to find it corrupted. Called over to Indigo Digital’s security team, and their copy has mysteriously vanished from the offsite backup server. Vadderung’s covering his tracks.”

“Or Lara’s doing it for him. He said she’d overstepped, but his actions might have tipped the scales too far,” I said, scratching at my chin. I should’ve shaved this morning. “Perhaps he offered recompense in return for the video’s destruction.”

“Either way, it makes my life easier. Now I can attribute the destruction to a power surge due to faulty wiring. Some of the cables running underneath the floor showed signs of rodent activity, so with the pictures my guys collected, it’s not a stretch to make that claim.” She pulled out the second danish, offering it to me. I declined with a shake of my head. She took a bite, then asked, “So what brings you here this early?”

“Well… seems that Vadderung and the Winter Queen came to an agreement.”

Murphy blinked. “You’re the Winter Knight?”

I nodded. “For better or worse, until death do we part.”

She tilted her head as she looked at me, narrowing her eyes. “You’re being facetious, I hope.”

“Afraid not. Only way I get out of this gig is by dying. Which… I already tried once, but have no intention of following through with a second time. Too much to lose.”

She made a noncommittal noise, then steered the topic in a new direction. “Any sense of the serpent yet?”

“There’s a slight disturbance in the Force,” I said, dropping my voice in a bad imitation of James Earl Jones, then continued normally, “but not enough to worry me. Not yet.”

Murph rolled her eyes. “You and that movie, I swear. Sometimes I think you’d like me better if I dressed up as an Ewok.”

I choked back a surprised laugh. She didn’t usually give in to joking about her height, and didn’t tolerate those jokes from anyone. Except me, I realized. God, I’d been so blind. “I like you exactly the way you are,” I replied truthfully. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” Other than the fact you’re dead.

Her cheeks turned a shade of pink, and she busied herself with finishing off the second danish. “About last night…” she said, wiping her fingers on a napkin, then let the silence stretch.

She’s going to say it was a mistake.

But the Mantle had a number of things saved up in reply, and Things To Do With Karrin made a triumphant return in technicolor. Starting with pulling her onto my lap and into a hungry, fierce, passionate kiss, something I’d always wanted to do with her but never had the opportunity.

She didn’t say it was a mistake. She avoided that part of the evening completely. “When I was finally able to look at it objectively, I realized you would never countenance an assassination unless you had no other choice open to you. It brought to mind the protagonist in The Dead Zone, having to kill the presidential candidate before he annihilates the world through nuclear war. No one would believe he could see the future.” She shifted in her seat. “But you have already lived my future, and know what’s coming. I should have put more trust in your decision.”

Stab, twist.

She wanted to know if Cowl was responsible for her death, it was written all over face.

Do you love me enough to save me the second time around?

I couldn’t tell her about Rudolph.

“A year ago, the Last Titan came to Chicago and brought a supernatural army with her. You were shot during the fighting, and died in my arms.” There was only the slightest hitch in my voice as I spoke, refusing to look at the images my mind insisted on conjuring. “Cowl killed Michael Carpenter during a ritual where he thought to gain godlike power. Michael sacrificed himself to prevent it, and he saved the lives of a lot of people. He saved my life -“ this time my voice did break, and I stopped to swallow a few times. “He walked into that church knowing he was going to die, and accepted it. But I refuse to accept it. If Cowl died now, there would never be a need for Michael’s sacrifice.”

“Oh,” she replied softly, concern wrinkling her brow. “I’m sorry about Michael. You know… I thought I’d feel more, you know, about my death.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’m a bit angry, but mostly? I’m relieved, knowing I died doing my best to save this city and the people I’ve sworn to protect. There are plenty of worse deaths than that.”

A second knife joined the first in my heart, and I didn’t say anything in response. Instead, I stared at my hands, wishing futilely those hands had been fast enough, strong enough, to save her.

“Harry…” the tone in her voice made me look up. “About us. I just… I don’t want anything serious right now. And I know you. You can’t do casual relationships, it’s not who you are. You care too much, feel too much. If we were to explore something more than friendship, that comes with a lot of baggage. Discussions of age, and kids, and lifestyle changes, and… we work together. I’ve done the coworker relationship before, and it’s not healthy.”

It was very much like the speech she once gave me in an elevator, ticking off reasons we couldn’t be romantically involved. She’d clearly put a lot of thought into them.

“Murph…” I began. “Karrin. You are my best friend, you know that? You’ve been there for me and saved my life more than once. And I love you, I can’t pretend that I don’t. Truthfully, it surprised the hell out of me once I figured it out, and now…” I took a breath, forced the pain down. “Now, I wish to God I’d had more time with you. I wish we’d both taken that risk long before we did.”

Overwhelmed by pain the Mantle couldn’t numb, I put my head in my hands, trying to regain control. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean to dump that on you. Seeing you again has been… hard.”

A gentle squeeze of my shoulder. “I’m sorry, too,” she said quietly, her weight settling on the chair’s arm. “It’s easy to forget you have ten years of memories I don’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Harry.” Murphy sighed. “Relationships beyond friendship are difficult for me. Two failed marriages proves that. I’m afraid of what would happen to us if we try and fail.”

“Do or do not, there is no try,” I quipped, raising my head to find her scowling at me. I gave her a lopsided grin. “Come on, that was the perfect opening.”

“Here I am trying to pour my heart out to you and you’re making Star Wars jokes,” she grumbled, though she didn’t sound angry. Then an unexpected smile lit up her face. “But you wouldn’t be you, otherwise.” And like that, we’d moved past the awkward discussion with only minor bumps and bruises to show for it.

Oh, and my shredded heart.

I plucked her hand from my shoulder, holding it in my own. “It’s all right, Murph. It’s my problem to deal with, not yours. In a few days, I’ll be gone and you won’t remember any of this.”

“But you will,” she said gently, her thumb absently caressing the back of my hand. It felt amazing. It made the Mantle - and other parts of me - sit up and take notice, and it was a lot harder than I remembered to fight against its suggestions. Likely because I didn’t want to fight.

I could force myself on her, force my will upon her and take what I wanted, the Mantle whispered in my ear. That thought curdled the coffee in my stomach so quickly I nearly threw up. At least the rapidly rising nausea pushed the Mantle’s suggestions aside.

“Again, my problem, not yours,” I said, swallowing a few times first to make sure the coffee wasn’t going to come back up.

She was silent for several minutes, remaining next to me, her hand in mine. This is what I had missed the most. The closeness we shared, the ability to remain in the same space and have silences be comfortable. The trust I had in her, the faith. “Are you that sure you’ll return to your own time?”

I nodded. “Yeah. There’s pressure behind my eyes, and a tightness across my forehead that’s been building over the past day. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know it’s because of the temporal paradox. I don’t belong here, and the universe realizes that. Seventy-two hours, give or take, and it’ll pull me back like a slingshot.”

“Not before we take care of you-know-what,” she said, withdrawing her hand as she stretched and rose. It couldn’t have been comfortable, sitting as she had, but I missed her warmth.

“The entire reason Vadderung brought me here was to stop it from destroying Chicago. He’d make sure I have enough time for that, at least.”

Murphy frowned, getting the look she often wore when she had a realization. “Before, you said the future Harry talked to you. What did -“ she cut herself off, hearing voices and laughter, loud and boisterous, echoing down the hall. “What the hell is that at this hour?”

I joined her at the doorway in time to see two detectives leading three men up the stairs in handcuffs, followed by three officers in uniform. S.I. shared the floor with the station’s holding cells, and this was clearly a prisoner escort.

“Rawlins, what’s going on?” Murphy asked, eyeing the prisoners. They were men I’d describe as common garden-variety thugs, too low in the hierarchy and lacking the intelligence to be on Marcone’s payroll. Capable of following simple instructions, they weren’t able to manage much in the way of independent thinking.

The lead detective, a stocky black man in a gray suit and tie, gave her a wide grin. His was a welcome face, and I hid a smile as they approached us. “Karrie, haven’t you heard? Braxton here tracked down the shooters from that drive-by yesterday.” He good-naturedly shook the younger man’s shoulder, causing him to smile shyly. The kid barely looked old enough to drive, his suit just a little too large on his small frame. Probably his first big case, or first case, period, partnered up with the much more experienced Rawlins.

Likely his lieutenant assigned Rawlins the kid as an insult, but the veteran detective couldn’t look more pleased with his protégé. It was a confident man that allowed another all the credit. Rawlins had been demoted to officer when I first met him during the Darkhallow incident, only a few days away. He’d get tossed into S.I. in a year or three thanks to his attitude, refusing to lie about or explain away the supernatural.

“Good work, kid,” Murphy said, slapping Braxton on the shoulder when they passed.

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he mumbled in response.

After the group disappeared through the barred entry leading to holding, Murphy blew out a breath. “Andy D - otherwise known as Andrew Dalton - and his buddies, Mike ‘Trashcan’ Jones and Bryan ‘Gringo’ Gregory. Well-known thugs, been in and out of prison since they were in their teens. I even arrested Trashcan once, back in the day. Cheap muscle for hire, and they won’t know anything useful. Still, if we can make the murders stick, that’ll get them off the streets for good. Get some justice for families of the victims, at least.”

I raised a brow. “Gringo?”

She shrugged. “Picked it up in prison, I heard. Rather proud of the moniker, apparently.”

“I can see how Trashcan got his nickname. His resemblance to Oscar the Grouch is uncanny.”

Murphy laughed, punching me lightly on the arm. “Always with the classics.”

“Always.”

“Well,” she said, “seeing as we’re not about to throw down with a mythical beast any time soon, what’s on your agenda today?”

I grinned. “How do you feel about dinosaurs?”

Murphy used her badge to get us inside the Field Museum two hours before it opened to the public. It is one of the largest natural history museums in the world, and contains a very robust collection of mollusks. What can I say, I’m a big nautilus fan.

We weren’t alone, as a number of researchers were heading down the stairs to subterranean hallways and offices, many stopping off at a small kiosk already open for business to purchase a cup of coffee.

“Now will you explain why we’re here?” Murphy asked, following me into the main hall.

“I already told you.”

She growled. “All you said was you wanted to stop by and say hello to an old friend.”

I gestured to the enormous T. Rex skeleton at the other end of the massive hall, its skylight-studded ceiling rising over seventy feet above us. “Karrin Murphy, meet Sue.” While I kept walking past the African elephant display, Murph stopped in her tracks.

“We’re here to see a dinosaur?” she demanded, hurrying to catch up.

“If you remember, I did ask you how you felt about them. It’s okay, Sue, don’t pay her any mind. She didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” I stood in front of the most complete skeleton of a T. Rex ever found, grinning like a kid holding a plastic pumpkin full of Halloween candy.

“Dresden,” Murphy hissed, “you’re talking to a dinosaur.”

I leaned on the railing surrounding Sue. “I ever mention I used magic to animate her and ride down Michigan Avenue?”

She gave me an odd look, then glanced furtively around. “You’re not going to do that now, are you?”

I snorted. “No, of course not. Was epic, though. You should’ve seen Butters in his polka suit trying to hang on behind me!”

“Waldo Butters. Little guy yay high. Works in the morgue. That Butters?” Murphy asked, sounding as if she were in shock.

“Heh, yeah. He’s come a long way from the ME you first introduced me to.”

“Huh.” She was silent for a few minutes, which gave me time to study the area of the museum I’d really come here for: the gallery above the north entrance which housed her actual skull. The skull on the skeleton was a reproduction, both because the original skull was somewhat deformed and because it weighed far too much to mount without a good deal of extra support.

Other than a guard slowly walking around the gallery level on his presumed patrol, it was deserted.

“Come on,” I said quietly, tilting my head towards a doorway. “We need to get upstairs.”

Murphy followed me this time without complaint, up the stairs and to the skull’s display case. It had an information plaque on one side, which got the better of Murph’s curiosity. She walked over to read it while I glanced around, and finding no one nearby, knelt down as if tying my shoe. I reached under the platform, feeling around with my hand for the envelope I knew to be taped to the underside.

My fingers found nothing.

I searched again, my movements obvious enough that Murphy crouched down to see what I was doing.

“It’s not here,” I said at last, dropping my hand.

“What’s not?”

“There’s supposed to be an envelope under here with a book inside.”

She pulled a small flashlight out of a pocket, flicked it on, and peered through the opening. “Nothing. I take it the book is important? Dammit,” she swore as the flashlight bulb flickered, then died. “I swear I need to charge you a hazard fee. I go through these things like I do ice cream.” She shoved it angrily back into her pocket and got to her feet.

I stifled a snort of laughter as I stood. “Yeah, book’s important. Written by Kemmler, this famously dead necromancer. Took the White Council almost two hundred years and seven separate attempts to finally kill him. The entire Council, not just the Senior members.”

“Sounds like the book is dangerous,” she said, eyeing me. “Why do you want it?”

“Several nasties are going to come looking for it in a few days. I was trying to be preemptive and burn it before that happened.” Mavra, specifically, would demand the book in exchange for pictures of Murphy that would end her career and likely result in her arrest. No book, no blackmail, and no chance any of the necromancers could steal it from me. Assuming Mavra believed me when I told her the book was destroyed. “Dammit,” I muttered, letting out a sigh of frustration. Bony Tony hadn’t hidden it yet.

“Harry… what is that?” Murphy asked hesitantly, staring out over the hall. I went to the railing and peered in the same direction, but saw nothing.

“What is what?” I squinted.

“That,” she repeated, pointing.

What I first took for a banner hanging from the upper level was actually a shimmer of sparks the color of blue topaz, almost too faint to be seen individually. I extended my wizard’s senses and picked up a presence. A spirit of air, but not a spirit of intellect. They were usually too fragile for direct sunlight, so either it had been brought here in a container and set free, or it lived somewhere in the museum.

Waves of malevolence flowed from it, its focus aimed squarely at me. I couldn’t see anyone nearby giving it direction, nor sense a second practitioner in my general vicinity. The air spirit swirled a few times, then dove. But instead of coming directly towards me, it turned and disappeared from sight. I wracked my brain, trying to remember what was below and to the right of us.

The last time I faced down a threat in the museum, I told Butters to run. Back then, he wasn’t equipped, mentally or physically, to fight monsters. But Lieutenant Karrin Murphy was not Doctor Waldo Butters. Her gun was already in her hand and pointed at the floor as she scanned the nearby galleries methodically.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered to her, almost under my breath. “What’s down that hallway?”

“Um… bird exhibit, I think,” Murphy said quietly. “Oh, and mammals. I believe those famous man-eating lions from Tsavo are in there.”

A vicious, snarling roar echoed through the museum’s main hall, sending the hairs on the back of my neck crawling up my scalp to hide.

I shook out my shield bracelet, mentally cursing the fact I’d left my staff in Murphy’s car. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Murph blew out a breath. “Christ, Dresden. I can’t take you anywhere.”

Chapter Text

“We need to get everybody out!” I yelled, bolting for the stairs. I slowed as my eye caught sprinkler heads recessed in the ceiling. I drew upon my will and focused, intending to toss an orb of fire into the air, but Murphy grabbed my arm.

“Wait!” She jogged over to the nearest wall and pulled on the fire alarm. A shrill buzz began to blare, and another roar - this one sounding pained - rattled my bones. “Water will damage the exhibits,” she said breathlessly, feet pounding on stone as we hurled towards the ground floor.

“See, Murph, that’s why you’re a cop and I’m just a P.I.”

By this time, the building was beginning to empty of people. I just had to hope whatever body the spirit was controlling, or whatever it had conjured, would stay in the exhibit’s maze of hallways until we reached it.

“Sir, ma’am,” huffed a somewhat overweight security guard, planting himself directly in our path. “I need you to evacuate.”

Murph didn’t even slow down as she dodged around him, just flashed her shield. “Chicago P.D. Bomb threat, get everyone out and keep them out!”

“I’m with her,” I said over my shoulder, pointing to Murphy’s retreating back. She was clearly familiar with the museum, or at least this area of the exhibits, and reached the lions of Tsavo ahead of me. But as we turned the corner, the light began to dim, as if seeing the world through several sheets of cellophane.

Murphy slowed and began taking careful, deliberate steps. “What happened to the light?” she whispered.

“Myrk,” I whispered back. “Veil of darkness conjured out of matter from the Nevernever. Should’ve let me set off the sprinklers. Water disperses it.”

“No!” she hissed. “I don’t want to be responsible for the destruction of priceless artifacts!” Well, she had a point. Not to mention the sprinkler system in the museum was likely partitioned; setting them off in the gallery probably wouldn’t activate the ones in here.

A low-pitched growl came from the darkness. It was prowling towards us, its deep-throated growls growing closer and louder, and Murphy’s gun was already trained on the sound.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered as it came into view.

Instead of taking one of the lions on display and inhabiting it, the spirit had used one of the lions’ actual skulls as a template, forming a solid - if slightly transparent - body around it. Ectoplasm taken from the Nevernever added to its mass, creating a lion that was at least twice the size of its remains in the display case.

It was also on fire. Blue-white flame ran over the length of its coat, and eyes the color of blue topaz glowed from the skull’s eye sockets.

It roared again upon seeing us, and Murphy didn’t hesitate. She began pumping small bursts of bullets into its head and chest. Where the bullets impacted, gouts of blue flame erupted, pushing the spent, deformed slugs out of the lion’s body and onto the floor. She emptied her magazine, and the beast barely noticed.

“I’m out!”

I didn’t waste time with a response, merely stepped in front of her and shouted, “Forzare!” A wave of force, filled with crimson sparks and smelling of hellfire, barreled towards the lion. It roared at the impact, but instead of launching it through the glass and animals of the exhibits behind it, the lion merely slid back a few feet. Its massive claws dug into the flooring and concrete beneath, leaving long furrows in its wake.

“Infriga!” The follow-up spell, intended to freeze the beast solid, coated the entire area in a thick layer of ice several inches thick. But the spirit itself absorbed the power, leaving its body completely untouched. I could swear the skull inside the skull laughed at me. I altered tactics, drawing water vapor from the air. “Infriga forzare!” The glittering spears of ice, each as long as my forearm and an inch thick, flew at the lion. They impacted the beast, turning its body into a bristling pincushion but only penetrated through conjured flesh a few inches. Roaring in anger, the lion shook itself free of ice already beginning to melt.

We weren’t going to win this fight with bullets or spells.

“Come on!” I yelled, hauling Murphy with me down a darkened hallway. We quickly lost sight of it in the myrk, and ducked behind a long wooden bench.

“We need a circle, and there’s not enough room here,” I panted, reaching into my pocket. I had both chalk and a marker, and handed them to Murphy. “Take these into the main hall, sketch one out big as you can but leave one end open. Once I get the spirit inside, finish the circle and I’ll close it. Chalk will probably work better.” The floor was marble, but with a roughened texture that featured fossilized invertebrates embedded in its surface.

She nodded, once. “Gonna need a few minutes.”

“You’ll have it. Ready?”

Murph tucked the chalk and pen into her coat pocket. “Ready.”

“Go!” I bolted from our hiding place, back to the room’s entrance “Here, kitty, kitty!” The lion, barely visible through its veil of shadow, locked pale blue eyes onto me. With a guttural snarl, it bunched its hindquarters and leapt, just as I launched a burst of gale-force wind filled with crimson motes of power. “Ventas servitas!”

It blew out glass from every exhibit in the room, hurling shards of glass, dead animals, and the lion - no longer anchored to the floor - through the far wall. I advanced on the beast, throwing a cyclonic windstorm into the gaping hole, picking up enough debris on the far side to create a massive black cloud completely engulfing the lion. I pushed on the spell and held it, pushing more and more will into it. My duster billowed around me, and I hoped it looked as badass as I felt in that moment. I gave in to maniacal laughter, the heady thrill of power pounding in my veins. I couldn’t deny I had missed this feeling. Harry Dresden, lionslayer.

But had I bought Murphy enough time?

The cyclone exploded in my face, and I barely had my shield up before huge splinters of wood bounced off its invisible surface inches from my nose, impacts generating dim flashes of orange. The shockwave hurled me back, through what remained of the lions of Tsavo. Spreading my shield out around me in a sphere, I turned it into a roll and came up on my feet.

“Bad kitty!” I yelled, then turned and ran, following Murphy’s path back to the main hall. “Incoming!” I screamed, flinging a burst of kinetic energy at the exhibits I passed. Glass, wood, and numerous animal carcasses exploded into the hall behind me, hopefully creating obstacles that would buy me a few seconds.

The African elephants were dead ahead, and I pulled a hard right towards the main entrance. A horrendous crash behind me told me the lion hadn’t been able to make the same turn, and plowed directly into the display.

Heh. The bigger they are, the worse they corner.

I could just make out the faint line of white chalk on the dark gray stone, and quickly found the gap she’d left for us to enter without disturbing the rest of the circle. But I sensed the spirit’s presence gaining on me, and knew in this foot race I wasn’t going to make it.

“Forzare!” I yelled, right hand palm down. The kinetic force lashed out, ricocheted off the floor, and physics kicked in. I launched myself forward, just as I had done when I was ten and trying to win the long jump.

Several hundred pounds of cat slammed into my back, claws raking at the leather, but my duster’s spells held. Then we were plummeting towards the floor, and I landed on my stomach with all of that weight directly on top of me. I heard bones crack, white hot lances of pain stabbing through both sides of my chest as whatever air I had in my lungs was forcefully expelled. Numbing cold tamped down the pain, but I couldn’t catch my breath.

Where was the edge of the circle? Had the lion’s impact pushed us both out of it? But no, I caught a glimpse of the white chalk line five feet from my outstretched hand. It might as well have been five miles. The lion was still furiously ripping at my back, too heavy to throw off even with the Mantle’s strength, and I couldn’t get my feet under me.

And I still couldn’t breathe.

Don’t panic.

But that was difficult knowing any second the spirit would realize while it couldn’t get through my duster, my head was unprotected. And those massive jaws, opened wide, would be enough to decapitate me with one bite.

I gathered my focus and power and concentrated for one desperate spell. But before I could release my will, the lion lifted its front paws from my back and brought them down on my right shoulder. I would have screamed in pain, had I breath to do so, and my concentration shattered.

“Poor little wizard,” the lion - or rather, the spirit inhabiting the lion - growled in my ear. “It’s time you learn a lesson in humility. My master will -“

A pressure change made my ears pop, and the several hundred pounds of lion collapsed into several hundred pounds of gelatinous ectoplasm. It was deep enough around my face that it threatened to drown me, and I rolled over on my back, pushing with the one good arm. And then I drew in great lungfuls of air, ignoring the twinges of discomfort, trying to ignore how it rattled in my chest.

“Dresden!” Murphy yelled.

“Don’t break the circle!” I called back, but it was a wheezing gasp, and I didn’t know if she heard me. Then I saw her, kneeling just outside the chalk line. Ectoplasm had pooled up against the invisible barrier. “Spirit’s still here, trapped.” The skull, which landed upright after its body dissolved, glared at me with twin baleful blue flames shining in its eye sockets.

Anger bubbled up, turning into rage that hazed the world with hellfire. I let it build, and build, and just when my skin nearly split apart trying to contain the power, I lifted my right hand, palm out, and the sharp spike of pain in my shoulder merely added fuel to my spell.

“Infusiarus!” An incandescent molten ball of crimson fire launched from my hand and into the skull, tossing it high in the air. Then it ripped itself apart in a violent explosion of flame and heat and bone fragments. The spirit shrieked as its form burned up in an instant, leaving nothing behind but wisps of foul-smelling smoke.

“Harry?” Murphy asked, and I heard the worry in her voice.

“It’s gone,” I replied, slumping back to the floor. “I could really use a cookie and a nap.”

She huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh. Then I felt the circle break, releasing the trapped magical energies. “Oh, that’s disgusting,” Murphy muttered, her shoes slopping through ectoplasm as she came to my side. “I feel like I’m on the set of Ghostbusters.”

“It’ll evaporate soon.”

“Oh.” Ignoring the goo, she laid down on her back next to me, and we both stared up at the skylights. “You hurt?”

I drew in another rattling breath. “Ribs, maybe. Think shoulder’s dislocated.” Then I turned my head to study her profile. “You closed the circle?”

Murph held up her left hand. There was a smear of red near the base of her thumb. “With blood.”

She’d seen me close circles with my will countless times, but I had never told her blood would work. In fact, for non-practitioners that was usually the only way to close a circle. “How’d you know?”

She snorted. “You seem to forget I’m a detective, Dresden. I read. I ask questions.”

I chuckled weakly, groaning at the fresh wave of pain until it was swallowed by the numbing cold. “Good work, detective.”

Though it had faded into background noise, the fire alarm was still buzzing. There was suddenly a sputtering hiss as the overhead sprinklers turned on, drenching us thoroughly in a matter of seconds. Neither of us moved as water dripped down our faces, and Murphy began to chuckle.

“Remember what I said about destroying priceless artifacts?” she asked.

“Uh… yeah?”

She turned her head to look at me, giving me a small smile. “Well, at least you didn’t burn the building down.”

Outside, we were met by a considerable police presence, two fire trucks, two ambulances, and a number of EMTs. Murphy, who’d come through the entire encounter unscathed, sat me down to have an EMT look me over while she dealt with the brass. I had no idea what story she’d spin this time.

“Twice in two days,” Saxon said, shaking his head as his fingers probed beneath my shirt. “I don’t know how you’re not howling in pain. These two ribs are definitely fractured, and you probably have a few more.”

“I’ll be fine,” I replied.

“Then there’s your shoulder.”

“Dislocated?” He nodded. “Just reset it.”

Saxon frowned. “We’re generally not supposed to do a closed reduction in the field, Dresden. Or at all, really.”

“Look. You know how electronic equipment behaves around me. I don’t want to go to the hospital and end up blowing out someone’s life support. Reset it, and it’ll be our secret.”

He let out a breath and glanced around. “All right, get in the back where no one can see you.” I did, lying down as indicated. Pulling on my wrist, he straightened my arm, gently moving it back and forth until the joint popped back into place with a slight click. The vague discomfort I’d felt quickly faded away as I sat up, and I gingerly moved my arm, testing its range of motion.

“Thanks, Saxon. You’re good people, you know that? You ever need anything, call me.”

He snorted. “Don’t take this wrong, but I hope to hell I never call you.”

I flashed a wry smile. “Understandable.” I climbed out of the ambulance, wavered on my feet a moment, then straightened.

“Hey, is it true there were terrorists in the museum, threatening to blow it up?” he asked, eyes flicking to the entrance now blocked off by crime tape.

I gave him a look. “You really don’t want to know.”

“Ah. Right. Take some ibuprofen for your shoulder, it’ll help with the swelling.”

“Will do.” I wandered away in the general direction of Murphy’s car, though Murph herself was still talking - or rather arguing - with someone in uniform. Her face was flushed, eyes snapping with anger as he stuck a finger in her face and began to shout.

I had already taken several strides towards the group before I realized it and managed to stop before anyone noticed. The last thing she needed was a belligerent Winter Knight throwing power around. That’d just get me arrested and her suspended, possibly fired. Murph did not need my protection, regardless of how desperately I wanted to offer it. It would only anger her further, even if I had the best of intentions.

So I went back to the Saturn, and finding the passenger door unlocked, got in. When I closed the door, pain rocketed from fingers to shoulder for an instant, then subsided. With a sigh, I dug around in her glove box for the bottle of pain medication, dumping several pills into my palm and swallowing them dry. Then I put my head back and closed my eyes.

I must’ve fallen asleep. I jerked upright when Murphy slammed the door, blearily catching her still-livid expression. It softened when she caught my look. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“‘S’all right,” I slurred, wiping a little drool away from the corner of my mouth. “Just resting my eyes. Without my staff, my spells aren’t exactly what you’d call energy efficient. Flinging around that much power is exhausting.” I glanced over to the contingent of black and whites that had grown larger while I’d been unconscious. “We in trouble?”

She growled in frustration. “No more than usual. Didn’t follow police procedure, didn’t wait for backup. I’m off work until Monday, though they stopped short of calling it a suspension.” Then she blew out a breath. “Rudolph filed a complaint against me.”

I blinked. “Because of what I did?”

“Likely. He didn’t name you directly, but said he felt threatened by a known associate of mine and that I covered for him.”

My gloved hand reached for hers. As my fingers couldn’t really move the way I wanted them to, I settled for placing it on top. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. It was my call, my decision. And perhaps it’s for the best. I was going to be taking time off anyway to help chase down our… problem. This is easier. At least I won’t have to make up excuses.” But I heard the underlying hurt, though she tried to disguise it. Her job meant everything to her.

“Silver lining,” I said, guilt twisting my insides into knots. My fault, again, that she was in trouble with her bosses.

Murph turned her hand over beneath mine, squeezing just hard enough that my damaged nerves felt it through the glove. “Yeah.” Then she pulled her hand free and started the engine. “I’ll take you back to the station. You need to go home and get some real sleep, and I have enough paperwork to keep me busy for a few hours. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

I closed my eyes again with a sigh. “All right.”

I didn’t go straight home, though likely I should have.

“Is Ms. Raith available? I don’t have an appointment,” I told the young woman behind the desk once I’d stepped off the elevator. It was somewhat of a gamble, as I knew Lara had other offices she worked out of, and not all were in the city.

“Let me check with her secretary,” she said, slipping on her headset. “And you are?”

“Harry Dresden,” I replied, moving back from the desk. The last thing the poor woman needed was an earful of static.

She spoke quietly for a minute, then said, “Mr. Dresden? Ms. Raith will see you now.”

This is one of your dumber ideas, Dresden. But desperation won over unease, and I walked down the hall to Lara’s office.

“You can go in, Mr. Dresden. She’s expecting you,” her secretary said, gesturing to the partially open door behind her.

“Well, well,” Lara purred, rising from the chair behind her desk as I entered. “Harry Dresden, wizard of the White Council.” Today she had on a sleeveless blouse in crimson embellished with embroidered gold roses, and a black skirt that ended just below her knees. Her black high heels clicked as she walked towards me, hips swaying. “I heard the shooters in that drive-by have been arrested. What could possibly bring you to my office, and without your charming police detective as escort? You do know that we are technically still at war with one another?”

Her allure hit me as it always did, and my body responded as it always did. The Mantle picked through my memories, flashing image after image of Lara, naked, beautiful, hungry… but I’d been through this dance before and pushed the thoughts away.

“There’s a detective at Chicago P.D. by the name of Rudolph. He was brought into Special Investigations several years ago, and just recently transferred into Internal Affairs. I suspect he has a benefactor, and I want to know who it is.”

One immaculately groomed eyebrow rose. “Transferred out? In the Chicago Police Department, Special Investigations is where careers go to die.”

“Exactly my point. Someone pulled strings to get him moved, and might have even placed him in S.I. on purpose. Why else would a rookie cop be assigned to that division?” To keep an eye on Murphy. Or me. Or both.

She walked around me, ran a hand along my shoulders and down one arm. Even with spelled leather between her fingers and my skin, I felt that inviting touch. “And you wish me to provide you with the name of his champion.”

I clenched my teeth, willing myself to remain still. A statue. Frozen, like one of Mab’s ice garden sculptures. “Yes. I need it in the next twenty-four hours.”

“And what do you offer in return?” She completed her circuit, coming to stand in front of me once more. She was a tall woman, and her shoes added several inches of height. I didn’t have that far to look down at her, though I didn’t dare meet her eyes. I had no idea if a soulgaze was possible, as I had already seen into her soul and she into mine years from now, but I wasn’t going to risk a repeat.

“What do you want?” If there was the slightest chance I could leverage that name and save Murphy, I would take it, and damn what it cost me.

Her hands slid over my shirt and up, effortlessly pushing the duster from my shoulders. Then she leaned in, her lips mere inches from my neck, as one finger traced a line down my throat. It lingered at a pulse point, feeling the hammering of my heart. “I can sense your desire, wizard.” Her voice turned husky and low and her breath caressed my skin, causing gooseflesh to erupt down my arms.

It was by the barest of margins that my willpower overcame my need to abandon all semblance of humanity and take her now, repeatedly, on every surface in the room.

“You are an amazingly desirable woman, Lara Raith. You’d have to be dead to ignore your charms, and even then death is no guarantee.” Mine came out just as low and husky as hers.

She laughed. “I had no idea you could be so charming, wizard.” When she pulled back, silver sheened her eyes. “A favor, then. One owed to me by a wizard of the White Council.”

“You must know there are certain things I will not do.”

“Yes, a man of principles, I remember well.” She waved a hand. “I will ask nothing that you will find repugnant, wizard. Information in exchange for information. Is that acceptable?”

Lara could ask a lot of me, even with just a request for information. But… it was Murphy. “It is.”

“With a caveat,” she said, holding up a finger. “A wager. A kiss, and if you can resist me, I will provide you with the information you seek.”

This was dangerous, dangerous ground. I’d been through a lot in the past two days, a rollercoaster of emotions that threatened my sanity, and now with the Mantle in play… I wasn’t sure I could trust myself around the White Queen of vampires.

In response, my mouth found hers, hungry, wanting, needing, and I kissed her as I’d wanted to kiss her since I walked into her office yesterday. I guided her back into the wall, pushing her up against it, and it felt… right. A moan escaped me before I could stop it, my hands tangling in her loose hair.

And then I cheated.

I extended my senses, reached inside to where Lara’s Hunger lurked, gathered my power and will and released the spell with two words thundering through my mind.

Dormius, dorme.

Then I pulled her Hunger into unconsciousness.

Lara cried out, not in pleasure but in fear, and pushed me away. Or she tried, but lacking her Hunger’s strength, against the Winter Knight she had no chance. I grabbed her wrists before she could hurt herself, or hurt me, and pinned her in place. “It’s all right, Lara.“

It was a lot harder forcing the Mantle to back down. It wanted sex, right now, and didn’t care who with. Lara was merely a convenience. A beautiful, deadly, erotic convenience. Weak. Defenseless.

“What did you do?” she whispered, eyes wide. I’m no incubus, but even I could sense the terror radiating off her.

Take her. Punish her for all that you suffered at her behest. Teach her what it truly means to cross the Winter Knight.

And God help me, just for a moment, a tiny part of me considered it. A part that given enough time and encouragement would turn me into a copy of Lloyd Slate, a reflection of every Winter Knight before him.

I refuse to be that man.

“I’ve temporarily put your Hunger to sleep,” I said.

She pushed me away again and this time I let her. She stumbled, trying to walk. I caught her before she could fall, then set her on one of the chairs near her desk. “I didn’t know… that was possible.” A tear spilled down her cheek, and this was no fake. It looked like she was in shock, unaware of the scant tears that followed the first.

Stars and stones.

It hurt, seeing her cry because of something I’d done. It hurt a lot more than I expected it to. She was a monster. She had killed countless humans throughout her long, long life, some of them children. She had allowed her sisters to assault me in front of her entire Court. And none of it made a damned bit of difference in how I felt.

I knelt next to her, wiping the tears away with my thumb. In that moment, she looked much younger and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her. I realized what I’d done, truly done to her. I treated her just as her father had, stripping away her control. The glimpse of her soul, perfectly recalled from memory, showed Lara on her throne, her barely-audible words echoing around the chamber.

I will never be weak again. No one can hurt me.

“Lara, I’m sorry,” I said quietly, as gently as I could. “I wasn’t thinking about how you’d react. It’s temporary, and your Hunger strong enough that it will not remain asleep but a few hours, perhaps less. It was merely a ploy to win the wager. I didn’t do it to take advantage of you.”

She closed her eyes as I cupped her cheek, shuddered once, then opened them again, slate gray flecked with blue searching my face. “You mean that, don’t you? Even with my Hunger… incapacitated, I can sense your sincerity, your guilt and shame for what you have done. You surprise me, wizard. While I have seen your compassion, I never thought to find it directed at a monster such as myself.”

A corner of my mouth turned up. “Even monsters aren’t always monsters.” I wasn’t just talking about her.

“Likely you would not have won had you not cheated.”

I sat back on my heels. “Probably not. But you never said I couldn’t cheat.”

At that, Lara offered me a genuine, if fleeting, smile. “I will be more vigilant in the future when wagering with wizards.” Then she touched the center of her chest with hesitant fingers. “You say this will not last long?”

“A few hours, maybe.”

She gave me a calculating look. “How would you know this, had you not experimented on one of my Court?”

Oh, crap.

“Educated guess. There’s a high amount of math and pseudo physics involved in crafting spells as a wizard, and it stands to reason the stronger the Hunger, the faster it will wake.” Her expression told me she didn’t quite believe the explanation, but didn’t know enough about magic to contradict me.

She rose, this time on steady feet, and walked around her desk. “I have your number, wizard. I will contact you when I have a name,” she said, all trace of that fearful, vulnerable girl vanished as if she’d never existed. Lara was a beautiful woman even without her Hunger’s overbearing presence, and I still wanted her. Badly. But that was the hormones talking, and they rarely had anything useful to say.

“Twenty-four hours, Lara,” I reminded her.

She inclined her head slightly. “Twenty-four hours.”

I left her office and took the stairs down to the lobby, using that time and the physical exertion to help wrangle my emotions back under control.

Dresden, you are an idiot.

Yet I could live with that if it meant Murphy, too, would live.

Before I left to talk to Murphy, I sent Bob out to hit up his contacts in the spirit world, allowing him to borrow Mister as his vessel so he’d have protection during daylight. I was hoping he’d be able to dig up more information on Jörmungandr, specifically on how to hurt or kill the serpent that didn’t require the use of Mjölnir.

There were a number of ways I could ask around myself, but it was easier to start with Bob rather than summon entities demanding quid pro quo before answering questions. Some of them were happy with gifts and offerings, but most wanted additional payment. One demon in particular knew most of my name because I’d been too young and stupid - and impatient - to try other means first.

As I approached my apartment, a gray shape followed me down the steps.

“Hey, Mister. Bob.” I gave him the requisite attention, then unlocked and opened the door. Mister bounded in and stopped next to the subbasement’s hidden entrance. I pulled back the rugs, opened the trap door, and orange sparks flowed out from my cat’s eyes, down the stairs, and presumably into Bob’s skull.

“Have something for you, Harry,” he said a moment later.

“Be down in a minute,” I called back. Meanwhile, Mister jumped up on the cold hearth, complaining loudly that the fire had gone out. Pushing the ash to one side, I dropped new logs into the fireplace and waved a hand, along with a minor exertion of will. “Flickum bicus.” The fire sprang to life, as did Mister’s rumbling purrs.

I dumped a can of tuna on a plate and set it next to him. He had his regular cat food, but whenever Bob borrowed his body, I made sure to reward Mister with something special, and he loved tuna. He shoved his face into the food and began devouring it.

Now that Mister’s needs had been seen to, Mouse came over, tail wagging, for his own share of affection. He learned as a puppy that Mister was the alpha, and even though Mouse was nearly ten times the cat’s weight, he still respected Mister’s position.

“Did Thomas take you for a walk before he left?” I asked, ruffling his ears. In answer, Mouse trotted to the front door, picking up the leash in his mouth, and wagged his tail hopefully. “Guess that’s a no. Bob, going out!”

“Fine,” he grumbled as I closed the door, yawning excessively, “wake me when you’re back.”

We walked towards the park, past a cute one-story craftsman I remembered all too well. But its curtains were open and several pairs of kid-sized shoes lined up on the porch. It appeared poor Philip O’Donnell had yet to move in. Mouse looked back at me questioningly as I slowed, and I shook my head.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” Jogging was out of the question; I didn’t want to aggravate my injuries, especially when I couldn’t feel the pain to know how bad they were.

My senses told me the energy disturbances were growing worse, especially towards the east. Mouse’s fur stood on end as a breeze blew past us, flashes of blue rippling over his body. Dread formed an icy ball in the pit of my stomach. “I feel it, too.”

The sun was bright overhead, and the day had warmed considerably. A number of families were in the park enjoying the weather, and kids’ joyous screams and laughter rang out. Now Mouse slowed, watching them run and play. Guilt welled up, because I didn’t have the time to let him run around. Mouse was popular at the park, involving himself in games of tag or frisbee or, if he was lucky, finding someone who’d throw the ball in an endless cycle of fetch.

He might be a Temple Guardian, and a better reader than my daughter (so she said), but Mouse was still a dog, with doggie desires filling up his heart.

“Sorry, Mouse, I can’t today. Something bad’s coming.” He looked up at me with a worried expression. “I plan to stop it, and I could use your help.” His tail wagged once, twice. “Come on.” The rest of the walk was at a brisk pace, Mouse taking care of business and me picking up after him, using a baggie from the dispenser Thomas bought and secured to the leash. I dropped the bag into a receptacle on the edge of the park specifically designed for such things, and we headed home.

I filled Mouse’s bowl with kibble, changed out his water, then headed down to my lab. I didn’t bother with a robe or the heater despite the chill in the air, since I no longer felt it. I brought a few candles to life, then tapped on the skull.

“What do you have for me, Bob?”

His orange eyelights flicked on, and he yawned, rattling the skull’s teeth. “Turns out Thor’s hammer isn’t the only weapon that’ll hurt Jörmungandr. Any weapon of sufficient power will do.”

I frowned at him. “What kind of power we talking about? Laser? Nuclear bomb?” I doubted it’d be as easy as a rocket launcher, regardless of how confident Murph felt about using one.

“Oh, a divine relic or some such nonsense should do the trick.”

My stomach dropped. “Divine relic?”

“You know, divine. As in god-touched. Or God-touched. Hey, maybe you can locate the Ark of the Covenant in that warehouse they stored it in!” he said brightly. “It’s just sitting there, and anyone with a passable veil could walk right in and snatch it up.”

“That was a movie, Bob,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

“Was it? Well, you get the idea.”

What I was getting was a bad feeling. “What about the Spear of Destiny?”

Bob’s eyelights brightened. “Ooh, now that would have quite a kick, not to mention useful for stabbing all sorts of things. If it exists.”

“It exists. It’s in Hades’ vault.”

He blinked at me. “You’ve seen it?”

“I’ve stolen it. Well… appropriated it,” I amended. “Hades gave it to me.” I chewed on my lower lip while I weighed options. “How would one go about visiting the Underworld?”

Bob made a dismissive sound. I always wondered how he managed it without lips or a tongue. “You don’t. And these days, very few of the dead get sent his way. Hell has cornered the market on damned souls.”

“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I know mortals have traveled there.”

He chuckled. “And how’d that work out for them?“

“Come on, Bob. You’re a spirit of intellect. You have to know something.”

“Well,” he said, dragging out the word, “I’ve heard there’s a place in Chicago where you can summon Charon. If anyone can get you into the Underworld, it’d be the Ferryman.”

“What? Why haven’t you told me this before?”

He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t ask.”

I bit down on a retort. “Where is it?”

“Undertown.”

“Because of course it is,” I said, sighing. “I hate Undertown. Where specifically?”

“How the hell should I know?” Bob grumbled. “I don’t go near that place. There’s nasty things down there, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” I’d seen a few of them over the years. “You did good, Bob.”

The flames in his eye sockets grew brighter. “Does this mean I can visit that sorority -“

“No,” I said firmly. “But I will give you a twelve hour pass - with restrictions - when I get back. Where’s the penny jar?”

“Next to the quarter jar.”

“Ha ha. Where?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Two shelves up and three feet to your left, next to the bag of salamander ash.”

I plucked the jar from the shelf and unscrewed the lid, dumping a handful of pennies onto the work table.

“Dancers at strip clubs don’t take change, Harry,” Bob said, turning to watch me.

I pushed four pennies aside with a fingertip, then used a hand to sweep the rest back into the jar. “It’s for Charon’s payment.”

“You’re taking that hot blonde cop with you, right?” He clucked a tongue he didn’t possess. “She can handcuff me any time -“

“Bob!” My exclamation shut him up, but his comment had already given my imagination ideas. Images that shifted from Karrin to Lara and back, involving high heels and tight leather and fishnet stockings and maybe a pair of handcuffs, until the Mantle growled, Why not both?

And the images that thought supplied proved extremely distracting.

Murphy would disembowel me very, very slowly.

Lara would enthusiastically join in, and invite a few others to the party.

Enough! In other circumstances, I’d take a cold shower to shock my libido into submission, but being the Winter Knight made that a less effective deterrent. Dammit, you don’t have time for this. But I had to get my thoughts, and my body, back under control, so spent several minutes running through breathing exercises designed for focus and concentration.

“All right,” I said at last, turning around to face the skull. “Go back to sleep.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he said with another, larger yawn. “Don’t forget your promise. Twelve hour pass!”

“I won’t.” Though I already regretted it.

I snuffed the candles and went back upstairs, closed and covered the trap door, then picked up the phone.

I needed a guide, and knew just who to ask.

Less than thirty minutes later, two pizzas showed up at my front door, this time delivered by a very human driver. After I paid him, I set one box aside and helped myself to the other, washing down cheese slices with two cans of Coke. I put the leftovers in the icebox (after giving Mouse a slice, because he was a good dog) and took the uneaten pizza outside to the building’s small back yard.

I whispered a name thrice, adding only the barest hint of will to the request. It was akin to a tap on the shoulder trying to catch someone’s attention, and I had to hope Toot-toot was listening. I repeated the name a dozen times before a globe of blue light shot out of the sky towards me.

“My lord!” Toot said, saluting as he stopped a foot from my nose to hover in midair. I didn’t flinch at the sudden movement, but I’d had a lot of practice with the Little Folk’s abrupt appearances. He was smaller than I remembered, less than half the size than in my current time. I hadn’t realized he’d grown so much. His puff of lilac hair danced around his head, and he wore scraps of plastic and aluminum in an approximation of armor, a short toothbrush secured at his waist. The bristles had been replaced by four small nails hammered through its back.

“Toot-toot, I bid you welcome. I have a job for you and your army, and only the sneakiest sneaks need apply. I need a guide to take me into Undertown and show me where The Ferryman can be found. In return, I offer this pizza, plus two more once I’ve concluded my business there.” I flipped the lid open on the box, and even cold, the smell wafted out.

Toot eyed the pizza hungrily, then looked back at me. “I don’t know, my lord,” he began, only to be interrupted by a higher-pitched voice.

“I will go!” the pixie said, her vivid purple hair drifting like a halo around her head. “I am Purpleweed, the sneakiest sneak that ever sneaked, and I know of the place you seek!”

I put a hand over my heard and bowed. “I am honored to meet you, Purpleweed.” She, like Toot, was dressed in piecemeal armor scavenged from trash, though I didn’t see a weapon. Her breastplate had a partial Cola-Cola logo on it. “You know the way to The Ferryman?”

“I do, my lord!” she said, buzzing around my head several times.

“Does this mean I don’t get pizza?” Toot asked, looking forlornly at the box.

“You introduced me to Purpleweed, didn’t you?”

His eyes widened. “I did?”

“You did,” I said with a nod. “Therefore, the pizza is to be shared between you. I’ll provide two more once I return from my errand.”

“Now?” they asked in unison, hovering close enough to touch the cardboard.

“Now.”

Wings blurred and pizza flew. I stifled a laugh and left them to their carnage. It was dangerous to come between a member of the Little Folk and their pizza.

Back inside, I reached for the phone, then hesitated. Even if this mad idea worked, and Charon agreed to ferry me to the Underworld, there was no guarantee Hades would let me return. Hell’s bells, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t kill me on the spot for daring to breach his realm uninvited. Granted, he had every opportunity to reduce me to a pile of ash before and didn’t, but he’d arranged the entire set-up with Mab and Marcone.

In other words, he’d known I was coming.

This time, not so much.

Mouse, sitting in the kitchen, tilted his head and whined softly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but you can’t come.” He padded over to me, and I scratched behind his ears. “I don’t think Charon takes doggie visitors to the Underworld.“ I had my doubts he’d take human visitors, but I wasn’t going alone. Not taking Murph wasn’t an option. I like my appendages attached, and she’d cut them off one at a time if she found out I’d left her behind.

His tail thumped a few times on the floor as I picked up the receiver and dialed.

“Lieutenant Murphy, Special Investigations.”

“It’s me, Murph. You free this afternoon?”

She sighed. “Harry, I thought you were going to sleep.”

“This is important. I have a lead.”

“On?” It only took her a moment of silence to understand my meaning. “Ah. Well, I still have a lot of… you know what? Screw it, and screw them. I can finish this Monday. Be over as soon as I can. Hungry at all?”

“Already ate.”

“Let me guess. Pizza.”

“Hey, it was for a good cause! I’ll explain when you get here.”

Murphy snorted softly. “I’m sure it was. See you shortly.”

I waved to Murphy as she parked in my boardinghouse’s gravel lot. As she walked towards the small back yard, she abruptly stopped as a globe of violet light veered into her path. Her hand moved towards her gun. “What is that?”

“I’m not a what, I’m a who!” Purpleweed exclaimed, buzzing furiously around Murphy’s head. “I’m the sneakiest sneak that ever sneaked a sneak!”

“Lieutenant Murphy, meet Purpleweed. She’s one of the Little Folk, and she’s offered to help.”

“She’s, um… small.”

I choked down laughter as Purpleweed drew herself up to her impressive height of four inches. “She’s our guide.”

I’d given Murphy a crash course in Fae etiquette, and she was smart enough to realize her misstep. “My apologies, Purpleweed. I meant no offense,” she said.

The Fae sighed. “You are but a mortal. It is not your fault you are unintelligent and lacking in manners.”

Murphy blinked, then glared at me as I tried to keep from laughing and failing. “Um… right. Why do we need a guide, exactly?”

I stepped closer and dropped my voice so we wouldn’t easily be overheard. “Bob found out that any weapon of great power can be used against the serpent.”

“So we don’t have to track down Thor. That’s a plus. He mention anything specific?”

“No, but I know where a few divine relics are being kept,” I said, watching her reaction.

“Divine? As in God?” I nodded. “Like the shroud?”

I nodded again. “Like the shroud, but pointier.”

Karrin Murphy didn’t make Lieutenant by being stupid. Her eyes widened as she did the math. “Oh,” she said softly. “And you know where it is?”

“Hades’ vault.”

“But that’s…” she trailed off, frowning up at me.

“In the Underworld, yep. We might have a way in if we can summon Charon and convince him to let us cross. That’s where Purpleweed comes in. She knows where the Ferryman can be found.”

Murphy pointed to the ground. “Here? In Chicago?” Then she huffed out a breath. “Why am I even surprised at this point? Charon requires payment, right? Where are we going to get obols? Please don’t tell me you’re planning a museum heist to steal a few.” I raised my eyebrows. “Told you, I’ve been reading up on Greek myths,” she said, a corner of her mouth turning up.

I snorted. “Yes, you did. And no, I’m not going to steal obols. I’ve brought my own.” I fished around in my pocket and pulled out the change. “Pennies. Before 1982, pennies were mostly copper, and traditionally obols were made of either copper or bronze. These should do the trick.”

She gave me a look. “Should?”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve asked Charon to ferry me around Chicago before. Ready? You’re driving, I’m navigating with Purpleweed’s help.”

“What, she reads street maps?”

“No, but we’ll figure something out.”

What we finally settled on, after ten minutes of trial and error, was Purpleweed pulling on my ear in the direction she wanted us to go. The first time she did so, she yanked too hard and I yelped in surprise as my head smashed into the passenger side window.

“Purpleweed,” I said, trying not to growl.

“My lord?”

“Why don’t you just tap me on the ear instead of pulling, all right?” I said, rubbing at my scalp out of reflex. The pain was already gone.

“Yes, my lord!”

Murphy couldn’t stop laughing. Cars behind us began to honk as the light changed and her car hadn’t moved.

“It wasn’t that funny,” I said sullenly, crossing my arms.

“It’s just… your face…” her own face was flushed, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “All right, all right,” she said, catching her breath. The car lurched forward.

The pixie tapped on my ear. “Next right,” I grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Dresden.”

Twenty minutes of downtown driving led us to an apartment building that had been under renovation at one time in its life, but now appeared abandoned and dilapidated. Murphy parked, and we followed Purpleweed through a hole in the chain-link fencing surrounding the property, then down a narrow walkway.

“Through there, my lord!” the pixie said, pointing to a crumbling brick staircase festooned with sheets of plastic. We descended the steps, stopping in front of yet more plastic. I could just make out a door behind it. The sense of foreboding I always got when near an entrance to Undertown swept over me, a shiver running down my spine.

“What is this?” Murphy asked.

I donned my best announcer voice. “Welcome to another edition of Undertown!” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s the city beneath the city, home to everything dark and dangerous you can imagine, and a great deal more that’d give you nightmares if you knew existed. Don’t get me started on the flesh-eating fungus.” I shuddered, and it wasn’t an act. I’d followed a body snatcher’s trail into Undertown once. Found the body snatcher pinned to the wall and covered in sickly orange mushrooms. I thought they were eating a corpse until said corpse opened its eyes and screamed.

She just looked at me.

“Not joking. Just keep your hands and arms to yourself down here.” I pushed aside the filthy sheet of plastic to reveal a metal door. It had been chained shut, but was now warped and dented and wedged open just far enough that we could squeeze through.

It was utter blackness beyond the few feet of light tricking in from outside. Murphy pulled a gun from her pocket, not her usual piece but this had a small flashlight secured under the barrel. She flicked it on, showing us a hallway sloping down into the earth that started as concrete, but twenty feet beyond turned into crumbling brick.

Purpleweed flew past us, her violet globe of light adding to Murphy’s, so I didn’t bother with spelling my pentacle. “This way, my lord, this way!” she said, then buzzed around a corner.

“Purpleweed, wait!” I hissed, unwilling to shout. “Dammit.” By unspoken agreement, Murphy went ahead while I followed her, casting looks over my shoulder every so often to watch our collective asses.

“Who built this?” Murphy asked as we turned that same corner and nearly stumbled into the side of an old wooden structure, now completely rotted through. I picked my way through its remains carefully.

“Chicago did. As buildings and streets sank, the city paved over it all and kept building. Some of it is abandoned commuter tunnels, or tunnels dug during Prohibition. There’s an old freight line down here, and storm drains, and entire streets of buildings, though most have collapsed.”

We kept walking, through what might have been a small park one hundred years ago. It still bore remnants of stone planters and rusted metal fencing. There was a pile of marble headstones in one corner, broken and glowing with an eerie green light.

Murphy gestured with her gun. “Guessing that’s on the no-touch list?”

A scrape of metal on metal had me whirling. Two feline eyes reflected Murphy’s flashlight as she swung it around, but the body attached to it was only the approximation of a cat. It yowled, grating and high-pitched, and bounded away.

“That wasn’t a cat, was it?”

I shook my head. “A malk. We’d better hurry. I don’t want to be here when it gets back with its friends.” I strode towards Purpleweed’s faint light, Murphy jogging alongside me.

“Didn’t look that dangerous,” she said, huffing.

“Imagine a cross between Freddy Krueger and a honey badger with near-human intelligence. Then imagine a pack of twenty of them.”

“Oh.”

We entered a maze of narrow brick-lined passages, one of which stank like a bloated corpse after being submerged for a week in a stiflingly hot apartment. I’d been there when it burst open unexpectedly. Not one of my more pleasant experiences, but stood out as one of the more memorable.

“Gonna have to burn these clothes when we get back,” Murphy muttered.

I hid a grin, though I didn’t smell any better. At least my duster could be cleaned by a quick toss in my fireplace.

We emerged in front of a pool of dark water, black as ink. She shined her flashlight into the water, but the beam didn’t penetrate its surface. “Now that’s just disturbing,” she muttered.

There was a metal scaffold above one side of the pool, secured to the wall’s rough stone surface. Its once-yellow paint scheme had bubbled and peeled off, leaving only traces at the edges. A ladder led up from our level, though I made no move to climb it. Attached to one of the supports that dove into the water was a bell made of brass, positioned in such a way that it could swivel on its mount. Unlike everything else in the room, the bell’s surface was unmarked and polished to gleaming.

Purpleweed alighted atop it. “Here, my lord! The Ferryman can be summoned with this!”

I touched the edge with a finger and pushed. Not hard enough to dislodge the pixie, and certainly not hard enough to cause it to chime, but it confirmed my suspicion.

“Will you be all right getting out on your own?” I asked her.

“I am the sneakiest sneak!” she declared, puffing out her chest proudly. Her light dwindled until I couldn’t see it in the brightness of Murphy’s beam. “See?”

“Good work, Corporal.” Her eyes widened at the title. “Make haste topside. Tell Major Toot-Toot he’s been promoted.” I couldn’t remember what, if any, ranks they’d held at the time.

Murph made a slight choking sound as Purpleweed drew herself up and saluted. “Yes, sir!” Then the Fae disappeared. Water dripped from the ceiling, making ripples in the pool as it fell, but otherwise it was silent in the room.

“Now what? Ring the bell?” Murphy asked, her light - and therefore her gun - making a slow pass through the room.

“That’s the plan.” This time, I pushed the edge of the bell hard, and it tolled with a deep chime that echoed long after the bell stilled.

Murphy’s flashlight flickered and died, leaving us in shadow, but not in complete darkness. Something on the ceiling cast a faint green light, swirls of luminescence that might have been trails left behind by the passage of slugs.

Out of the darkness grew a shape. A tall, gaunt figure in a long, ragged robe and cloak, hood pulled over its face. It stood at the back of a narrow boat, pole in hand, and slowly pushed the watercraft across the pool until it stopped at its edge.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?“ the figure asked, green flames in the place of eyes. Other than its size, it might have been Demonreach glaring at me.

I bowed to Charon. After a moment, Murphy did the same, pocketing her gun for politeness’ sake. “We seek passage to your realm, O Ferryman. We desire an audience with the Lord of the Underworld.”

The hood tilted as it regarded me. Charon had power, real power. It wasn’t dark or evil exactly, but carried the taste of graveyards, damp, disturbed earth and the sense of something truly ancient and incomprehensible. I had no doubt this being could crush us to dust with a flick of its fingers, though nothing in myth indicated it would become violent.

“I have brought payment.” I retrieved the pennies from my duster and held them out on my outstretched palm. A skeletally thin hand opened below mine, and I tipped the coins into it. Fingers closed around them, and I heard the scrape of metal against metal as the Ferryman felt their texture and shape. The hood draped over its head nodded a few times, and the hand withdrew into its voluminous sleeve.

“Acceptable.” Charon stepped aside, allowing us to board.

Murphy and I exchanged a glance. “Ladies first.”

The boat didn’t rock as Murphy stepped in, didn’t so much as move a fraction of an inch. Once I’d joined her, the Ferryman used his pole to push us away from shore, towards the darkness where the light didn’t reach. The boat was just wide enough that we could stand side by side, and I leaned my staff into the crook of my arm. I nearly jumped when Murphy slid her hand into mine. She squeezed, and I squeezed back.

The barest touch of magic brushed against my wizard’s senses, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. We slipped through a portal to the Nevernever, one crafted with such sophistication that the transition was seamless. Had I not been a wizard, I would have believed us still in Chicago.

I held tight to Murphy’s hand as we descended into the Underworld.

Chapter Text

We drifted through the dark with no sense of motion, just the sound of water gently splashing as Charon navigated the boat. Slowly, the feeling of earthen confinement faded and the sky brightened, revealing the river beneath us. Dark and wide, when I looked down into the water, I found it as viscous as oil and as impossible to see beyond its surface.

The sky wasn’t exactly a sky. It was a charcoal smudge above the broken, rocky landscape, featuring not sun nor stars nor clouds, just black motes that drifted through the air. It smelled of brimstone, and the taste of ash lay thick on my tongue, though I could see no source for it; no volcanoes in the distance, or hellish pits descending into the earth.

The banks to either side rose abruptly, sheer granite cliffs towering over us as we passed through a narrow canyon. My senses prickled, and I scanned our surroundings warily. We were under intense scrunity, though I saw no movement, and no shadows that might indicate who or what our watchers were.

The walls fell away as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving us approaching a featureless gray plain. A field of ash, and the ash was moving. Murphy drew in a sharp breath as she noticed something I hadn’t.

Hands. Hands of the same ashen hue rose up from the ground. Some weakly grasped at nothing, while others shook with uncontrollable tremors. A few felt desperately along the surface, as if searching. How many were buried beneath? The plain stretched to the horizon, broken only by a distant range of mountains crafted from jagged obsidian.

Hopeless… useless… just give up… nothing matters… and nothing you do matters…

The weight of that misery was too heavy to bear. It crushed me, ground me to dust and scattered me to the winds. I realized almost too late what it was, and quickly threw up mental shields. I had to strengthen them several times over before the feelings cut off abruptly and I could breathe again.

Beside me, Murphy made a small, soft sound of despair. She hadn’t my training, and no way of easily blocking the attack on her psyche. But I’d Seen her true self, battered and bloodied but unbroken. She’d survived Lord Raith’s Hunger. She’d survived the twisted horrors Kravos’ Nightmare shaped in her mind.

She would survive this.

I squeezed her hand, tight, letting her know she wasn’t alone. That she wasn’t facing this alone, regardless of what she heard, or saw, or felt. “I’m right here, Murph,” I murmured.

She shuddered once, then squeezed back. “I know.”

The plain came to an end, and finally receded from view as the river curved away. I didn’t dare look back, mindful of half-remembered myths. Another curve brought us past a tributary, its golden waters spilling into the river consumed by darkness. Further upstream gleamed a distant shore, its radiance filled with warmth and light. As with the field of despair, this brushed against my mental barriers, but had the opposite effect. It lifted my spirits and my heart, brought tears to my eyes and filled me with a joy I rarely experienced.

“What is that?” Murphy asked in a whisper. When I glanced down at her, I found her eyes similarly filled with tears.

“Elysium, I think. Land of the honored dead.”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “It feels like… like going to church when I was little, before my father died. Warmth, and safety, and knowing that someone was always there looking out for you. Someone who would protect you no matter what.”

My heart twisted in my chest. I had met her father once, in the land between the living and the dead. He hadn’t wanted me to pass on a message to his daughter, reckoning he’d already hurt her enough. Protecting her even still, in his own way, I supposed. As a son who’d also lost his father at a young age, I didn’t agree with his silence, but I had respected it.

“You’ve still got me,” I said, trying for a light tone.

Murphy looked up, a hint of a smile on her face. “Yeah, I do. Even if you frustrate the hell out of me sometimes, Dresden.”

My response died on my lips as the land changed between one heartbeat and the next. Gone was the ashen sky and crumbling mountains, and in its place was a sprawling manor home and a grove of olive trees under a blanket of indigo and starlight. It wasn’t true starlight, I knew that as soon as I turned my face upwards. I sensed nothing, no song of creation and destruction, no cold, distant power. But they were effective approximations of stars, and I thought I knew why Hades had gone to the trouble.

Not for us, two mortals who had no right to be here, but for Hades’ wife, whose obligation brought her to the Underworld, land of no true sky, for six months out of the year. Persephone was a goddess in her own right, the goddess of spring, of green and growing things, and of the harvest. There was no reason to believe her dead, even if I hadn’t seen her during my previous visit.

You wouldn’t think a home composed of dark stone and glass would seem inviting. Even its landscaping framed the house elegantly, flowers of violet and indigo blooming from black-leafed bushes. Plants resembling the birds of paradise I’d seen everywhere in Los Angeles were in silver-veined marble pots, though instead of orange and blue these were tinted vivid crimson and yellow. It only reinforced my belief that the Lady of the Underworld was in residence.

Charon steered us to a dock that extended into the river, its waters now, while remaining dark, resembled those of an actual river. Flashes of silver in its depths caught my eye; fish, perhaps, or some sort of Underworld equivalent. The boat stopped alongside the dock and without a word, the Ferryman lifted his arm to gesture towards the house.

I stepped out, then offered a hand to Murphy. Though she snorted, she grasped it firmly and let me pull her up.

“Thank you, Ferryman,” I said, inclining my head to Charon. His hood dipped slightly in response, then he pushed the boat away. He was gone in a matter of moments, disappearing through that invisible partition separating us from the rest of the Underworld. I turned towards the house. “Guess we better see who’s home.”

Murphy studied our surroundings as we approached. “Not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I mean… flowers? Olive trees?”

The door - an intricately carved display of agricultural themes - opened before I could knock.

“Sir Knight, Lieutenant Murphy, please come in. Be welcome in our home,” the woman said, smiling warmly. She bore a classic Greek beauty as portrayed on ancient sculpted marble statues, her auburn-highlighted bronzed hair pinned up and falling in luxurious curls. I wanted to run my hands through her silken tresses, wanted to feel that softness for myself. Her gown, folds of celadon silk knotted at one shoulder, left the other bare to expose flawless honeyed skin.

Even Karrin standing next to me didn’t dampen the Mantle’s ardor.

“Thank you, my lady,” I said, stepping inside. The room was furnished as a sitting room, groups of sofas, glass-topped tables and exquisite rugs forming areas of intimacy within the expansive space. A number of marble statuary were scattered around, exquisitely carved with such exacting detail that I expected them to take a breath and begin speaking. Likely most of it was taken from the treasures deep within Hades’ vault, except for the plants found on every surface, displaying vibrant green hues of the mortal realm.

Those were Persephone’s contribution.

“Would you care for something to drink?” she asked, for it had to be none other than Hades’ wife offering us refreshments. She lifted a bronzed eyebrow in question, along with a crystal pitcher filled with clear liquid. She saw my wary look. “It is only water, wizard, flavored with citrus.”

“That would be most appreciated,” I told her.

“Got anything stronger?” I shot Murphy a glance; she wasn’t joking.

Persephone laughed, a light, airy sound. “I am afraid water is all I may offer. Perhaps my husband can be persuaded for such a drink. He does have a fondness for wine.” She poured water into two glasses with a deft hand and without a drop spilled, as if she’d been trained to serve kings and pharaohs.

She handed us each a glass. My throat was parched, and I swallowed most of it down in several large gulps, barely noticing the taste. Murphy drank sparingly, setting the half-full glass back down on the table with a faint grimace.

“Lieutenant, if you’d come with me?”

Murph gave Persephone a cold stare. “If you think I’m some delicate flower that needs protecting from the Lord of the Underworld, I emphatically disagree. With respect, my lady,” she added, inclining her head a fraction, though her expression still held a trace of anger. “I’m not going to sit out a meeting just because the discussion might turn to dangerous, disagreeable topics.”

Persephone laughed, this time deep and musical, a sound to lift spirits on a desolate day. “You judge me too harshly, and too hastily. I am to take you to my husband, Lord Hades, as he wishes to speak to you privately.”

My hand clenched around my staff, causing the wood to creak. “Oh?”

“Fear not, wizard. You have partaken of my hospitality, which includes my lord’s protection. Nothing will harm her while she is here. I so swear it, by blood and breath and bone.” It was a powerful oath, one reminiscent of Mab’s claim over me. Magic whispered over my skin, and I knew her words to be true. Didn’t make me any less apprehensive, but at least Murphy would be safe during her private audience.

Murph glared at me. “I don’t need your protection, either, Dresden.”

I couldn’t help the smile that formed. “I know you don’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t offer it.”

She snorted as her expression softened. “Pig.”

“Oink,” I responded, earning a huff of laughter.

“Try not to burn anything down while I’m gone.”

I saluted her. “Do my best, ma’am.” She gave one of those drawn out, long-suffering sighs and shook her head, though I caught a fleeting smile.

Persephone watched our exchange with humor twinkling in her eyes. “This way.” As her pale green robe concealed her feet, she appeared to glide along the stone corridor. Candles in niches along the wall lit on her approach, only to snuff themselves once Murphy passed by.

Neat trick.

Nails clicking on stone caught my attention. A massive shape shambled into the room from the archway across from me, its fur sleek and black save for a slash of silver across its chest. Its head - make that its three heads - rivaled mine for height, all six of its dark, intelligent eyes watching me.

“Hey, Spot,” I said. “You on guard duty today?”

The dog, for it was still a dog, padded over and sat next to me. All three heads lolled their tongues in doggie grins.

“I only have two hands. Well, make that one, since my other doesn’t work so well. You’ll have to share.” I reached out to scratch the nearest head behind its ears. The others began jostling for position, and I had to switch between them whenever one started to growl and snap at the others. I’ve heard passenger jets quieter than Cerberus’ growl.

It finally flopped down and rolled over with a chorus of whining.

“All right, I see how it is.” I sat cross-legged next to the Underworld’s Guardian and rubbed its belly. Its tail smashed into a nearby sofa, causing it slide an inch or two across the floor with every wag.

Heads panted happily, each making contented doggie noises.

It was a while before Persephone returned, Murphy in tow. Murph was stumbling slightly, her face paler than the marble bust on the table she almost knocked over.

Alarmed, I jumped to my feet. “Murph?”

She reached out a shaking hand, eyes refusing to focus. “H-H-Harry?” Her voice cracked as she stuttered.

“Right here. I’ve got you.” I drew her into my arms and held her, tender affection warring with possessive lust and seething, icy rage. The rage, of course, wasn’t directed at her, but at the one who’d caused her distress. At that moment, I wanted to rip Hades apart and grind his remains into the dirt. “You’re all right.” The temperature dropped sharply, water vapor freezing into tiny snowflakes that swirled around us, giving the impression we were standing inside a snow globe.

Murphy trembled in my embrace. I tucked the duster around her, making sure she was enveloped by my body heat. She didn’t speak, didn’t cry, just stood there, shaking. I could’ve remained forever in that moment, content with the feel of her body pressed up against mine.

But Murphy being Murphy, she put herself back together after a few minutes. She placed a hand on my chest and pushed gently. I didn’t want her to go, but let my arms fall away as she stepped back, looked up at me, then around us at the still-spinning snowflakes. “Did you do this?”

I shrugged, grounding out the power. “Hazard of being the Winter Knight. My emotional state occasionally takes on physical aspects.” As the temperature rose, the icy crystals evaporated.

She gave me a knowing look. “When you’re angry.”

“Usually,” I replied, my lopsided smile fading quickly. “What happened?”

“I, uh…” she began hesitantly, then shook her head. “I can’t talk about it, yet. It’s too… close. I think I need some time alone with it first.”

The worry kicked up a few notches, though I tried to hide my reaction. “All right. I’m here… whenever.”

Murph nodded. “I know.” Color had returned to her cheeks, though her eyes… were haunted. She searched my face, but for what I couldn’t guess.

“Sir Knight,” Persephone said, gesturing to the hall. “My lord awaits.”

“You should go,” Murphy said.

I frowned. “You’re not coming with me?”

“No, I… no,” she said, shaking her head. “I think I’ve got what I came for.”

My eyebrows shot up at that cryptic comment, but didn’t argue with her. “All right.” I did, however, squeeze her shoulder briefly. “Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Murphy snorted softly in response.

“Sir Knight?”

I bowed deeply to Persephone. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my lady. Please.” As I followed her down the hall, I shot a look over my shoulder at Murphy, not unlike Orpheus needing confirmation of Eurydice following in his wake. But unlike Eurydice, Murphy remained where I’d left her, scratching one of Cerberus’ heads as its tongue lolled happily.

Persephone stopped outside a darkened oak door and rapped thrice on its surface. “My lord?” she called, turning its ancient handle, “as you have bade me, I bring the current Knight of Winter.” Current? Not exactly right, but not wrong, either.

The room was a study, similar to the one in which I’d met Hades before. A stone hearth featured a merrily flickering fireplace, casting long shadows into the windowless room. Though it was spartan, the furniture the room did have was of excellent quality. Leather, dark wood, polished silver and brass. But what differed this time were the touches of color and texture, giving the room warmth and depth.

Gilded tapestries hung over the walls, built-in shelves featuring numerous artifacts of varying size and shape, and there was a book lying open face-down on the nearby chaise, waiting for its reader to return. Likely Persephone’s contributions, as was the vase of cut flowers displayed prominently on a small, round table. I didn’t recognize the flowers, but I did recognize that they were flowers, in colors that can’t be found anywhere on Earth.

Hades, seeing his wife enter, rose from one of the chairs situated in front of the fireplace. He was taller than I, features of some long-forgotten noble shaping the planes of his face. Coal-black hair swept back brushed his shoulders, with coal-black eyes and a black suit to match. His neatly trimmed beard bore a streak of silver-white reminiscent of the slash on Cerberus’ chest.

The crown of mordite I had seen before slowly orbiting his brow was absent.

Persephone extended her hands and he took them, bowing slightly to her. “My lady wife.” His was a rumbling basso, but it too was warmer than I remembered, filled with affection.

She curtsied, lips curving up in a smile. “My lord.”

“I will be with you anon,” he said, kissing the back of each hand.

“As you will.”

It was only after she’d taken her leave and closed the door that Hades acknowledged me. “Sir Harry, Knight of Winter, please be welcome in my hall,” he said formally. “Sit with me.” He gestured to a second black leather chair, separated from the first by a small table, on top of which rested a crystal decanter filled halfway with a dark amber liquid and two empty glasses.

The last time - the first time - I’d been in Hades’ presence, he had been so overwhelming that I could barely string two sentences together without stuttering. Of course, that could’ve been the result of his abrupt, fiery appearance during my break-in of his vault. While that power, the ancient sense of being he possessed hadn’t changed, I had, and this time kept my wits about me. Mostly. “I am honored, Lord Hades, and grateful for this audience,” I said, bowing just as deeply as I had to his wife, then sat opposite him.

One eyebrow raised. “An acquaintance of mine suggested we meet, and I confess, I was curious to see what manner of mortal has so agitated the immortal realm. I consented to the meeting if you managed to discover a way into my realm.” He poured a measure of amber liquid into each glass, nodding to the one nearest me. “Why did you come here, Sir Harry?”

I straightened in my chair and turned to face him. “To ask of you a favor. I wish to borrow one of the relics in your armory.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “Yet you believe your actions will be erased from collective memory when you return to your own time, do you not? So I ask again, why have you come?”

I picked up the tumbler and took a small sip, wondering how best to respond. I am not a liquor aficionado, but this whiskey was smooth as silk, with a delicate taste of pears and a hint of honey. I took a second, more appreciative sip before answering, sorting through half a dozen answers sitting on the tip of my tongue. Had the answer been so easy, so straightforward, Hades would not have asked the question. After a moment, I chose the simple, honest truth. “Because it’s my home. People I care about live there. Even if it makes no difference in the end to the timeline itself, it makes a difference to me. I can’t just sit back and watch as Chicago is destroyed. I promised to protect them, and I will do my damnedest to live up to that promise.“

“Ah.” There was a world of meaning in that simple response, and I frowned. What was I missing? What had he said?

“Your acquaintance… Donar Vadderung?” I asked, expecting affirmation.

The barest hint of a smile crossed Hades’ lips. “Chronos.”

I nearly dropped the glass in my lap. “C-Chronos?”

“The Lord of Time, yes,” he answered, sipping his whiskey. “Did you believe Donar Vadderung constructed his information network without help? Even Odin at the height of his power had not the ability to affect or perceive the flows of time.”

Which meant… “Chronos helped send me here? Why?” I drained my glass and set it on the table with a slightly shaking hand.

“That is the right question, Sir Knight, though I have no answer to give you. You would have to petition him, though he guards his motives with more care than I do the relics in my vault. But…” he trailed off, waving a hand lazily, “if I were to guess, I would say he is quite fond of this universe, and does not wish to see it destroyed.”

I chewed on my lip as thoughts spun dizzily. “This universe? This is about… the adversary?”

“Chronos journeys through time. Not just this time, but all of time. Countless universes have been lost to the adversary, and doubtless more will fall. You, Sir Knight, are in a unique position to stop their advance.”

“By being here? That doesn’t make sense. They said when I’m pulled back to my own time, this timeline will reset, cease to exist, and nothing I do here will matter,” I said, frowning.

Hades looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “And you believe that?”

I blinked a few times, finally understanding the meaning behind the question. “You’re saying… they lied? Vadderung and the Gatekeeper lied to me?”

“I am merely asking the questions. It is your responsibility to understand the answers. Think about this for a moment, Sir Knight. Why would Vadderung bring you here to prevent a mortal city from being destroyed, if in a few days the events in this timeline do not matter?”

I sat back, staring at the fire. He was right. Vadderung had no reason to send me back into the past and ask for my help, unless… unless… “Everything I do here matters,” I said at last, swallowing hard. “He’s trying to change his future by changing my past. But why lie about it?”

He answered the question with a question. “Why would one such as Odin require a mortal’s help?”

“He isn’t what he once was,” I said slowly, remembering Vadderung’s comment when we first met. “He’s lost much of his power, because few believe as they once had.”

Hades finished off his whiskey and poured a second glass for himself. “Ah, belief,” he said, savoring the word. “Belief is a powerful force, Sir Harry. A single mortal’s belief can accomplish more than the gods’ combined might.”

I considered that for a minute. “Are you saying… I needed to believe my actions have consequences in order for them to actually have consequences? But… he could have just told me that from the start,” I said, anger heating my words. How much time had I wasted doubting myself?

Hades’ eyes met mine and I hastily looked away. A soulgaze might not be possible with a god, but those eyes encompassed infinity and I would find myself very easily lost. “Would you have fought so hard, if not against what you’d been led to believe as true?”

Again, belief.

I slowly tapped my finger on the table. “I… probably not,” I admitted. “I’m contrary by nature. Just ask anyone on the White Council.”

He nodded. “So, then. What are your plans for your new-found knowledge, Sir Harry?”

I flashed a wolfish grin. “Save those I love.” Which reminded me that a woman I cared for deeply had recently been hurt. “What did you do to Karrin?” The Mantle dropped my voice into a growl, and frost coated my outstretched fingers.

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, looked at me, those dark eyes now flakes of obsidian. “Have a care with your tone, mortal.” He didn’t put any particular emphasis on the words, didn’t threaten, and his expression remained impassive. But the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a hum coursed through the room, making me feel as if I stood beneath live power lines.

The Mantle seethed, but I’d learned painful lessons in humility long ago from the White Council, and from one Warden in particular. Well, I’d at least learned how to fake humility while setting my true feelings aside. I swallowed, drew in a breath, then asked again in a very polite, respectful manner, “What did you do to Karrin?”

“As with you, merely asked questions.”

It wasn’t an answer I was satisfied with, but Hades’ tone made it perfectly clear it would be the only answer I received.

“I believe this audience is at an end. Go. Collect your lieutenant. You have my permission to access the armory, but should you attempt to take anything save what you seek, the results will be… unpleasant.”

I rose and bowed my head. “Thank you, my lord.”

This time I proceeded down the hallway unescorted. When I reached the sitting room and stuck my head in, I found it changed in subtle ways. The colors of the fabrics and rugs were richer, the light dimmer, and there was a fireplace I knew hadn’t been there before. Never one for idleness, Murphy was pacing in front of it impatiently. Cerberus was gone, as was Persephone, and the room had a forlorn quality about it.

“Let’s go,” I told her. She whirled around, eyes fever bright. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she snapped in irritation. “Quit asking me that.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “All right.”

She blew out a breath and shook her head, then offered me a chagrined look. “Sorry. Just think I’ve had enough of this place.”

“Then it’s time to collect our secret decoder ring and head home.”

“Is everything a joke with you?” Murphy asked, lips compressed in a line.

While I had a flippant remark ready, my hand reached out of its own accord, gently cupping her cheek for a fleeting moment. “Not everything.”

Her cheeks reddened as she pulled back from my touch. “We should go.”

Quit acting like an idiot. You have a job to do. I swallowed, pushed the feelings for her aside. “Yeah. This way.”

Though Hades hadn’t told me where to find the armory, a whiff of magic tickled my senses, leading me back through the arched entry.

“Where’d the hall go?” Murphy asked, eyes darting around. Gone were the niches and candles, replaced by sconces and guttering torches. The walls were no longer cut and polished stone, but rough-hewn, close-fitting blocks that varied in size and shape. The stone was dark, almost black, sparkling with silver flecks in the flickering light as it curved and descended into the earth.

“Guess we’re not in Kansas any more,” I said, reaching out a hand to feel the stone’s texture.

She snorted softly. “Dresden, we’ve never been in Kansas.”

“True.” While the light was enough to see by, I spent a minor effort of will and touched my pentacle amulet. Its blue-white glow brightened, then steadied.

The stairs were just wide enough for one person, so by unspoken agreement I descended first. Should anything big and nasty show up, I’d blast it or shield from it, then drop and let Murphy pound bullets into its ugly maw.

Nothing did. Down and down the stairs led us, reminding me of the descent into Demonreach, though the turns weren’t as tight, and we didn’t have nearly as far to go. Thirty-nine steps later (three by thirteen, a number commonly associated with Hades) we reached the bottom, the last stair widening into an unlit landing. A door barred the way, six feet in diameter with a wheel in the center of it.

Murphy reached for the handle, but I grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”

“Warded?”

I shook my head. “Worse. That’s mordite.” The entire door was made of it, absorbing any light that dared attempt reflect off its surface. Tendrils of it slithered over and around the door handle, which appeared to be made of simple steel.

She took a step back. “And that’s bad?”

“It disintegrates anything living it touches.” Which made sense, as nothing living was supposed to exist in the Underworld.

She was quiet for a moment. “Is he playing us, you think? Get us down here to get rid of us, using a tragic accident as the excuse?”

I snorted. “Hades doesn’t need an excuse to kill us, Murph. We’re in his domain. If he wanted us dead, we’d be another rotting corpse washing up on the banks of the river.”

“If not that, then what is this?” She gestured to the door, but was very, very careful to keep her distance.

“A test,” I realized. Different than my previous unauthorized visit to his vault, but a test nonetheless.

She looked up at me. “Didn’t he allow you access?”

“Yes, but he’s still the Lord of the Underworld. He has a certain reputation to uphold, and a certain responsibility to make sure the relic doesn’t fall into incompetent hands.” I tugged the glove off my left hand and extended it, pushing my senses out. They met the mordite’s nauseating cold, making me wish I hadn’t had all that pizza earlier. I kept it down as I swept the entire door methodically. It confirmed my initial impression; the door was mordite, but the wheel to open it was not.

“So?” Murphy asked after I lowered my hand.

I had to swallow a time or three before I could answer. “It looks like we’re supposed to turn the handle. It’s made of steel, not mordite.”

She eyed the door, then me. “Could you use your staff?”

I willed power into my staff, causing the runes along its length to erupt with orange flame. It provided a much better source of illumination than my pentacle, and I let that tiny wisp of power fade, tucking the amulet back under my shirt.

“Won’t be that easy. My staff’s an embodiment of my power. While the wood is no longer living, the power that imbues it is.” I looked at the door, then at my staff. “This is about belief.” And the reason behind Hades’ questions.

“Belief? What are you talking about -“ she cut herself off with a yelp as I shifted the staff to my left hand and reached for the handle with my right.

I believed I was doing the right thing - the only thing I could - to save Chicago. To save my friends, and to save everyone who called the city home. I believed that the consequences of my actions meant something. And I would save Chicago, and Michael, and Murphy, because I believed in myself.

The mordite didn’t touch me.

I spun the wheel and the door opened inward soundlessly, transforming to plain steel as wisps of the deadly substance disappeared.

Murphy punched me in the gut. “Jesus, Dresden, don’t do that without warning me first!”

“Ow,” I muttered, doubling over. It hurt but only for a few moments, though my pizza thought really, really hard about making an appearance.

She drew in a sharp breath. “Shit, I forgot about your ribs. You all right?”

“Peachy.” I straightened with a groan, not entirely feigned for sympathy. “Shall we?”

We emerged at the top of a sunken stone amphitheater.

I recognized instantly where we were, and descended steps to the stage nestled between the feet of two giant statues. Twenty feet tall, each was composed of three women standing back to back in a triangle, their hands lifted towards the ceiling. But there was no light rising forth from those hands to illuminate the rest of the vault, leaving only the runes on my staff to see by. That meant the faces on those statues remained in deep shadow, but I knew who they were. The Queens of Summer and Winter, indicating a connection to Hades I’d never puzzled out to my satisfaction.

On the stage sat a block of silver-veined marble, five unadorned objects arranged on its surface. Getting this close to the divine relics made my skin itch, and I knew from experience that touching them was akin to sticking my finger in a light socket.

Murphy was Catholic, and while not a practicing one, once a Catholic always a Catholic. She recognized the relics for what they were instantly. “Is that the Shroud?” she breathed, her hand reaching for the thin piece of shabby, folded cloth but stopping several inches short. “I thought that had been returned to the Vatican.”

“It was,” I replied. “That’s the actual Shroud. The one the Church has is a fake.”

“But… you said it had power.”

I nodded. “The power of belief, compounded over centuries by countless numbers of the faithful. It might not have divine power, but it’s powerful enough in its own right.” I picked up the leaf-bladed knife by its wooden handle, its bronze blade secure in a leather sheath. The familiar thrum of power shot up my arm as I did so. “This is what we’re here for.”

Murph eyed the other relics. “What about the rest?”

“They stay, for now. The world isn’t ready for them yet.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now there’s a cryptic statement if I’ve ever heard one.”

I made a show of looking around. “Can you think of a safer location?”

“Ah, no,” she conceded, then dropped into a whisper. “How big is this place?”

“The size of Soldier Field, and then some.” I settled the knife into an inner pocket of my duster.

Murphy glanced around, though I knew she couldn’t see beyond the sphere of light we stood in. “And it’s filled with what? Priceless artifacts like these?”

“That and any other treasure you could imagine. Paintings by masters long thought lost. Gold bars. Literal fountains of gemstones. Weapons, armor, statues. Hell’s bells, if the Ark of the Covenant and the missing Imperial Fabergé eggs were down here it wouldn’t surprise me. Since we’ve got what we came for, I suggest we don’t overstay our welcome.” I turned and began climbing the stairs, Murphy following after a last look at the holy relics.

When I reached the top, I swore. “Oh, crap.”

The vault door was gone.

“Dresden?”

I glanced down at her. “Yeah?”

“How are we getting out of here?”

“Um…” I quickly used my senses to feel the space around us. As before, there was no overlap of reality to rip through. “The vault is in a part of the Nevernever that has no mortal world equivalent.”

“So no portal,” Murphy said.

“No portal,” I agreed. If the layout of the vault hadn’t changed, I thought I remembered the way to the entrance where we’d broken in. It wouldn’t lead to Marcone’s bank vault, as that vault - and the Baron himself - didn’t exist yet. But it had to lead somewhere… right? Hades clearly had a means of transporting items into his vault, and I couldn’t imagine Charon ferrying them across the river.

“No portal here,” I clarified, “but I know of a place outside the vault where I can create one. Come on.” I took off at a trot, holding my staff up to get a good look at our surroundings.

Fountain of diamonds, check. Art gallery, check. I made mental notes as I went, not bothering to slow down. The longer we were in here, the greater the chance of tripping the alarm as I had before. That had taken a good deal of destruction before it went off, my brain reminded me rationally. But my senses prickled, the dread growing, and I didn’t like our chances if we remained in the vault beyond the next few minutes.

Murphy kept up with me silently, though I knew she had to be ogling the treasure displays just as I had. But her instincts served her well as a cop, and I figured they were telling her what mine were telling me. We needed to get the hell out.

Then the tunnel was in front of us, leading to the third gate, the Gate of Blood. Except there was no gate, no blood, no specters of the sacrificed watching us leave with hollow, haunted eyes.

I stood in the center of an amphitheater crafted from pure white marble veined with silver.

And I was alone.

“Karrin?” I called. It didn’t echo as I expected, but fell flat, absorbed by the stone surrounding me.

“It’s just you and me here,” someone said in a voice not unlike my own. Turning, I found it was my own, spoken from an identical likeness of me. Almost identical. In fact, he was a twin copy of my own alter-ego as last I’d seen him, wearing all black with a snowflake pin secured to his tailored shirt. “Thought it was time we had another chat.”

“You’ve got nothing to say to me that I haven’t heard or thought before. This some kind of ‘face down your inner demons’ test?” I let out a laugh. “If so, I have to say the script could use some work. And the graphics are sub-par at best.”

He smirked. “Do you really think you can save Michael? Or Murphy? Do you truly believe your actions make a difference? Or are you doomed to watch her die in your arms? Her blood is on your hands, a stain that will never wash off, because her death is your fault. What kind of life do you expect Maggie to have with a father like you? She’s already been kidnapped twice - nearly died twice - because of who you are.”

The barbs hit. The barbs hurt. But pain is just pain, and I tucked it away.

“You will watch everyone you love die,” he continued, sneering. “You cannot stop the world from burning. Nothing you do matters in the end.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed, breaking my silence. “But I’m going to do my damnedest to try.” And then I slugged him in the jaw, sending him sprawling. It hurt, my knuckles cracking against bone, skin scraped raw where it slid across teeth, but the pain was nothing. “And I’ve had enough out of you.”

My double propped himself up with an elbow, smiling a bloody smile. “About damned time.” Then he vanished, along with the amphitheater as my surroundings changed. Now I stood before a forty-foot stone wall extending into the distance in both directions, a sheer, solid mass save for the archway directly ahead. The Gate of Fire, thankfully not on fire at the moment, and the boundary of Hades’ vault in the spirit realm.

“Harry?”

I whirled around. “Murph?”

“You certainly know how to show a girl a good time,” she said, a faint smile curving her lips, but her face was pale. Her experience clearly hadn’t been a pleasant one. I could guess at a few of her inner demons, doubts and fears she’d shared with me or hinted at over the long years of working together and the friendship we’d built between us. Those same haunted eyes looked up at me, and I longed to wrap my arms around her in a fierce, protective, comforting hug. More for me than for her, though we’d both had a rough day.

But she was a warrior at heart. I respected the distance she kept between us, so instead flashed her a quick smile. “Stick with me, I know where all the cool kids hang out.”

“Good, because I’ve had more than enough of the Underworld.”

I concentrated and extended my senses. “Time to blow this pop stand. Aparturum!” I slashed my staff from right to left as I twisted reality and pushed out my will. The portal expanded, after a few seconds solidifying into the dimensions of an average door.

“Can you tell where it leads?” she asked, peering into the faint red flicker.

I shook my head. “No. Has to be survivable, though. How else would Hades bring anything into his vault?”

She blew out a breath. “You’re just saying that so I won’t be terrified of falling into a pool of lava.”

“Is it working?”

The comment brought forth an unexpected laugh. “Not really.”

“We go together,” I told her, holding out a hand. She grasped it firmly.

“Okay.”

“On three. One, two -” and we stepped through.

The portal led to a supply closet.

I only got the barest of impressions by the staff’s orange glow before Murphy tripped over something that sent her sprawling. She dragged me down with her.

She swore. I swore. I’d barely untangled myself and was halfway to my feet when the door opened. A shaft of fluorescent light blinded me, and I held up a hand in front of my eyes. A dark shape resolved itself into a man of average height, wearing a white apron over his clothes and a white hat over his short, dark hair.

“Um… hi,” I said, offering a lopsided smile. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

He pointed at me, shouted in a language that wasn’t English, then bolted.

“Hell’s bells,” I muttered, turning back to Murphy. She was kicking at the storage rack that’d fallen, one shoe trapped between the shelves. I helped free her and pulled her to her feet. Then I doused the runes in my staff, leaving a faint odor of charred wood behind.

“Where are we?” she asked, looking down at disturbed piles of packaged condiments.

“Not sure.” I carefully made my way to the door. Just outside was a hallway, both floor and walls covered in white tile.

The man returned with two of his friends; he started shouting again and gesturing to us as we emerged from the closet.

“What are you doing here?” asked one of the newcomers. He also wore an apron, as did the third man who hadn’t spoken.

My brain finally understood what my nose had been trying to tell me. “Surprise health inspection,” I said quickly before Murphy reply. She kicked my foot. I ignored her and peered into the closet. “Everything looks good here. Excuse us.” I sidled my way past them and into the small kitchen, past the heat of open flames and the smell of chopped onion and spices and cooking oil, through a door on the far side. We emerged into the front area of a carry-out restaurant.

I strolled up to the counter nonchalantly, pretending disinterested curiosity. The shouting from the back blew my cover, and the woman behind the counter - after listening for a few moments - glared at me. Well, at both of us, but mostly at me.

My eyes were drawn to the menu posted above the counter. “Hey, is this the Chinese carry-out in Bucktown? On Armitage?” No wonder it seemed familiar. I occasionally stopped in on my way home from the office, back when I had an office.

Murphy picked up one of the folded paper menus stacked next to the register. “Looks like.”

My mouth began to water. “They have the best eggrolls.”

“Yeah, they do.”

The woman’s expression hadn’t changed. Maybe placing an order would improve her mood. “Can I get, um…” I dug around for my wallet, remembering too late I’d used the last of my cash on the pizzas. “Hey, Murph? Buy me dinner?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your idea of a romantic night out sucks, Dresden.“

“Come on. I’d gladly pay you Tuesday for an eggroll and some fried rice today.”

“Didn’t you just eat?”

“Maybe.” I gave her my best version of puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Murph kept a straight face for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Fine, you win. Get out of the way.” She ordered enough food for both of us and then some. While she did, I caught one of the cooks casting glances our way and muttering to himself as he shook his head. Probably wondering if the staff-wielding lunatic was going to strip off his clothes and run around naked.

It wasn’t long before our food was brought to the counter, two large paper bags inside plastic ones to make them easier to carry. Murphy picked them up without a word and marched outside, leaving me to follow.

The Chinese take-out was in a strip mall with a small parking lot, sandwiched between a laundromat and a shipping store. When we walked out into the afternoon sun, I stood there a moment, basking in its warmth on my face.

“Never thought I’d see that again,” Murphy said, squinting. “Felt like we were down there for days, but I checked the clock inside. It hasn’t even been an hour.”

I shrugged. “Time doesn’t always play by our rules in the Nevernever. It can run slower or faster. Once I lost almost an entire week.”

She blew out a breath. “I’ll go call a cab.” She shoved the bags into my hands, then walked far enough away that her cell phone wasn’t likely to explode due to wizardly interference.

The pressure behind my eyes had grown, as had the magical disturbances within the city. They were strong enough I could taste it, a vaguely unpleasant, bitter taste coating my tongue. I resisted the urge to spit and swallowed a few times, but it didn’t help.

“Should be here in a few minutes,” Murphy told me. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Likely we have less than twenty-four hours before it shows.”

She eyed the area of my duster concealing the knife. “Been meaning to ask, how do you intend to use that? You’ll have to get up close and personal to do any real damage with it.”

“Oh, I have an idea or two.”

An eyebrow raised. “That you’ll discuss with me.” She turned it into a statement of fact.

“Once we get to my place.”

The cab picked us up a few minutes later and dropped us off next to Murphy’s car. I dumped our food in the back seat and angled my staff so it would fit without blocking her rear view mirror, then got in.

Murph slid behind the wheel, but didn’t immediately start the car. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out an object by her fingertips. “Persephone said this was a gift,” she said, offering it to me. It was a bronze coin, and as I took it, I sensed a tingle of magic, old and ancient, waiting like a promise. On one side was a stunning likeness of the goddess’ profile, and on the back, a sheaf of wheat. “What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, frowning as I turned it over and over in my gloved palm. “It has a definite magic aura, though.” I handed it back. “A boon, perhaps, offered by the goddess herself.”

Murphy stared at the coin. “Why would she offer a boon instead of a bargain?”

I shrugged, though the question bothered me more than I let on. By stating it was a gift, Persephone made it clear Murphy didn’t owe her in return, a gesture quite unusual in the supernatural world. “Mortals aren’t meant to know the minds of gods, Murph,” I said with a wry smile. “Who knows why they do anything?”

She sighed, put the coin away, and drove us to my apartment, pulling into the gravel lot and parking next to the Blue Beetle. It still made me smile, seeing my car after so long, sitting right where it should be.

I’d barely gotten out (it takes me longer than most to extricate myself from the front seat of any vehicle) when I found myself thrown towards the side of my building. I managed to turn just before I smashed into it, my back taking the brunt of the impact rather than my face.

My attacker held a sword to my neck, and I froze.

Warden Donald Morgan bared his teeth in a snarl. “Try it, Dresden,” he taunted, sensing the power I’d gathered for a spell. “I’d just love the excuse.”

I’d had a long day. I was injured, exhausted, hungry, and now more than a little angry. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Morgan flipped me around, shoving my face up against the brick. “Wizard Dresden, you are under arrest.” He snapped spelled manacles around my wrists, abruptly cutting off my access to magic.

“What for?” I spat.

“Violating the Laws of Magic,” he snarled, then grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked my head back. “I always knew you’d go bad, Dresden. Just like DuMorne. You’ve finally proven me right. I should execute you on the spot.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Murphy said in her cop voice. “Put the weapon down, sir. Don’t make me shoot you.“

Morgan shoved me aside. Without hands to break my fall, I tried to twist to one side as my body met ground. It jarred every fractured rib and sent waves of pain coursing through me until the Mantle’s power numbed it sufficiently. It was a good thing Wardens didn’t typically carry the thorned iron manacles favored by the Denarians, or I’d be screaming in agony.

When I was able to turn my head, I found Murphy standing near her car, gun drawn and pointed at Morgan’s chest. His left hand was raised, likely preparing a shield spell to deflect any bullets fired his way. He hadn’t dropped his sword, but wasn’t threatening Murphy with it, either.

I groaned. “Hell’s bells, we don’t have time for this.”

Chapter Text

Let’s pause and recap for a moment.

Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was in a dressing room in an ice-sculpted, enchanted fairy-tale castle, preparing for my wedding to the Queen of the White Court. It was far from the worst place I’d ever been, and far from the worst situation I’d ever been in. Sure, I didn’t particularly want to marry Lara Raith (or anyone, for that matter), and I absolutely detested being forced into it. But I accepted my fate, chose to comply with Mab’s decree, and would do my best to honor my obligations to Winter.

Since that time, I’d been pulled ten years into the past, shot, mauled, threatened by a former angel, renewed my acquaintance with one of the Fallen, ordered the execution of a warlock, fled a horde of undead warriors, journeyed to the Underworld, and nearly pummeled a police detective to death.

All I wanted was to come home and have a decent meal. Maybe a nap.

Instead, I got Warden freaking Morgan, executioner of the White Council. He believed I violated a Law of Magic, and in his black and white view of the world, that meant I deserved to die. And I had violated a Law of Magic; Morgan was right about that. But it wasn’t my fault, not that it would matter to him. You can’t argue nuance with a fanatic.

“Put the sword down, sir,” Murphy repeated, adjusting her stance slightly. “I won’t ask again.”

I struggled against the cuffs, then swore as metal spikes bit into my flesh, painfully shattering the nascent spell I’d created without thinking. “Morgan, don’t be an ass!” I snarled. “She’s a cop! Listen to her!”

Morgan was hands-down the best wizard I’d ever seen at quick and dirty evocation. The only thing saving Murphy was his absolute belief in the First Law of Magic: thou shalt not kill. Any magic directed at her, including at her gun, ran the risk of fatal injury. The human body is fragile, and one wrong fall at the right angle can kill, to say nothing of bullet ricochets or a gun backfiring in your face.

He glanced at me, eyes filled with anger.

An invisible wrecking ball knocked Morgan from his feet, launching him into the air. He hit the ground with a heavy thud and slid across the parking lot, trailing clouds of gravel and dust behind him. When he finally came to an inelegant halt on his stomach, hands raised to protect his face, two hundred pounds of Temple Dog landed on his back. Mouse’s nearly black fur was wreathed in blue flame, a low growl bubbling up from deep within his chest as a clear warning. As if the massive weight of the dog wasn’t enough.

I yelped in surprise as I was unexpectedly yanked to my feet by my duster’s collar.

“Leave you alone for two minutes and you pick a fight with a Warden,” my brother said, his fingers working their way under the cuffs. With a grunt, he pulled the Fae-enchanted metal apart. After a few seconds of strain, the manacles broke with a sharp crack and slid from my wrists.

“He started it,” I grumbled, shaking numbness from my hands and wiping the blood away.

Morgan hadn’t moved, which was smart. I’d seen Mouse rip a man’s throat out. Hell, I’d told him to do it, and knew he’d do it again if asked without hesitation. Morgan did, however, turn his head to scowl at me. Actually, his line of sight was off; he was scowling at Thomas. “You’re consorting with one of them?” he spat, then literally spat in disgust. Or he was trying to clear grit from his mouth. “Call off your dog, Dresden! Where in the hell did you get a Temple Dog? You steal him?”

Mouse’s growl grew louder, and he lowered his head so those sharp canines were mere inches from Morgan’s neck.

“He adopted me,” I replied, subtly gesturing to Mouse to ease off a bit. “If I let you up, will you behave like a rational adult for once in your life?”

Murphy, gun still drawn but lowered as Mouse was in her line of fire, walked up to Morgan and placed a hand on Mouse’s head. The growling stopped, but he kept his attention fixed on Morgan. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”

Morgan tilted his head to look up at her. “You?”

She just smiled. “Me.”

“Mouse.” He looked back at me. “Guard.” Mouse huffed, jumped down, and turned to watch Morgan intently as he slowly got to his feet. “Leave the sword,” I said, seeing him move in that direction. Mouse growled and Morgan froze mid-step.

Thomas casually strolled over to pick up the weapon. Only Morgan could make use of its enchantments, though its razor-sharp blade was weapon enough.

“Nice. Been looking for a replacement for my saber.”

“You dare -“ Thomas blurred, and suddenly the sword’s point pushed into the hollow of Morgan’s throat, cutting off his words. A slight trickle of blood dripped slowly from the blade’s tip.

“Oh, I dare, Warden. Still at war, aren’t we? I wonder how well my sister will reward me if I present her the head of the White Council’s premiere hatchet man.” He smiled that smug, infuriating smile, and Morgan’s fury grew. “Perhaps on a silver platter? Make a show of it?”

The point pressed a fraction harder into Morgan’s neck. Though he had trouble swallowing, he rasped, “You will pay for this, vampire. You and all your kind. Kill me, and the Council will annihilate your Court.”

Thomas snorted in amusement. “Oh, is that what you’re doing with the Reds? The war is going so well, I hear.”

“Back off, vampire,” Morgan snarled, and I realized this could get very ugly, very fast. While Morgan would hesitate at hurting a human, he had no problem killing a vampire. He’d probably enjoy it. And that anger on Morgan’s face I’d seen many times. Too many. When I’d been a terrified, ignorant teenager under McCoy’s protection. When I had to endure his unexpected visits looking for evidence of black magic. When I’d been accused of breaking a Law of Magic.

I was that boy no longer, and as the Winter Knight (with Lasciel’s assistance) my power eclipsed his. The Mantle took offense at Morgan’s aggressive behavior, and kept pushing me to do something about it. Balance the scales, as I never could before.

Rage flickered through my vision, tinting the world in shades of brimstone and hellfire. The temperature dropped, frost forming on the ground in a tight circle around me, and my breath clouded the air.

Make him pay. Make him suffer. Show him the true meaning of Winter. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and nothing is colder than the power of Arctis Tor.

I’d like to say that I restrained myself because I still believed in the words thou shalt not kill. That I still believed magic as purely a force for good. That I still believed I was a good man, above seeking petty vengeance. But Morgan… even my eventual understanding of his behavior didn’t make up for the years of torment, especially while living on McCoy’s farm. He had been an enforcer for the White Council a long, long time, but burning out because of the job wasn’t a justifiable excuse for anything he’d done to me.

Yet I stayed my hand as two things stopped me. One was Morgan’s insufferably smug face, the expression stating he’d been right about me all along. The other was Karrin Murphy, standing by me impassively, trusting my judgment. God knew what I’d done to inspire such loyalty in her, but I couldn’t betray that trust and ruin our friendship for one brief moment of satisfaction.

And I wouldn’t let Morgan, either.

I blew out a breath, forcing my gathered power to dissipate harmlessly. “Thomas.”

My brother’s smirk grew as he lowered the sword, but didn’t relinquish it. “Think I’ll hang on to this, just in case.”

“Morgan, swear by your power that I and my friends will come to no harm, and we can go inside to discuss this like civilized people.” He narrowed his eyes. “I swear by my power you will be under guest-right and treated as such while in my home.”

His brow furrowed at my promise. His eyes darted to Murphy, still holding her gun, to Mouse guarding him, to Thomas making a show of admiring the sword, then back to me. Calculating the odds, if I had to guess. Apparently the numbers didn’t favor him, as he inclined his head after a moment. “I so swear by my power, you and your friends -“ the word held a vicious undertone “- will come to no harm by my hand.”

Lot of wiggle room there. But I had the home court advantage and three allies to back me up. “Come on,” I said, gesturing to the stairs. I turned my back to him and descended, offering the illusion that having him behind me bothered me not at all. In actuality, it made me clench my teeth at the prickling sensation running between my shoulder blades.

When I got inside my apartment, I did a cursory check to see if anything might indicate Thomas was living with me. I really didn’t need the White Council figuring that out. But it looked pretty much the way it always did, a small space filled with books, rugs (successfully hiding the trap door), second-hand furniture and a tiny kitchen. The bedroom door was currently closed, but without scrutiny no one would notice any clothes strewn over the floor wouldn’t have a prayer of fitting me.

I faced Morgan, who glowered in my doorway, and offered him an exaggerated bow. “Be welcome in my home, Warden.” He kept glowering as he stepped inside, those wary eyes scanning the room for potential threats. When he found none, he moved towards the fireplace, its fire barely more than embers providing little light. “Flickum bicus,” I murmured, waving a hand. Morgan immediately stiffened and attempted to draw his missing sword from the scabbard on his hip, then scowled as he realized all I’d done was light the candles.

I would have laughed, had I been in a laughing mood.

Mouse, Thomas and Murphy followed the Warden in. Mouse sat near the kitchen, ears pricked as he remained on alert. Thomas, after storing Morgan’s sword in the popcorn tin near the door, slumped on the couch. And Murphy… she closed the door, holstered her gun, and sat on the edge of the hearth that provided the best overall view. While she appeared relaxed, I knew that if Morgan started something, she’d be ready.

I gestured to a chair, then joined my brother. Morgan sat, and I think the glower was permanently etched into his face. “What is it you believe I’ve done this time?” I asked him.

“You broke a Law of Magic,” he replied, lip curling in distaste.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter. They are all sacrosanct.”

“It matters to me. The accused shall enjoy the right to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation. It’s right there in the Sixth Amendment, Warden.” Murphy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I couldn’t resist a satisfied smirk. I’m not a lawyer, but I have one on speed dial. I was even on the jury of a murder trial, which made me more than qualified to talk about the justice system.

She snorted softly and shook her head.

Morgan’s hands fisted, then relaxed. “I answer to an organization of more importance than your government.”

“Not in my city, you don’t,” Murphy shot back.

Thomas choked down a laugh. Not very well, and Morgan’s anger shifted. “Why exactly are you here, vampire? Attempting to coerce a member of the White Council, or attempting to cover up your involvement in the crime?”

Thomas shrugged. “I’m just here to look good. Thought this dingy place could use a little more class.”

Now Murphy choked down a laugh.

Morgan’s face darkened, and he half-rose from his seat. “You don’t deserve -“

“Sit down, Warden,” I snapped, voice cracking like a whip. “You are here as my guest, and you will behave as such.” Mouse added a low growl for emphasis.

He froze, looked at me, then settled back in his chair.

“Hell’s bells, man. How can I possibly defend myself if you won’t even tell me what my crime is? Do you have any proof? Do you have any witnesses? Do you have anything at all?” My own exasperation and anger were growing, realizing we were at an impasse. If Morgan wouldn’t give me an opening to explain, if he insisted on arresting - and possibly killing - me, I had no idea what to do with him. Letting him walk out of here just meant he’d come after me again, and I did not have the time to deal with his paranoia.

Chicago didn’t have the time.

Thomas sensed my frustration. “I could kill him,” he offered, idly studying his nails on an outstretched hand. “The White Court has… places. Locations a body would never be found.” His head lifted slowly, eyes taking on a silver sheen as he regarded Morgan. He meant the Deeps, part of a cave system on the Raith property. In a few years it would be blown to hell, but for now it stood not far from the manor itself.

“Try it, vampire. See how far you get.” An emotion flickered in Morgan’s eyes, but I wouldn’t call it fear. Determination to see his mission through to the end, perhaps. A desire to take one last enemy as he fell. In fact, the expression that followed reminded me of the last time I’d seen Morgan alive, after he shot and killed…

Peabody. Dammit, I forgot about the traitor in the White Council, perfectly positioned to manipulate a large swath of wizards by subtle means. Possibly for decades. He’d been imbuing the inks he used for signatures with the barest of suggestions. Had he encouraged Morgan’s instinctive dislike of me over the years? Wouldn’t have taken much, truth be told, and Peabody had good reason to want me dead. I was one of the few wizards who visited Edinburgh only when forced to, which meant I was out of reach of his influence.

I have to tell him about Peabody.

But Morgan wouldn’t listen to me, and wouldn’t believe me if he did. Hell’s bells, I barely had those few in the Council I trusted believe me, and that was with proof. All he’d have now was my word against a wizard with an impeccable record.

Focus, Harry. Deal with it when your brother isn’t offering to kill a Warden of the White Council for you.

“Just walk away, Harry. Let me handle this,” Thomas crooned, his eyes growing brighter. Stars and stones, he meant to use his Hunger on Morgan, feed from him until his life force was completely consumed.

Let him, whispered a voice in my head. It will make things so much easier. For how he has treated you in the past, he deserves it. The words carried with them a hint of brimstone that only I could smell.

No.

“No,” I repeated, out loud so Thomas could hear. Murphy had been surprisingly quiet, watching the vampire, watching the Warden, and occasionally watching me. I knew she would have tried to stop my brother had he made good on the offer; her hand rested lightly on her gun. Mouse, too, had been observing the exchange with dark, intelligent eyes.

“No one is going to -“

I was interrupted by three sharp knocks that meant business echoing from my front door. We exchanged wary looks.

Doubt it’s the Girl Scouts selling cookies.

Three more followed, this time booming with enough power to rattle the door in its frame. Before I could even get to my feet, I was hurled backwards as my wards blew apart with a deafening crack of thunder. Then the door opened, shoved aside by a tall, muscular woman with iron in her hair and steel in her spine. And a silver sword in one hand.

Hell’s bells. This is awkward. Well, awkward for me.

“Warden Luccio,” I said, getting to my feet on shaky legs. The ringing in my ears made me a little dizzy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I had fallen in love with this woman once upon a time, though she’d been in a different body. This body - her original before Corpsetaker switched it out - I’d last seen with a bullet hole through the temple. A hole I put there deliberately, a split-second decision based on every instinct I owned.

She settled the sword in a scabbard at her hip. “I have come to retrieve Warden Morgan,” she said, her words flavored with a faint Italian accent. “He overheard a conversation not meant for him, and is here in a misguided attempt at justice.”

“But Captain -“ Morgan began, rising to his feet.

“Please come in,” I said over his protest, moving to one side so Luccio could enter. Not that I had any threshold to speak of, it being an apartment and me being a bachelor, but it was the polite thing to do.

She stepped inside. That was when I noticed while Murphy was standing near the fireplace, Thomas had vanished. He hadn’t literally vanished; he could perform a few tricks with his limited magical ability, but a veil was beyond his capability. Though it wasn’t beyond Mouse’s, as recent evidence proved, and my dog was likewise nowhere to be found. It was the smart move; the captain of the Wardens finding a White Court vampire here would lead to questions I couldn’t - and wouldn’t - answer.

Not that Morgan wouldn’t tell her about Thomas later.

“I apologize for your door, Dresden. I was worried that I might find you or he incapacitated and unable to call for aid.”

I waved the apology away. “Understandable, given the circumstances. Captain Anastasia Luccio, this is Lieutenant Karrin Murphy of the Chicago Police Department.”

They exchanged polite nods. Then Luccio turned her attention back to Morgan.

“Warden, you are to stand down,” she ordered. “This issue is being addressed by the Senior Council, and your services are not needed here.”

Morgan’s expression twisted into anger as he stared at me with hard eyes. Accusing eyes. Eyes that didn’t quite meet my own.

I stared back at him, daring him to try. Just give me an excuse, Morgan. The Mantle didn’t need an excuse, its ever-present desire for violence thrumming in my blood. Add to that the Warden challenging me in my own home, and I found it difficult to control the impulse to smash him into the wall, repeatedly.

The temperature dropped a few degrees as I struggled, trying to remember Morgan remained under guest-right.

“Donald,” Luccio said in a softer tone, causing his eyes to shift to her in surprise. “Stand down. Wizard Dresden poses no threat to the Council, and we need you on the front lines. I need you.”

That snapped me out of the icy rage bubbling just under the surface. The war with the Red Court. I had forgotten that we were on the brink of a deadly attack, beset on all sides and betrayed from within. One hundred forty-three Wardens died - would die - along with thousands of men, women and children. I frantically tried to recall everything she’d told me of the battle, but it had been ten years ago and most of the details blurred with time.

“Warden Luccio,” I said urgently, and she raised an eyebrow in question. “Don’t send the wounded to the Congo. The location has been compromised, and the Red Court plans to use mortals to gas the hospital and the surrounding blocks. They will kill thousands. Take them to a location known only to you and the Senior Council.”

I found myself pinned to the wall by Morgan, one strong hand around my throat. “How do you know that?” he snarled, spittle flying in every direction. “Liar! Traitor!” I didn’t attempt to fight back, or struggle. I needed them to listen.

Luccio, nearly as tall as Morgan himself, put a hand on his shoulder. “Warden, stand down.” This was her battle commander voice, and he obeyed out of reflex, his hand jerking away from me. I rubbed at my neck and swallowed a few times. Nothing damaged that I could tell, but hell’s bells was Morgan’s grip strong. “Wizard Dresden, how did you come by this information?” At least she wasn’t dismissing it outright. But how could I possibly answer that?

Then it dawned on me.

“What Morgan accused me of… isn’t entirely false,” I admitted, watching his eyes turn flinty. “Surely the Gatekeeper told you - or at least told you enough - or you wouldn’t be here,” I said to Luccio. “If you believe nothing else of me, believe that I would never want to see thousands of people die when I could do something to prevent it.”

“Then you don’t deny that you have used chronomancy in direct violation of the Laws of Magic,” Morgan raged.

I ignored him, keeping my focus on Luccio. “Please, Ana,” I said. While her body might not be the one I knew so well, her soul was the same. Strong, passionate, devoted to the men and women under her command, and haunted by those she lost. Luccio’s expression hardened at my familiarity. “Hell’s bells, I’m not asking to know where you take them. Just don’t take them to the Congo. Please.”

She eyed me. “If what you say is true, Dresden, then you are putting us at risk of a temporal paradox.”

I shook my head. “I have it on good authority that will not happen, regardless of my actions here.”

“Liar!” Morgan shouted. But before he could charge me, Murphy had him on his knees, using an arm lock not unlike the one used on her by the Einherjar. His face pinched with pain.

“I suggest, Warden, that you calm down,” Murphy said in her cop voice. “You swore by your power to not harm anyone while you were a guest here. Do you value your oaths so lightly? I can still arrest you, and if you insist on behaving irrationally, I will.” She released Morgan and took several steps back out of caution, putting her outside his reach.

Glaring at her, Morgan got to his feet.

“Warden Morgan!” snapped Luccio. “Outside!”

Morgan obeyed without question, growling as he retrieved his sword and stalked out the door.

“I apologize for his behavior,” Luccio said, a faint frown creasing her face. “He has always taken his job seriously. The Senior Council considers this matter closed, and Warden Morgan will not bother you again. Likely we will be too busy for it to trouble him long, if I understand your warning correctly.” She let out a long, troubled sigh. “This war… the longer it continues, the weaker we become.” Then she shook her head, as if to clear dark thoughts from it. “Forgive the intrusion. Be watchful, wizard. You are one of the Red Court’s more desirable targets.”

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about right now.

“Warden Luccio.” She paused at the door, turning to look back at me. “In a few days, I’ll ask for your help. Several necromancers are on their way to Chicago for a ritual that will kill a lot of people if it’s not stopped. One of them is a body switcher, a young woman. Don’t let your guard down around her.”

Luccio frowned, digesting the information. “I see. Thank you for the warning.”

It was enough, it had to be enough. Not that I hadn’t greatly enjoyed exploring Luccio’s new body diligently and at length, but our relationship had been built on a lie. A lie that the Luccio in front of me never would have succumbed to. We needed our Captain more than I needed a fake relationship.

I stood outside, watching Luccio collect a still-glowering Morgan. They drove off in an older model maroon Cadillac parked across the street from my boardinghouse.

“So that’s Morgan,” Murphy said, coming up behind me.

“In all his righteous fury.” I studied the damage to the door. I would have to replace the lock, but the frame was intact. And of course I’d need to recast my wards, the ones I’d built layer upon layer throughout the years of living here. Granted, I knew a lot more about wards than I had ten years ago, and the entire process would be much quicker, but just thinking of the effort it would require made me want a long nap. “I need a beer. You want a beer?”

“Sure. I’ll grab our food.” She trotted up the steps, disappearing from view.

In all the chaos, I’d forgotten the take out in the back seat. And my staff.

A tiny light flickered around me, quickly joined by a second, larger one.

And I forgot about the pizza.

“Purpleweed. Toot-toot,” I acknowledged. “I thank you for your earlier assistance. The pizzas I have promised you will be here forthwith.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Toot said prompt, saluting. “We witnessed the altercation with the Grey Cloak, but our numbers were too few.”

“He is a formidable foe,” I agreed. I might not like the guy, but Warden Morgan knew his business and excelled at it. “Wait right here.” I went inside and dialed Pizza ‘Spress, placed the order, then stole cash from Thomas’ wallet to pay for it. He’d left it in the bedroom, stuffed inside the ever-present gym bag.

“Saw the Little Folk outside,” Murph said, unpacking paper cartons from several bags on my counter.

I nodded. “Here for the payment I promised.”

She paused, turning her head and arching an eyebrow. “What kind of payment?”

“Pizza. Come on, Murph,” I added at her look of distaste, “did you really think all that pizza was for me? I promised them one each.”

“An entire pizza.”

“Yep.”

“Each.”

“Yep.”

Her eyes flicked to the door. She’d left it open, and dim globes of blue and purple light bobbed up and down. “How can they possibly eat that much?”

I shrugged. “Magic.”

She blinked, then barked a laugh. “Right. Should’ve guessed. So where is Thomas?”

“Mouse took me for a walk,” my brother said, appearing in the entryway like a wraith. Or a Raith. Yeah, I know, but that joke never gets old. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “Oh, good, I’m staring.”

Mouse, after a brief pause to inspect Toot-toot and Purpleweed, trotted inside, tags jingling. He was followed by Mister, sedately strolling in with a casual glance at the Fae (who had hurriedly flown out of the cat’s reach). He jumped up on the hearth and demanded I kindle the fire. Which I did. He purred happily as I stroked him from head to stubby tail, headbutting my chin when the occasion arose.

“Quit fondling the cat and eat,” Murph said, shoving a plate piled high with sweet and sour pork, fried rice, and several egg rolls into one hand. She set an opened bottle of Mac’s brew next to me.

“Marry me,” I quipped, half the egg roll already in my mouth. It wasn’t until my brain caught up that I realized what I’d said, and my heart twitched with that familiar ache.

She snorted, taking it as the joke I’d meant it to be. “In your dreams, Dresden.”

“Get a room,” Thomas said, tossing an egg roll to Mouse. The dog caught it easily, devouring it in a single bite. “Didn’t we just have Chinese?”

“Bite me, vampire.”

A smirk appeared. “Any time, wizard.”

“You two want to be alone?” Murphy asked, eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Because I could go.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So what were you crazy kids up to today? Before I saved you from the Warden, I mean,” Thomas said.

“Fought a lion,” I said.

“Took a tour of the Underworld,” Murphy added.

“Met Hades.”

“Borrowed a divine relic from his vault.”

“Ordered egg rolls.”

Thomas’ head swiveled back and forth between us. “Oh, is that all?”

Murphy took pity on him, relaying the day’s events as we ate. I handled the pizza delivery and drop off halfway through, leaving the boxes opened in the small back yard. Purpleweed and Toot-toot attacked their respective pizzas like a ravening horde of malks.

When we reached my meeting with Hades, Murphy listened just as intently as Thomas, since I hadn’t briefed her on the drive home. I think we’d both been a little… overwhelmed, and the silence in the car had helped.

“What’s this… adversary?” she asked when I finished.

“Beings outside our reality,” I said. “At the farthest reaches of Faerie, there’s a Gate they constantly try to breach as a way into our universe. It’s -“ I was going to say, held by the armies of Winter, but the Mantle changed my words. “Our only protection,” I finished, grimacing. Clearly that was part of Winter Law, and those who didn’t know wouldn’t be hearing the information from me.

“They can also be called or summoned, though generally not on a large scale,” Thomas added.

Unless a Titan’s involved.

Murphy gestured to my duster, hanging near the front door. “You said you had an idea for the knife.”

“Svartalves.” I set the plate down on the floor so Mouse could lick it clean, which he did with enough gusto to push it around the rug. “Fae craftsmen without equal. They have been responsible for filling the armories of gods for millennia.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How does that help us?”

I grinned. “Let me show you.” I retrieved my staff from the popcorn tin and tilted it down, pointing to the end. “They can add a socket here for the knife’s handle to screw into. Knife becomes spear, and spears can be thrown. Or at least provide a much longer reach.”

Murph ran her fingers over the oak staff, and yeah, that gave my libido a few ideas about where else those fingers could be. Elaine had not been wrong when she called my staff a phallic focus.

Elaine. She was alive. She was… I tried to remember where she was. She’d left the protection of the Summer Court and was likely in Los Angeles, though I had no idea how to reach her. And what could I even tell her? I had no idea how she’d been killed, and while I suspected Cowl behind her murder, I had no proof. Nothing to warn her of.

Thinking of her led me inevitably to Susan, and to Maggie. Chichén Itzá and the blood curse. God, so much I could change, and so little time to figure out how.

You could tell Bob. Have him tell Harry Actual once you leave. He’d be in a better position to figure out how to use that information. He’d have the time I didn’t. And still I wondered… where did that leave me? Would I arrive to a future that little resembled what I remembered? Would I completely cease to exist? Not like there was a How To manual for chronomancy, or anyone left alive to ask. Or… maybe there was.

“Hey, Thomas,” I said, interrupting the conversation he and Murphy were having without my participation.

“Yeah?”

“You have a boat?” All he’d ever said about the Water Beetle was that he won it in a bet, Han Solo style. Should’ve called the damned thing the Millennium Falcon. It was old, but had it where it counts.

He scoffed. “Does it look like I can afford a boat right now? I can barely afford rent.”

I eyed him. “You don’t pay me rent.”

“And I can barely afford it.”

“What about Lara? She have one?”

Thomas frowned as he thought. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so, but I’m not privy to everything my sister owns. Why do you want a boat?”

I shook my head. “Just a dumb idea. Doesn’t matter.”

“The island?” Murphy asked.

“Yeah, but I’m not the Warden of the place yet. I doubt the genius loci would appreciate a visit.” I blew out a breath. “Let me go call the svartalf smith I’ve done business with before. Should only take him an hour or two, though I’ll have to find something to pay him with. He prefers barter to cash, and I don’t have any cash to speak of. Think I have a few gemstones tucked away in my lab.”

Thomas sat up a little straighter. “How did you pay for the pizza?”

“My brother kindly donated to the cause. He’s a decent fellow, don’t you think?” I snorted as he scowled at me. “I’ll pay you back.” When I got up, my eyes strayed to the popcorn tin, to the wooden hilt of Fidelacchius. The sword that might be Kusanagi, the legendary sword of Japanese emperors, but also a Sword of the Cross. A holy relic, bearing an angel bound to a nail of the cross worked into its blade.. Why hadn’t I thought of using it against Jörmungandr? It would’ve saved us a trip to the Underworld.

But as I considered it, my instincts told me this fight wasn’t the sword’s. The serpent wasn’t evil, and was being drawn to our world against its will. Its physical body would be a mere shadow of its true, near-divine form.

Then I had a disturbing thought. Maybe Lasciel blocked your memories of the sword. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

“Harry?”

I jerked and turned my head. “Yeah?”

Murphy was eyeing me with a worried frown. “You all right? You’ve been standing there staring off into space for like five minutes.”

I pasted on a lopsided grin for reassurance. “Yeah, I’m fine. Tired.” I shambled towards the kitchen, scratching behind Mouse’s ears as he followed me. I kept a notepad next to the phone, and flipped through it to find the right contact.

I’d met Gitri not long after I opened my P.I. business, stumbling into his store for a consultation involving a ritual athame. I didn’t know he was a svartalf, not at first, though I suspected he was Fae as he wouldn’t touch the steel blade with bare hands. Then I caught him once (accidentally) without his glamour, and we’d become not quite friends, but friendly acquaintances. I used him for any metalworking I needed done; in fact, he had helped craft the pewter scale models of the city’s buildings for Little Chicago.

His shop was a few blocks from the svartalf embassy, though I didn’t realize it at the time. Gitri lived in a small apartment above. I’d been invited in once, and spent hours ogling the detailed, delicate works he had on display, covering every surface. Not to mention the complete suit of Winter Fae armor on a stand in one corner; a prototype, he told me, for the Winter Court long ago. It looked much like the silvery metal armor I’d seen more recently, though this featured intricate carvings over the breastplate, helm and bracers.

He could - and did - work with iron and steel, though demanded a premium for dealing with a metal that would burn with a touch and kill with prolonged exposure. If I went to a mortal smith, they’d use steel for the threaded socket. Gitri, though, could make use of the Fae metal as it was just as strong, and took enchantments with ease.

Gitri picked up on the second ring. “Chicago Silversmiths and Metalworking. How may I assist you?”

“It’s Harry Dresden. I have a special request I’d like to bring by your shop. Should only take a few hours’ work, if that, and I need it done tonight.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Dresden,” he said in that perfectly neutral, unaccented voice. “I am currently under the employ of another for the next several days. I would be able to assist you in one week’s time, if you can stop by then?”

I bit back a snarl. “Can you squeeze me in? I’ll pay extra.”

“I apologize, but I cannot. I have signed a contract.” In the Fae world, a contract was binding. Literally. Gitri would be unable to break it, even if he wanted to.

“There’s nothing you can do? Is there another smith of your skill I could use? I absolutely need it completed this evening. There are lives at risk, Gitri. The mortals who call Chicago home are in great danger.” Even to my ears I sounded desperate, but I’d been counting on him. He had done the work on my staff before the Battle of Chicago, so I knew him more than capable.

“The only other svartalves of comparable skill to mine live in Svartalfheim, Mr. Dresden.” It wasn’t boasting, it was a matter of fact. Svartalfheim did not permit visitors, especially mortals, so that information did me little good. “However,” he continued, and I allowed a tiny flicker of hope to kindle. “Should the mortal I have bargained with agree to a delay, I will be able to complete the task you require.”

“And who is that?”

“I believe you know him. Mr. John Marcone.”

Of course it would be Marcone. I’d seen everyone else on this blast from the past, why not complete the trifecta with the crime boss of Chicago?

“We are acquainted,” I said sourly. Asking Marcone for a favor? I could only imagine what he would demand in return.

“Then it is settled. Bring me an addendum to my contract signed by Mr. Marcone, and I will be honored to assist,” Gitri said.

While I clenched my jaw, I managed to sound polite. “Thank you, Gitri.”

“It is my pleasure, Mr. Dresden.”

I dropped the receiver into its cradle, sighed, and rubbed my eyes. The pressure was marginally worse, and while it didn’t exactly hurt, it did make them itch and water, almost like an allergic reaction.

I’m allergic to this time period. Which wasn’t far from the truth, all things considered.

“Bad news?” Murphy asked, placing a hand on my arm.

“Worse news,” I grumbled. “Gitri - the svartalf - is already under an exclusive contract until next week. Unless I get Marcone’s buy-off on a delay, he can’t help.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Thomas asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Can’t. Gitri is Fae, and the contract binding.”

“Oh.”

Murphy shot me a look. “So all we need to do is ask the self-proclaimed Baron of Chicago for a favor.”

“Pretty much,” I replied glumly. “Better get this over with.” While I didn’t have Marcone’s direct number, I did have Sigrun Gard’s. I dialed and let it ring, waiting to see if she’d answer.

She did. “Dresden? What do you want?” Her tone was as cold as the blue of her eyes.

“A meeting with Marcone,” I replied, keeping it as civil as possible. If I wanted his assistance, I would need to be on my best behavior. Likely that would last all of five minutes in his presence, but I’d make the effort. “Would he have time today to fit me into his schedule?”

“One moment.” The line crackled with static for several seconds, but I figured she had me on hold while she spoke with Marcone. “He will see you, wizard. One hour, at this address.” I wrote it down, recognizing it as within the Loop. Likely one of his many offices he rotated between, not wanting to give his rivals a conveniently fixed location to target. “You may bring the Lieutenant.”

Huh. I hadn’t told her Murphy was coming. A guess, based on our trip to Oslo yesterday? “I was bringing her anyway.”

Gard let out a small sound of amusement. “Do not be late.”

When I hung up, I turned around to find Thomas and Murphy staring at me expectantly. “He’ll see us,” I told Murph.

Thomas cocked his head. “Am I not coming? I could coerce him in a matter of minutes.” It was kind of scary, how casually he said it. It was scarier that I seriously considered it. But Marcone, as bad as he was, was still human. I had an obligation to protect him, as a citizen of Chicago and as a mortal, from any supernatural threat, my brother included.

“No, better if you stay here. While I have no doubt of your considerable skill in that area, Gard wouldn’t let you within ten feet of him.”

“Fine, fine,” he said with a casual wave. “Have fun storming the castle.”

“I’ll drive,” Murphy said, heading to the door to pick up her shoes and jacket.

I tore the page from my notepad with Marcone’s address, a smile playing over my lips. “I figured.”

The office building was indeed in the Loop, a block from Millennium Park. In fact, I recognized the location. It was one of over sixty buildings destroyed in the Battle of Chicago. If my memory served, the new building rising in its place was currently under construction, managed by a shell company that eventually led back to Marcone if you followed the paper trail.

We walked through its main doors framed by a brass archway and swirling filigree, into a lobby far smaller than the building’s size indicated. White-speckled gray granite covered the walls, while the floor was done in a geometric pattern of light and dark tan with black accents. The front desk was flanked by two banks of elevators, but we had no need to speak to the guard behind it.

Sigrun Gard was waiting for us. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a skirt suit in light gray. Those blue eyes missed nothing, and casually assessed our potential threat as we walked towards her. I’d left my staff in the car; as I was going to ask a favor, it didn’t seem prudent to show up armed as if I was looking for a fight.

“Mr. Dresden, Ms. Murphy, this way,” she said, indicating the far elevator, its doors already open. She swiped a card through the front panel’s reader, and we were whisked upwards at a smooth, steady pace.

“Need I remind you to behave, and of the consequences should you not?” Gard asked, arching an eyebrow as she tilted her head to look at me.

I held up a placating hand. “I have no ill intentions where your boss is concerned. I need his help.”

Both eyebrows rose. “Is this regarding your… unexpected arrival in Oslo yesterday?”

“Valkyries gossip, do they?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

Murphy shot me a look. “It is. And we need his help.” She emphasized the word.

“Are you asking as a member of the police department?” Gard asked.

“No.” It was hard and final.

We rode the rest of the way in silence, coming to a stop on the nineteenth floor. Gard exited without a word, and we followed her past a receptionist’s desk and down a rather bland hallway with several closed, unmarked doors. The final door looked identical to the others, but Gard stopped in front of it and knocked.

“Come,” said the voice I knew far too well for comfort.

Marcone’s office was sparse, his desk not something large or majestic, but a simple construction of metal and glass. The walls were bare, the space clearly a temporary one. He closed his laptop as we entered, faded green eyes appraising us at a glance. “Mr. Dresden, Lieutenant Murphy, a pleasure to see you again.”

I highly doubted that, but held my tongue. For once.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Murphy said, sitting in one of three available chairs. I took the one next to her, leaving the one nearest the door empty. Gard chose to stand in the corner behind and to one side of Marcone, where she had an unimpeded view of both us and the office door.

Marcone steepled his fingers as he regarded us, eyes lingering on me. “Indeed. What can I do for you?” He looked younger than I remembered, but not by much. He was one of those individuals who aged so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. Of course, now that he’d taken up a Coin, he wouldn’t age at all.

“You currently have a svartalf on contract. I have need of his services, but he cannot break his word to you without an addendum to said contract. Normally, I’d be able to wait a week for him to finish, but this time I can’t. I need it done tonight. The fate of Chicago is at stake.”

“Hmm, it usually is. According to you, at any rate. Do you know how much you cost me last year in property damage?”

I blinked at him. “Not really, no.”

“Indeed. And now you come to me, asking for a favor.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced the words out. “Name your price, Marcone.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I have heard you are now the Winter Knight.”

Dammit. I knew Marcone’s information network was good, but to know that, he had to have contacts within the Fae. Likely within Winter itself. Maeve, perhaps? I’d humiliated and embarrassed her, and she had no love for me. And it’d be just like her to stab her mother in the back, as it exposed a potential weakness in the Court.

“A temporary loan of power from the Queen of Winter,” I acknowledged. No sense in denying it.

“There is an item currently in the possession of the Raith estate. A skull carved from quartz. My efforts to purchase it from Lord Raith have been met with some resistance. As an emissary of Winter, I believe it within your power to acquire it for me. Bring me the skull, and I will allow you use of Gitri’s services.”

What exactly is bound inside that thing? And how did Marcone know of it ten years before Lara traded it to him?

I felt my mouth drop open, and closed it with a snap of teeth. “You can’t be serious.”

His lips twitched. “Indeed I am. I never joke when it comes to business.”

Pure rage flooded me, and my hand ached to wrap around his throat and show him exactly what power the Winter Knight held. But that would likely result in my death, or at least having my hand chopped off by Gard’s double-bladed axe. To say nothing of the risk to Murphy.

Calm, stay calm. The temperature dropped as ice crystals formed on the glass of Marcone’s desk, spreading rapidly over the laptop’s surface before he could remove it.

He sighed, running a finger through the frost. “Dresden, if you want my assistance, you have my terms.” His hand jerked away in surprise as the laptop popped and sputtered, acrid smoke leaking from a side vent. “I’ll add that to your considerable tab.”

I bared my teeth in emulation of a smile. “Do that. I’ll bring you your damned skull, and you damned well better live up to your side of this arrangement. Otherwise, you’ll witness first-hand what the Winter Knight is truly capable of.”

“Dresden -“ Gard began to move, but froze as Marcone’s hand lifted.

“Stand down, Gard.” He glanced to Murphy. “Lieutenant, I’m surprised you have no objection to the threat just levied against my person.”

She gave him a faint smile. “I’m off-duty.”

Marcone echoed the smile. “Indeed. Gard, please show our guests out.”

I didn’t give her the chance. I stalked out of the office, Murphy hurrying to catch up with my long, angry strides. “Where are the stairs in this damn building?”

“Take a left, then a right,” called Gard from behind me. I did, found the exit sign and pushed the door open with enough force to slam into the wall behind it. It broke the hinges and gouged out a chunk of concrete.

“Harry, wait!” Murphy called, but I ignored her and took the stairs two, then three at a time. I needed to vent my rage and physical exercise was one way of doing so. It also ran less risk of injury to others, and unless I passed someone in the stairwell on their cell phone, wouldn’t short out any electronics.

Except for the lights. Several bulbs popped and went dark as I passed them.

The stairs led to a back door, which emptied onto the sidewalk on the other side of the building. A metal staircase led up to the El station’s platform. I was too angry and too close to the trains to risk waiting for Murphy, so I began walking back to her car. I’d need to calm down before it’d be safe for her to drive me anywhere.

Not just anywhere. To Château Raith.

She can’t come. The thought tumbled through my head. Murphy can’t come. She can’t see me like that.

Because I knew what Lara Raith would ask for in exchange, and it wasn’t going to be information. She was a White Court vampire, and I had forced her to face her own weakness. While Lara wasn’t petty, she did have a strong sense of balance, and right now, the scales were tipped in my direction. She’d want to change the dynamic.

The Mantle went berserk with lust, and tossed images in front of my eyes. Some - most - were real, taken from my memory. A few were simply fantasy, but fantasies could easily become new memories. And yes, I wanted her regardless of how convoluted my feelings were towards her. Wanted her badly, if my body was any indication.

Dammit.

You’d think ten years in the past I could escape my future for a week.

“Dresden!” Murphy shouted. This time I did stop, though I had already slowed my pace considerably. She grabbed my arm and whirled me around. “What the hell was that?”

I studied her, this woman I loved, and yet all my thoughts were of Lara.

Hypocrite.

“Give me a minute,” I said, my voice low and raspy. I focused, pushing power from me into the ground beneath, pushing as much rage as I could out with it. “That was the Winter Mantle. It… pushes me, I told you that. It magnifies anger, and it becomes hard to control my impulses. It also magnifies my power, and I didn’t want to risk using the elevator. I’m sorry, Murph.”

She looked at me with nothing but concern. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

I closed my eyes briefly as I nodded. “Yeah.”

Murph pulled at my duster’s sleeve. “Come on.” She led me to her car, then pushed me inside once she had the door open.

“You should wait a few minutes before starting the engine,” I cautioned her when she got in. “Just until I can get myself under control.” I was mostly under control now, but she deserved the truth, the whole truth. The one I’d kept from her.

“All right,” she said, settling back in her seat. Judging by her face, she was willing to wait as long as it took for me to gather my courage. She didn’t push by asking questions, comfortable in the silence between us.

I shoved aside my fear. “There are some things I haven’t told you,” I said slowly, unwilling to look at her. “About what happened after you…” my throat closed up and I couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

She covered my hand with hers and squeezed gently. I didn’t feel it through the glove and burn scars, but wished I could. “That’s the thing about life, Harry. It goes on, whether you want it to or not.”

I swallowed a few times and nodded. “Yeah. I… I’m set to marry Lara Raith, as ordered by the Winter Queen in a bid to strengthen Winter through an alliance with the White Court of Vampires. In fact… just before all of this happened, I was getting ready for the wedding.” Murphy was silent but didn’t withdraw her hand, which I took for an encouraging sign. “The Queen actually wanted me to get married right then and there, mere hours after your death. Had Lara not intervened, there’s a good chance I would be dead right now. I was ready to go up against Mab herself. It bought me a year’s reprieve, during which time I was obligated to twelve dates with Lara, a public display of a united Winter and White Court. And I… got to know her.”

Murph let out a breath. “Oh, Harry. You could never do casual, could you? You feel too much, invest yourself in your relationships. I saw how badly you fell apart after Susan left, and how much it hurt when she left the second time. You have feelings for Lara.” She paused for a moment, studying my face. “Your behavior yesterday in her office makes more sense, now.”

Leave it to Murphy. I thought I had behaved as any adult male in the presence of a succubus would, but clearly she registered subtle nuances in our relationship (at least from my side), even if she hadn’t realized at the time what they meant.

“Our relationship is… complicated. My feelings for her are complicated.”

She snorted. “Lara’s a succubus. I’d be shocked if your feelings weren’t complicated. But… doesn’t that mean she’s killing you slowly by feeding from you? And influencing your mind?”

“The Winter Mantle offers protection against the Hunger’s harmful effects,” I said, face heating at the confession.

Murphy did the math. “Oh. And now you’re the temporary Winter Knight.”

“Yeah.” I huffed out a bitter laugh.

“How does Marcone know about your protection against vampires?”

“He doesn’t, of that I’m sure. No one does.” Except Vadderung, apparently. “He’s assuming with my added power I could force Lara into giving up the skull. Which, if I really wanted to raze the manor to the ground and kill a bunch of people, I could. Or he thought I’d make some sort of bargain with Winter’s assurances to back it up.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, though. I know what Lara will want.”

“You think her bargain will be of a sexual nature.” She said it in a calm, flat voice.

“I think she’s the unofficial Queen of the White Court, and a scorpion can’t change what it is.” Then because she deserved a straight answer, to hear the words, I added, “Yes, I think it likely sex will be involved.” And my body thrummed with anticipation, the Mantle and my hormones picturing how the night could go. It would be my first time with Lara, so to speak, and my actual first time had been more than I ever believed it could be.

She took that in, staring at the street through the windshield. “I thought when Vadderung said the Winter Knight was needed, he meant for actual fighting. Not so you could be used as a bargaining chip.”

I’d done far worse over the last year than succumb to Lara’s charms. Hell’s bells, I’d done worse in the last two days. On my ever-expanding scale of Evil Dresden, this barely registered. “Sometimes the choice we have isn’t much of a choice at all. We need the Spear of Destiny. Gitri won’t help unless Marcone gives him leave to, and Marcone won’t unless I offer him the quartz skull Lara is currently in possession of. Other than bargaining with Lara, I can’t see another way to acquire it. My veil might be passable, but it’s nowhere near good enough to get me onto the Raith property, into the manor, and get me the access I need to steal it. Any other plan - trying to hire Goodman Grey, for example - will take time we don’t have.”

Murphy turned her head to look at me. “What about Thomas? Could he take it?”

I started to answer, then thought about it. “No,” I said at last. “He’s been excommunicated by the White Court, and hasn’t been back to Château Raith since Lara kicked him out. He would never be allowed to roam around unescorted. I doubt they’d even let him on the property.”

“And you’re sure we can’t use the knife as just a knife?”

I let out a noise of frustration. “Murph, I’m not sure of anything. I only have my instincts, and they tell me we need the Spear. You said yourself a knife would require up close and personal interaction, which is likely to get the wielder killed.”

She frowned. After a moment, she asked in a quiet voice, “Do you love her?”

“No!” I nearly shouted, then lowered the volume as she winced. “No. But I can’t deny I have feelings for her, either, Murph. You were gone, and I was so hollowed out inside… Whatever else Lara Raith may be, a part of her is still human. I didn’t have to feel so alone all the time.” Then I let out a short, bitter laugh. “God, of all the conversations I thought to have with you, this never crossed my mind. With my life, I guess it should have.” I eyed her, then asked the question that could break my heart. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle rejection, or face the imminent threat to Chicago without her at my side. “So where does that leave us?”

Her blue eyes softened a little, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Where we’ve always been, Dresden. Friends.”

Chapter Text

Murphy watched my expression a moment, and I wondered how successful I’d been at keeping my emotional conflict hidden. Likely not very. She offered a faint, and faintly sad, smile. “Lara’s office, then?”

“Yeah, and hope she’s still in the city.” And using the same office. I knew of one or two others, but didn’t feel up to driving around Chicago during rush hour looking for her. I wanted this over with.

Her hand reached for the key, then paused and shot me a look. “It safe to start? Or are you going to blow out the engine?”

The anger and violence from a few minutes ago had been replaced with dread and… anticipation? But it was a low-level buzz in my gut, not something spilling out uncontrollably. “Should be fine.”

She raised a brow, then snorted. “Should? Your confidence astounds me.” But she started the engine without trouble, and it didn’t complain as she wound through the city grid towards Lara’s office building.

She found a spot to park not far away, pulled over and shut off the car. I put a hand on her shoulder before she could get out. “Murph…” I started, then stopped. This was awkward. Really awkward. I wanted her there, as she’d be less affected - and less conflicted - than I would be. But I might have to use those feelings, act on them, in order to get Lara’s assistance, and I absolutely did not want Karrin to witness it.

Her puzzled frown faded as she understood my hesitation. “I’ll wait here.” But there was a minute flicker of hurt in those blue eyes.

My heart lurched in my chest. I could never hurt her, not then, and not now. I reached over, tucking an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear before I was consciously aware of what I was doing. “It’s -“

“Complicated,” she interrupted. “I know.” Then she blew out a soft breath. “Go see what the Queen Bitch wants in return.”

A memory, completely unrelated, flashed in my mind. My brother telling his car to call QB, initials I hadn’t understood at the time and he hadn’t explained. I chuckled, causing Murph to raise a brow.

“What?”

“Thomas called her the exact same thing.”

She gave me a half-smile. “Figures.” It faded as she put her hand over my gloved one. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thanks, Murph.” Time to put on your big boy pants, Dresden. I got out and walked the block to Lara’s building, resisting the urge to look back. I felt naked without my staff, but she’d view it as a threat and rightfully so. That’s not how I wanted to start off the conversation.

I chose elevator over stairs, though the exercise would have helped calm my nerves. This body wasn’t as conditioned as mine, and I didn’t want to arrive at her floor weak and out of breath, not to mention sweating profusely.

I wasn’t entirely sure Lara would see me after what happened earlier, so was mildly surprised when I was shown to the private reception area. I paced in front of the windows overlooking Chicago. The shadows were lengthening as the sun sank behind us, and up here the view afforded me an excellent vista of Lake Michigan. It was dark to the east, darker than it should be, a smudge of haze almost like a cloud of smoke lingering in the distance. Here, too, I could sense the chaotic whorls of energy strengthening, streaming off the lake into the city.

It’s close. Likely sometime after dawn. I’d need a few hours’ sleep before then, to gather my own strength and clear my head. The bruises on my back, the cracked ribs, the injury to my shoulder, all buzzed with a staticky pain that wasn’t quite pain, but with enough discomfort to notice. Numbing that pain drained energy from the Winter Mantle at a slow, steady pace, and weariness settled over me like a shroud.

But the Mantle itself was thrumming in my blood, excited by the prospect of potential violence and sex in its future. I had to force myself to think, to decide how to phrase the request. Lara would want to know what the skull was and why Marcone wanted it, yet I didn’t have good answers to either question.

Then there was the matter of my involvement. Lara had no shortage of opportunities for sex, or lust, or carnal desire. A crook of her finger in a crowded bar and every customer would be hers for the taking. What could I possibly offer that would be of interest to her?

“Mr. Dresden, Ms. Raith will see you now.”

I whirled around at the receptionist’s voice, heart pounding in my chest. “Thanks.”

Lara was seated behind her desk, and remained so as I approached. “Twice in one day, wizard?” I’d expected anger, or at least irritation over the stunt I pulled, but found neither in her expression. Only mild curiosity flickered in her eyes as I sat across the desk from her.

“First, I wanted to apologize for -“

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “No need. You remained within the boundaries I established and succeeded where I assumed you would fail. It is not often that happens, wizard, and I found the experience worthwhile.” Lara smiled then, slow and seductive. “Because you have returned, I assume you have further need of my services?”

I swallowed and went with my instincts. “John Marcone has offered to purchase an artifact owned by your father, but has been unsuccessful. A human skull carved of quartz.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It is an object my father keeps in his private study. A gruesome thing, I would swear its eyes watch my every movement when I am there. I was not aware Mr. Marcone wished to purchase it. Do you know why?”

Truth or fiction? I settled for a partial truth. “I believe it to be a magical artifact, but can offer nothing beyond that without inspecting it myself.”

“Then only a practitioner could make use of it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And Mr. Marcone is not a practitioner.” While she phrased it as a statement, she raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“No.” Not yet.

She frowned. “Then why… ah, his pet Valkyrie. It might be prudent to have one of her sisters under my employ.” She tapped a nail on her chin, studying me intently. “One moment.” She picked up the phone and dialed a number by memory. “This is Lara Raith. Might I speak with Mr. Marcone?” A pause, likely as her call was rerouted to whatever number Johnny happened to be using today. “Mr. Marcone, I am led to believe you have expressed interest in a skull carved from quartz, yet I am not aware of any offers made. Ah. Yes, my father is quite fond of it, but we have been downsizing our collection as of late. As such, I might be open to parting with it.”

A longer pause this time, her gray eyes watching me steadily. It was unnerving, having a predator stare at me from mere feet away. I tried my best not to fidget, but found myself idly toying with the shields of my bracelet. They made soft metal clinks as they rubbed against one another.

“I see,” Lara said at last, pursing her lips. Her very attractive, kissable lips. I knew that from experience. “I will call you back with my answer.” She hung up, then propped up her chin with a fisted hand. “So, wizard. What do you require from Mr. Marcone that you would agree to act as his intermediary in this matter?”

I grimaced. “The services of a svartalf smith. He is currently under contract to Marcone, and can only assist me should Marcone modify the terms of the contract.”

“Which he will only do if you provide him the skull.” She leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You could have attempted to steal the artifact from my home. I know you possess skills far greater than what I have personally witnessed. Or tried to use my own brother against me. And yet you came to ask for my assistance, rather than skulk in the shadows. That is not an insignificant decision, wizard.”

I had no idea what to say to that. “Um… thank you?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I have no use for the trinkets my father collected, and what Mr. Marcone offered is quite valuable to me. If I agree to his price, I want something from you in return.”

And here it comes. I raised an eyebrow, doing my best to look disinterested. “Which is?”

“A small delegation of the Red Court has arrived in Chicago, and I am hosting a fête in their honor this evening at Château Raith.” Her lips curved up in that sultry, sexy way I found so maddeningly erotic. “A White Council Wizard on my arm would prove most advantageous in my negotiations with them.”

“Not to mention it’ll probably piss them off seeing you with me, the wizard whose face is plastered on every wanted poster.”

Her eyes took on minute silver flecks as she laughed low in her throat.

The Mantle had a lot to say about that. I ignored it.

“They are detestable creatures, so it shall make the evening most entertaining. Do you consent to spend the evening with me, and serve me in any way I desire?” She leaned forward, just enough that my gaze dropped from her face to follow curves of flawless skin, the slightest glimpse of cleavage and what lay underneath. I didn’t have to imagine it; I’d seen that same vantage before, with considerably less clothing involved. “And I have quite a few desires, wizard.” Her tongue darted over her upper lip.

My hormones went into overdrive. So did the Mantle.

I swallowed, willing myself to stillness. “I agree, on two conditions. One, I return home by midnight. Wouldn’t want my ride changing back into a pumpkin on the way.”

She regarded me steadily. “Agreed. And the other?”

“Whatever private matters that play out between us remain private. No additional participants, no voyeurs watching from the shadows, no cameras recording our interactions for posterity. I can and will use my power to blow out all the electronics in Château Raith if required, though I would prefer not to. Your guests might become… agitated, do something reckless and ill-advised.”

“It was my understanding that most men fantasize of having multiple partners.”

“Not me.” With the right partners, say Lara and Murph… maybe. But certainly not with anyone on Lara’s guest list. Not to mention the potential of a sudden, violent, adverse reaction brought on by memories of the last time I’d been in the manor. Then I drew in a breath, realizing it likely one or more of Lara’s sisters would be in attendance tonight.

Oh, hell’s bells. What have I agreed to?

Lara sensed my sudden shift in mood, though she didn’t comment on it. The Hunger’s incessant pounding against my mental shields quieted as she returned to a more businesslike posture and picked up the phone. This time, the number went straight to the man himself. “I agree to your offer, Mr. Marcone. The artifact will be brought to you by courier this evening.” She paused, listening intently. I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, and was too polite to use my ability to do so. Her eyes flicked to me. “Yes, he is here. I will inform him.” Lara hung up. “He will amend the contract and have it delivered to the silversmith within the hour. You are welcome to his services after that time, with the understanding that they will be provided for no longer than twenty-four hours.”

That was a tidbit Marcone hadn’t bothered to mention, but Gitri would only need an hour or two of uninterrupted work to complete my request. In twenty-four hours, we’d likely either be dead or Jörmungandr banished from the mortal realm.

Quest complete! You gain 200XP.

If only I had my character sheet handy.

“As for you…” she gave me a critical look. “You will need to change.”

At this point in my life, I owned exactly one suit, black, and it made me look like an undertaker. I had one white dress shirt and two ties (one black, one navy) to pair with it, along with a slightly scuffed pair of dress shoes that needed a polish. Lara held up her hand before I could comment on the state of my wardrobe. “Clearly being a private investigator means you have little money to spend on your attire, and any suit would require a custom fit.”

She flipped through the Rolodex on her desk - an anachronism in the twenty-first century - and removed a silver card, offering it to me. “Imogen will provide you with something far more appropriate for this evening.”

I took the card and stared at it. “Imogen’s Boutique” was written in graceful black calligraphy, along with an address and phone number. “Same day service? She can’t possibly have something that will fit me in stock.”

Lara gave me a knowing smile. “She will be able to accommodate you, wizard. In all ways.” Always with the innuendo, but Lara wouldn’t be Lara otherwise.

I tucked the card into a pocket. “I can’t afford what this will cost.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Consider it a gift. Imogen will add it to my account. I shall send a car for you, so be ready by six-thirty.” She eyed me again. “A shower and shave would not be amiss. I do enjoy Chinese food, but your chosen restaurant does not keep their oil very fresh.”

My face heated with embarrassment. “Tonight, then.” I turned to go, then paused and looked back. Lara raised a brow in question. “Thank you.” She blinked, caught off guard, and I left her frowning after me, a faintly puzzled expression on her face.

Murphy waited until I’d settled into the seat before asking, “Well?” Her eyes gave me a cursory scan, likely looking for injury or evidence of Lara’s mistreatment like any good cop would.

Not because she was jealous. She couldn’t be jealous. Right?

I pushed the thought away.

“We’re in business. Lara is having a party tonight at Château Raith and wants me to attend as her date.” I fished out the business card she’d given me. “And apparently I need to pick up a suit.” I gave her the address, and Murph pulled out into traffic. It’d take twenty minutes to reach Imogen’s at this time of day, the roads filling with office workers heading home early.

“Is that all?” she asked after a minute or two of silence. “Just show up to the party for a few hours?”

I swallowed, wondering how much to confess. All of it, idiot. “Probably not just that.”

She must’ve heard something in my tone, as her voice softened slightly. “We can find another way, Harry. You don’t have to agree to this.”

“It’s already done,” I replied. “Lara’s made the arrangements with Marcone, and after I pick up the suit, we’ll stop by Gitri’s workshop. That should be enough time for the contract addendum to arrive.”

Murph blew out a breath in a long sigh. “I don’t like this. I don’t like you going into the Spider Queen’s lair without someone to watch your back.” She shot me a quick glance. “You might do something stupid.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

She rolled a shoulder in a shrug. “Like what men usually do around Lara Raith.”

“Drool a lot?”

Now she rolled her eyes. “Get so caught up in her allure that you forget the danger you’re in, and the threat she poses.”

“Ah. I never forget the threat she poses, Murph. But I’m in less danger than you think. I have a way to shut down a White Court vampire’s Hunger, and without that, they’re merely mortal.” Provided I’m in the right frame of mind to use the spell.

She shot me a disbelieving look. “You can do that?”

“I’ve had some practice over the past year,” I hedged.

“Because of the time you spent with her.”

“Mostly, though I practiced on Thomas first.”

Murphy drummed her fingers lightly on the wheel. “Still don’t like it.”

“I’ve survived worse, Murph. This is a cakewalk compared to dealing with a porn star’s jealous rage and a rogue entropy curse.” It made her smile a little.

“True.”

Imogen’s Boutique had its own small parking lot, four reserved spaces to the side of the building. One of them was already occupied, presumably by Imogen’s car; Murphy pulled up next to it and shut off the engine.

“You don’t have to come in.” I wanted to be polite about it, but I really didn’t want her there watching me try on suits.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming.”

“Why? It’s bound to be a boring experience for you.” And likely an embarrassing one for me.

She quirked her lips. “Dresden, if there’s one thing I find sexy, it’s an attractive man in a suit. And I’ve never seen you in a suit.”

Whoa. There was a lot to unpack in her statement. I chose to keep it packed and locked safely in a closet for later inspection.

“Yes, you have,” I grumped.

“You have one suit, and it doesn’t count. It makes you look like you’re on the way to a funeral. This -“ she pointed to the shop “- is a high-class establishment.” Not sure how she could tell that from the outside. It was just another brick building in Chicago’s business district.

I glared at her. “Kincaid doesn’t wear a suit.”

She smirked, eyes brimming with laughter. “Not for you.”

I had no reply ready for the unexpected retort. “Oh.” That seemed relatively safe. “Fine, come if you want.”

I hurried to the boutique’s front door, opening it for her with a bow. Murphy glared her usual glare, but she was still smiling.

The store reeked of Fae magic. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the stench an open sewer in July would exude; it’s actually quite pleasant in small doses. This was akin to dousing yourself with an entire bottle of aftershave. It made my eyes water a bit, so my view of the shop was tear-filled and blurry.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked a crisp, accented voice to my left. I blinked a few times to clear my vision. The voice belonged to a tall, willowy woman with golden eyes and long, straight hair the color of mint that fell to her waist. She was dressed in all black, and her skin was a rich shade of honey. Oh, she was Fae all right, a Summer Court Sidhe by the look of her and the taste of her magic.

Which solved the mystery of how Lara procured my suits at a moment’s notice.

“No,” I said, pulling out the silver card. “Lara Raith sent me. I am to be her escort to a private party this evening, and she wanted something more appropriate for the occasion.”

Imogen raised a pale green eyebrow and looked me over with a slight sneer. “Yes, I can see why she sent you to me. Only I can transform one such as you into something presentable. Stand over there and remove your clothing.” She pointed to an area in front of a full-length mirror.

Murphy snickered.

I blinked at Imogen, unsure if she meant right here in front of everyone. “What?”

Imogen frowned. “Did I not speak clearly? Clothing off, now. How else do you suppose I measure you for the suit?”

I heard a choking sound and turned to find Murphy, hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. I merely rolled my eyes. “Fine.”

Oh, crap. Is there a hole in my boxers?

Too late to worry about that now. I stripped, keeping my back to them both, though my shirt was harder than it should have been to remove. My muscles were stiff from bruising, sending bursts of pain through my body that the Mantle quickly numbed.

“Jesus, Harry,” Murphy whispered.

My chest was covered in purple and red along the ribcage, my back featuring additional purplish-black and angry red blotches where the bullets had hit. “Just a flesh wound,” I said, offering a smile I didn’t really feel.

“Yes, yes, you were brave and did something heroically stupid and now all the women swoon in your presence. Face me and stand still.” Imogen’s orders were as sharp as a drill sergeant’s and I found myself obeying out of habit. Long hours under Warden Luccio’s tutelage had ingrained my response.

Gooseflesh erupted down my arms and legs, though I wasn’t cold. It was the unpleasant situation, the sensation of being on display, the crawl of Karrin’s eyes over my injuries as she cataloged each one.

To my surprise, the Fae didn’t touch me. Her golden eyes missed nothing, scanning every inch as I raised and lowered body parts at her command, then turned away from her and did the same. When she was finished with me, she nodded sharply. “Yes, that shall do. You may wait in there until I return.” She gestured to one of the dressing areas, gold curtain drawn back to reveal a long, low bench attached to the wall. “It shall take but a few minutes.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A few minutes? That’s all?”

“Of course. Do you take me for some unskilled mortal seamstress? Now, go.” She made a shooing motion, and I dutifully stepped into the closet-like space and shut the curtain. My clothes, neatly folded, appeared on the bench a few seconds later. My duster, hung on a hook, a few seconds after that.

Huh.

“You all right in there, Harry?” Murphy asked.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the dirt in after me, hide until this entire business was finished. “Yeah, fine.” I sat on the bench, stretching out my legs. They, too, twinged and protested, mostly in my knees. The left one, as I bent and flexed it, made a soft but alarming clicking sound.

Must’ve smashed it when the lion tackled me.

An arm holding a garment bag shot through the wall inches from my face. I jumped, huffing out a startled noise. “Put this on.” Imogen’s voice, but no body.

“Um… okay.” I took the bag from her, unzipping it to find a suit very similar to others Lara provided me with over the past year. This was in dark gray, the fabric shimmering slightly in the light, with a crisp white shirt and slate blue tie. Thankfully it wasn’t a three-piece, just jacket, trousers and shirt, which made dressing quicker. I left the tie loose, hanging it around my neck. I didn’t want to bother knotting it when I’d just have to undo it immediately.

“Ready, Murph?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied.

I pushed the curtain aside and stepped out to face Murphy’s careful scrutiny.

My girlfriend, approving attire for a date with my fiancée. Though neither woman was that to me here, my stomach filled with butterflies. This is really awkward. I must be in a ‘90s sitcom. Did the Fresh Prince ever end up in a situation like this?

“What do you think?” I asked, holding my arms out a little. Murph narrowed her eyes, studying the suit, then made a twirling motion with her finger. I complied, turning around slowly. “Well?”

Those blue eyes sparkled with mirth, and something else I couldn’t identify. “Nice. You look presentable.”

I looked down at myself. “Just presentable?”

She blew out a breath. “Good, all right, Dresden? You look good in a suit, and that suit in particular.” Her cheeks pinked at the confession, and that was adorable. I preened - inwardly, of course - at her response. I’d never had the opportunity to dress up for her. The one time I tried, I had to make do with a clean tee and jeans and even then died before she witnessed my attempt. I had dreamed of taking her out for a romantic dinner once her injuries healed enough to do so, fantasized of how that night would end, her slowly stripping off my suit. Me doing the same with her dress.

Instead, the honor of that date had gone to Lara. As had the ending of the evening, the first time I’d given in to temptation. It had been a glorious experience, a freeing of the chains I usually kept securely fastened to the Winter Mantle, an expression of pure hedonistic lust, followed by an expression of tenderness I never thought Lara Raith capable of.

But it always should have been Karrin.

Tension grew in the space between us. Whatever Murphy saw in my eyes or on my face made her blush all the more, and she ducked her head.

Imogen appeared out of nowhere. Likely a veil, used to put customers at ease while monitoring every reaction. Her smile bloomed, and it was difficult to stay angry at her interruption when assaulted with the warmth and beauty that smile held. “It is as I have said. Appropriate attire for a fête hosted by the eldest daughter of the Raith household. In this, you will not shame me.”

Because not shaming you was at the top of my priority list today, I thought, but for once was wise enough to keep my mouth shut.

The tension was gone, though my desires hadn’t fled as easily.

“Strip, and I will pack this up for you,” Imogen said, clapping her hands twice sharply.

Sighing, I went back into the changing area and drew the curtain shut, exchanging expensive silk for cheap, threadbare cotton. I offered Imogen the suit when I emerged, and she hurried off with the garment bag draped over one arm. I shrugged into my duster, adjusting the mantle. Its shoulders had always been too broad for my frame, and tended to hang awkwardly. Apparently, clothing designers believed extra tall also meant extra wide.

Murphy peered up at me, an intent look in her eyes. I wondered what she would say, if anything at all.

Imogen’s return broke the silence for us. “Here is your suit, freshly cleaned, and in the box, shoes.” She thrust both at me, then wrinkled her nose. “Now, return home and wash before putting them on. You stink.”

I’m sure I did, and the comment made my face burn. Still, I kept my reply polite. She had done me a service, and it was never wise to irritate a Sidhe in their own territory. “Thank you, madam,” I said, offering a small bow.

Just stepping out of the shop into the waning sun lifted a weight from my shoulders. I had been drowning in Fae magic, and out here I could breathe again.

“Harry, you’re hyperventilating,” Murphy said, putting a hand on my arm. “Slow down, take a deep breath, that’s it.” My heart slowed as my breathing did.

“I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right. Is it… about tonight?”

I shook my head. “The Fae magic in that shop is oppressive. Like trying to breathe underwater while an elephant sits on your chest.”

She shot me a look. “That’s very… vivid.”

“It’s also very uncomfortable.”

“I can imagine.”

Gitri’s was a modest brick building sandwiched between a large apartment complex and a bike shop. It extended two floors up, two floors below, and I suspected had an entrance into Undertown in the basement though I’d never confirmed that theory. Svartalves could tunnel through the earth, leaving no passage behind them. Gitri could tunnel into Undertown anywhere he chose, so if he did have an entry here, it was for non-svartalf customers.

“Mr. Dresden,” Gitri greeted me as we entered the shop, a bell over the door tinkling with our arrival. “It is a pleasure to see you again. And madam.” He took Murphy’s hand, bowing over it. “Please be welcome here.” He, like all svartalves, was on the short side, his human form an unassuming man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a weathered, earnest face.

“Gitri, this is Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, a friend.”

“Ah, it is good to meet you, Lieutenant Murphy.” He released her hand, waving us back to his workbench. It was large with a scarred wooden top, but it wasn’t where he did any actual work. It had been added to the store to provide an area for customer consultation as Gitri rarely let anyone downstairs, where his actual workshop was.

Gitri sat on one of the stools. “Mr. Marcone’s contract addendum has arrived, so I am free to assist you for the next twenty-three hours and thirty-seven minutes. What have you brought for me?”

I removed the knife from my duster and set it on the workbench, laid my staff alongside it, and explained what I needed done. Gitri’s nimble fingers played over the knife’s hilt, then the end of my staff, and he nodded to himself.

“Yes, this can be accomplished. No more than an hour’s work,” he said, handling the knife reverently. He clearly knew - or sensed - what the object was. “Do you wish to wait?”

I glanced at his clock, its quiet ticking competing with the low rumbling of his forge one floor below. “I’m afraid I can’t,” I said, biting my lip. I’d never make it home in time to shower, shave, and dress before Lara’s driver arrived.

“I’ll come back and pick it up after I drop you off,” Murphy said, then asked Gitri, “Is that acceptable?”

The svartalf turned to me. “Mr. Dresden?”

“What? Oh, yes, Lieutenant Murphy has my permission to return and retrieve the knife and staff I leave with you today, Gitri.” Then I frowned and lowered my voice. “Will it be safe here?”

He blinked, then smiled one of his rare smiles. “There are few places more secure than a svartalf’s workshop, Mr. Dresden. It will be safe in my keeping.” As he was Fae he could not lie, and I let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you, Gitri.”

He bowed. “It is always a pleasure to assist you, Mr. Dresden.”

Murphy pulled up to my boardinghouse, using the curb in front rather than the small lot where my Beetle was parked. “I’ll bring it back here, let Thomas look after it,” she said.

“Bring back what?” My thoughts had flowed and ebbed on the drive back, picturing the evening, filling me with worry and doubt.

“Your things, once Gitri is finished,” she said, frowning.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” I opened the door, swinging my legs out one at a time, then reached into the back for the garment bag and shoe box. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

“Harry?”

I looked back at her. “Yeah?”

She bit her lower lip, something she did only rarely. “Be careful tonight.”

“Do my best, ma’am,” I said, offering a salute. It made her snort a little.

“Pig.”

I closed the car door and stood on the sidewalk, watching her drive off. I wanted her to turn around, to profess her love for me, to demand I deny Lara this evening and stay with her instead. I wanted to run after her, scream at her to stop. Grab her, open a portal to parts unknown and run. Leave the defense of Chicago to someone else for a change. Didn’t I deserve a break for all that I’d done?

Didn’t I deserve more than to repeat my past?

But we both had too much integrity, too much sense of obligation and commitment for that to happen.

And she didn’t feel the same about me as I did about her.

I sighed as her car disappeared around the corner, then trudged down the concrete steps to my apartment. I found the front door’s lock had been repaired, though the wards hadn’t. Thomas has been busy. I unlocked the door (baffled that my old key fit the new lock) to find said vampire, my dog, and my cat all lounging before a roaring fire. Mister opened slitted eyes, sleepily blinked at me, then closed them again.

I received a more enthusiastic greeting from Mouse, offering doggie kisses as soon as I bent down to ruffle his ears. I had to hang the garment bag first to free up my hands. “Who’s a good boy?”

“So you’re attending a party tonight at the manor,” Thomas said, one leg swinging back and forth over the couch’s arm.

I patted Mouse one final time, then removed my duster and boots. “News travels fast. Thought you weren’t privy to White Court gossip.”

He waved a hand languidly in the air. “I hear things.”

“And I’m Batman.”

He lifted a brow. “You are? That explains all the gadgets and the high-tech car.”

“Ass.” But I didn’t say it with much enthusiasm, and flopped into one of the recliners with a groan. Mouse flopped down at my feet. Mister, being a cat, ignored me.

“You sure it’s a good idea to attend Lara’s party?”

I huffed out a breath. “Probably not, but I have an obligation to do so. She gave Marcone what he wanted, which in turn allowed Gitri to fix my staff.”

His eyes narrowed. “Hmm.”

“I need a vacation,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes, trying to banish the constant sensation of grit. It didn’t help.

“I hear Arctis Tor is nice this time of year.”

I glared at him. “Funny.”

“Did you swear by your power?”

“Well… no. But I gave her my word. You don’t break your word to the Queen of the White Court without a damned good reason. You should know that better than anyone. Likely she’d come after me, but not me me. Harry Actual, who’s a lot less equipped than I am to deal with her. I’ll manage, Thomas. Won’t be the first time, you know.”

He regarded me with dark, unreadable eyes. “And the Red Court?”

I allowed a wolfish smile to form. “That is the part of the evening I’m truly looking forward to.” I forced myself to my feet and retrieved the suit. “Gonna go get ready.”

He said nothing as I passed by and closed the bedroom door. The brownies had cleaned up the splinters of wood and removed the broken door, leaving an open entry into the bathroom. It’d make using the bathroom more problematic when someone was sleeping here, but otherwise was easy to ignore.

I hung the bag in my closet, stripped, and got in the shower. The water was icy, but the Mantle turned it nearly lukewarm. The stream from the showerhead stung my bruises, tiny bursts of pain quickly smothered by numbing cold.

“This is ill-advised, my host,” Lasciel said, startling me. I let out a yelp as shampoo ran into my now-open eyes.

“Really? You couldn’t wait until I was, I don’t know, done washing my hair?” I rinsed the suds from my face.

She looked at me demurely, but it was all an act. “I am sorry, my host.”

“No, you’re not. What’s ill-advised?”

“Attending the White Court party with Red Court vampires. Guest-right will only apply inside the manor. You will be a target as soon as you leave.”

Well… she had a point, one I hadn’t considered. “Guess I’ll have to be more careful, then. For now, I’d like to shower alone.”

She sighed, then faded from sight. Not gone, never gone, but at least not standing here watching me shower. It was creepy.

I finished up, then did a thorough job of shaving, splashing on a bit of aftershave. The bottle had been a gift from Susan, more expensive than my usual brand, and the smell always reminded me of her. Probably why it remained almost full years later.

Ah, Susan, what would you think of this?

It’d make one hell of a story, I heard her say, picturing her face and her smile as she said it.

She wasn’t wrong.

I dressed, even managed to tie my tie on the first try, though I had to do it by feel since the mirror was too small to use. Checking the Mickey Mouse clock on my nightstand, I realized I was nearly late. I hurried out to slip on the new shoes, finding that socks were included.

Thomas loomed over me as I straightened. “I’ll be back by midnight. What?” I asked when he just stared at me, then looked down at myself. Was my zipper undone? He reached out to adjust my tie, and suddenly it was a little easier to breathe. “Thanks.”

He didn’t return the smile. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Thomas, while I appreciate your concern, I’ll be fine. I told you this isn’t the first time I’ve been with Lara,” I replied, exasperated. “Everyone just needs to stop asking me if I’m all right.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know I qualified as ‘everyone.’”

“Well, mainly you and Murph.”

“She worries about you. I worry about you. It’s my right as your brother to worry. You do have a propensity for jumping into idiotic situations without thinking them through.”

A faint horn sounded from outside. “Ride’s here. Don’t wait up.” But as I reached for the door, I found Thomas watching me, that same frown in evidence. Likely he would wait up, and if I didn’t return on time, he’d come looking for me.

“By midnight,” he said, eyes glowing in the firelight.

“Yes, dad.” I caught his faint smile as the door closed.

The Silver Wraith looked just as I remembered it. Even the interior smelled the same, and I settled back on the leather seat for the drive to Château Raith. It was an hour to the estate, which gave me plenty of time to think. Too much time, as instead of coming to any useful conclusions, my thoughts spun dizzily in circles. It didn’t help that the Mantle pushed memories of Lara seated beside me into the forefront. Conversations, laughter, the touch of skin on skin, the way she held and comforted me as I sobbed, overwhelmed with the choices I made to save my brother.

There’s a part of Lara that’s still human, I told Murphy. Those memories proved the truth of my words.

Murphy. What was I doing? Murphy was… what? Alive, yes, but not in love with me. Did it matter if I was in love with her, when it wasn’t reciprocated? Was the guilt and shame I felt even warranted?

I blew out a quiet breath. Not much you can do about it now. So I relaxed and tried to enjoy the passing scenery. It was a nice drive once away from the city proper, more greenery and fewer houses the further from Chicago we were. By the time we turned into Château Raith’s driveway, the sun was well beneath the horizon and the stars shone in the dark sky above. Out here they were clearly visible, tiny pinpricks of cold, ancient light flickering against a backdrop of black velvet.

The Wraith barely slowed down as the wrought iron gates opened to allow the car passage into the estate. The last time I’d driven this road had been on my wedding day, though now the woods were difficult to see as anything but large shadows appearing in the night.

We came around a curve to find the manor’s entire exterior bathed in light. Either I was very early or very late, as we were the only car pulling up to the house. Or guests were arriving through other means.

I straightened my jacket and tried to smooth out wrinkles in my pants before walking to the front door. Music, and the din of conversation, grew louder as I grew closer, the door opening just as I prepared to knock.

Lara Raith stood there, framed in light, and she was breathtaking.

She wore a sleeveless, strapless crimson dress in satin, the shape and style evoking something out of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She’d donned a pair of high heels that same crimson shade, straps winding around her ankles, and wore matching gloves extending just above her elbow.

Well, that will make touching her easier. I knew Lara liked to dance, and knew I was slated for one (likely more) at her behest. And truth be told, I enjoyed dancing with her; she was an excellent partner, and made every move of mine appear effortless and coordinated, even while fighting with the damned primal urges the Mantle kept shoving in my face.

Her night-dark hair flowed in graceful waves past her shoulders, a delicate necklace of diamonds twinkling around her neck. She wore a pair of matching earrings, diamonds in the shape of a larger diamond inset with a splash of crimson - a ruby, dangling in the center.

“Wizard Dresden,” she said, inclining her head, a smile playing over her lips. While her announcement wasn’t loud, we both knew that any guests with supernatural senses heard it easily. “Please come in, and be welcome in my home.”

I suppressed a shiver, remembering the last time I stepped through that doorway, and inclined my head.

“Ms. Raith, your loveliness dazzles even the stars,” I said, lifting one hand to kiss the back of it. Through the glove, I sensed the Hunger lurking under her skin.

She smiled, clearly pleased, and took the arm I offered her. “Come, let me introduce you to my guests.”

The rooms were filled with candlelight, from wall sconces to the crystal chandeliers hanging above. It gave off a sense of intimacy, even in the larger ballroom we swept through, and reflected warmly off the accents of silver and gold.

She took my threat of exploding lights seriously, it seems. I had to suppress a smile at the thought.

I looked longingly at the buffet table, but let Lara lead me around like a bumbling puppy on a leash, out for its first walk, introducing me to individuals and couples and groups. I smiled my bland, pleasant smile, nodded where appropriate. It was easy to pick out the Red Court, the greasy feel of their magic washing over me as we drew close, the expressions of shock and distaste as Lara introduced me. Her smug satisfaction grew with every vampire we spoke to, her smile radiant.

While vampires generally have a cooler skin temperature than humans, I basked in her body heat, tucking her close to me when I could. The Winter Mantle was alternating between visiting death and destruction on the Red Court and lusting after Lara. The images it flashed in my head of Lara, completely, utterly naked, her skin bathed in the blood of my enemies, were particularly vivid and insanely erotic.

I didn’t recognize anyone at the party. These were Red Court nobility, far removed from the foot soldiers and their mortal allies who were likely fighting against the White Council this very moment. A pang of guilt went through my gut, for here I stood, warm, comfortable, in the midst of an elegant party, while my extended family (of a sort) were fighting for their lives in the blood and gore of the fallen.

It felt wrong. It was wrong. And yet… there was nothing I could do for them. I hadn’t participated in the fighting the first time I’d lived through this moment, as I wasn’t a Warden. I had done my best to warn Morgan and Luccio, and by extension the Wardens under her command. I only hoped it was enough.

My smile had faltered a moment, and Lara glanced up at me with a frown. I quickly pasted it back on my face. “It’s nothing,” I murmured at her quizzical look.

The tension shifted subtly, a ripple that I traced to its origin by turning my head like a dog scenting the wind. A woman stood at the opposite end of the room dressed in a gown of emerald and ebony, dark hair piled high on her head, dark eyes fastened on her companion, skin a shade of polished ivory. She wasn’t a tall woman, yet held a commanding, transcendent beauty, far surpassing Lara Raith and any of her sisters.

Duchess Arianna Ortega. Laughing at something, perfect white teeth flashing between ruby lips. But those lips held a secret, for behind them lurked her true form. An abomination with a black, flabby body reminiscent of a giant bat, stinking of death and black magic. She was the reason Susan was dead, forcing Maggie to grow up without her mother. She was the reason Maggie was taken, an eight-year-old girl thoroughly traumatized by the Red Court, still suffering from nightmares and panic attacks. All because she wanted Ebenezar McCoy, my grandfather, to pay for the death he visited on her husband.

I wanted her dead. I wanted her dead right the hell now. Everyone in the room vanished behind a film of red save Arianna, her face in a halo of white like a bullseye.

“Harry!” Lara hissed, her grip on my arm turning to iron, to steel, to diamond. Hard enough that the pain registered, breaking my focus. A strange popping sound made itself known, and I realized they were the knuckles of my right hand, straining as I clenched it into a fist.

“Harry!” Lara jerked my arm down, forcing me to look at her. She was furious behind the mask of calm, anger flickering in her gaze. “You are my guest! Behave yourself.”

I took in a deep breath as I focused on her face, pulling in the faint fragrance of wild jasmine. Oddly, it helped calm the pure, unadulterated rage racing through my blood, changing the Mantle’s focus (again) from violence to sex. And I could handle sex as I had all evening, letting it churn in my gut.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, inclining my head. “Won’t happen again.”

She narrowed her blue-flecked gray eyes. “You know the Duchess.”

“I know of her,” I corrected, remembering that I hadn’t met her yet. “Duke Ortega’s widow. I am… surprised by her appearance. I thought she secluded herself in South America.” Though I knew now that Arianna was old, one of the first of the Red Court, and had the rumored ability to be able to change her flesh mask’s appearance at will, and walk in direct sunlight unscathed.

Lara’s tight grip finally relaxed. I forced my fist to do the same, tingling pinpricks of pain shooting through my fingers. “She is the guest of honor this evening,” she said grudgingly, “and has already won over most of my Court.”

Arianna appeared to be holding court now, surrounded by two dozen or so admirers hanging on her every word. Drawing breath only when she did. Mesmerized by her beauty, unaware of the horror beneath that flawless skin. Clearly Lara Raith did not appreciate being upstaged.

I half-turned towards Lara, using my gloved hand to tilt her chin up. She drew in a startled breath, eyes widening as they met mine, but only briefly. “Arianna’s beauty is only skin-deep. I’ve seen what those flesh masks conceal. You, Lara Raith, are truly beautiful both inside and out.” My mouth clamped shut before it could spill out secrets she wasn’t meant to know. Not yet. For I had seen flashes of her unguarded, inner self, the pain and sacrifice, the love of family.

Flecks of silver danced in Lara’s eyes, and the Hunger’s incessant drumming pushed just a little harder at my resolve. “Harry Dresden,” she said, her voice taking on a breathy quality, “that is the kindest thing you have ever said to me.”

I took a risk, pulled her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. The fabric proved no barrier to the intense attraction rolling off her skin. But it was just hormones, lust, primal drives I was no stranger to. “Because every word of it is true.”

And Lara… blushed. Faint, but there, a pinking of her cheeks that made her look both younger and infinitely more attractive. More real, more human than the sculpture of marble she so often appeared to be. It might have been driven by her Hunger, a lure to coerce prey ever closer, but I had the sense it was a genuine reaction.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to explore her body, slowly and at length. I wanted… her. And it was with a pang of guilt that I realized it truly didn’t matter that I loved Murphy, as it wasn’t just lust or hormones or the Mantle driving my thoughts. I had feelings for Lara, as much as I chose to deny or bury them. Not love, no, but there was more to the attraction than just the physical.

Dammit. Great time for that realization, Harry.

Her Hunger withdrew by degrees, as did the silver in her eyes, until they were merely human once more. She flashed me a wicked grin, one that promised decadence and sin and more than a little violence. “Come. Let us meet the Duchess.”

While the music continued, the voices halted as we made our way across the room, the Queen of the White Court with a White Council Wizard at her side.

Arianna’s eyes all at once focused on our progress, watching, calculating. I saw anger there, barely hidden, but not the all-consuming rage I would expect. She doesn’t know, I thought. At least, she doesn’t know yet. That I was McCoy’s grandson, yes, but not that McCoy was the architect of her husband’s demise.

“Duchess Arianna Ortega,” Lara said, all warmth and smiles. “I am so pleased you could attend.”

Arianna nodded in return, her smile more radiant but far colder. Perhaps I was the only one to notice. “Lara Raith. I thought to meet your father.” Her eyes flicked to me then, a quick scan from head to toe, and a dawning realization appeared in them. “Wizard Dresden. Your reputation proceeds you.”

My reputation wants to rip your face off. I don’t condone violence towards women, but this… thing wasn’t a woman. It was a monster in human form, a monster who took my daughter from me and wanted to use her for a blood curse to wipe out my entire family.

The air grew colder as my rage grew hotter, and only Lara’s fingers biting once again into my arm restrained me. I forced the thoughts away, trying to convince the Mantle that killing Arianna here and now would result in my swift death at the hands of the entirety of the Raith household. Guest-right is inviolate, I told the construct. Whether it listened or understood, I had no idea, but its call to battle dropped from jet engine to marching band.

“Duchess Arianna,” I said, bowing slightly, ignoring the proffered hand with its perfectly manicured nails painted in shades of pearlescent pink. It, like the rest of her, was fake, a false front. “I came to offer my condolences on the recent loss of your husband. Such a tragic accident.” My sincerity was just as fake, and her eyes narrowed as she considered taking insult.

She chose to ignore me completely and turned to Lara. “I never thought to see you in one of their company, let alone appear so friendly.”

Lara smiled conspiratorially. “It is better to make love, not war, I have found. War is such a waste of time and resources.”

“Might I have a word with you?” Arianna’s eyes deliberately flicked to my face. “Alone?”

Lara withdrew her hand from my arm. “But of course. I believe Wizard Dresden is capable of entertaining himself for a few minutes.” I bit down on a sarcastic reply, as it would undo what she was trying to achieve. I wanted Arianna off-balance, and in that, Lara’s comment succeeded admirably.

“Duchess. Ms. Raith.” I forced myself to turn and walk away, holding back the anger until I stopped in front the buffet table. When I reached for a plate, I found frost coating the ends of my fingertips and decided against eating. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server instead, gulping down the fizzy drink until my eyes watered and nose burned from the carbonation.

My elbow bumped someone as I turned, and my entire world shifted.

“Wizard,” Elisa Raith said, flicking back the hair that covered one side of her face, gray eyes appraising me. “I was hoping we would have a moment to get to know one another.” The piercing through her eyebrow flashed silver, causing my earlobe to blaze with sympathetic pain as I remembered Elisa piercing that same steel through my skin.

I suddenly couldn’t breathe.

I stumbled my way to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I locked and warded it for good measure, nothing that would kill, merely shock anyone trying to open it. I sat on the toilet seat before I fell, hands shaking.

Dammit. Dammit, I thought I could handle this.

I wanted to be angry. I tried to be angry, to feel that incandescent rage I knew bubbled inside, let the Winter Mantle dictate my actions. But all I felt was rising nausea.

Get a grip, Harry.

“Get a grip, Harry.” The words repeated, echoing in the small room, but I hadn’t said them. My head jerked up to find Future Harry leaning against the counter. “You are stronger than this.”

I put my head in my hands. “Doesn’t feel that way. Why this? Why, out of all the horrors I’ve had to endure, does this affect me when others don’t?”

A light chuckle. “You’re deluding yourself if you believe nothing else affects you. Why do you think you’re so angry all the time? Anger is easier than fear, especially when the Winter Mantle’s involved. Believe me when I say your reactions will fade with time. Right now, the pain is too raw in your mind, the wounds too fresh. Being around Lara isn’t the problem, it’s her sisters you can’t face. Not yet.”

I closed my eyes wearily. “That doesn’t help me right now.”

Future Harry was silent, but I felt his gaze on me, dark and intense, and opened them again. “Do you know why Lara refused the Winter Queen in the matter of children?”

I blinked. It wasn’t a question I expected, and was distracting enough that I temporarily forgot the reason I was hiding in the bathroom. “I figured she didn’t want a wizard and Winter Knight as the father, thinking Mab might lay some claim to them. I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “It bothered me at the time for the most idiotic of reasons. That she thought I wasn’t good enough to be a father to her children.” I bit back a laugh. “Listen to me. I never considered having children before Maggie was thrust into my life. I never wanted to marry Lara, and yet was offended when she so emphatically denied me the chance to become a father again. I must be losing my mind…” I trailed off, running a hand through my hair.

Future Harry waited until I was done rambling to answer his own question. “She can’t.”

I blinked at him. “She… what?”

“She can’t,” he repeated. “Something happened right before she moved to Los Angeles nearly a century ago. In fact, it was the reason she moved to Los Angeles, to escape her father for a time.” The faint flickers of horror and sorrow I saw in his face told me the story wasn’t a pleasant one. “You know how Lord Raith was with his daughters.”

I did, and had memories pulled straight from his head instantly rising before my eyes, fueling the low-grade nausea still spinning my stomach. “Yeah.”

“After one such… encounter, Lara became pregnant. It is a rare thing for vampires of the White Court to conceive, and despite the circumstances, Lara wanted that child desperately. But in Lord Raith’s household, there are no such things as secrets. As soon as that second heartbeat began to flicker inside her, he knew.

“He brought her to a disreputable doctor and had her reproductive organs removed. All of them, without anesthesia, without pain medication, with her strapped down to a table and screaming throughout the procedure. Lord Raith fed from her pain and fear as she bled on that table, relishing every moment.”

The champagne churned in my stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

But Future Harry wasn’t done. “You know vampires heal quickly and cleanly, provided they feed. And she fed, killed the very doctor that had taken everything from her. While they can repair damaged organs, they can’t grow new ones. Lara, regardless of her feelings about children, can never have any of her own.” He drew in a slow breath. “Lord Raith enjoyed that experience so much he forced each of his daughters - other than Inari - to undergo the same procedure. Her sisters, particularly Gianna, placed the blame on Lara. As if she planned the pregnancy on purpose, and knew how her father would retaliate.”

I always thought growing up in Justin’s household as a horror, but to be fair, he treated me - if not with kindness - at least with a fond indifference most of the time. The pain he inflicted was rarely meant as punishment itself, but used as a tool to teach. There were so many other, so much darker ways to grow up, and monsters aren’t always born as monsters. Sometimes they’re made.

How different would Lara be today had her father been like mine? My memories of him, while blurred and faded, were always filled with love and laughter, kindness and the warmth of family.

“Did Lara tell you this?” I asked, dumbfounded she’d ever confess something so personal, so raw and full of pain.

Future Harry nodded, his eyes far older than mine. “Eventually.”

“Why tell me? Actually, a better question is why tell me now?”

He crouched next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Because I want you to understand that underneath her polish and her Hunger is a fragile, broken shell of the woman she might have been. Most of the time it’s locked away, purposely forgotten, and Lara is as you see her. It’s not an act, more a denial of part of her self she never will admit exists.”

I flashed back to an innocent question I’d once asked her regarding children, and her unexpected, furious response. Her reaction made too much sense, now. But… “She lied to me. She said she was capable of bearing a child.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think she’d tell you the truth? That truth?”

“Ah… you have a point.”

“I also want you to understand that I fell in love with her, not because of her undeniable attraction, or because she manipulated my mind. Don’t get me wrong. She is a monster. Ruthless, merciless, cold and calculating, preying on humans for centuries. She is what she is, what she was born as, after all. But she’s not just that. You’ve seen glimpses over the past year.” He smiled faintly, as if remembering the dates we shared. “Your feelings for her can and will grow, if you give them time. If you want to give them the time and space to do so.”

“She let her sisters have me,” I muttered, that sick feeling rising. “And one of them is right outside that door.”

“Lara was terrified, Harry, and refused to acknowledge that irrational fear. A phobia, and you know how people react when faced with phobias.” He sighed, rocking back on his heels. “I know it won’t help now, and perhaps not for a long time, but there will be a reckoning where her sisters are concerned. Lara does balance the scales.”

No, it didn’t help, regardless of any punishment they might suffer. My body locked up in a spasm of pain and pleasure and shame and fear as it remembered that night better than my mind could. “I can’t…” I tried to breathe through the serpent’s coils now crushing my chest. “I can’t… do this…”

He held me as I trembled. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend it was my father, as we shared a similar build. “I can, if you’ll let me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked into his shoulder.

“It’d be similar to how you took over Mortimer’s body when you were a ghost, able to control it and use your magic. Except this time I’d be the ghost.”

The muscles in my body began to relax, and I pushed back a bit to see his face. He… wanted this. Desperately. He wants one last night with Lara, I realized, stunned. In his world, she was several weeks dead. In his world, he loved her, even if I did not.

“Does that mean you’d take over permanently, and I’d be relegated to merely a spectator?” I didn’t know how to feel about that. Then I decided I did know how I felt about that, and it wasn’t going to happen. This was my life, and his fault I was here.

He shook his head. “No. Your soul is bound to this body, not mine. You could force me out at any time, like Morty did with you.”

I stared at him, at how hope shone from him like a beacon. Did I trust him? I felt a laugh trying to break free. Did I trust myself? How many can ask that and literally mean it? But if it could get me through the evening, I was willing to try. “I, uh… all right.”

Future Harry vanished, and I felt him pressing at the forefront of my mind. Just relax, he said. Pull back a bit and let me in… there!

I blinked, but my eyes didn’t respond. My mouth curved up in a smile, but it wasn’t me smiling. He met my gaze in the mirror. “Not so hard, right?”

It’s damned creepy, I said sourly.

He snorted. “Now you know how I’ve felt the past few days.”

You can see and hear everything I do?

“No, not really. Only when I make an effort and not for very long. It’s exhausting to hold for more than a few minutes.” He tilted his head in the mirror, then turned on the faucet and quickly wiped his face. “There. You ready for this?”

Do I have a choice?

“Consequences, Harry. All choices have consequences.” He said it in a flat, weary voice, those old, haunted eyes boring into mine. “This at least won’t kill us, or get anyone we love killed.”

Lara’s Hunger could kill us, I responded in a sarcastic tone. Any one of those vampires out there could kill us. I tried not to shudder as I pictured Elisa’s face.

“They are here under guest-right, and would never do anything to flagrantly violate it. As for Lara, I won’t let that happen.” He ran still-wet fingers through his hair, combing down the messier bits. “Show time.”

Chapter Text

“Wizard Dresden,” purred a sultry voice, and Harry turned to face the source of it. Elisa Raith had stalked me to the bathroom, waiting patiently until I emerged, those hungry eyes staring, assessing, seeking weakness. “You left in such a hurry, I wanted to make sure you are enjoying your time at our party.”

I withdrew in revulsion. I couldn’t help it. I pulled back my senses, letting my ears dull to the voices, my vision recede until it was like viewing a movie screen at the drive-in.

But I knew when she reached out to touch his hand, her Hunger’s rumbling throb filtering through the flimsy barriers I’d created for myself. It was an effective distraction, but one I could use to my own advantage. I focused on her Hunger, studying the differences between it and Lara’s. It kept my mind occupied, forcing it to think rather than spin in endless cycles of memory.

Future Harry must have sensed what I was doing, for he kept the skin contact with Elisa far longer than mere politeness would justify. And the longer he did, the more I… didn’t relax, exactly, but became more comfortable being around her. Provided I kept my distance and didn’t actually listen to the conversation, the effortless flirting that bothered Harry not at all. Or notice the silver sparks that jumped and danced in Elisa’s eyes.

She was breathtaking, I couldn’t deny that. All of Lara’s sisters were. But where they held to a more old-world style of elegance, Elisa shucked off convention and preferred dressing in all black, sporting numerous piercings over her entire body. She’d likely have tattoos, if her White Court healing didn’t constantly obliterate them.

And this wasn’t the Elisa ten years from now. This Elisa offered nothing more than the same curiosity and interest as any of the White Court would.

Harry lifted Elisa’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I fear you are monopolizing my time, Ms. Raith, and I have other obligations this evening to fulfill.”

Her lips curved up in a sultry smile. “Then I will see you anon, wizard.”

Inwardly, Harry let out a sigh as Elisa slunk away, her hips swaying seductively in the tight leather pants she’d chosen. It made me aware of the tightness in Harry’s pants, the ache in his belly, the same physical reactions I typically had.

I need a drink.

I wasn’t sure if it was his thought or mine, but it seemed we were in agreement. Harry strode purposefully through the room, following a trail of guests with drinks other than champagne in their hands. He eventually found the bar, tucked away in an alcove in an adjacent room. Pushing through vampires and humans alike, he told the bartender, “Beer me.”

“Yes, sir,” the bartender replied, reaching under the counter for a tall glass and dark brown bottle. I smiled as I recognized McAnally’s logo; this was one of his exclusive autumn ales, brewed only this time of year. I wan’t conceited enough to think he brewed it in honor of my birthday, but I couldn’t help feeling a little bit special when I drank one.

Hail to the king, baby.

“Here you are,” he said, setting the frothy glass on top of a napkin.

“Thanks.” The ale was room temperature, but I was the Winter Knight. Well, Harry was at the moment, but we both had the same idea. “Infriga,” he murmured, pushing a small amount of will into a spell and releasing its energy as he held the rim by his fingertips. Ice crystals formed, spreading downward but only on the outside of the glass. As they melted, they wouldn’t dilute the ale.

Neat trick, I told him, and sensed an inner smile that wasn’t reflected on his face.

Once the ice melted, he repeated the spell. I felt him gather the power, felt its redirection, but at a distance. Like watching a guitar player play a song you know by heart, and your fingers twitch in sympathetic response. Part of me analyzed the spell, one I’d done so often, and found minute variations when compared to mine. It was more energy efficient and tightly focused, likely beyond my capabilities without staff in hand.

I committed it to memory, though it’d still take quite a bit of practice.

Harry gulped down half the glass, and the rich, heady taste washed over my tongue.

Mac is a veritable genius.

Yes, he is, Harry replied, taking another swallow. That was when I noticed I could no longer feel my lips. They’d gone numb, the numbness spreading into my mouth and down my throat.

Oh, crap.

“Oh, shit,” Harry mumbled, barely able to form coherent words.

I knew that numbness, and the sick, pleasurable warmth that followed hard on its heels.

Someone had dosed the drink with Red Court vampire venom. Enough to incapacitate? To kill? Hard to say, as my direct experience was limited to saliva slathered over my skin when I’d been a “guest” of Bianca’s.

Why hadn’t I brewed up a batch of antivenom before I left for the party? Too easily I’d forgotten the danger the Red Court posed, having wiped their kind from existence. Not just them, but any human thralls they had access to. A vampire might be bound by guest-right, but a mortal bound to a vampire had no such restrictions, provided they didn’t care to live through the evening.

The bartender. Dammit.

In my panic I almost pushed Future Harry out of the driver’s seat, but stopped myself. Right now, at least one of us was able to think clearly; there was no guarantee that if we switched, his mind wouldn’t remain as muddled as it was quickly becoming. My current physical detachment clearly gave me some protection from the venom’s effects.

Get somewhere safe, I told him. Bathroom.

The glass fell from numbed fingers, shattering on impact with the polished marble floor. It caused a few heads to turn, and I sensed interest in the room growing, focusing. Focusing on me. Predators began eyeing weakened prey, wondering if it was worth incurring Lara Raith’s wrath to attack. Magic slithered over me, the greasy taste of the Reds, the alluring promises of the Whites.

Everything was a blur, most of my senses blinded, though his legs did start moving in the general direction of the bathroom, stumbling, bumping into guests as he tried to use the walls for both support and guidance.

Dread crept closer with every heartbeat.

I need to be able to see, dammit! Think! I’d been a ghost once, no reason I couldn’t try to apply what I remembered from my experience to this. An incorporeal self, attached to no physical form, able to see and hear but unable to interact. I drew in a breath and pushed myself out of my body. Or… I tried. The resistance was almost insurmountable, until I conjured a flicker of soulfire in my palm and pressed against Harry’s essence.

My eyesight returned in a rush, a brightness I had to squint against for a few seconds.

Then I saw Harry, vainly trying the bathroom door only to find it locked. His hand slipped as he kicked at the door, muttering something incoherent.

“Harry!” I yelled in his ear. He heard that, startled and spinning in a graceless maneuver. He nearly fell to the floor, which judging by the press of guests around him, would’ve been very, very bad. “Keep moving!”

“Where?” he asked, but I had no answer to give him. I looked around frantically, wondering if I’d be able to work any magic while standing outside my own body.

Didn’t work as a ghost, did it?

A Red Court vampire brushed her hand - claws extended - along Harry’s cheek. “Delicious,” she growled, her fangs protruding over her lips. The touch was featherlight, leaving razor-thin trails of crimson behind. “Ahhhh,” she hissed as she caught the scent of blood, tongue darting over sharp canines.

Harry was going to die here, guest-right be damned.

I was going to die here.

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded a loud, feminine voice, and vampires flew in every direction. They hadn’t sported wings, although Reds could somewhat fly in their natural bat-like bodies. No, it was a hand carved of marble with a grip of steel, blurring as it grabbed guests, hurling them into walls and into each other.

Gasps of shock, cries of pain, and in the space now cleared around Harry stood Natalia Raith, eyes blazing silver.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed in Harry’s ear as she hauled him away by his arm. She had to support almost all of his weight, for he could no longer stand with any reasonable assurance of remaining upright. “Are you drunk?”

“P-p-poison…” he managed, head lolling.

At the word, Natalia froze. She pulled his head down to hers, nostrils flaring as she drew in a deep breath. “Empty night,” she whispered, drawing back, staring into Harry’s face. His eyes were closed, and drool leaked from one corner of his mouth. But he was still breathing. “Empty night. Come with me.”

Harry moaned a little, could’ve been an objection, or agreement, or the result of some drug-induced fantasy playing out in his mind.

I followed them down a hall suddenly devoid of guests after one furious look from Natalia. She turned at an intersection, then opened a door into a room I recognized. The library, which led to a hall where Lord Raith hung portraits of the women who’d borne his children. My mother was there towards the end, second to last next to a dark-haired beauty I assumed was Inari’s mother.

Natalia closed and locked the door behind her, then settled Harry on one of the leather couches with more care than I expected. She frowned, studying him, then went to a desk made of dark, heavy wood. There was an elegant, old-style rotary phone on one corner, and she picked it up. It must’ve gone to an internal number, as it was answered immediately.

“Elijah, I require two security personnel and a medic in the library. Use the back passage. Bring an IV-stand, fluids and Red Court antivenom. Have security remove every member of the waitstaff and take them to the office under guard, replace them with those loyal to the house. And find my sister. ” Of course Lara would have a stock of antivenom. I wasn’t sure how much good it would do Harry, since he’d already been dosed.

She set down the receiver, eyes never leaving Harry as silver faded to gray.

Well, at least she doesn’t plan on feeding from him.

Then I blinked. Natalia, one of Lara’s sisters involved in that disastrous evening was standing five feet from me, and being this close to her… didn’t bother me. Well, okay, it did bother me, but it wasn’t the all-consuming nausea and fear I’d suffered earlier at Elisa’s appearance. Perhaps because I’d seen her reluctance in participating.

Small steps, Harry.

Natalia murmured in ancient Etruscan, words I instantly understood with Lasciel’s shadow to translate for me. “Lara is going to tear the Red Court apart.” But I found I could translate most of it myself, from Bonnie’s painstakingly thorough lessons.

Barely five minutes had gone by when there was a grinding noise from inside the wall and one of the bookshelves slid open. A man emerged, wearing a gray Henley, jeans and sneakers. He was bald, light reflecting on his dark skin, and I pegged his age somewhere close to forty. In one hand he held a bag, the other a small cooler like ones used for organ transplants though without the biohazard warnings.

Behind him came the guards, one rolling an IV stand. Both were dressed in light body armor, carrying two guns each and at least one knife in a calf sheath.

“What have we got?” the medic asked, dropping his bag at Harry’s side.

“I believe he ingested Red Court venom along with alcohol,” Natalia told him. “I can smell it on his breath, but do not know how much of either he consumed. Do what you can for him, Chris.”

While Natalia spoke, Chris had pulled out a small pen flashlight. He peeled back Harry’s eyelids one at a time, shining the light back and forth. “Help me get his shirt off.” They stripped Harry to the waist, discarding shirt, coat and tie onto a nearby chair.

The medic was packed old-school, and brought out a stethoscope from his very modern-looking nylon bag. He listened to Harry’s heart, then his lungs as Harry drew in shallow, shuddering breaths. Swapping that for a glass thermometer, he carefully set it under Harry’s tongue and held in place, counting the seconds in his head. When he withdrew it, he frowned.

“He’s running a fever, his pulse is thready and there’s a risk his diaphragm will cease to function. If that happens, he will suffocate unless put on a ventilator. As he’s a wizard, the chances of that remaining functional are slim at best.”

Huh. He knows who I am. Or at least what I am. Probably briefed on all the guests before the party, in case of an emergency. Like now.

With quick, deft motions, he brought out a sterile needle still in its packaging, tied a length of tubing around Harry’s upper arm, and donned a pair of gloves. Finding a vein, he inserted the needle and taped it in place, then set up the IV stand with a bag of fluids. Once the tubing was attached at both ends, he opened the valve, allowing a steady drip into Harry’s arm.

That done, Chris withdrew a dark vial from the bag, filled a syringe with its contents, and injected it into the IV port at a steady rate. The reddish-brown liquid swirled inside the bag, diffusing until it was the uniform color of old, dried blood. It began to drip down into the tube, but Harry didn’t stir.

The door to the side passage shifted, opened, and Lara emerged from the darkness. She was quietly furious, eyes flashing silver. “What happened to him?” she demanded of Chris, walking around the couch for a better view of Harry.

“He ingested Red Court venom, ma’am,” the medic said, adjusting the drip rate. “I have him on Ringer’s lactate dosed with a vial of antivenom.”

She pulled off her gloves and placed a hand across his forehead. “He’s feverish.”

“Because he swallowed the venom with alcohol, it entered his bloodstream at a much quicker rate then it normally would through skin contact alone. It’s likely someone refined the venom and concentrated the dose. His body’s reacting by raising its temperature, treating it like an infection,” Chris said, then gestured to the small cooler on the floor. “I brought ice packs.”

“I will handle that,” Lara said. “Thank you.”

He nodded, gathered up his bag, and disappeared through the passage.

Lara removed several flexible ice packs from the cooler, tucking them around Harry’s neck and under his arms.

“The wizard is going to be a problem,” Natalia said, sitting on the edge of the desk, switching to Etruscan. “The White Council will see this as a deliberate, unprovoked attack. The blame will be placed on our Court.”

Lara pressed her lips together. “It is my fault. I assumed guest-right would be enough to deter the Red Court’s plans with regard to Wizard Dresden. I know they want him dead, but it did not occur to me they would use thralls while he is a guest of our house, and therefore our Court.”

“If he dies…” Natalia trailed off, her nails tapping the wood. “His body will need to disappear.”

Lara raised a brow. “Oh? And where do you suppose the White Council will look first when Wizard Dresden does not return from a visit to Château Raith? Do you believe he told no one of this invitation? The wizard is smart, too smart to let a visit here go unreported to those he considers allies.” She sighed, running fingers idly over Harry’s chest, lingering over many of the bruises and contusions coloring his skin. “We need more information before deciding on a course of action. There are too many factors to consider.”

Natalia pushed herself away from the desk. “They should be ready for us in the office.”

“Allison,” Lara said, indicating one of the guards.

“Ma’am,” the woman replied, stepping forward. She was taller than Lara, more heavily muscled, her brown hair cut in a short style that partially revealed a tattoo on her neck.

Lara’s hand caressed Harry’s cheek, then wiped back damp hair plastered to his forehead. “Change out the ice packs every ten minutes. I will have more brought from the infirmary.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Allison sat in the chair next to the couch, adjusting her gear until she was more comfortable.

“Byron, let no one inside save me and my sisters,” she told the other guard, who’d taken up position by the main door after he’d left the IV stand in Chris’ care. He was older, silvered hair speckled with strands of black, but his dark eyes were sharp and watchful. He had the build of a boxer, and like most of the security Lara had in her employ, shouted ex-military with every movement.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lara gestured to Natalia. “Come. Let us see who we have caught.”

I paused, watching Future Harry a moment. Was it safe to leave him here? Then I snorted, because what could I possibly do to help if he was in danger? Jumping back into my body and pushing him out would render me unconscious.

His chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, purple and red splashed liberally along both sides of his ribcage. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the fever, and I wondered if he really might die. What would happen to me if Harry Actual’s body died but I wasn’t in it? A spirit, trapped here forever, unable to move on and going insane by slow degrees?

Don’t die while I’m gone, jerk.

I hurried to catch up to Lara and Natalia, who’d already entered the partially hidden passage. It became more difficult to walk the further I was from Harry’s body, like walking through waist-high water. But I stubbornly refused to stop, following the Raith sisters to the office where they’d sequestered the waitstaff.

Natalia slid open a panel, revealing a utility closet. Beyond that was the kitchen, bustling with food preparations for the party, then down a deserted hall to the office.

The “guard” turned out to be Lara’s sister Elisa, lounging in a corner, arms folded across her chest. The bartender who’d served me was here, a young man of Asian extraction, average height with a slim build. He was clearly terrified, trembling as he stood before the Raith sisters. Because of guilt? Or simply because they were a trio of vampires, dangerous predators under any circumstances?

“Elisa?” Lara asked, gesturing to the bartender.

Elisa smiled and it wasn’t friendly, flashing a number of teeth. She grabbed him by his collar, pulling him close. She lingered over his lips and drew in a deep breath, moving down his throat to inhale once more. “Clean.”

She repeated that with four others, but on the fifth, a young man with tanned skin and long black hair secured at the nape of his neck, she hissed. “Tainted.”

Natalia hauled him roughly away and pushed him back into a corner. “Kneel,” she commanded, pointing at the floor. He did so, terror on his face.

Twice more Elisa singled someone out. A woman with dark skin, hair cropped close to her head, and startling hazel eyes. A man, this one older than the other two, with streaks of silver in his black hair at the temples, and cold, blue eyes filled with hate rather than fear. After staring at him for a minute, I realized I had seen him. Not at the bar, but arranging food at the buffet table. I’d caught a brief glimpse of him when I opted for champagne over dinner.

“The rest of you may go,” Lara said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.

They tripped and stumbled in their haste to leave the room.

“Now,” she said, turning to the first man, “we will see what you know.” Her smile was lovely, radiant, the kind of smile that makes men fall to their knees and abase themselves at the feet of goddesses.

She struck without warning, kissing the man hungrily, thoroughly, hips brushing against his body as he sagged towards her. “Tell me about the Red Court,” she whispered, trailing kisses down his cheek, his neck. He groaned in response. “Tell me how you serve them, and I will serve you. In every way imaginable. What is your name?”

“Ed-Eduardo,” he stuttered, as if trying to hold the answer inside. “I-I-I don’t know… don’t know…”

“Oh, but you do,” Lara purred, and from this angle I could see her eyes shifting to silver as her Hunger flexed its claws. “I can promise you ecstasy far beyond what they offer, Eduardo.” She turned his name into a throaty purr.

“I was in service to Duke Ortega,” he said, tears streaming down his rapturous face. “My entire family was killed when his villa was destroyed. The Duchess… took me in.”

Lara drew back slightly. “How did you come to be working at the party tonight?”

He tried to lean forward, into another kiss, but Lara’s iron grip held him immobile. “One of the bartenders… called in sick. The Duchess offered my services. She… she is fond of the drinks I prepare for her.”

“And the wizard?”

“I do not know who you mean,” he said haltingly, his accent growing thicker. “I was told… to serve drinks.”

“He is not lying,” Elisa volunteered, hovering behind Eduardo. “Not saying his mind was not tampered with, but he believes his words.”

Lara sighed, then brought the man in for another kiss, her eyes shifting from silver to white. He made a strangled sound, pleasure and pain intermingled, then fell unconscious. She lowered him to the floor, rather than letting him fall.

The woman broke almost immediately, offering nothing of value. She had been fed on by one of the Red Court, nothing more, before arriving at the manor. She cried out in ecstasy as Lara fed from her, collapsing into her arms.

It had been a scene of carnal pleasure, and had I been inside my own skin, I would have taken Lara from behind, against the wall, regardless of who watched us. But without a physical body to anchor me, I saw the energies playing through the room, transferring between mortal and immortal, yet they had no real effect on me. The visuals, of course, did, but it was akin to leafing through one of Bob’s magazines.

I would have expected the last man, who’d been forced to watch Lara’s interrogation, felt the undeniable tension, to be on the brink of either confession or completion. But throughout the experience, he’d remained oddly resolute, his face a mask of immovable stone. His eyes, though, they shone with hate.

“You.” Lara focused on him.

“Brenner,” he offered, and nothing more.

“Brenner,” she breathed, caressing the sides of his face. “Tell me how you serve the Red Court.”

“No.” Then he did something I’d never seen anyone under Lara’s influence do.

He spat in her face.

She recoiled with a hiss, wiping the saliva from her skin. “You are tainted,” she said, glancing down at her fingertips as she rubbed them together. “I can feel the venom within you, weak though it is.” Her eyes flashed from silver to pure white. “I have a mind to break you utterly, crack open your skull and steal every secret lurking in that head of yours.” With a visible effort, Lara reeled in her Hunger’s response until her eyes returned to their human shade.

“Bring him.”

She stormed out of the room, straight into the heart of the party. It took her a moment to locate her prey through the throng of guests.

“Duchess Arianna Ortega,” Lara announced, lifting a hand in a regal gesture. The rest of the room fell silent, parting as she approached the Duchess. “You seem to have misplaced your pet.” Elisa brought an angry, resisting Brenner out. “Did you think I would not discover your attempt on Wizard Dresden’s life, in direct violation of guest-right?”

Arianna laughed, her voice as lovely as her appearance and just as false. “I don’t know what that dear boy has been telling you, but I had no designs for the wizard this evening. If something untoward happened to him, it is not my doing. I have no idea who that man even is. I have never seen him before.”

Brenner began to laugh, a cold, not entirely sane laugh. Swirling tattoos erupted on one side of his face, dark, stark lines extending down to wind around his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. But I knew they covered the entire left side of his body, because I’d seen them before.

He was a member of the Fellowship of Saint Giles, just as Susan was, an organization dedicated to wiping out the Red Court. Staffed by infected humans who hadn’t completed the transformation to full vampire, some - like Martin - over a century old. And those tattoos warned me he was dangerously close to losing control.

Pieces clicked into place.

A dead White Council wizard at a White Court party where the guest of honor was the Red Court’s very own Duchess Arianna Ortega. A ploy to force the Council’s hand, go on the offensive that it so far had been reluctant to do. Perhaps it was meant to break the Reds’ alliance with the Raiths, as Lara would have no choice but to declare them anathema after such a violation as I was under her Court’s protection while at the party.

Perhaps he hoped Lara would kill Arianna outright, and every member of the Red Court present.

But I wasn’t dead yet.

Brenner’s hand was in his pocket, and I heard a quiet snap as his fingers broke whatever he’d been hiding. No one reacted to the noise, focused as the room was on his continuing laughter.

Magic surged. Dangerous, blackest of the black, filling Brenner’s body.

Oh, crap.

He was turning himself into a bomb, and judging by the waves of power flowing from him, it would incinerate the entire manor and everyone in it. The vampires were too close to survive that kind of explosive energy; likely their flesh would melt from their bones, before the bones themselves crumbled to ash.

Killing him would do no good. In fact, it would accelerate the spell’s detonation.

“Lara get everyone out!” I screamed, but that, too, did no good. She couldn’t hear me or sense my presence, and clearly didn’t feel the magic building inside the man’s body. She continued to frown at Brenner; whatever emotions she picked up from him were confusing her as she didn’t react to the danger. I reached for my own magic, but without my body, found only silence.

“Dammit!” I snarled, running up to punch Brenner in the face. I fell on my ass as my hand passed harmlessly through him.

His dark tattoos grew vivid, from deep crimson to the bright red of fresh blood.

And he continued to laugh.

“Forzare ligarius!” Brenner crashed into the far wall and remained pinned to it like a bug, glittering strands of force binding him at the wrists and ankles. As Lara had been gripping his arm, she flew backwards and impacted the wall with an “oof” of pain.

The powerful, hoarse voice came from above. Future Harry stood there, right hand outstretched, his face twisted in intense concentration. He looked ready to collapse, prominent dark circles under his eyes in a ghostly white face. His unbuttoned shirt had a small bloodstain near the elbow where he’d yanked the IV out.

“He’s got a bomb! Get everyone out!” he yelled, then his eyes found mine.

I need you.

I was pulled instantly back into my body, though Future Harry maintained control of it. Immediately I felt myself weaken from the venom still in my bloodstream, mind fuzzing at the edges.

Focus! he snapped, or we’re all going to die here. Give me your power.

My world narrowed to the energies swirling inside me, shoving them into Future Harry’s essence, picturing it as diverting a river from my soul to his.

“Defendarius!” Energy poured from us, encasing Brenner in a shimmering, near-invisible shield. More, dammit, I need more! he screamed at me. I can’t hold it! Soulfire flickered from my fingertips, and I shoved my hands into the stream of magic. Hellfire joined it a few seconds later as Lasciel’s slim, pale hands rested on top of mine.

Together, the three of us held the shield in place as the black magic inside Brenner exploded, screaming with thousands of voices as it vaporized his body. I barely had time to register the noise before my entire concentration focused on containing the unleashed power. Muscles weakened, arms trembled, sweat poured down my face, and I knew my reservoir was quickly running dry, even drawing from the Winter Mantle.

The shield absorbed the energy, grounding it into the earth. By slow degrees, the pressure eased, until the violet lightning crackling inside the shield flickered and finally died. A few seconds after that, the black cloud so dense as to appear nearly solid faded to wisps of smoke, absorbed by the earth.

Harry’s power slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether. The shield collapsed with a wave of pressure, the backlash knocking us down. Every bruise and broken rib screamed in pain as I hit the floor, my view of the ceiling narrowing to pinpricks of light in the dark.

Blew out all the candles, Future Harry told me. That’s why we can’t see.

Oh. Good to know I’m not blind.

The Mantle, always so quick to numb the pain, struggled to fulfill its duty. It managed to lower the volume, but not eliminate it completely.

“Mmrgh,” I groaned, trying to sit up but too weak to finish the task. Instead, I remained where I was, sweat stinging my eyes, and remembered to breathe. Control had slipped from Future Harry back to me, and I was regretting every second. Fortunate for him, he’d fallen into a state of semi-consciousness, leaving me with the resulting pain and exhaustion. Not to mention the constant low-grade nausea, likely aftereffects of the Red Court venom.

“Harry.” A cool hand against my brow; the familiar rumbling of hungerhungerhunger told me it was Lara without needing to open my eyes. Which was just as well, since they somehow had glued themselves shut.

Lara… Future Harry whispered, his grief and pain washing through me.

“Alive,” I mumbled, forcing the words through my lips. They at least were no longer numb, nor was my tongue.

“We will move you somewhere more comfortable,” she said. Because of the warning, I didn’t quite flinch or panic as firm hands lifted and carried me. It was nice not having to walk anywhere, and I let myself flop bonelessly in their arms. Lara’s arms, as her Hunger vibrated against my skin.

I miss you, so much… Future Harry whispered, sending a surge of love and loss so intense I drew in a sharp breath.

Lara nearly dropped me. Of course, being a vampire with supernatural reflexes, she recovered before I could do much more than wobble. I slitted my eyes and as expected, hers were flecked with silver. She was also staring at me with an unreadable expression.

Terrific, I told Future Harry, who likely couldn’t hear me. You’ve just made everything a lot more complicated. Dammit. I closed my eyes again, weariness trying to pull me under. I couldn’t afford to sleep, but sometimes the phrase “resting my eyes” means exactly that, and in certain circumstances does actually help.

She set me down on something soft. A mattress, which meant I was in one of the guest bedrooms. But when I opened my eyes, I noticed subtle differences between this bedroom and others I’d been in. Personal touches, indicating this room wasn’t meant for guests. A woman’s vanity in one corner, jewelry scattered over its surface. A tapestry on one wall, serpents streaming across the sky in pale blues and purples and whites. An old-style canopy arching over me held up by posts of dark, highly polished wood. And a faint fragrance of… wild jasmine. It was everywhere, even on the sheets as I turned my head.

Was this Lara’s private room?

Yes, Future Harry answered. Not as unconscious as I believed.

Lara herself was perched on the edge of the bed, watching me. I didn’t try to sit up, but did open my eyes fully so she’d know I was awake.

“You saved my life,” she said quietly. “You saved my Court.”

“It’s my job,” I replied, proud I managed not to mumble the words. I still felt incredibly hot in my skin, but most of the sweat had dried.

“You saved the Duchess.”

I tried to shrug. “No one’s perfect.”

She blinked, then laughed, a genuine, nearly-human laugh.

How can my body even have enough energy to respond right now? But respond it did, in the usual way, the sheet covering my lower half likely not doing much to hide it.

“Yes, well, it would have been a political disaster had the Duchess perished while under my protection. I do thank you for that, at least, if not for her life. They are detestable creatures, ones I am forced to work with thanks to my father’s machinations.” She placed a hand against my cheek, then my forehead. “Your fever seems to have broken. I believe the venom will be out of your system completely in a few hours. You may stay here if you wish to recover.”

I used my elbows to slowly prop myself up. The pain was mostly gone, which meant the Winter Mantle was functional. I wonder…. “Infriga,” I whispered, gathering the barest handful of power and a touch of will, sending it into my chest. It cooled the skin, then sank into flesh and bone, gently cooling that as well. A few breaths later I could sit up completely, the fuzzy film dancing over my vision clearing.

“I should go. If I’m not home by midnight, the cavalry will come looking.”

Lara placed her hand over my heart, drawing it down my side. It was a light, delicate touch, and all I felt was her Hunger and my pleasure combine, tightening in my gut. “You mean my brother. I never understood why you took him in, why you have allowed him to stay.”

Oh, yes you do. Harry Actual might not realize Lara knew Thomas and I were brothers, but I did. “He needed a place to stay and I had the room,” I said, shrugging. My shoulder worked this time around.

She raised a brow. “From what I have seen, you barely have enough space for yourself and that giant beast of yours.”

“I’m loyal to my friends, Lara. Thomas needed my help.”

She inclined her head. “Yes, perhaps he did at that.” Her hand hadn’t stopped moving, and did it feel incredible. With my thoughts rearranging themselves into normal patterns, images began to appear of all the ways Lara could be thanking me for saving her life. Ways that involved less clothing, better positioning, soft lips and hard nails digging into flesh.

“If you insist on leaving, then perhaps I might offer you a reward for your performance tonight?” Her voice lowered into a sexy purr, lips curving into a seductive smile. I don’t care how celibate or stubborn you are, having that much sexual energy focused exclusively on you would break almost anyone.

And I’d broken before.

Let me. Please? One last time, I beg of you. Future Harry pushed at the forefront of my mind, and I couldn’t bear the weight of the emotions raging inside him. Shielding himself from me, he took over as I stepped back. But it was different this time; I wasn’t merely a spectator, but a passive participant.

Harry raised his burn-scarred, ungloved left hand, letting it trace Lara’s jawline.

And I felt it. Through the scars, the nearly-dead, damaged nerves, I felt her Hunger, her desire, her want and need. It was a false passion, as Thomas once described it, an imitation of love that was as close to the real thing as a White Court vampire could manage.

Lara’s eyes silvered by degrees, her quickening breaths dragging my attention away from her face. But not Harry’s. He remained focused on Lara, his other hand coming up to tuck strands of raven-dark hair behind her ear.

“Harry -“ she began, but he shook his head, somehow guessing what she planned to say.

“No need. Let me do this.”

I hadn’t realized it, but when shielding me from his emotions, he had also shielded them from Lara. Only the barest hints of what he was feeling leaked around its edges. I sensed it now, a cold, pulsing construct tied directly into the power of the Mantle.

How are you doing that? I asked him, my curiosity temporarily pushing the lust aside.

A gift of Winter, he replied. Molly’s wedding present. She created it using the Mantle’s power. Then with a hint of humor, he said, You might want to brace yourself.

For what?

He let the shield drop, and a tidal wave dragged me under. Too much, too fast, I nearly panicked and took control back.

Easy, easy, Harry whispered. Give it a moment.

And it did recede into something more manageable.

Passion. Desire. Love so deep, so complex that it made my feelings for Murphy seem shallow by comparison. Trust so absolute, so unshakable, it was crafted from diamond.

What Hell had they lived through to justify this?

Lara’s eyes flashed from silver to a brilliant white, and her skin… glowed, Yet her expression was one of confusion, even as she gave herself over to everything she felt. “Harry…” it was barely a whisper, a question, an exultation. “Harry…” she repeated, in that breathy, sexy voice.

He didn’t answer. He pulled her down to his chest and kissed her.

Her Hunger’s reaction was immediate. It buried its claws deep into the Mantle, pulling at its magic in frantic haste. Dormius, dorme, Harry whispered in our mind, tracing a delicate pattern with a fingertip inside Lara’s essence. He didn’t put the Hunger entirely to sleep, merely slowed its drumbeat and its desire to drain unto death.

“It’s all right, Lara,” he whispered against her lips, then followed the curve of her neck and shoulder with slow, lingering kisses. She moaned and tilted her head to one side.

“You are not the Harry Dresden I know,” she said, still thinking, still calculating even while in the throes of passion.

“No, I’m not,” we both said, my voice overlapping his, though the echo was only apparent to us. He started on the other side of her neck, eliciting more moans and a shifting of hips that I found maddening. “Think of this as a dream. A fantasy carved of pieces larger than the two of us, encompassing universes, spanning centuries. One night where we can both be something we are not.” And on this night, Lara Raith, I love you.

Had he said it out loud… that would’ve been awkward. Not for me or for him, especially at this moment, but for Harry Actual when he finally woke once we were gone.

But his emotions reacted to the words, filling me instead of drowning me. Filling every crack and crevice, every dark corner and broken piece, lancing a deep, festering wound I hadn’t known was there. It extended years, decades, the accumulated horrors I’d witnessed with my Sight and unable to banish, ones I’d suffered through, ones I’d witnessed others suffer through, leaving some of them dead, others broken beyond saving.

All of it remained within me, and would as long as I drew breath, but it no longer felt so overwhelming, overshadowing everything I did.

I can offer you surcease. Lara told me that, years ago, but it was Harry making good on that promise.

Whatever you do, do it for love.

The words even applied to the love of a vampire, it seemed. And she had given her life to save Harry.

To save me.

I sank back into my skin, my flesh, my blood and bone, sharing Future Harry’s awareness but letting him dictate our actions. And while I couldn’t read his mind or see glimpses of his past, I heard thoughts spoken as clearly as my own.

I kissed her again, feeding every overwhelming, complicated emotion roiling through me to Lara. In turn, her Hunger fed deeply from the Winter Mantle, draining it in slow, languorous pulses. She began to moan, rolling her hips, shifting her weight, hands grabbing my arms and nails digging in, even through the sleeves of the shirt I still wore.

Her eyes opened suddenly, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of white encircled them. Then she bit down on my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, as she arched and shuddered under my hands. It drove me to the brink, watching the ecstatic rapture suffuse her face, her skin luminescent in the darkness.

But where I would have fallen, Harry held us back with a maddeningly stubborn will. Even the Mantle screaming take take take didn’t sway his resolve.

He increased by degrees the Winter construct shielding his emotions as Lara went limp against me. I rolled, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed to position her between them. I only had time to take a single breath before her dress fell to the floor, pooling around her feet, and Lara Raith stood there in all her naked beauty. Her skin still held a faint glow, and both of us wanted her so badly it hurt.

With a wicked smile, she leaned down, unbuckling my belt, hands gliding down my hips to push clothing out of the way. Harry had more restraint than I did, but even it had limits. I lifted Lara into my lap, watching her eyes pale from silver to white as she sank slowly on top of me.

We found a rhythm, Harry, Lara and I, rocking together in slow, sensual pleasure punctuated by gasps and moans. Where I would have increased the pace, Harry kept it steady, lips, tongue, and teeth indulging in a slow exploration of Lara’s flesh as she trembled beneath my touch.

My hand splayed across her abdomen, thumb sliding inexorably to where my flesh met hers. Lara cried out as it found its mark, and clearly Harry knew exactly how best to pleasure her. How to move, how much pressure to use, how long to linger. Lara shuddered and came apart with a guttural moan. My arms wrapped around her, pressing her to my chest, as Harry - finally - abandoned his quest of stoicism and gave in, shattering the shield guarding his emotions.

Ecstasy sank its claws into my gut, pleasure racing along every nerve I possessed, desire and love and compassion and tenderness pushing the sensations higher and faster until it overwhelmed all thought, all worry and doubt, and there was only this, only now. Only desire and passion and a very real woman in my arms, one I could love, one I did love. One who would save me, for all the good it did.

The wave crested and broke, and broke me along with it.

My world fractured and fractured again as I fell over the edge at last with a hoarse cry.

When I came back to my senses, I found snowflakes drifting onto my lashes. They were in the room, swirling in slow eddies around us as if carried aloft by an unseen wind. A few fell to decorate Lara’s hair, stars on a velvet background.

This happens sometimes, Harry told me, slightly embarrassed.

Lara remained as she had been, on top of me, me inside her. She held out a hand, and several flakes drifted into her palm. Because her skin temperature was typically cooler than a mortal’s, they remained frozen for a few seconds before melting into tiny droplets of water.

“That is… different.”

Future Harry withdrew, sated and heartbroken, leaving the body to me. And I, through no fault of my own, let out a brief bout of laughter at Lara’s completely calm assessment. The laughter broke apart the spell, snowflakes evaporating in an instant.

Awkwardness replaced the laughter, and I didn’t know what to say to this woman whose life I’d been inextricably bound to. I wanted to hate her, but didn’t. I wanted to hate myself for giving in so easily, forgiving her so easily, but couldn’t do that, either. Once brought here by Vadderung, my path to Lara Raith’s door was inevitable.

Now you’re just making excuses, Harry. Choices and consequences. You had a choice. You could have stopped. You didn’t.

Lara, keenly aware of my emotional state, said nothing as she shifted off me in a fluid motion and regained her feet. She pulled up her bodice and zipped it into place, adjusting the fall of fabric around her legs.

Naked, exposed, her eyes on me, I shivered at their intensity, resolving not to feel guilt or shame. Easier said than done, of course, but nothing I hadn’t experienced before.

She watched me dress, silver flecks dancing in her eyes.

“I should go.”

A mortal woman would have questions. Would ask about that incandescent love directed solely at her, wonder how a man who barely knew her - and believed her a monster - could have such feelings in the first place.

Lara merely inclined her head. Likely she’d encountered stranger things in the centuries of her existence than what happened between us tonight. No doubt she was curious and would make discreet inquiries, searching for a reason. Looking for the best way to use it to her, and by extension, her Court’s advantage.

She was who she was, after all.

Then her lips curved into a genuine smile, one born of shared experiences. “I believe my guests have no need to witness your departure. Come, I will take you to the back entrance.”

With my coat and tie gone, I buttoned up my shirt so at least I didn’t feel like a gigolo and followed her from the room, down several hallways until we came to a panel in the wall. Lara slid it aside, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the dark. We walked for several minutes through passages hidden between walls of the manor, at one point close enough to the party to hear music and laughter.

I guess almost dying to a bomb isn’t a reason to cancel the revelry.

Lara slid aside another panel, and we were in what looked to be a deserted butler’s pantry. “There,” she said, indicating a rather plain-looking door. “You will find the Wraith waiting for you outside.”

I warily opened the door a crack, just enough to verify her words, and she laughed. “Did you think, wizard, I would bring you all this way just to throw you to the wolves?”

I glanced over my shoulder at her. “No, but perhaps to the vampires.”

Her face sobered, the easy smile fading. “I will not forget what you have done here tonight. There is a debt owed.”

I turned around then, cradled her face between my hands, kissed her lightly. “There is no debt between us, Lara Raith.” Not for this.

And then I walked out of the manor, letting the waiting silver Rolls Royce spirit me home.

Thomas came to retrieve me from the Wraith, likely because when it stopped in front of my building, I didn’t get out. I was so very, very tired, and moving too much effort.

“Jesus, Harry, what the hell happened?”

He pulled me from the car, supporting nearly all my weight as he helped me down the stairs and inside my apartment.

Thomas knew. Of course he knew, being a vampire and of the White Court. My skin was stained with Lara’s scent, along with the remnants of sex. But I found no judgment in those gray eyes whose shape we shared, if not the color. Only relief, undercut with a faint hint of worry.

Poison. Intrigue. Black magic. Sex. The usual. “‘M fine,” I told him, slurring the words. And I was, mostly. Just exhausted beyond my limits, even after falling into a light doze for the entire ride home. “Just need sleep.” He caught me as I stumbled, lowering me onto the couch.

“You can sleep here,” he said, unbuttoning and removing my shirt, likely because he wanted to inspect the wound the dried blood hinted at. Then he settled me back and removed my shoes, draped a blanket over me, and moved to the fireplace. Flames soon crackled merrily, casting their warmth into the chill of the air. While the cold no longer bothered me, basking in the fire’s heat felt amazing, and I turned on my side so my entire face was exposed.

“Mrrgh,” I mumbled in reply, limbs growing heavy, my consciousness fading.

I heard Thomas sigh. “How does trouble always manage to find you? Sleep well, little brother.”

Chapter Text

There were hands, and they were everywhere. Ruthless, merciless, caressing, cajoling, grabbing, holding… hurting.

The bat-like things clothed in flesh masks of the Red Court.

The mirror-bright eyes of the White Court.

Tongues and teeth left trails of venom seeping through my skin.

Lips fed on my life force, biting off and swallowing piece after piece after piece until only a husk remained.

It was ecstasy and it was agony, every nerve lit up in an endless pleasure-pain cycle. I begged, pleaded, for release, for cessation, for everything to stop. I wanted, and needed, and bucked and thrashed and cried out and… just cried.

Please. Please…

Let me help you. On my knees, I raised my head. My tear-filled vision blurred her face, but I saw her eyes clearly enough.

Violet eyes.

I can help you, she whispered, a gentle hand brushing my brow. Just say the words, Harry.

Sheer stubbornness turned my spine to steel, and I straightened, blinking the tears away. No.

Lasciel cradled my head in her hands, caressing the side of my face. Then she yanked my head back by the hair, baring my throat. The caress turned cold, into one of sharp steel held just below my chin.

Murphy knelt in front of me, wearing a bloodied, battered suit of armor, bathed in an otherworldly light. “Oh, Harry,” she said, placing her hand to my chest. “It should’ve always been us.” Her fingers curled into claws, digging through flesh and bone as she ripped out my heart.

The pain was excruciating. Lasciel’s grip held me immobile as screams tore through my throat, raw and blistering. As my heart beat a slow, steady rhythm in Murphy’s palm, blood dripping down her arms.

Such a waste, Lasciel whispered in my ear.

I jerked as the knife sliced through skin and muscle, severing the jugular. Not because it hurt, but because it was cold. Ice filled my lungs, my arm and legs, fingers and toes, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

Stop, I wanted to say, but nothing came out, my vocal cords severed as well.

Sheets of blood coursed down my neck and chest, staining the stone crimson as it pooled around me. Numb, everywhere I was numb, and still she whispered in my ear.

You will fall, in the end.

My back spasmed, in the exact spot it had once been broken, bolts of electric agony running up and down my spine.

I screamed once more, this time a bloody, silent scream…

And fell off the couch.

“Harry!”

I blinked, groggy with sleep, and the dark shape slowly came into focus. Murphy, kneeling next to me.

“You’re… here,” I said, rather lamely, as it was the first coherent thought in my head.

“Where else would I be?”

“You weren’t here when I got home,” I said, my burning throat making it difficult to swallow. It wasn’t quite a question, and I tried forcing my muzzy brain to focus. I would’ve remembered her. Right?

“Thomas called, asked if I could come over and keep an eye on you. He had to go out and didn’t want to leave you alone while your wards are down.”

“Oh,” I said, rubbing my eyes with a sigh. I really need to get those fixed. “Thanks.” I used the couch for leverage, pulling myself to my feet and trying not to wobble. Or fall on her.

“You all right? You were…” an endless number of things could be used to finish that sentence. She chose, “having a nightmare. You said Lara’s name. Mine, too.”

“I did?” My pants felt vaguely uncomfortable, and when I looked down I discovered why. Hell’s bells. I quickly picked up the fallen blanket and drew it around myself. “I’ll just… go clean up.” My face was burning with shame, and I looked everywhere but at her as I shuffled into the bedroom, desperately clutching the blanket to hide evidence of the likely reason those names crossed my lips.

Once the door was closed, I dropped the blanket with a sigh. Of all the things to happen while Murph is here…

Mouse, draped over my bed with his head hanging over the edge, thumped his tail a few times as worried doggie eyes watched me.

“I’m fine, boy,” I told him, ruffling his ears a bit. As fine as I can be while being completely embarrassed.

I stripped, kicking the soiled remains of my suit into a corner in disgust. Then I stood under the shower’s frigid spray for a while, trying to clear my head. As the water was merely on the cool side, it didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, but at least I got clean.

I loved Karrin. My heart ached with it, compounded by grief and guilt. It might not be as intense or earth-shattering as what Future Harry felt for Lara, but it was real. More importantly, it was heart-breakingly human. A love built on mutual trust and affection and friendship stretching back almost as far as my life in Chicago did. One not tainted by Fae magic or vampire allure.

Love isn’t supposed to crush your soul. It’s a fire on cold winter nights. The first cup of coffee in the morning. A jolt of passion straight to your heart from a simple touch. Laughter over a private joke, an impossible situation, a shared connection. And sometimes it’s wild monkey sex, sweaty and exhausting and exhilirating.

It was everything I wanted with Karrin Murphy, and I’d lost her too soon.

Dammit. I never should’ve agreed to Future Harry’s request.

I’d been drunk on vampire venom and not in the best frame of mind to make decisions. The more I picked apart his feelings towards Lara, the more worried I became. It wasn’t just love, though that was abundant. It was something approaching addiction; nauseating, undeniable cravings fueling that love. Honestly, it reminded me too much of what Thomas told me of his sister, that she learned to crave the depravities Lord Raith forced her to endure. Had she done the same to Harry, in the end?

Future Harry didn’t make an appearance throughout my musings. I had the sense he’d withdrawn, locking himself away in his grief. For there was grief, too, in those feelings of his. And guilt, and undeniable, agonizing pain.

Lasciel, too, left me alone. While I didn’t remember much of the dream that woke me, I knew she’d played a part in it.

I finally shut off the water when I realized I’d been scrubbing my skin raw, arms and chest now a bright red. I dried and threw on sweats, which were comfortable and more importantly, clean.

Murphy had built up the fire while I’d been showering, and was now sitting on the couch. “Better?” she asked, looking at me intently. A slight frown furrowed her brow, as if she’d been trying to solve a complicated puzzle.

“Much. Want some hot chocolate?” I asked, heading into the kitchen. I needed something hot to drink, more substantial than the peppermint tea I was fond of, and was jittery enough without the additional caffeine boost from coffee.

I couldn’t bear the weight of her gaze any longer, the look in her eyes. It wasn’t pain. It was a mixture of worry, confusion, and inner conflict, and that was worse. So I took the easier path, busying myself with stoking the wood-fired stove, pulling ingredients out of cupboards. I didn’t use a pre-packaged mix, instead making it from cocoa powder (which I had in abundance, despite not being much of a baker), milk, sugar and a dash of vanilla.

“I… I’d like that,” Murph replied hesitantly, though she didn’t join me in the kitchen. Which was for the best, honestly, because it was easier to talk while not facing her. Or not talk at all.

My skills using the stove were rusty, as I’d lived with modern appliances for the past few years. But my body went through the motions automatically, remembering for me even if I did not. As I needed to simmer, not cook, it was a mere wave of my hand and a few murmured words to start the fire and let it build.

“Harry…” she trailed off, probably uncomfortable talking to my back. Or just uncomfortable in general with whatever topic she thought to discuss. “I’m sorry.”

I paused in my work, shooting a look over my shoulder. “For what?”

“For tonight. For not being there for you.”

I shrugged, dumping the ingredients into the saucepan and stirring. I was using what would be considered a normal amount of sugar, as Murphy wasn’t fond of anything too sweet. I’d have to doctor mine with another spoonful (or two) once distributed into individual mugs.

“Nothing you could’ve done, Murph. You weren’t on the guest list, and there was no way in hell I’d bring you without an invitation. You know what happened to Susan.”

“Oh,” she said in a quiet voice. “I hadn’t thought of that. Still… it’s not right, what happened to you. Being forced into the Winter Knight just so you’d have protection from a vampire when you needed it.” Then there was a pause. “Did you need it?”

Ah.

The stab of guilt, the twist of shame, straight to my heart.

“Hot chocolate’s almost ready,” I said, deflecting. This discussion, as much as I’d rather avoid it, I’d do her the courtesy of not having it with my back turned. “Let me finish up and then we’ll talk. All right?” I glanced over my shoulder, saw her nod.

“All right.”

A few minutes more and our drinks were done. “Sorry, I’m out of marshmallows,” I said, handing Murphy her mug. Hers was covered in painted sunflowers against a blue sky (one of my many yard sale finds), while mine was black with white block lettering that read GIVE IN TO THE DARK SIDE (a gift from Will, still “Billy” to Harry).

She raised an eyebrow. “Used them all up on your cereal again?”

I folded myself into the opposite corner of the couch, mouth quirking up at how well she knew me. “They never put enough inside the box.” I toyed with my own mug, tapping fingers against the ceramic. “There’s a few things I haven’t told you.”

She gave me a look. “Really? You? Never would’ve guessed.” The familiar sarcasm almost made me smile.

“I told you Future Harry was the one who brought me here.”

“Right.”

“You never asked what happened to him.”

She frowned. “I guess I never thought about it.”

I carefully took a sip of the scalding liquid. “He ended up here, with me.”

Her eyes darted around the room, then fixed on the rugs covering the trap door to the subbasement. “Here? He’s been here all along, hiding? In your lab?”

“No. He’s here,” I repeated, tapping the side of my skull. “His soul is trapped in this body, just as mine is. But I’m the one in control of it.”

“You have another Harry living in your head with you?”

More than one, but I’d already confessed enough. “Yes.”

“And you can see him? Talk to him?”

“When he chooses to show himself.”

Murph sipped at her hot chocolate, thinking. “Isn’t that a bit distracting?”

I let out a soft snort. “Occasionally. He was married to Lara Raith for ten years, and they eventually fell in love.”

Her eyes grew comically large. “You? And a White Court vampire?”

“Future me,” I clarified hastily. “Turns out even the Queen of the White Court isn’t immune to my charms. He told me Lara gave her life to save his, and to him she’s been dead only a matter of weeks. He’s grieving, and in a lot of pain. At the party… he begged me for one last night with her.”

She blinked, swallowed hot chocolate, and blinked again. “That seems like a very unhealthy method of coping.”

I choked on my drink, nearly spitting it out. “Probably,” I managed between coughs and clearing my throat. It also sounded like a very Dresden way of coping, more so if the addiction to her was real.

Murphy eyed me over the rim of her mug. “So he what… took control of your body?”

“Basically.” But guilt was eating at me, and I didn’t want to lie to her, even if by obfuscation. I blew out a breath. “I’m making a mess of this, so let me start at the beginning.”

I told her what happened at the party, which meant I also had to tell her what happened to me at the last party I attended hosted by Lara Raith. She listened in silence, her hand squeezing mine the entire time.

“God, Harry, I’m so sorry,” she said when I finished, shaking her head. “It’s not right, what happened to you, and it’s not fair to put you in that situation again. You should’ve told me.”

I shrugged, finishing off the now-cold drink in a few gulps. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, Murph. I was the one who reached out to Marcone, I was the one invited to Lara’s party. I went there knowing what would likely happen, and accepted it.”

Her blue eyes blazed with anger. “You shouldn’t have to accept it,” she spat, her fingers tightening on mine.

“If it hadn’t been for Future Harry’s request, I would have left.” Probably. Maybe. Maybe not. “But Murph… it wasn’t just him. I was there, too. We both wanted what happened. I told you I have feelings for her. Complicated and messy though they are, I can’t deny them, any more than I can deny what I feel for you.” My thumb brushed over the top of her hand, lightly, and she didn’t draw away. But it’s you I love, you I want to share my life with, not Lara Raith. While I’d said that before, it was completely unfair to her to bring it up right now. Not after what I’d just confessed.

“I’ll be gone in a day, two at most. For me, you being here is my heart’s desire, an impossible, ephemeral wish because in my world you’re dead, and nothing I do will change that.”

She looked at me for a long, long time, her expression unreadable. “What you’re doing right now could change that.”

“It could, but there’s no guarantee. Maybe I’m changing the wrong things, or the right things at the wrong time. Maybe when I jump back to my own time I’ll be wiped from existence because I’ve changed too much. Or despite everything, maybe this timeline will reset, and I’ll find myself back in a life that hasn’t changed at all.” I tilted my head sideways so it rested on the back cushion and closed my eyes with a sigh. “If I think about too long I’ll likely start screaming, so it’s better if the here and now is all there is. Until it’s not.”

Murphy blew out a breath, then withdrew her hand. I heard the soft clink of ceramic on wood, then felt cushions shift as she moved. I thought she was getting up to leave, so was surprised when she leaned against me, draping my arm around her shoulders. It was a warm, comfortable embrace, one we’d sat in a million times.

I pulled her a little closer, just until I caught a whiff of her shampoo.

I ruined it. I ruined everything. Dammit.

“I know that Rudolph is the one responsible for my death,” she said quietly.

My head jerked up. “How?”

When she looked at me, there was a small, sad smile on her face. “You didn’t deny it.”

Caught off-guard, I blurted out, “Because it’s true.”

She nodded, resting her head on my chest. “I thought so. Hades told me.“

“He… did?” Why? I didn’t ask the question as I knew she wouldn’t have the answer, but it bothered me. It bothered me a lot. Hades didn’t involve himself in mortal affairs.

“Well… he didn’t actually tell me. He asked a few questions and I pieced it together. Why you were so angry at Rudolph, when you haven’t seen him in months. Your comment about how poorly he handles a gun, and how he’d kill someone, someday. That someone was me. You said I died during the fighting.”

Tears filled my eyes remembering the scene, the blood on my hands, the rage filling me until only vengeance was left. “I…” I trailed off, my throat closing up.

“Please, Harry,” she said softly. “It’s been… difficult, trying to come to terms with it. I need to know. Please.”

I pushed the grief down as far as I could, but it still took me a few swallows before I could speak. “You did die during the fighting. Rudolph… his mind refuses to believe in anything without a rational explanation. He’s completely blind to the truth. He watched you kill a Jotun with a rocket launcher and thought we were terrorists, blowing up innocent people. You told him to back off. His finger slipped on the trigger, and…” I drew in a shaky breath. “I couldn’t save you. I tried, God how I tried, but it was too late.”

She wrapped her hand around mine as the tears I couldn’t hold back leaked down my face. It was nice, and warm, and real. Karrin was in my arms and smelling of sunshine, and it was… almost too much for me to bear.

All those futures I imagined with her died as she did, and I had no right, no right at all, to force them on her now. She was worth more than becoming a salve for my wounded heart. She was worth everything. And she deserved far better than me, or the death she’d been granted.

“Jotun, huh?”

I sniffled, nodded. “Yeah.”

“With a rocket launcher.”

“Yeah.”

“Bet I looked pretty badass doing it, too.”

I chuckled, sniffled again and wiped at my cheeks. “Ten times sexier than John McClane.”

Murphy made a noise. “The epitome of action movies is not Die Hard, no matter how much you try to convince yourself it is.”

I just held her close and shut my eyes, wishing I’d never have to let her go. “I tried to kill him.”

“Who? Rudolph?”

“He ran, and I hunted him down like an animal, because what was one more body in a night littered with tens of thousands? I almost succeeded. I would have succeeded, if not for Butters.” That same nauseating feeling rose up, and my left arm ached in response. The mark of Fidelacchius’ blade had long since faded, but the memory of that pain scorched my soul.

“Oh, Harry,” she said softly, squeezing my hand tight. “What that would have done to you…”

“I was the monster, Murph. I am a monster.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You have more faith in me than I do. If it wasn’t for -” I cut myself off. She didn’t know about Maggie, and now didn’t seem like the time to tell her.

Her head shifted so she could look up at me. “Your daughter?”

“How did you know… Hades,” I said, answering my own question.

“He asked me what would cause a man like you to abandon your morals and agree to become the Winter Queen’s assassin. Not just for any stolen child. Children die every day in the most horrific, gruesome ways you can imagine. But for your child, your daughter… you’d do anything. You’d take the fight to Heaven itself if you had to. You’d sacrifice your very soul, if it meant she would live.”

My breath hitched, and my heart suddenly sounded very loud in my ears. “Maggie.”

“Maggie,” Murphy repeated, trying the name out. “Maggie. After your mother.”

“She’s almost two.”

Her expression changed as she put the pieces together. “Susan. And she didn’t tell you, because if she had told you, Maggie would be in your life right now. Likely in this very apartment.” When her eyes met mine before skittering away, I was shocked at how much anger they held. “You were an orphan, and she knew that. How could she deny you your chance at fatherhood?”

Old arguments, old pain. “Susan said it was safer to hide her from me, because of the enemies I made.”

“Bullshit.” I blinked at her. “I’m sorry, but that’s a load of bullshit. You are Harry Dresden, Wizard of the White Council, and more importantly, you’re her father. We both know how it feels to grow up without one, and I can’t believe she did that to you. That fucking bitch.” She sounded vengeful enough to track Susan down right now and kick her ass. And I loved her all the more for it.

That’d be a fight to see.

Shut up, libido.

“Well, she’s in my life now.”

She heard something in my tone, and her face softened. “I bet you’re a great dad.”

I blushed, just a little. “I try my best. She’s a wizard, like me, like Mom. Or she will be, as she grows into her power. And honestly I can’t wait to teach her.”

Murphy sighed, leaning back once more.

We sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the fire fading to glowing embers, leaving the room in deep shadow despite a handful of candles burning in the gloom. Murphy must have lit them some time ago, judging by the melted wax pooled at their bases.

“That’s not all Hades said,” she said finally, hesitantly, and I knew that tone in her voice. She wanted to tell me, and she absolutely did not want to be pushed into doing so. I kept silent, waiting for her to continue. “He told me about my dad. About how he died.”

When she said nothing further, I prompted, “I thought it was suicide.”

She nodded a few times. “It was. Hades told me the reason, the real reason, my dad thought dying was better than living. It wasn’t because of work.” She let out a vaguely humorous snort. “Well, it was, but not in the way I assumed.”

My thumb was idly running over the back of her hand again, a gesture of comfort that I hoped would help. This time, I didn’t prompt her. Her shoulders had tensed, as if readying for a fight; for Murphy, that meant it was bad.

“He picked up a blackened Denarius.”

Hell’s bells.

“Hades didn’t say which Fallen was bound to it, and while part of me - the cop part of me - demanded an answer, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Dad… he didn’t give up without a fight. He tried to ignore the whispers, the promises, the threats, and…” she shrugged. “It was too much. He didn’t want to turn into a monster, and he was terrified he’d hurt us.” She sniffled. She was crying, though with her head bowed I couldn’t see her face. “He chose to die rather than give in. I guess he didn’t believe he’d be strong enough to relinquish the coin once he accepted it.”

I knew I wouldn’t. Power was addictive, catnip leading me down a dark path I was terrified of yet all too eager to follow. I couldn’t fault her father for thinking the same, a cop who’d seen the horrors lurking inside the world’s underbelly. A cop who only wanted to make that world safe for his family, with the promise of power at his fingertips to make that happen.

There’s a reason they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Even the best of intentions won’t stop a Fallen angel from eventually corrupting your soul.

I put my other arm around her, holding her as she silently wept, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Karrin.”

For being a recluse living in the Underworld, Hades was extremely well-informed. Maybe he talked to an archangel, one in charge of the Between office where Captain Collin J. Murphy worked. Then again, Hades was a god of the dead. Maybe he just knew.

But what was the point of telling Murphy?

Too many questions, too few answers, and far too many gods mucking about in my life, and the lives of those I cared about.

I held her for a few minutes, long enough for her sobs to fade. Then she gently pushed away from me. “I’ll be right back.” She went into my bedroom, and I heard the water running. When she returned, her face was flushed, eyes a little too bright, and her expression was set in a look of determination I knew all too well.

This time, she chose to sit in one of the recliners, putting distance between us.

“I watched you in the mirror, after I dropped you off. You looked so… defeated. It made me sick to my stomach, and I almost turned around to tell you not to go. But it wasn’t just that. By the time I got home, I realized I was - I am - jealous of you and Lara, and have no right to be. We’re friends, with no promises between us. You’ve been with Susan, and I was planning a trip to Hawaii with Kincaid.”

My ears pricked up at the word ‘was.’ Has she changed her mind? But I wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question, because Murphy clearly wasn’t done.

“Not that I haven’t thought about us being together, but I’m not ready for the kind of commitment you need from me.” A faint smile played over her face. “You might not realize this, but you have abandonment issues, Harry.”

I snorted softly. “You think?”

Her smile grew, then faded. “Or… at least I thought I wasn’t ready. Then you show up, Mr. Come With Me If You Want To Live, and I just don’t know any more. You’re different than Harry. There’s a darkness in you that he doesn’t have, which, I’m ashamed to say, is rather attractive.” Again she flashed that smile, this time with a slight blush, and it was adorable. “When you told me what happened tonight… there it was again. Jealousy.” She shook her head. “But I won’t be a consolation prize.”

She leaned towards me, and for one brief, shining, glorious moment, I thought she’d kiss me again. That maybe, just maybe, we’d begin where Kincaid’s interruption left us. And if she did… I wouldn’t have the willpower to stop myself.

Instead, she picked up my hand and carefully tugged the glove off. “You saved my life that day,” she said, fingertips tracing the hideous, thick scars. “I can’t offer you what you want, Harry. Friendship and trust, absolutely. Any more than that will take time, time you don’t have. And I can’t trust myself to make rational decisions this early in the morning. But don’t think for a moment I don’t care for you, Harry Dresden.“

A corner of my mouth turned up, despite the burning agony in my heart. “I care for you, too, Murph. Always will.”

Her grip on my hand strengthened for a moment, squeezing hard enough that I could feel it. Then she let go.

“I should go,” she said, rising to her feet. “Think we could both use a few more hours of sleep. Staff’s in the stand, and I put the knife back in your duster.”

“Wait.” I put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Let me redo the wards first. I’ll need your key.” She handed it over, an ornate-looking old-style skeleton key, tingling with the faint trace of magic. I dispersed the spell with a thought, then took up a cross-legged position next to the door.

The wards I currently used were beyond Harry Actual’s capability, and I could no longer replicate his wards precisely because of changes within my own magic. So I boosted them as little as possible, putting the spell right at the range of what he’d be able to accomplish unaided. It offered more protection and resilience than the previous incarnation, at least.

I splayed my right hand over the steel-reinforced door, pushing out my will as I layered the wards in a complex pattern. Magic traced over its surface, lines of white and pale blue and shades of green and indigo flickering, pulsing like a living thing. There was a faint audible click as they interlocked and fused, forming the completed construct, then a bright flash. They quickly faded, imbuing the door with energy that set the hairs on my arms standing upright.

“That never fails to amaze me, seeing you work,” Murphy said in a quiet voice. “Sometimes I wish I could sense what you’re doing. But then I remember I’d have to be a practitioner and be forced to deal with those assholes in the White Council. I don’t think I’d be very civil about our interactions.”

I laughed, shooting her a sideways glance. “They rely too much on magic. First time you put one of them in an arm lock, they’d pass out from the sheer shock of it.” I touched Murphy’s key to the door, linking the two together, then tested it. The wards lowered with a little more flair than the original, starting from the key’s touch and rippling outward. It wasn’t visible, but I could sense the pattern of magic dispersing.

I pushed myself to my feet and offered Murphy the key. “There, good as new.”

She reattached it to her keychain. “Thanks.” Then she reached up, tracing the lines the vampire’s claws carved into my cheek. I’d forgotten all about them. “Get some rest, Harry.”

“Night, Murph.” I held the door open long after she’d climbed the stairs and disappeared from sight. Mouse came to stand with me in the doorway, wagging his tail a few times. “What is it?” His ears pricked forward, and a thirty pound gray tomcat strolled leisurely towards us. “Done for the evening, are we?” I asked him, bracing myself for the inevitable. He rammed my shin, received the appropriate amount of affection, then bounded inside to groom himself on the hearth.

I shut the door with a sigh. My heart ached, my eyes ached, and my head was starting to pound with a drumbeat that the Mantle’s pain suppression didn’t seem to affect. But my exhaustion had faded into mere tiredness, and while I would’ve loved a few more hours of sleep, I had things to do.

I fed Mister, gave Mouse a snack, then tossed back the rugs and descended into my subbasement.

“Bob, wake up. Time to make the potions.” I flicked a pencil from my workbench at the skull. It hit with a clink and bounced off.

His eyelights winked on as he yawned dramatically. “You here to make good on your promise?” I stared at him. “The twelve-hour pass? I assume since you aren’t dead that my advice was useful.”

“Oh, uh… tomorrow, Bob. We live through tomorrow and you’ve got your pass, all right?” I needed his help with the potions, not sulking inside his skull for the next few hours.

He made a noise that should’ve been impossible without lips. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, what kind of potions?”

“Immunity to toxic gas, or at least as close as we can get.”

His eyelights brightened. “For Jörmungandr, you mean? We can probably get something that will prevent your face from melting off.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Probably?”

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word, “I give it an eighty-three point six chance of success. Wizard Blackthorne was obsessed with poisons, terrified he’d die from poisoning. Did a lot of research, so perhaps if I work out a blend of three of the most promising - extrapolated for your essence, a gaseous component and the inferior ingredients I have to work with - I believe I can bump that number up to ninety-two point eight. You just can’t find anyone trading in basilisk teeth these days.”

Bob didn’t talk about his former masters much, and I found myself curious. “So how’d Blackthorne die?”

“Oh, poison,” Bob said, his reply the equivalent of a shrug. “Licked the wrong toad.” Note to self: do not lick toads. Sounded like good advice, wizard or no. “Give me a few minutes to come up with something workable. In the meantime, might as well grab the bottle of sports drink we’ll use it for the base. The green one.”

“Bob, I haven’t been here in ten years. I’ll need a little more direction than ‘bottle of sports drink.’”

He looked at me. “Oh, right. Upstairs, under the bed. You were complaining about it rather loudly last week to Thomas.”

Ugh. The things that ended up under my bed after Thomas moved in… I shuddered involuntarily, remembering a block of moldy cheddar cheese that might have been sentient by the time I found it.

When I returned to the lab, Bob was ready.

“Gonna need two doses,” I told him, setting up the alcohol burners and beakers.

“Two are better than one, that’s what I always say.” Funny thing, he did usually say that, but mostly when trying to coerce me into making love potions. He has an unhealthy obsession with my love life.

“Pour half the bottle into each beaker.” Potions touch on all five senses, plus the mind and spirit. Eight ingredients including the base, tuned to a specific practitioner for maximum effect. He read off a list, then directed me as to where in the lab I could find them. Some I didn’t remember having at all.

Six inches of dried shed snake skin for touch, crumbled. Five drops of vinegar, for taste (as if the sports drink wasn’t bad enough). The stench of rotten eggs for - you guessed it - odor. The chemical formula for curare, torn from one of my books. The hiss of a scorpion, which brought back vivid memories of Victor Sells’ charm coming to life. Scales from a monarch butterfly. A piece of leather strapping from a WWI gas mask.

Once the ingredients were combined, all that was left was an infusion of power and will. I pulled on the dread coiling in the pit of my stomach, the heartache in my chest, the fear in my mind, shaping it as I murmured a phrase in quasi-Latin. The energy flowed into the two potions, causing them to smoke and froth. It left me drained, but not as much as it used to.

I lowered the flames to a gentle simmer, as I didn’t want the potion to boil over. Then I sank onto the stool, moving Bob’s skull into my line of sight.

“Hey, what’s with the grabby hands?” he complained, glaring.

“Need to tell you a few things that you’re going to tell Harry Actual after I’m gone.”

He blinked. “You’re really throwing caution to the wind, aren’t you? The risk of a paradox -“

“Is apparently irrelevant,” I interrupted. “According to Vadderung, who had Chronos’ help with the spell that brought me here.”

He blinked again, then flicked his eyelights up and down over me. “The primordial god of time is interested in you?” He made it sound like an insult.

“Hey! And no, not exactly. Vadderung said something about Chronos being fond of this universe. Bringing me here somehow helps save it, I guess.” Put that way, it sounded like I was single-handedly responsible for the lives of everyone on the planet. Better if you don’t think about that too hard.

“So listen up.” I covered the most immediate threats first. Cowl, Corpsetaker and the Darkhallow. Peabody’s insidious influence over the White Council. Martin’s duplicity. Then I remembered the Leanansidhe’s remark about the vampire infection carried by those half-turned by the Red Court, and how easily she put it to sleep. With my new knowledge of how a White Court’s Hunger worked, how to remove an Outsider’s influence… would it be possible to suppress, or even destroy the Red Court’s hold over Susan?

Or the Red Court itself?

I’d just finished giving Bob the formulas and all relevant information when a sudden, intense wave of magic jolted the entire building. It felt like an earthquake.

“Something hit the wards,” Bob said, head rotating as he scrutinized the energy patterns in the room.

Another Red Court attack?

I bolted up the stairs, the scent of ozone growing thick as I neared the front door. The wards were still in place, though some were partially unraveled. As if the visitor had attempted to unlock them with a close - but not exact - copy of the correct key.

Hell’s bells. Thomas.

I lowered the wards and pulled open the door. My brother was on his back, curls of smoke rising from his clothing. His right hand, still clutching the key for my door, was blistered and blackened.

“Thomas!”

I knelt to check his pulse. Faint, and his chest rose and fell, but there was no way to tell how much internal damage he suffered. I picked him up and hauled him inside, dropping him on the couch. Mouse licked Thomas’ face a few times, then whined when it failed to elicit a response.

“Flickum bicus,” I murmured, waving the fire to life. Thomas might be able to see in the dark but I couldn’t, and the fire had died while I’d been in the lab.

I pried his fingers free of the key, pulling away strips of burned skin. “Dammit, Thomas. Don’t die on me.” It takes a lot to kill a White Court vampire, but my brother was nowhere near full strength. His nibbling at the life force of others barely sustained him; without that reservoir, his Hunger would have difficultly healing any injuries.

I wrapped my fingers around his unburned hand in a tight grip, hearing the Hunger’s low rumbling hungerhungerhunger echo through our shared touch, but weaker than it should be. Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing, reaching inside for my brother’s essence.

There. The Hunger’s silver thread flickered with crimson, pulsing with pain. I traced it with a fingertip, weaving over it a thread of the Mantle’s magic. It took a few seconds for the Hunger to notice the trickle of energy; when it did, it struck lightning-fast, greedily draining what I offered. Weak at first, as it strengthened so did the drain on the Mantle. So did the vampiric allure my brother exuded.

When it reached the point of being uncomfortable, I cut the Hunger off and broke contact with Thomas. The sudden cessation of sensation made me momentarily dizzy, and a cold nose pressed into my cheek with more worried doggie noises.

“He’ll be all right, Mouse.” I examined Thomas’ hand; the burns were gone, the skin healed, though the stink of charred flesh remained. A smell I was all too familiar with.

Thomas groaned, then sat upright, eyes shining silver and teeth bared, ready for a fight. “Easy,” I told him. “You had an accident.”

His eyes slowly focused on me, and as he blinked a few times, they faded back to human. “Accident?” Then he looked at his hand. “Your damned wards went off. I could sense the magic, figured they were back on, and used the key just like always.”

“Yeah. About that… when I recast them, I made a few alterations. Not enough that Harry Actual can’t use them, but enough that the key you have won’t work.“

He flexed his fingers a few times. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I could have, but I had no idea where you were. You didn’t tell Murphy.”

Thomas shot me a glare before effortlessly rolling to his feet. “Ever hear of using the phone to leave a message? You have my cell number.” A cell he had to replace every month or two while living with me. I was hell on electronics.

Oops. “I, uh… forgot. Sorry.”

He swerved around the gaping hole in my floor on the way to the kitchen and wrinkled his nose. “You’re lucky I’m a vampire. That would’ve killed a human. You brewing something?”

“Potions that will prevent our faces from melting off Raiders of the Lost Ark style.”

“Ah.” He was pulling out a bottle of Mac’s ale from the icebox when he suddenly froze, in that inhuman way only vampires can achieve, and looked at me. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“My hand is healed. I might not remember much, but I do remember the wards burned it rather badly. Hurt like hell, before I was knocked unconscious.” He set the bottle on the counter and leaned on it, staring at me intently. “Now it’s healed, and the Hunger isn’t chewing at my insides, which means someone fed it. You?”

I blew out a breath. “I offered it the Mantle’s power. It drains the Fae magic, not my life force, if that’s what you’re worried about. The Mantle replenishes itself.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “That actually works? I’ve heard rumors, of course, but nothing proven.”

Interesting. Too bad he hadn’t been in a position for me to ask his advice last year, being consigned to Demonreach for part of it, on the run with Justine for the rest.

He opened the bottle with a twist (it wasn’t a twist-off top) and took a few swigs. “You want a beer?”

“No.”

He smirked. “Good thing. This is the last one.”

“Jerk.”

“I take it Murphy went home?”

“Yeah.” I picked up Thomas’ key. “Flickum bicus,” I whispered, pushing out a small effort of will and power. The spell turned the burned, blackened bits of Thomas’ skin to ash, leaving the metal untouched. I wiped it clean on my sweats. “I’ll reset this for you.” It only took a few minutes to break apart the magic imbuing the key and link it to the door. I tested it, then tossed it to my brother. One hand came up and he caught it without bothering to look.

“Show off.”

He snorted. “Vampire.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive.”

At that his eyes flicked up to meet mine. “True.”

I sank into the recliner. “So where were you?”

“Went to see my sister.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You.” He waved a hand in my general direction. “You arrived home from the party stinking of Red Court venom and sex, bloody gashes on your face, and you could barely stand. I wanted to know what the hell happened to you.”

I suddenly couldn’t look at him, turning my gaze to the fire. “Did she tell you?”

“Enough. You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

“I, uh… had help.” Thomas was silent, and when I looked back, he was frowning. “Future Harry. He’s trapped in this body same as I am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Like Lasciel?”

“Basically, but without the hellfire and eternal damnation of my soul.”

He eyed me, took a sip of his beer. “That’s not funny.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Well,” he said after a moment, “your performance put the fear of wizards into the Court. They don’t respect much, but they do respect a display of power. It actually helped make Lara’s case for her, that they don’t need to uphold the alliance with the Reds. Especially as it was one of their own half-breed progeny that tried to obliterate the manor and everyone in it.”

I let out a snort of amusement. “Glad to be of service.”

“And Lara?”

I just stared at him. He stared back. “I’m too tired for games, Thomas. If you have something you want to say, just say it.”

“She said her time spent with you was… unusual. Do you know how often my sister has said that about kine?”

Kine. That’s all you are to her, Harry. Food, and a fascinating diversion. I suppressed a shiver.

“What did you do?”

“It was Future Harry,” I said reluctantly. “He’s in love with her, and wanted one last time together. In his life, she’s dead. He took control of my body.”

Thomas chewed on his lower lip as he thought, a habit he picked up from me. “Empty Night,” he whispered. “She felt what he felt for her. You… Empty Night. Do you know how much more difficult you’ve just made Harry’s life?”

“Good thing he’s got you. I can’t believe your sister let you within five miles of Château Raith, given your status at Court.”

He waved the comment away. “You are an idiot. She won’t give up. Honestly, I’m surprised your protection didn’t kick in. I know you haven’t been with anyone since Susan.”

“This body, sure. But to me, Susan is dead. Murphy… is dead.” I stumbled over the words. “And I’m marrying your sister.”

“Maybe you’re not,” he said quietly. “Maybe you won’t have to. And right now, Karrin isn’t dead. You’ve got a second chance with her; why would you risk screwing that up by being with Lara?”

My hand clenched in frustration. “It’s not a second chance, Thomas. Don’t you get that? This isn’t my life, and hasn’t been for ten years. I shouldn’t be here, and in another day or two I won’t be. And Murph…” my anger drained away, replaced by weariness and heartbreak. “She doesn’t feel the same about me. Not now, and probably not for a while. I think it took my death for her to realize it.” Only to be tormented for an entire year by dark, demented creatures using my face and her emotions against her. My ghost showing up hadn’t helped matters. “I’m not going to force her feelings for me, and I’m certainly not going to play the pity card just to be with her one last time.”

He finished off the beer, setting the bottle down with a dull thud. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, closing my eyes. It felt comfortable, and warm, and smelled like home… all that I’d missed since my apartment had been burned to the ground. Safe, I was safe, behind my wards, with Thomas and Mouse to watch over me while I slept. It stole over me gradually, as I listened to the fire pop and crackle, my brother moving around the room, Mouse’s tail thumping on the floor.

The silence before the storm. I’d been here before, and now as then I had Murphy at my back. But I also had my brother. I had Mouse.

Thomas gently tilted my head to get a better look at the scratches across my face. “Stop manhandling me,” I protested, but was too deliciously drowsy to do anything about it.

He chuckled softly, tucking a blanket around me smelling of fresh pine. “Believe me, if I was manhandling you, you’d know it.”

“Jerk,” I mumbled, worry and doubt fading away as I snuggled further into the chair, under the blanket.

And fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

A caress of magic, the barest touch, woke me. From there, it was a slow, pleasant journey out of sleep, one I didn’t get the chance to experience often.

A whisper of steel on stone. A blade’s sharpening, slow and rhythmic, done with the utmost of concentration. Likely Thomas, working on his old cavalry saber or the kukri he favored as a backup.

The scent of motor oil with a faint hint of fermented fruit lying in the summer sun. Thomas’ favored gun oil, which he probably chose for the odor alone. Which meant he’d been cleaning weapons, too.

I cracked my eyelids. While the fire had burned down, many of the candles were lit, casting flickering shadows throughout my apartment. Mouse was sleeping in his usual spot, flopped on the kitchen floor, Mister high up on his favorite bookshelf. Thomas was cross-legged next to the coffee table, sharpening his kukri with slow precision, head bent over his task.

“I hear you thinking,” Thomas said, without breaking rhythm.

I blinked a few times and wiped away the grit. But of course it wasn’t actually grit, but an adverse reaction brought on by being in the wrong time, so my eyes continued to burn. “Just resting my eyes,” I said, stifling a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Not quite six.” He paused in his work and looked up at me. “Took Mouse out half an hour ago. Even I can sense the chaotic energies swirling in the air now.”

The wards inside my apartment prevented most ambient magic from leaking through the walls and windows. If I wanted to see how truly bad it was, I’d have to go outside.

“I’ll check.” I dropped the wards on my door and opened it. Energy hit me in the face like a blast of hot air, and I stumbled back a step.

“Harry?”

I closed the door. “It’s bad. A few hours, maybe less.”

He set the kukri on the table. It was only then I noticed the array of guns and assault rifles in various states of disassembly. “You know where?”

“It’ll come from the lake, but as to a precise location… no, not really,” I said, then gestured to the weapons. “You rob an armory?”

White teeth flashed in a grin. “As good as. Borrowed a few things from Château Raith on my way out. Swapped out ammo for steel-jacketed rounds, in case we run into Fae.”

I surveyed the guns, spotting my .44 revolver in the mix. “I don’t think some of those are legal.”

Thomas snorted. “I doubt any of them are legal.”

“Is that a grenade?” I asked, crouching down for a better look.

“Flash-bangs. Hard for a mythical beast to bite me in half if it can’t see or hear.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“I’m a vampire, faster and stronger than any mortal, even a wizard.” He leveled a look at me. “I’m the distraction.”

Oh. I thought he assumed he’d be the monster slayer, for the very reasons he just highlighted. But the spear was my responsibility, not Thomas’, and had an argument prepared that died on my tongue at his words.

He looked smug when I didn’t respond. “You thought I wanted the honor of wielding the spear? No way in hell am I touching that knife.” He jerked his chin in the direction of my duster, hanging on a hook by the door. “I can hear its whispers. You think it’s a good idea if I actually use it?”

“Hell’s bells,” I breathed. “You can hear it? Like… a voice?”

“No, not a voice. Just a desire. A need for violence and bloodshed and death. It’s similar to how the Hunger reacts to a human’s emotional state.” He laughed at my expression. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’m not listening, and I’m not going to give in to it. You forget how long I’ve fought off my Hunger. The knife is merely an annoying insect by comparison.”

I squeezed his shoulder briefly. “All right. Gonna be down in the lab for a bit.”

The completed potions smelled worse than the individual ingredients. I switched off the burners, then touched a finger to the rim of one of the beakers. “Infriga,” I whispered, shaping the same spell Future Harry had used on the beer glass. Ice crystals spread from my fingertip, traveling down the outside of the beaker. I repeated it a few times, then a few more with the other beaker, rendering both potions cool enough to handle.

I’d kept spare sports bottles on one of the shelves, and removed four of the smaller size. Two blue, one yellow, and one pink. For Murphy, obviously. She actually liked pink, but never wanted to acknowledge it in front of anyone. But I’d been in a position to see most of her wardrobe, and many of her undergarments featured pink satin bows.

I poured half of each beaker into a bottle and screwed on the caps. The potion’s odor disappeared almost immediately.

When I turned around, I realized I’d left Bob on the workbench. He seemed to be asleep, as he hadn’t said a word since I’d come downstairs. As quietly as I could, I picked up his skull and placed it on the bookshelf. Just as I withdrew my hands, his eyelights flicked on. They flamed brighter as he turned around to look at me.

“Heathen! You left me on the table without access to my magazines!”

“I’m sorry, Bob. It was Thomas -“

“Yes, yes,” he snapped. “I heard the whole thing. You couldn’t be bothered to come down here and put me back where I belong?” It’d only been a few hours, yet I felt guilty all the same. Bob might be a spirit, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Sorry. I forgot.”

The flames dwindled to their normal intensity. “Oh, that’s all right. I was too busy reorganizing Blackthorne’s notes on poison to notice. I hadn’t brushed off those memories in a good two centuries or so.”

“Jerk.” I was actually impressed. He clearly learned the art of instilling a guilty conscience from a master. I picked up the sports bottles and headed for the stairs, using a push of will to smother the candles. “Thanks for the help, Bob.”

“Bring me this year’s April edition of Busty Asian Beauties and we’ll call it even.”

I suspected the magazine wasn’t real, but merely said, “Sure thing.”

“Everything all right down there?” Thomas asked. “The spirit sounded somewhat irate.”

“Just Bob being Bob.” I set the sports bottles on the kitchen counter, then closed the trap door and flipped the rugs back into place. “Here, this one’s yours.” I tossed him a blue bottle, which he of course caught without looking.

He unscrewed the top and made a face. “That smells disgusting.”

“Cheer up. Probably tastes even worse.”

He shot me a glare. “How long will this last?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe. So we’ll have to wait until we’re actually face to face with the serpent.” I stuffed the remaining bottles in my duster in various pockets, using a memory technique to keep track of which pockets held the potions. “I have one for me, one for Murphy, and one extra, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case someone’s face melts off. It’ll save the rest of us from a similar fate.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Are all your plans as well thought out as this one? Oh, wait, I seem to remember being chased by a flying demon throwing flaming monkey shit at me. The question answers itself.”

Not my finest hour, but in the end we’d saved every puppy in the building and I ended up with a companion for life that would live as long as Maggie would. A fierce protector and wielder of his own form of magic.

“You’re just jealous a puppy didn’t pick you.” Mouse’s head jerked up. “See? Even Mouse knows you secretly wanted a puppy of your very own.” He grinned, tongue lolling as he looked at Thomas, tail thumping on the floor.

“Don’t you have some wizard stuff to take care of?” Thomas groused, setting a rifle down he’d just reassembled by touch, too busy glaring at me to watch what he was doing.

“Well, I do need to change. And eat breakfast.”

While in the bathroom, I pulled open the drawer that held my small shaving mirror, tilting my head to get a better look at the gouges across my cheek. The thin scab lines were barely visible, and my exploratory fingers found no pain. Red Court vampires’ claws were razor-sharp, and even if I did end up with scars, they’d quickly fade.

I exchanged sweats for a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeve Henley in black. When I emerged from the bedroom, I found most of the guns reassembled. Thomas was currently working on loading my revolver.

“Figured you might need this today, Spear of Destiny or not,” he said, not looking up.

“Never hurts to bring a gun to a fight with a mythological creature.” I had a shoulder holster, bought when I lost use of my left hand to make it easier to carry and draw the gun with my right.

I wandered into the kitchen, scratching Mouse’s ears for a minute, then poured myself a bowl of cereal (sadly with too few marshmallows) and milk.

“Think the serpent is coming to Chicago Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man style?” Thomas asked as I shoveled a spoonful into my mouth.

I nodded. “Won’t be subtle, but I doubt we’ll have much warning. Need to get down to the lake before then.” Something was nagging at the base of my brain. It wasn’t until my fourth spoonful that it coalesced into coherent thought.

Oh, crap.

“I have go to out,” I told Thomas, hastily wolfing down the remaining cereal.

He gave me a disbelieving, sideways look. “Now?”

“Right now. Lives may depend on it.”

Thomas set my gun aside. “This you being melodramatic again?”

“I can do that and be serious at the same time.” I dumped the empty bowl in the sink.

“At least take your gun.” He offered it to me, but I waved it away.

“Look at you, caring about my safety. It’s almost cute.” I chuckled as he glowered. “Don’t worry, I’m taking backup. Let’s go, Mouse.” My dog jumped to his feet, tail wagging furiously.

“Mind telling me where you’re going? Just in case I need to identify your body later.”

I rolled my eyes. “Funny. I’m heading to college.”

It was just after eight when I arrived at Bock Ordered Books, parking on the mostly deserted street. Bock wasn’t open for business, but I knew the man himself was usually in the store by seven for daily inventory and bookkeeping he wouldn’t have time for later.

Near Lincoln Park, this part of town was borderline, nastier elements of the city rubbing shoulders with the students and faculty from the University of Chicago. The Alphas’ patrol included Bock’s, making it marginally safer than the next block further south.

I held Mouse’s leash only for appearance’s sake. My left hand could barely grasp anything; placing the strap between thumb and palm with just enough force so it didn’t fall was all I could manage.

This was where I’d met Cowl and Kumori the first time, just before Halloween. They’d been looking for Die Lied der Erlking, the very book I’d just purchased from Bock. When I refused to turn it over, Cowl proceeded to pound me into the asphalt. If Will hadn’t shown up when he did, I would’ve lost the book, though likely not my life. Cowl didn’t seem all that interested in seeing me dead.

Then, at least.

But now? I had contracted Kincaid to kill him. Even though the attempt failed and Kincaid backed out, Cowl knew I’d been the one responsible. The air spirit in the Field Museum mentioned a ‘master’ and my instincts screamed Cowl was behind it, already in Chicago and preparing for the Darkhallow. He had no reason to come after me, unless he believed I was the one orchestrating his assassination attempt.

Of course I wanted him dead. He was responsible for Michael’s death, and killing him now would prevent that. I just had to hope everything else I managed to do while here would be enough to change Michael’s future.

I didn’t show any hesitation as I walked towards the store, though my insides were roiling as I remembered that confrontation, the fear and anger I felt. Any moment I expected Cowl and Kumori to materialize from behind a veil, but with the chaotic currents of energy so thick I could feel them brush my face, holding a veil for any length of time would prove extremely difficult.

Plus, I had Mouse. His canine senses were superior to mine, and in all my years with him, he’d only been fooled by a veil once. By the very wizard I asked to mentor Maggie, in fact, a physics professor at her school who’d retired (as retired as one could be) from the White Council. Cowl’s stink of necromancy and Kumori’s inexperience wouldn’t prove a problem for a Temple Dog.

The sidewalk remained deserted, much to my relief. I was stronger now, with both Lasciel’s hellfire and the Winter Mantle’s icy power at my fingertips, not to mention Mouse trotting at my side. But I had seen Cowl kill a naagloshii, exploding its heart in its chest with nothing but his own power. That kind of magic, when my own did nothing but cause the skinwalker to laugh, was both impressive and terrifying.

He could easily do the same to me.

I rapped on the door with my staff, catching the attention of the proprietor behind the counter. Artemis Bock was big, burly, and bearded, his hands covered in scars from whatever job he’d held in his previous life. While he wasn’t a wizard, he did possess a minor talent, and had warded his store accordingly with subtle spells designed to encourage people looking for trouble to look elsewhere. Anything more aggressive would’ve drawn too much attention, especially in this neighborhood.

He peered over his glasses at me a moment, eyes flicking to Mouse standing dutifully beside me, then pushed himself away from the counter and came over to unlock the door.

“Mr. Dresden,” he said. “Must be important if you’re here this early.”

“It is. Can I come in?” I asked, quickly scanning the street in both directions. “I’d rather not discuss it here.”

Bock moved aside, frowning as Mouse followed me into the store. “No pets.”

“He’s a Temple Dog, Bock. I know you’ve read enough books to know what that is.” I turned to face Mouse. “He’s a good boy, is what he is,” I said, using that voice humans always reserve for their beloved pets. Mouse’s jaws dropped into a doggie grin as he panted happily, and I scratched behind his ears. “He’ll stay by the door. I won’t be long. I know what I’m looking for, but I need to get into the cage. Personal business, not White Council,” I added, so he knew I wasn’t here looking for prohibited magical items or books relating to black magic.

“Something bad’s coming,” he said, casting a glance through the store’s front windows.

I nodded. “More than one something, unfortunately. Get the word out that folks should be behind a threshold after dark the next few days. Goes for you, too. Hate to see you get hurt, Bock.”

He grunted, put a hand under the counter where I knew he kept a shotgun. “Got a store to run.”

“Just watch your back, all right?”

Nodding, he grabbed a key from a peg on the wall behind him and handed it to me.

“Be right back,” I told Mouse. “Keep an eye out.” That crawling sensation over the back of my neck had returned, as had the dread in the pit of my stomach. Mouse ruffed in response, ears flicking back and forth as he watched the street.

In the back of the store, past tables of crystals and incense, through several rows of bookshelves, was a door set into the wall. It had no frame and matched the surrounding paneling so as not to draw attention to itself. Back during Prohibition, the store had been the front for a speakeasy and this door its entrance. Now, it protected books Bock deemed too valuable - or too dangerous - to be kept where the general public had access to them.

Though I hadn’t been here in nearly ten years, the room was much as I remembered. You’ll be here tomorrow, I reminded myself. Of course it looks the same. But likely I wouldn’t be here tomorrow. Harry Actual wouldn’t have a reason to visit Bock’s if I bought the last copy of Der Erlking.

I unlocked the cage and rolled up its door. There were two long bookshelves, filled with everything from an autographed first edition of Through the Looking Glass to a copy of Ebenezar McCoy’s Elementary Magic. In fact, many of the books kept here on magical theory were written by wizards of the White Council.

I ran a fingertip down the spine of McCoy’s book, a smile blooming as I remembered the light in Maggie’s eyes as my old mentor - and her great-grandfather - gave her his own personal copy. She’d always had an infectious smile all her own, even in the picture Susan showed me years ago. It filled my heart to bursting with that familiar love and warmth, Maggie’s warmth, and made me ache all the more. It had only been a few days since I left her, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Focus, Harry. One thing at a time.

Now where is the damned book?

“Two copies, right-hand shelf, third row from the top, eighth and ninth books from the left,” came the familiar voice. Lasciel, standing next to me, but thankfully in her normal guise. I didn’t need a reminder of Shiela, or of Lasciel’s illusions and deceit.

“I seem to remember having this conversation before,” I murmured quietly, aware that my voice might carry to the front of the store and to Bock’s ears. He’d kicked me out once already and banned me because he believed I was crazy, talking to myself. “But there’s only one copy.” Then my hand stopped, right where Lasciel indicated.

There were two copies. Grevane hadn’t bought one yet.

My hand shaking, I pulled both from the shelf.

Will this make a difference?

I’d summoned the Erlking to prevent any of the necromancers from doing so first. I thought to contain him, and in that I failed. Cowl had to know the method by which he could be called upon, as he and Kumori had been hunting down and destroying stray copies for months. But Corpsetaker and Grevane did not; why else would he have bought the book at Bock’s, and she stolen mine?

If these books are out of play… they will have no choice but to go after Cowl.

I didn’t need to read the poem. I had committed it to memory years ago in the same way I stored true names for perfect recall, methodically and precisely. There was no margin for error when summoning beings of power, especially those as powerful as the Erlking.

“Thanks, Lash,” I replied, slipping into old habits. She blinked at me, frowning slightly at my familiarity, then inclined her head.

“Of course, my host.” Then she was gone, the figment of my imagination that was all too real, leaving behind the faint odor of brimstone. But maybe that was all in my head, just as her appearance had been.

I closed up the cage and returned to the front of the store, books in hand. “Take a check?” I asked, stacking them on the counter.

He eyed me. “From you, yes.”

So I wrote one as he placed each book into an individual paper bag. “Thanks, Bock. I owe you.”

Picking up the check, he lifted the cash tray in the register and slipped it underneath. “Yes, you do.” Meaning that check better not bounce. How I’d pay for it I had no idea. The two books combined equaled a month’s rent, and I knew I didn’t have that in my account. Not even close. Sure, it might be Harry Actual’s problem, but I wouldn’t leave him without the means to cover the cost.

I went to the door, idly ruffling Mouse’s ears. He didn’t acknowledge me, his attention fixed on the street outside. “Trouble?” Then I felt it. The chaotic energies building for the past few days had reached a tipping point, and even through Bock’s wards it was leaking into his store. I didn’t think they’d cause any damage, as he didn’t have any actual magical artifacts, but without protection of a threshold he was at risk.

“Bock,” I said quietly, eyes flicking over the scene outside. The day was deceptively bright, the sky an intense blue. A mild breeze stirred leaves that had yet to fall on nearby trees. “You should go home. Now. Get behind a threshold and stay there.”

I heard his stool creak as he stood and joined me at the window. He drew in a sharp breath. “You might be right, Mr. Dresden. You might be right.”

I eyed him. He might decide to stay, weather the coming storm in the shop. Bock’s was close to a mile from the lakeshore, so maybe there wasn’t much to worry about. Because Jörmungandr was coming, and it was coming from the lake. I knew that deep in my gut, and from the energy currents streaming into the city.

“At least stay inside for the next several hours, whatever you decide,” I said, opening the door. “Thanks for this.” I held up the bags.

“Any time.”

The energies smashed into my face, almost sending me reeling. It took a moment to adjust to the sensation, and I turned my head as if scenting the wind. Definitely from the lake. I closed my eyes and drew upon my Sight. When I opened them again, everything was in shades of blue, violet and black. Currents of a river, and I a stone standing in its way. The origin wasn’t due east. It angled more southeast, an arrow pointing towards the heart of downtown Chicago.

“This isn’t good, Mouse. We’ve got to get home.” With an effort, I shut off my Sight, then walked hurriedly to the alley that ran alongside the row of businesses. I went halfway down before stopping. “Keep a lookout.” I didn’t have a sense of anyone focusing their attention on me, but I couldn’t be too careful. It was why I’d brought Mouse, after all.

He woofed agreement, standing stiff-legged as he peered down the alley, towards the street.

I fished out a piece of chalk from one of my duster’s pockets and drew a circle on the broken asphalt, sweeping bits of debris out of the way with my shoe. Then I moved inside, crouching to touch a fingertip to the line of chalk and will the circle closed. The chaos around me vanished, as if I slammed a door closed.

Removing both books from their bags, I stacked them in the center, then moved back a step. I drew on my power and will, the runes on my staff flaring to life with a reddish-orange glow that quickly moved into a hellish crimson. The stench of brimstone joined that of woodsmoke as I pointed my staff at the books.

“Fuego.”

Power barreled out of me, driven by dread and fear, the blast of fire turning the tomes into a blazing pyre several feet high. I hastily conjured a shield as heat licked at my skin, singeing my eyebrows. It consumed the old, dry paper quickly, until only a pile of dark ash remained. Gathering my will for a second spell, I murmured, “Ventas cyclis.” Wind swirled through the the ash, pulling it aloft. Holding the spell, I stepped through the chalk line and broke the circle.

Chaos instantly crashed into me.

“Ventas cyclis forzare!”

The lash of kinetic force tossed the soot-stained funnel cloud high into the air, where I let my own power fade. A gust of wind blew the cyclone apart, scattered ash snatched away and vanishing into the blue sky.

A weight lifted from my shoulders. Denying Grevane and Corpsetaker access to the last physical copies of the book in existence should make the next few days a lot more interesting for Cowl and Kumori. Get the necromancers fighting each other, instead of coming after Harry Actual.

The Word of Kemmler. I’d forgotten about the other book in play. With the Field Museum still closed after my fun romp with the spirit-possessed lion, there was no chance of me locating it before tomorrow. Bony Tony could hide it anywhere, and unless I could read his mind or had time to waste following him around for hours on end, I’d never find it.

That, at least, seemed likely to play out as it had before. Which meant Butters was still in danger from Grevane. And Murphy from the Black Court.

Damn Mavra and her blackmail schemes.

“One more stop before home, boy,” I told Mouse, scuffing the chalk line until it no longer appeared freshly drawn, but something that’d been in the alley a while.

I drove the Beetle (Mouse in the passenger seat, head hanging out the window) to Will and Georgia’s apartment. It wasn’t far from campus, as both were now grad students. I spotted Georgia’s car in the small lot and parked a few spots away, hoping that meant she, at least, was home.

When I knocked on the door, it wasn’t long before a tall, willowy blonde opened it, hair pulled into a tail. She had on an oversized tee and baggy sweats, and judging by the smudges under her eyes, hadn’t slept much. “Harry. What brings you out here? Please, come in.”

God, she looks so young. Barely old enough to drink.

Their apartment remained the Alphas’ hangout, though after graduation several had moved away. With Georgia and Will in grad school, the apartment, while still cluttered, was cleaner than it used to be. No half-eaten pizzas left out in their boxes for days on end. As an apartment, it shouldn’t have had much of a threshold, but it did. I guessed it was from all that protective pack mentality the Alphas exuded, bonds forged when a wolf who could shift to human taught them a single transformation spell.

As we entered, Georgia greeted Mouse enthusiastically, stepping into the kitchen to pull out a doggie biscuit from the box she kept just for him. He followed her, tail wagging furiously, though when she offered him the treat he took it daintily from her fingers before wolfing it down.

“Here on business, Georgia. Where’s Will? Things are about to get nasty in Chicago.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He has an early class on Thursday. Define ‘nasty.’”

I slumped down on her couch. “A mythical beast from Norse legend will be making an appearance in the next few hours. Get the word out to your contacts that everyone needs to be behind a threshold before that happens and stay there. You should let Will know to come home right after class.”

Georgia ruffled Mouse’s ears and gave him a second biscuit. “The Alphas can help, Harry.”

I shook my head. “Not with this. I have to be the one to deal with it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it alone. It coming with friends?”

I blinked. “Uh… I hadn’t considered that.” What if whoever summoned Jörmungandr also summoned an army of creatures to protect it? Or used them to create so much chaos that I never had my chance? I remembered trying to shield the Alphas from bad situations, and I remembered Kirby’s shocking, senseless death that could have been avoided.

Georgia watched me as I sorted through options, absently petting Mouse. Of the pair, she was the one who thought more with her head than with her fangs (as she often accused Will of doing). She also trusted my judgment.

Finally, I nodded. “I won’t turn down help if you’re offering. But Georgia, I don’t know when or where precisely it’ll be, or what - if anything - is coming with, though I do know it’ll likely be downtown, and it’s coming from the lake. If the chaos stirring up the normal flows of energy is any indication, it’ll be here by noon.”

She bared her teeth. “We protect our own, Harry, and that includes you.”

Her fierce tone made me smile a bit. “I appreciate that.” Then I leaned forward. “What I can tell you is the creature that’s coming is the serpent said to destroy the world.”

While Georgia wasn’t that familiar with Norse myths, she apparently knew that one. Her eyes widened. “You mean Jör -”

“Don’t,” I said, interrupting her. “Don’t say its name. But yes. It’s only a physical representation of it in the mortal world, not the creature itself. Someone is summoning it here, presumably to lay waste to the city and kill a lot of people.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Because they get off on it? Because they can? I have no idea, really. I have a weapon that can stop it, but I have to be the one wielding it.” Or because it’s a distraction, I thought, though didn’t voice it aloud. Like Cowl using the hydra while robbing Marcone’s bank. It focused a large police presence in one part of the city to keep them away from another.

She pushed away strands of hair that had fallen in her face. “All right. I’ll round up the Alphas. Where should we meet you?”

“I’ll call you before I leave my apartment. But, honestly? Just look for the smoke.”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you intend to burn another building to the ground.”

I gave her a faint smile. “Intend, no. But fights have this habit of escalating, and my strength lies in pyromancy.” Though with the Winter Mantle in residence, I also excelled in cryomancy. “You’ll warn your contacts?” It felt odd, not referring to it as the Paranet, but the concept of a network of minor practitioners around the globe hadn’t occurred to anyone yet. It would take several murders and Elaine’s arrival for that to happen. Murders I might be able to prevent.

Something else I need to tell Bob.

“Of course.”

Or, better yet… I stared intently at Georgia and chewed on my lip, long enough that she frowned at me.

“What?”

“You know, having an organized network of minor practitioners would be useful for passing on warnings like this.” I waved at her laptop on the kitchen table. “Set up message boards on the computerweb, let them learn from each other. Protect each other. An early warning system, if they spot any unusual activity. Maybe recruit a few of the stronger practitioners as traveling teachers, to help out where need is greatest. I could be one of them, when I have time.”

Her mouth fell open as I spoke. “That… that’s brilliant Harry. In fact… I might know a guy who knows a guy, sets up websites as a side job. Bet he could throw something together in a few hours. I’ll talk to him first, then start passing the word around along with your warning.”

“You should extend that warning through Monday. Everyone with the tiniest bit of talent needs to be behind a threshold after dark. Okay?”

Georgia nodded. “Okay.”

“All right, I need to get home and get my gear and my - Thomas,” I said, cutting myself off. Georgia knew Thomas was my brother, but I hadn’t told this Georgia yet.

Her lips quirked. “Your Thomas?“

“My roommate Thomas, I meant to say,” I growled, feigning anger. It made her snort. “Being a vampire, he’s stronger and faster than I am. I make sure to take him along on all my suicidal missions.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You really are a drama queen, aren’t you?”

“Hey!” I protested. “I resemble that remark. Watch yourself, Georgia. I know you’ve been fighting against monsters for a few years now, but… just watch yourself,” I finished, rather than trying to lecture her. She knew her limits, as did Will, and they in turn would take care of their pack.

Georgia smiled a wolfish smile. “We protect our own,” she repeated fiercely.

So many people, obliviously going about their lives.

So many lives that might be lost.

Images of Chicago flashed through my mind. Fire. Destruction. Endless dead.

Murphy dead, her blood on my hands, her lips turning blue.

“Dammit,” I swore under my breath, pushing the Beetle as best I could. City streets tend to be clogged with traffic during daylight hours, with a stoplight every block or two. All of it slowed me down, even as the hair on the back of my neck crawled.

I’m not particularly sensitive to magic, but this made me nauseous and slightly dizzy. It wasn’t even black magic, it was the chaos of it needling my skin. Mouse sensed it as well, keeping a vigilant watch out his window. I’d rolled it up before leaving Georgia’s, and though it didn’t block the magical energy, it made me feel marginally more protected.

Georgia’s comment had given me an idea which resulted in one last detour on the way home. While I suspected Jörmungandr fell outside the Swords’ purview, having a Knight of the Cross at my back was an excellent idea. Should other monsters decide to take advantage of the rift bringing the serpent into our world, or should the summoner decide to conjure them, Michael could help.

He would help.

But only if he were home, which he wasn’t. No one answered the door when I knocked, and peering through the windows revealed a deserted house. I did a quick inspection of the shed out back, found a number of weapons missing from their usual places, along with the duffel bag he usually loaded the Sword into. Looked like Michael had been called away on Knight business, while Charity was out with the kids.

We’d have to be enough.

The nausea worsened while I drove. As I parked in my small gravel lot, a surge of energy exploded through me, a ring rapidly expanding outward from a central point. I fell out of the Beetle and onto my knees, retching. And when I looked up, the sky was the color of smudged charcoal, storm clouds and that damned violet lightning I’d seen too often indicating a concentration of black magic.

Thunder boomed, rattling my bones.

Mouse growled, a faint blue flame licking his fur. Big, sturdy, and standing stiff-legged beside me, between him and my staff I managed to get back to my feet and stumble down the apartment steps.

“You all right?” Thomas asked, glancing up when I opened the door. His bag was packed with weapons and ammo, including the sawed-off shotgun I sometimes kept in the Beetle’s trunk. He was armed, a saber secured to one hip, a Desert Eagle on the other, and his kukri in a sheath behind his back.

I ignored the question. “We need to go.” I unclipped Mouse’s leash, then went to the kitchen to call Murphy. She didn’t answer. But as I hung up, the phone began to ring. “Dresden.”

“It’s Murphy. Meet me at Columbus Drive. Patrol’s reporting a possible chemical spill in the river.” I heard her siren blaring in the background.

The river. Hell’s bells, it makes sense. Too much for me not to have considered it before. “On our way.”

“Hurry.” She disconnected.

When I tried to dial Georgia, the line was nothing but static. I slammed the receiver down. “Thomas, call Georgia. Land line’s out.”

He flipped open his phone. “Cell’s out, too.”

“Crap. The Alphas were coming.” I ran a hand through my hair. “They might still, I’m sure they’ll hear reports of what’s going on downtown soon enough.” I dumped my duster on the ground and put on the shoulder holster, securing the revolver after Thomas handed it to me.

“What’s going on downtown?” he asked, zipping the bag shut and hefting it over one shoulder.

“We’re about to find out.” I shrugged into the duster, feeling for my blasting rod, but my fingers found an empty leather strap. I swore profusely, remembering that after my hand had been burned, I hadn’t been able to use pyromancy for nearly a year. Which meant I hadn’t carved a new blasting rod for myself, either.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you knew how to swear in Spanish.”

“Picked it up from one of the Wardens. Let’s go.”

Thomas grabbed my hand as I reached for my keys. “I’ll drive.” I gave him a look. “You want to get there before anyone dies or not?”

He had a point. I tended to be a careful driver, in part because trying to push the Beetle too hard typically resulted in its engine blowing out. “Fine.” With one last check of my pockets, I stalked out to Thomas’ car, Mouse at my heels.

Thomas typically drove sports cars, and he typically drove them fast. This was no exception on either count.

We raced through city streets, running red lights and narrowly avoiding a handful of collisions only thanks to Thomas’ supernatural reflexes. The car still had to obey physics, but my brother’s reaction times brought us through near misses I thought would smash us to pieces (one of them being a garbage truck). Oh, and streets were only suggestions for my brother, Thomas veering onto the sidewalk to get around traffic when necessary.

I did my best to hold on and bite my tongue to keep from screaming in fear.

Chicago has almost twenty bridges spanning the Chicago River in the immediate downtown area. They have a fancy name: double-leaf bascule bridges, but they’re basically the steel equivalent of a drawbridge. They don’t open very often, a few dozen times a year in the warmer months to allow river traffic that can’t make the low clearance. Columbus Drive, where we were meeting Murphy, was the newest of those bridges, and only the bridge spanning the mouth of the river on Lake Shore Drive was closer to the lake.

Thunder rumbled and lightning streaked across the sky as we drove, and the concentration of magic swirling around us was intense. But unlike the Battle of Chicago, where it was driven by panic and fear from the city’s residents, this was driven by a singular will with absolute focus.

Where the hell was all the power coming from?

Wizards can pull energy from their emotions, or from natural sources such as storms or volcanic eruptions. They can’t create it in a vacuum, and this storm had been created by magic, not used as a power source.

Thomas came to an abrupt halt. Traffic blocked our forward progress as far as I could see. “We run from here,” he said, grabbing the duffel as he abandoned the car.

I was less graceful in getting out, but caught up to him quickly. He shot me a surprised look. “Part of the Winter Knight package?”

“Yep. Lucky me.”

Racing through the streets reminded me of my panicked flight after Maggie, snatched from my roof by a shapeshifter masquerading as a dragon. But I was out of breath quickly, this body not conditioned to running as mine was. Thomas and Mouse pulled ahead and I brought up the rear, supplementing physical exertion where I could. Small bursts of kinetic power to propel me forward or over obstacles, with an occasional use of my shield to prevent me from slamming into cars or the sides of buildings.

We arrived at the Chicago River to find complete chaos. Some streets were blocked by patrol cars, others blocked by accidents. Alarms blared, people sobbed or screamed or yelled, though most were walking or running away from the river. I also counted three fistfights, presumably over the car crashes.

“Harry!” Murphy’s shout was barely audible over the cacophony. I spotted her in the midst of several patrol cars and uniformed officers, who watched us warily as we approached. Thomas had had the good sense to pull his jacket over the gun and kukri, but there was no disguising the sword sheathed at his hip.

“Easy, they’re with me,” she said, then jerked her head towards the river. “Come on.” She led us to the railing that overlooked the river, and when I peered over, it became clear why “chemical contamination” had been the first thought.

The Chicago River was about twenty feet deep and typically less than two hundred feet wide, though that varied along its length. In sunshine, the water is bright blue-green, becoming darker blue in the shade. The river below us now was neither blue nor green, but swirling shades of black much like squid ink in water. An icy fog rolled over its surface.

“What do you make of it, Harry?” Murphy asked.

The greasy feel of black magic was unmistakable. “We need to get everyone away from the river. Get them to open the bridges, if you can.“

“Is it here?” she asked quietly.

“Not yet. Which reminds me.” I produced the pink sports bottle from my pocket. “Anti-poison potion. It’ll last about twenty minutes, so don’t take it until you have to.”

She took it from me and shoved it in her jacket. “Thanks. I’ll see what I can do about the bridges, but most of them look like this.” She gestured to the cars. “We need to get the vehicles off first.”

“Right.” I followed the railing onto the bridge until I reached its center, then turned to face east. One final bridge stood between me and the great expanse of water known as Lake Michigan. From this vantage, I could clearly see the roiling clouds above us were slowly rotating around a fixed point far in the distance.

Demonreach. I should’ve known that’s where the summoner would be.

If you were looking for a dark well of limitless power near Chicago, nothing could rival Demonreach. The horrors it contained generated its own ley line, filled with six thousand depraved, evil voices whispering promises directly into your mind. Without the strength to contain them, it would surely drive you insane. Unless, of course, you were already insane.

As it was twenty miles to the nearest shoreline, whatever the practitioner’s designs, the cold waters of Lake Michigan would prevent the spell from traveling more than a few hundred yards.

But if instead you used that power to summon something, a beast straight from myth, bringing it from its shadow realm into the mortal one… It could easily reach the city, provided it had means to travel over, on or under the water. And a serpent such as Jörmungandr… likely it’d be water-borne.

The river, too, remained saturated with ink all the way to the lake, but it was difficult to tell if the lake itself was contaminated.

Then a solid wall of water at least five feet high barreled under the distant bridge, swallowing the ground to either side of the river. Cops were below me on the riverwalk, and had been trying to direct pedestrians away from the river for some time. A number of people were still down there, and they were about to be swept away.

“Get away from the river!” I screamed, leaning over the railing and gesticulating wildly. A few looked up, probably thinking I was another of Chicago’s crazy attractions, but no one actually moved. Then Murph saw what I had and grabbed her radio.

“Clear the riverwalk, now!” she barked into it. “Flash flood incoming!”

There were too many milling around, confusion descending as the officers tried their best to herd people towards the stairs leading to the bridge. They weren’t going to make it. Luck, however, was on our side for once. The river widened between Lake Shore Drive and Columbus, slowing the advancing wave as it spread out, reducing the volume of water at the wave’s leading edge considerably.

Panic finally set in as a few near the riverbank noticed the river rapidly rising. People ran in every direction, some screaming. The officers managed to prevent anyone from being trampled as they pounded up the stairs and streamed past us.

The wave hit, just barely splashing over the sidewalk. It caught a few unaware, feet swept out from under them, but while the current was strong, the water wasn’t deep and they were able to climb to safety.

I saw the second wave approaching.

“Murph, we need everyone off the bridges, now! Thomas, help me!”

He swore and jumped into action, yanking open car doors (many of them locked) and pulling people out, telling them to run. Didn’t take much convincing once they saw the churning wall of water bearing down on us. It wasn’t high enough to reach the bridge. Yet. But I suspected more would quickly follow.

Murphy got them off the bridge in an orderly fashion, more or less, though some argued with her and other officers, belligerent in their desire to retrieve phones or purses or wallets.

The second wave hit, this time hard and high enough to shake the bridge.

A man, screaming, was swept downstream and pulled under so quickly I had no time to react. He didn’t resurface. Several more followed, those who’d made it to the road barrier below but hadn’t climbed over it. The water ripped up trees, sent furniture tumbling into the abyss.

Then a brutal impact, cries of pain and the scrape of metal on metal.

“Oh, God,” Murphy murmured as we looked downriver. One of the ubiquitous boats offering river tours of Chicago had crashed into the DuSable Bridge west of us. No longer able to clear the bridge because of the rising water, its bow was trapped underneath. Shrieks of metal competed with screaming people as it jerked back and forth in the vicious current. A few on the top deck were actively trying to climb up the bridge’s steel frame to reach the lower level.

They’re going to get themselves killed.

“We’ve got this, Murph! Go!” I yelled, gesturing to the boat. “Mouse, go with her!”

She took off running down Wacker, weaving through the panicked people and stopped cars, Mouse keeping pace easily.

Screams. Terrified, high-pitched… children. My head jerked around, spotted a school bus hanging precariously over the side of the bridge. Two long, thin arms covered in what looked to be seaweed were wrapped around the wheels, trying to pull it over the railing. A sharp yank elicited further screams from the kids inside.

Kelpies, or something like them, exuding an icy chill that made my breath frost on the air. But they weren’t of Winter, of that I was certain. The Mantle allowed me to identify those Fae allied with the Winter Court, and I doubted these creatures were Fae at all. They had no trouble grabbing hold of the bridge’s steel superstructure or of the bus itself. Had they been Fae, the cold iron would’ve burned on contact.

The bus hadn’t been a higher priority because it wasn’t on the bridge, and I assumed the driver and chaperones would get the children off without needing our assistance.

“Thomas!” I yelled, bolting for the bus, my brother pounding after me. “Get the kids out!” I gestured to the rear door, where several children were already trying to open the emergency exit. I leaned over the railing in time to see several more arms reach from the river’s depths to snag the bus, shaking it.

“Infriga!” I screamed, pointing my staff halfway down the thin, rope-like strands. They instantly froze at the point of impact, and for several feet in either direction. The not-kelpie’s shrieks scraped across my eardrums. As it thrashed below, throwing its body completely out of the water, its arms cracked and broke in half. The creature tumbled back into the river and disappeared.

The bus was suddenly hauled backwards, its nose finally clearing the railing. It crashed to the bridge’s deck and bounced several times. Snarling, Thomas ripped off the back door and tossed it into the river. Children tumbled out, tear-streaked and panicky, and my brother’s eyes grew brighter.

“Thomas?” I asked warily.

“I’m fine,” he snarled. “Go help Murphy. Those things in the river will probably go after the boat next.”

Oh, crap. He wasn’t wrong. But the boat was empty when I looked downriver, and doing its best to flip over the bridge, its bow hopelessly wedged underneath by the raging current. It was a good thing, too, as when I studied the water, I saw more not-kelpies moving, arms grabbing at random debris that’d been swept into the river.

One took the time to lob a small metal table at me. I threw up my shield and batted it away. Its face broke the surface, bony, scaled, fanged, much of it hidden by thick strands of seaweed. But not its eyes. All five of them, angry red orbs blinking in synchronicity as it stared, though it made no move to grab me directly.

“Infriga!” I shouted as I pointed my staff, but the monster was gone. All I managed to do was freeze a five foot square section of river, quickly broken apart and carried downstream.

Several shark fins cut through the water, swimming in lazy circles.

“Really? Sharks?” Thomas asked, staring below. His eyes were mostly human again, and the kids safely off the bridge. Most looked terrified.

I shrugged. “Molly told me that bull-shark baby teeth have been found in the Great Lakes for decades. Guessing those are the adult-sized versions.”

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” we said simultaneously, chuckling. In some ways, my brother is a lot like me.

A bell started ringing, loud even over the river’s noise. Someone had finally opened the bridge on Lake Shore Drive, and the two halves rose at a steady pace, just in time to reveal another wall of water rushing towards us. It engulfed the lower section of the bridge and roadway completely.

“Move!” Thomas yelled, then grabbed the back of my duster and threw me across the bridge. If I hadn’t expected him to try it, I would’ve ended up with a severe case of road rash. Instead, I conjured a mostly spherical shield of flexible energy around me while still airborne, landing onto the hood of a parked car and bouncing several times. I ended up on the roof of a large van, flat on my back, but the shield had done its work.

“Jerk,” I muttered weakly, trying to get my breath back as I stared at the bruised sky. So I had a pretty decent view when a dozen faint red-tinged ovals shimmered into being. Portals to the Nevernever, they could be nothing else, and the wash of magic over my face confirmed it.

“Hell’s bells… Thomas!” I shouted, struggling to regain my feet.

Winged creatures plummeted through them, each the size of a hawk with a six-foot wingspan. Like nothing living on this earth, they most closely resembled pterodactyls, except with more claws and teeth. A lot more.

They fell to earth like comets, screeching and howling the entire way.

Thomas appeared, one leg planted on either side of my torso, and his weapons went to work. Flashes of whirling steel surrounded him, and two of the pterohawks fell in a shower of gore and black ichor. Then he jumped off the roof and hauled me with him, splashing into knee-deep water.

“You good?” he asked, eyes tracking several other pterohawks that were coming around for a second pass.

“Fine.” I wasn’t fine, my ankle nearly gave out when he dropped me, twinging with pain. Though it was reduced to background noise by the Mantle, I’d have to be careful not to injure it further. Didn’t seem broken, at least.

Random gunshots echoed down the streets, but I couldn’t see who was shooting or what the target was. Likely the pterohawks, unless the not-kelpies were using the several inches of water now covering the main roadway as a means of transport.

Where was Murphy?

Not that I was worried. She had guns, and training, and cop instincts that helped her survive a number of nasty scrapes. And she had Mouse with her. Telling myself that didn’t dismiss the prickling unease running over the back of my neck.

Okay, fine. I was a little worried.

This entire time, the thunder and lightning hadn’t let up. Now, it began to rain. Not just rain, but pour so hard that it was difficult to see more than twenty feet in front of me. My hair, face, legs and shoes were completely drenched; my duster was waterproof, but it didn’t stop the rain from dripping down the back of my neck and soaking the shirt underneath.

“Fucking hell,” Thomas snarled, pulling out his pistol and firing off a few rounds at a pterohawk that flew within range. It squealed and adjusted its course, flapping away from us. He clearly had better eyesight through the downpour than I did; all I’d seen was a dark blur.

“Uh, Harry?”

I spared a glance for Thomas, then followed his gaze to the east, where the bridge was still raised, bells clanging a warning. A section of an immense, serpentine body broke the river’s inky surface, ice blue scales refracting with an iridescent sheen.

Stars and stones. “You know what I said about Jörmungandr needing to obey to the laws of physics?”

Thomas gave me the side eye. “Yeah?”

“I might’ve been wrong.”

Chapter Text

I knew it’d be difficult. An impossible task, handed out by a god merely a shade of his former self. Something on the scale of Hercules’ twelve labours, two of which I’d already crossed off my to-do list: the hydra during my double date with Will and Georgia, and the lion at the Field Museum with Murphy. And while Hercules had Cerberus, I had Jörmungandr.

But I hadn’t expected the serpent encircling the world to be quite so big.

Its massive tail lashed out at a complex that would one day be condos, but currently was still under construction. The massive cranes toppled, taking the partially completed buildings with them and crushing the townhomes behind. The enormous waves washed some of the debris back into the river, but most of it was carried further north, into the city.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it started, like someone flicked off a light switch. Which, being a wizard, was a good thing. But it left me standing in water several feet deep with no way out, not if I wanted to kill Jörmungandr. Its sheer size prevented it from leaving the river easily, unless it had feet hidden below the surface. While the images I found of Jörmungandr all portrayed it as a legless sea serpent, I knew how often myth and reality weren’t even close to being in the same ballpark.

Casting magic when water is involved is a tricky proposition for a wizard. Running water tends to cancel out magic if the practitioner is immersed in it. Or, in my case, if some fanatic devoted to a drowned god chains you to a wall and sets up a constant stream of seawater over your head. Just being over bodies of water can play havoc with the efficacy of my spells, yet my grandfather flew a freaking boulder over the surface of Lake Michigan. Goes to show you there's no substitute for experience.

I'd had limited luck on the lake’s surface using the Mantle's power, as Fae magic doesn't suffer from the same limitations. But my wizard skills had been far less powerful, proving a challenge when saving my daughter from a shapeshifter.

I quickly tested my shield spell, found it required more power to stabilize. Standing in water for me was akin to standing above it, but at least it didn't nullify my magic completely. Had it kept raining, however... that would've made things much more interesting.

Thunder boomed, lightning flashed, and water erupted from the river. Jörmungandr raised its massive head, smashing into - and through - the bridge next to us, sending thousands of tons of twisted metal and concrete screaming into the sky.

That is going to hurt.

My shield is pretty decent, especially for a wizard my age. Having an ego as a wizard is a quick way to find yourself dead, but I did take pride in this spell, one of my very first, as I kept refining it over the years. It could stop smaller projectiles, from bullets to bowling balls to crowbars (yes, a crowbar in certain circumstances counts as a projectile). It could disperse heat and energy, had even saved me from the full power of the Summer Lady once. And it could deflect large, heavy objects, provided I angled it just right.

But it wasn’t going to stop what was left of the Columbus Drive bridge from squashing us like bugs. Once, when chased into the realm of the Goblin King (sadly, he didn’t resemble David Bowie at all), I’d nearly been killed by tons of falling rock. I had survived by opening a portal to the mortal realm directly above me, and whatever should have pancaked me instead fell through the portal, transmuting to ectoplasm on the other side.

I might have tried the same thing here, had I not been standing in several feet of water, facing down a monstrous wave upending cars and tossing them together like billiard balls.

For the second time today, I found myself lifted by my duster’s mantle. But instead of throwing me as Thomas had before, he bounded up onto the nearest car’s roof. And then he ran, leaping from car to car, me flopping behind him like a giant rag doll. He was supernaturally fast, but so was the wave, and it was gaining on us.

“Hold on!” I told him, gathering my will. “Forzare!” I used my hand to focus the power and bounced it off the roof of the car Thomas landed on, sending us hurling through the air well ahead of the wall of water, cars, and bridge remains.

“Dammit!” Thomas snarled, trying to catch his balance. We landed in the bed of a pickup, sending the car sliding forward a few feet until it crashed into the cars ahead of it. “Warn me next time you plan on doing something stupid!” he spat, dropping both me and his duffel bag.

I got to my feet. “I did warn you.” We’d ended up at the south side of the DuSable Bridge, on the lower level of Wacker Drive. Here, the water was deeper, many of the cars bobbing up and down as they floated aimlessly. The river was rushing through the bridge’s lower level, and a number of cars that had been washed into the current pushed up against it.

“Come on.” I jumped down and made my way to the stairs, climbing quickly. The water hadn’t reached the upper level, not yet, though as Jörmungandr slid through the river, it brought along another wall of water that would completely submerge the lower level. If people were trapped or hiding in their cars below us, they’d drown. The few I’d glanced in were empty, so I had to hope all the vehicles were likewise abandoned.

As it drew closer, the serpent’s scales grew darker as the surrounding water in turn grew lighter. The ink-like substance staining the river was being absorbed, changing the pale blue into a deep, burnished indigo. Leftover tendrils of power from the summoning that somehow survived the nullification of running water, solidifying Jörmungandr’s presence in the mortal realm.

Its overlapping scales fit together perfectly. No chink in the armor I could see, no soft spots as Smaug had. Unlike the smaller dorsal scales, its belly scales were wide, making the serpent appear as a giant segmented millipede.

Its eyes, recessed under bony ridge plates, were orbs of molten gold, and it had a surprisingly short snout. Large sweeping growths of scale and bone protruded from the sides of its face and around the back of the head, similar to a lizard’s frill. If it had ears, they weren’t visible, though its head swiveled as additional gunshots echoed in the distance, trying to locate the sound.

When it opened its mouth to bellow out a cloud of noxious-looking green gas, it was filled with teeth as long as my arm. It could have swallowed me whole and still had room left over for the Cubs’ starting lineup. Hell’s bells, it could’ve snapped the Munstermobile in half.

“Fuck me,” Thomas muttered, staring at the beast. I thrust one of the sports bottles into his face.

“Drink.” I downed the potion in my bottle, doing my best to ignore the taste. I almost retched it right back up when I was finished, keeping it in my stomach only by sheer, stubborn will.

Thomas made a gagging noise. “Eating hot garbage would have been more pleasant,” he rasped, spitting a few times.

“Now I know what to get you for your birthday. You’ll thank me later.” Unscrewing the cap from my staff, I shoved it in a pocket and unsheathed the knife that had once been the head of a spear. I secured it into the socket Gitri had crafted inside the length of oak, the low thrum of power increasing as I tightened it in place.

Which, it turns out, was a really bad idea.

Every pterohawk left in Chicago sensed the rhythmic thrumming vibrating through my staff, and within a matter of seconds the sky above us filled with dark shapes. Two dozen, at least.

“We’ve got a problem,” I said, gathering my will and readying my go-to offensive spell. Few living creatures like fire, and even if it didn’t turn the pterohawks extra-crispy without eleven secret herbs and spices, flames licking at their eyeballs should provide a decent distraction.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Thomas snapped, eyes flicking upward. “Oh, hell.” He set his duffel on the hood of a convenient car and unzipped it, sorting through guns and muttering the entire time. Just as he retrieved a coach gun, the pterohawks let out a massive shriek and dove straight at us.

The shotgun boomed, both barrels firing. Twin fireballs exploded, rocketing through the pterohawks’ formation. Some veered off. Some were incinerated instantly. Most were wounded, burning from the white-hot magnesium pellets covered in white phosphorus. Thomas was using modified Dragon’s Breath shells, and they packed a punch.

Wonder if Lara gave Molly the idea.

Before I could blink, Thomas reloaded the shotgun and fired a second time, vaporizing a few more of the ‘hawks. Before flaming bits of monster landed on our heads and set us on fire, I threw up a shield. The remains bounced off, falling harmlessly into the water all around us.

Thomas reloaded again, pulling shells from a bandolier he’d strapped across his chest Chewbacca-style.

Wait, when did he get a bandolier?

“Incoming!” he shouted, just as the wall of water crashed into us. Shielding was useless, even if I’d had time to do so. A moment later, I found us on top of the nearest of the bridgehouses, one of four small stone buildings at the bridge’s corners used to monitor river traffic and open the bridge. Water slammed into the steel and stone beneath us, the impact so hard it nearly threw me from the precarious perch my brother brought us to. He grabbed my arm as I windmilled and hauled me away from the edge.

The upper deck of the bridge was now submerged, though its railing was still visible. Cars streamed by, lifted up and caught in the current. When the wave subsided and the nearby cars settled once more onto the roadway, Thomas jumped down, me in tow.

“I think this qualifies as manhandling,” I said, glaring at him as I adjusted the duster’s mantle.

“Not safe up there. Too visible, and no room to maneuver.” Then his eyes widened and he yanked me to one side, using the coach gun one-handed to fire off a round.

Right in Jörmungandr’s face.

I hadn’t known the serpent was there; it was too damn quiet over the cacophony of debris still crashing into the bridge.

“Infriga forzare!” I spat, pulling spears of ice from the surrounding water and hurling them at the serpent. Each was a foot long, tapering to a razor-sharp point, and there were dozens. The barrage smashed into the serpent’s head and chest, driving it back into the middle of the river. Its coils thrashed furiously, churning the water below into a frenzy of motion, causing additional waves to nearly swamp us.

Then it dropped below the surface, disappearing from sight.

“Harry!” I glanced over my shoulder to find Murphy, skimming across the water in a kayak. I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

Kayaking is a popular attraction on the Chicago river, and she must have found this one washed up from one of the landings swallowed by the encroaching water. I couldn’t help the smile forming, watching her navigate the vehicles and chunks of steel with ease.

Mouse ran behind her, an inch or two above the water, his fur wreathed in blue flame. As they neared, Mouse dropped into the water, panting with exhaustion.

Murphy pulled out her pink sports bottle, flipped open the cap, and chugged down its contents. When she tossed the bottle aside, her face was slightly green. “What the hell did you put in this?”

I caught the nose of her kayak before it rammed into my thigh. “A couple of dead rats Mister caught for me. Didn’t know you kayaked, Murph.”

She flashed a grin. “What you don’t know about me could fill a library, Dresden. I come down to the river occasionally in the summer.” Then her eyes widened, staring behind me. “Down!”

I dropped instantly, almost submerging myself in the muddy water as a gun roared over my head. I recognized its distinctive noise, having heard it so often. Her P90, the boxy little submachine gun that Kincaid gifted her after their trip to Hawaii.

But… how? They weren’t leaving until tomorrow.

Her gunfire was joined by a second. Thomas slung the coach gun over his back and switched to what looked like an Uzi, fully automatic. He was laying down a spray of bullets, and even over that I heard bellows from the river of an enraged mythical beast.

I stood once the gunfire ended. Jörmungandr, for the moment, had submerged itself once more, leaving streams of bubbles rising to the surface.

“Dammit,” Murph swore. “Don’t think we’re getting through those scales without a rocket launcher.”

“Thought that was on your list of goodies to bring?”

“Jared couldn’t get one in time. But he did manage to get me this,” she added, patting the side of her gun affectionately. “Nifty, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look legal.”

She grinned. “It’s not. But I’m not letting a Godzilla reject destroy my city.”

I spared a moment to look around. “Where’s the rest of Chicago PD?”

Murphy sobered. “Helping evacuate civilians. A number of them are downriver, trying to rescue people trapped in cars before they sink. The water’s cold enough that we’ve got numerous cases of hypothermia, but all the flooding is making it difficult for the EMTs and fire department to respond.” She glanced up at the high rises around us. “It’ll be some time before anyone trapped up there will get help.”

An explosion of steel and concrete erupted beneath us as Jörmungandr crashed through the stairs we’d used to climb up, sending me flying in one direction, Murph, Thomas and Mouse in the other. I landed in the water between two cars at the edge of the bridge and ducked behind the bridgehouse, angling a shield over my head. The stone against my back vibrated with each impact, but it only lasted maybe fifteen seconds before stopping.

“Everyone all right?” I called, standing slowly. Someone replied with a shotgun blast. “Guess that’s a yes.”

I turned to find Jörmungandr’s head positioned above the bridge’s railing, staring straight at me. From three feet away. Before I could react, it spat out a cloud of gas right in my face. As it didn’t melt off, I had to assume Bob’s potion worked. But it did stink, a skunk-like stench combined with the putrescence of bloated corpses twelve days dead.

“You need to brush more often. Ventas servitas!” I snarled, sending out a blast of wind from my outstretched hand. It cleared out the poison, startling the beast into exposing its throat. Summoning all my strength as the Winter Knight, I pushed uncontrolled, raw power through my staff and thrust the spear into the spot between jaw and neck with a wordless cry. But instead of puncturing through scales and flesh to the brain inside that thick, bony skull, the spear’s tip skittered off harmlessly, leaving not even a scratch behind. Overbalanced, I almost fell over the railing trying to keep a grip on my staff.

“That is so not fair!” I yelled in frustration, firing off a cone of ice-infused wind into the serpent’s eyes as it lunged for me. It bellowed and reared back in surprise.

It received a second surprise in the shape of my brother, who with sword and kukri drawn, leaped on top of its head. Thomas’ arms blurred as steel whirled around him, slicing and stabbing at every exposed part of Jörmungandr’s head he could reach, his eyes a mirror-bright silver. His vicious assault, the way he effortlessly kept his balance as the monster shook its head trying to dislodge him, was something straight out of a martial arts flick. It also didn’t do a damn bit of good.

With one last snarl, Thomas yelled to me, “Get off the bridge, idiot!” and launched himself into a perfect somersault.

The serpent was big, but it was also fast. It lunged for Thomas, jaws snapping at his feet. I scrambled around the bridgehouse in time to see Murphy, armed with her P90, fire off several shots at its eyes. It shied away and abandoned its pursuit of Thomas.

Divine relics, such as the Spear of Destiny, can cut through freaking Titanic bronze, and it can’t even dent Jörmungandr’s scales?

It has to come from the proper source, and be used for the proper reasons. Vadderung himself told me that last year, before the Battle of Chicago. But the Spear had to be the proper source, and if saving the people I’d promised to protect wasn’t the proper reason, I didn’t know what the hell would be.

Likely it does not work on Jörmungandr in that fashion because it is itself a divine being and not of this realm, whispered Lasciel deep in my mind.

You couldn’t have mentioned that a little sooner? The force of my rage pushed her back into the cage I’d built for her, cutting off any response.

“Time for plan B. The Spear can’t get through the scales,” I snarled.

Thomas sheathed his blades and grabbed the coach gun. “Do you even have a plan B?”

“Go for the eyes!” Murphy yelled, firing off additional rounds at that very target. She should’ve added, You idiot. Unlike a snake, Jörmungandr had eyelids, which meant the eyes themselves might be vulnerable. I saw it blink furiously as it reared back from Murph’s gunfire, then release another cloud of toxic gas.

“Ventas servitas!” I shouted, sweeping my staff in an arc in front of me. The cone of wind blew the gas back in the serpent’s face and across the river, the dense cloud quickly breaking up.

While its eyes were a decent target, I’d never have the reach to hit one while standing where we were. Not to mention the bony ridges protecting it would mean I’d need to be very, very accurate; easier done with a bullet than the thrust (or throw) of a spear. Thomas, if he vaulted up onto its head again, might have the leverage, but didn’t have the ability to use the staff’s power to activate the blade. He also didn’t trust himself wielding the spear, and I wouldn’t risk that temptation unless we had no other choice.

But we might not have any other choice.

As Jörmungandr opened its mouth to spew forth an additional round of poison, I had an idea. Likely not a smart one, but… in the back of my mind, I decided it could work.

And if it didn’t… well, I wouldn’t be any worse off than now.

Unless you die. That would qualify as worse off.

“Need everyone to back up!” I yelled, gesturing with my hands even as I flung another gust of ice and wind into the serpent’s face. “Murph, get its attention.”

“What the hell you playing at, Harry?” Thomas snarled, trying his luck once more with the coach gun. The fireballs were impressive, the blasts whizzing by my head like miniature suns, but did next to nothing with Jörmungandr’s thickly scaled hide.

I glanced at Murphy, and while she hadn’t said anything, I saw the question on her face. “I’m about to do my best Thor impression,” I told her, whirling my staff. She glanced at it, then the serpent, and her eyes widened.

“Thomas, move!” she barked, firing off another burst from her P90 while hauling him away by his arm. I heard a brief but intense exchange of words, and Thomas shot me a look that said, You’d better know what you’re doing.

They followed the roadway, trying to draw the serpent further east.

“Mouse, need your help. You up for this?” His rumbling growl sent blue sparks sliding along his fur, setting the tips on fire. “Okay, need you to veil us. Not a complete veil, more like a curtain of invisibility so Big and Ugly can’t see us.”

Jörmungandr lunged towards me, but stopped as Murphy slammed another few rounds near its eye. It roared, deep and bone-rattlingly loud, took a swipe at me anyway, but I saw it coming. I dodged to one side and smacked it on the nose as it passed with the end of my staff, swinging like I was the pinch hitter for the Cubs. It connected with the thump of solid, wizard-imbued oak hitting a mythological beast, and nearly dislocated both shoulders.

Just because you have the strength doesn’t mean the rest of you can keep up with it. Butters had told me something along those lines more than once. Hadn’t sunk in yet that tendon and muscle and bone were just as human as they’d always been, with the same physical limitations.

The sharp spikes of staticky pain quickly faded into the background as the Mantle’s power took hold.

“Keep it busy! When I say, unload on it with everything you’ve got!” Thomas must’ve swapped his gun for a rifle. A large caliber rifle, judging by the sound, one he was inhumanly accurate with. Bullet after bullet hit near its eyes, finally irritating it enough to vent other round of poison. Then arrows started flying. And they were on fire.

Show off.

A touch of Mouse’s magic and Jörmungandr shimmered in front of us, fading into a dim shape against a somewhat lighter background. When I glanced up, the sky snapped back into color.

“Good boy,” I murmured quietly. “Hold it steady.” Mouse rumbled agreement.

I sliced the base of my thumb open with the bronze blade, coating its surface with my blood.

THRUMthrumTHRUMthrum.

The rhythmic pulsing increased both in volume and in speed, steadying as it matched my own heartbeat.

Because that’s not worrying.

I planted the staff into the murky water and concrete below, its bloody tip pointed straight at the storm raging above me. Its power had been siphoned from Demonreach’s ley line, power I could use now for my own purposes.

I reached for it, using the knife as a focus, keeping my left hand on Mouse’s back to steady me. I shaped a massive spell, pulling on the dark, twisted energy fueling the storm, feeling the endless whispers of Demonreach’s condemned slide through my mind. When those whispers grew too loud to ignore, I reached for the coldest depths of Arctis Tor, locking them in endless ice. Binding the two together were strands of soulfire, slivers of my very life force woven into the construct that built, and built, until every hair on my body stood on end.

The pressure to contain the energy was immense, and just before my skin split apart, I screamed, “Now!”

Murphy fired the coach gun, twin fireballs hitting Jörmungandr right between the eyes, while Thomas unloaded with his crossbow. It definitely did not like the heat or the projectiles, even if it wasn’t actually hurt by burning slag that could melt steel.

It roared its defiance.

Mouse dropped his veil.

“Fulminos!” I pushed every ounce of power and will and fear and anger through my staff, through the bronze blade secured to its tip, and pointed it straight at Jörmungandr’s wide open mouth.

THRUMTHRUMTHRUM.

Amplified by the divine relic, the power exploded out of me. My vision became a sea of refracted diamond and brilliant amethyst as the force of that explosion smashed into my chest, hurling me through the air. I flew through a window, through glass already shattered from the concussive force traveling faster than I could. Landing heavily on my back, I slid another twenty feet, sending racks of clothing and mannequin displays crashing to the floor.

My head smashed against something hard, and the world went black.

This time, only my alter-ego appeared to greet me in the dark, featureless room. We were sitting across a table from one another, his expression grim.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” I quipped.

My double gave me a disgusted look. “You nearly burned out every nerve in your body pulling that stunt. Lasciel helped me bleed off the excess power and divert it to specific spots in your brain. She has a healthy sense of self-preservation, I’ll give her that.”

I frowned. “Which means what? Brain damage?”

“On a microscopic scale in several unused parts of the brain. Not as extensive as what happened before, but…” he trailed off.

Oh, crap. “So what will happen to Harry Actual when… you know.” I didn’t want to say, When Lash sacrifices herself for us, in case she was listening, but who was I kidding? She was always listening.

He shrugged. “No clue. I know as much as you do about how the brain works. Bob will have to take a look to assess the damage.”

My fingers poked and prodded my scalp, though it felt no different. The brain doesn’t have pain receptors, so any damage to the tissue itself wouldn’t actually hurt. “Well… damn.”

“Pretty much,” he said with a sigh.

“And we don’t even know if the cost was worth it.”

“Once you wake up, we’ll have a pretty good idea.” He tapped his fingers on the table in rhythm for a moment. “This was too easy.”

“Easy?” I tapped my temple lightly. “You call that easy?”

“You know what I mean. Jörmungandr, the destruction of Chicago, saving the timeline. I expected something more on the scale of what Ethniu did. Hell, that stupid serpent didn’t even make it out of the river. How exactly do you destroy Chicago when you can only reach a handful of buildings?”

He was right. The buildings lining the river would have their ground floor (and any floors below that) flooded, including the one I was currently unconscious in. Some, those that were adjacent to the riverwalk, would be in worse shape as they had a lower elevation. But unless the water rose an additional twenty feet or the serpent suddenly sprouted wings, Jörmungandr seemed confined to the river channel.

“Maybe the flooding was the point. The longer it remained here, the worse it would be. Water can destroy just as easily as explosives, given the right volume and speed. Whatever Jörmungandr could knock down on its own was merely a bonus. Or maybe the Army would eventually show up, creating more of a disaster trying to kill it than it could accomplish on its own.”

“Or maybe it was just a distraction for something else. Something worse,” he said.

“Well, flooding this much of downtown gives any of the necromancers free rein to all of the buildings here, provided they can access them from the roof. But what could any of them possibly want downtown? The Darkhallow is just a few days away, and won’t even take place in the city.”

He continued to drum his fingers on the table. “A backup plan?”

I gave him the side eye. “Seriously? Now you’re just borrowing trouble. Don’t we have enough to worry about? Like our imminent departure?”

He waved a hand. “Just keep it in mind, once you wake up. Oh, by the way, you have a visitor.”

“What?”

Pain blossomed as I jerked back to consciousness. My vision was still obscured by a bright haze, throwing everything into shades of gray without definition. “Mouse?” I croaked. No response, which hopefully meant he’d avoided the blast that caught me unawares. I tried to move but only found more pain, and relaxed against the wall with a groan. I’d overextended the Mantle’s power.

Maybe if I just rest my eyes a few minutes.

“Wizard Dresden,” purred a rich voice, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. My vision barely made out the shape of the man, let alone details, but I knew that voice. It had featured prominently in my nightmares for quite some time. Being tortured by someone tends to make an impression.

Quintus Cassius, former member of the Order of the Blackened Denarius.

You’re not supposed to be here. I stared dumbly up at the man who had once hosted the Fallen angel known as Saluriel. The same Fallen bound to the coin now stored in the depths of Demonreach. Thomas killed its current bearer somewhere in the Mediterranean, then brought the blackened Denarius with him on his next visit to Chicago.

The bright spots clouding my eyes began to fade, revealing the sallow, liver-spotted skin, the scraggly white hair, the insanity and hatred in his eyes.

“That was quite a show, boy. Cowl invited me to witness your death, so imagine my surprise to find you still breathing. Though I am delighted we have time to become reacquainted.” He smiled then, a chilling smile, and withdrew a wickedly curved talon knife. It reminded me of the one Lara usually carried.

Oh, God.

I struggled, reached for power, for anything, but there was so little left. I’d nearly burned myself out. My limbs didn’t respond to commands, and managed only to flail around a bit, the staff I still held falling awkwardly across my lap.

Hell’s bells. I couldn’t flex my fingers, not without agony screaming through my hand and up my arm. The power coursing through my staff had fused skin to wood, leaving it burned and blackened. The pain, as much as it hurt, was a good sign. It meant I hadn’t damaged my right hand to the point of uselessness.

Cassius laughed, watching my frantic, failed attempts. Then his eyes alighted on the bronze knife secured to the staff’s tip. “Ah,” he breathed, “you are in possession of a divine relic. I wondered why you so foolishly attempted to stop Jörmungandr by yourself. You thought your will, your strength, your power alone would be adequate to kill a creature capable of destroying the world? What hubris.”

“Put up or shut up,” I croaked, finally regaining the power of speech. Hard to mouth off to the villain of the week when you can’t talk.

He bent over me, caressing the staff. “Not only will Nicodemus welcome me back with open arms, but I will present to him an immeasurable prize.” Then he ripped it from my grip, peeling away strips of skin. Blood splattered everywhere as my fingers spasmed uncontrollably, and the pain stole what little breath I had left in my lungs.

He fisted my hair, forcing my head up.

“Worst Groundhog Day remake ever,” I mumbled, shivering from shock.

Manacles clamped around my wrists. Even in my woozy state I knew what they were, thorn manacles designed to disable a wizard’s power. Unlike Morgan’s, these were made of iron, cheaper and easier to manufacture than the silvery metal the Fae favored. If I used my power, iron would slice into my flesh and disable the pain suppression the Winter Mantle currently provided me, which in its weakened state wasn’t much.

If my head was anything to judge by, I’d be in agony so intense I’d likely pass out again. Leaving Cassius ample opportunity to flay me alive in search of Lasciel’s coin. Which I didn’t have, and knew he wouldn’t believe me.

As I mentioned, we’d had this conversation before.

“I owe you so much, Dresden,” he said, crouching down for a better look. “I will be dead within a year, thanks to you and your friends. When I lost my coin, Nicodemus had no spare to replace it with because he’d given that coin away. To you.” He shook my head a few times, setting the world spinning in flashes of crimson and black. “Lasciel would not be my first choice, but it is what I have to work with. Tell me where you’ve hidden the coin, and I’ll make your death quick.”

Something sharp caressed my neck, slicing through skin. It was barely a scratch, but steel made contact with blood for just an instant, and the Mantle’s numbing protection failed as Fae magic withered before cold iron. I howled in agony.

When I came back to my senses, I found my chin resting on my chest. Cassius had released me, likely startled by the unexpected reaction.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, sounding more curious than upset.

I’d bitten my tongue, and spat out a mouthful of blood. “You haven’t even bought me dinner yet. A little romance before the torture begins, that’s what I always say.”

He kicked me in the side in response. My duster absorbed much of the power, but I had the presence of mind to feign injury and groaned, doubling over. “Tell me where the coin is!” This time the knife drew a long, slow line across my collarbone, through my shirt.

I screamed the entire time, a small, dim part of me wondering where Murphy was. Or Thomas. Or Mouse. Anyone who could just make the pain stop.

“I don’t have it,” I choked out between sobs when the knife was withdrawn. “I bound Lasciel and buried the coin.”

He leaned down. “Liar. I can smell the stink of brimstone on you.” Then he grabbed the manacles and hauled me across the floor until I was flat on my back. Instinctively, I reached for my magic, and howled again as the thorns cut into my wrists. Cassius ignored the outburst, opening my duster and pushing up my shirt, leaving my stomach exposed.

Oh, God, not again.

I remembered how much this hurt the first time around. How much worse would it be as iron bit through flesh over and over.

Cassius traced a pattern over my bare skin with his fingers. “Ah, Dresden. I had hoped to make this last longer. I had such wonderful plans for you, and so many tools to choose from. But I left them behind, and alas only have the knife to work with. So, tell me,” he purred, the blade hovering over my belly, “where you keep Lasciel’s coin.”

I pictured being gutted, my intestines slithering out over the floor. He could read my future in my own entrails. Wouldn’t that be a neat trick. I almost laughed at the joke, but had no energy.

“Try the warehouse where the Ark of the Covenant is stashed. Think it’s on -“ my words morphed into a scream as the knife parted skin and my world washed out in a haze of pain.

“Your screams are beautiful,” Cassius said, continuing to slice. The actual cuts hurt very little, as the knife was sharp and the wounds shallow. He was too intent on drawing out the torture to go any deeper, at least not yet. It was the rest of my body screaming in agony at the loss of the Mantle’s protective power.

He withdrew the knife and I collapsed to the ground, shuddering. Tears streamed down my face, blood down my throat. I’d bitten my tongue again. “Just remembered,” I choked out, “used the coin to pay my bus fare.”

Cassius stabbed me with the Spear of Destiny. The leaf-shaped blade pierced through the denim and flesh of my upper thigh, tearing a scream from my already raw throat. Because this pain burned, straight into the marrow of my bones, setting my blood to boiling. Iron thorns bit into my wrists, triggered by my attempts to stop its magic.

THRUMTHRUMTHRUM. Pressure behind my eyes grew until I thought they would burst in their sockets.

“This is what trying to control divine power feels like, boy,” Cassius said. “Are you enjoying the experience?”

I was too busy screaming to respond, which allowed a shaggy, canine shape, silently stalking towards us, to make his move. It wasn’t Mouse this time who’d snuck up behind Cassius.

It was Will.

The huge werewolf sprang from the shadows, jaws closing on Cassius’ neck. With a shake of his head, those vicious fangs ripped Cassius’ throat out, spraying blood over wolf and wizard alike.

Quintus Cassius died instantly, the surprise and terror frozen on his face.

And he never had a chance to cast his death curse.

Die alone, Cassius. You deserve it.

Then there was a young, naked man in front of me, short, muscular, and liberally covered in blood. He yanked the spear from my leg and tossed it aside. “Harry! Are you all right?” He helped me sit up, very slowly, as the room wouldn’t stop spinning, and I couldn’t stop shaking. “What the hell are these?” His fingers pulled at the manacles, sending bolts of pain up my arms.

“Mmrgh,” was all I could manage.

Will looked at my blood on his fingers, then glanced to Cassius’ body. Will flipped him over, heedless of the gore that remained of the man’s throat. He searched Cassius’ pockets, eventually finding the key. Unlocking the manacles restored a measure of my strength as nascent magic swirled through me. A few seconds later, the Winter Mantle’s icy fingers caressed my heart, spreading delicious cold to my extremities, soothing all the aches and pains until they were nothing more than background noise.

I swallowed and rasped, “Thanks, Will. Might have a concussion.” I was so, so tired. I didn’t know what the Spear had done to me, leeched power or tried to give it back. Either way, it had exhausted my body beyond its limits, and I collapsed on my side.

“Harry!”

“Did we win?” I forced out, barely conscious.

Will snorted softly. “Yeah, we did. You… well, you’ll have to see for yourself. Sorry we couldn’t get here any sooner. We had to ditch the car a mile out from downtown and run the rest of the way. Georgia should be here in a minute or two, and she’s carrying a medkit. Just rest, Harry.”

Rest sounded like a fabulous idea, so I did. It wasn’t long before I heard Georgia’s voice, felt her hand touch my forehead, and opened my eyes. “Georgia.”

“Hey, Harry,” she said, offering a smile. She had on clothing suspiciously resembling that of the store we were in, which meant she’d arrived as a werewolf. “Lie still, I’m going to bandage your hand first, then we’ll take a look at your leg.”

I closed my eyes again. “All right.”

“The cuts on your wrists look superficial.” A burning sensation shot through my fingers and up to my elbow, and I drew in a surprised breath between my teeth. Iodine, poured liberally over the wounds, but the pain was gone in a heartbeat. Georgia patted the skin (what was left of it) dry with careful hands, then wrapped my palms in gauze from fingers to wrist. She wrapped my thumb separately, leaving me able to use it in a limited fashion.

“Will, help me turn him over. Get the scissors from the pack. Oh, God…” she said, pulling my shirt up and away from my stomach.

“Not deep,” I slurred, hissing as more iodine sluiced over my wounds. But the liquid was cold, which felt quite nice once the pain dulled a bit.

“No,” she agreed, “but there’s a lot of them.” Georgia sounded angry, angry enough to kill Cassius had Will not already done so. She dried the area and taped down a bandage. “Now let’s see to your leg.” She cut one side of my jeans up to the thigh and peeled away the denim. “Uh… Harry?”

At that, I blinked and looked down. The spear’s wound wasn’t large, and it wasn’t bleeding. It appeared cauterized, the edges surrounded by burnt tissue, with a spiderweb of black veins spreading out from a central point. “That’s a problem,” I said.

A vampire jumped in through the window. “What’s a problem?” he asked, shoes crunching on broken glass as he walked over to us. My brother looked like he’d just arrived from a catalog photo shoot, not a hair out of place, and no injuries I could see.

The bastard.

“Where’s Karrin?”

“Being treated by the EMTs,” Thomas replied, holding me down by my shoulder as I struggled to get up. “Wait, just wait. She’s fine, they think her ankle might be broken. One of those seaweed-things dragged her into the river.”

“What?” I knocked his hand away. “I need to see her.”

“She’s fine,” he repeated. “Just a small case of hypothermia is all. I left Mouse with her.”

My heart skipped a beat. “He’s all right?”

“The electrical discharge burned his paws and he’s a little banged up, but the thick fur and body mass saved him from anything worse.”

I felt sick. I’d done that to Mouse.

Thomas crouched down so we were at eye level. “I know that look. Feel guilty about it later. Right now, we need to get you home. Hey, what the hell is wrong with your leg?” he asked, tilting his head for a better look. Then he drew in a breath. “Not necrosis or blood poisoning. And not a fungal infection.”

I touched a fingertip cautiously to the black marks on my leg, then gagged on the taste of death, vile and putrid. “Necromancy. Black magic. Trapped in the Spear, released when Cassius stabbed me with it.”

Thomas looked at the dead body. “Who’s Cassius?”

“Former Denarian.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t like you much, did he?”

I huffed a laugh. “Might have beaten him pretty badly with a baseball bat after he surrendered his coin a few years ago.”

“So what do we do about that?” Thomas asked, chin jerking towards my leg.

It was starting to itch, though it didn’t appear the tendrils were growing. The itching though… probably wasn’t a good sign. “Nothing, right now. It’s not spreading. I need rest and Bob to look at it before I attempt anything. I’m barely running on fumes, and don’t have the energy I need to do a proper examination. Help me up.”

Thomas gave me a dubious look. “Can you stand?”

“One way to find out.”

Using my duster’s mantle (again), Thomas lifted me to my feet. The room spun dizzily, but he caught me before I fell. “I need my staff. Don’t touch the knife.”

Will reappeared, this time dressed and his face cleaned of blood. “It’s over here.” He picked it up, then peered at the wood. “Is that… skin?”

“Yep. How do you think I got this?” I held up my bandaged hand. “Bring it here.” With Will and Georgia’s help, I managed to unscrew the bronze blade from its socket. I wiped what blood I could off on my jeans, then sheathed and dropped it into my duster’s pocket, exchanging it for the cap.

“We’re gonna go meet up with the rest of the Alphas. Get some rest, Harry,” Georgia said, standing on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on my cheek. Then she stripped unselfconsciously (I turned my head away, Thomas didn’t) and shifted.

The medkit was part of a backpack specially designed to fit a werewolf around the chest and forelegs. Will secured it to Georgia with a series of plastic buckles. “Good?” he asked her, and Georgia bobbed her head. Then he, too, stripped and shifted into his werewolf form and they were gone, racing nearly silently down the stairs.

I looked at Thomas.

“I’m not kissing you,” he said.

“Probably for the best. You did drink that potion.” I tried a few steps, leaning heavily on my staff. My legs could barely support my weight. “I don’t know how far I can walk. Where did we leave the car?”

“Not close. Let me help.”

The stairs to the first floor were wet and slippery, and Thomas’ steel grip on my arm saved me when I lost my balance.

We emerged into sunshine, bright and warm, a blue, cloudless sky above.

Sirens echoed ceaselessly, though none of them approached our location.

The city was no longer flooded, the water subsided into the river channel, but the damage it left behind was substantial. The street outside was covered in inches of mud and standing water, cars flipped over on their sides, some upside down. Parts of buildings nearest the river had collapsed, and to the east of us, a good portion of the upper level of Wacker Drive had fallen onto the lower.

The Columbus Drive bridge was destroyed. Its remains blocked the channel, murky water forming a gigantic swirling pool behind it. As I walked closer to the river through the slimy muck, I passed more than one body, some face down, others staring at me, accusing me.

Why didn’t you save us?

I’d done the best I could, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for the families of the dead.

“Search and rescue is working their way from the west,” Thomas said, watching me, noting my expression. “The damage and debris this close to the lake has made it all but impossible to reach. It’ll take some time to bring in equipment and start clearing out the cars.” Likely Murphy told him that, hearing the news through her radio.

I looked over the railing and stared at the wreckage of my city. The river was filled with cars, chunks of concrete, twisted steel, and more than a few bodies. I wanted to cry, in shame, frustration, anger. But most of all, exhaustion.

It could have been so much worse. Don’t forget that.

Of the serpent I saw no trace. “What happened to Jörmungandr?” I asked quietly.

“Exploded,” Thomas said with a shrug. “Rained ectoplasm over the surrounding blocks and took the storm with it, but not the monsters. In fact,” he said, leaning over to look down, “might still be a few sharks in the river. Yes, I told the cops when I dropped off Karrin, and no, they didn’t believe me.”

With the amount of silt and debris in the water, I doubted there was enough oxygen left to breathe for fish, let alone sharks. But if there were any remaining, at least they’d be easy to see.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “I should’ve known Cowl would do the summoning at Demonreach. I could’ve stopped him before any of this happened.”

“Just because you’ve lived one possible future doesn’t mean you can see the future,” Thomas said.

I blew out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t have to see the future to predict that location made the most sense. I just had to get my head out of my own ass long enough to quit worrying about my problems and actually think.” The nausea was worse out here, the sunshine too much of a cheery contrast to the destruction in front of me.

It was… quiet. Sirens and the sound of a distant helicopter reached us, but the normal hum of the city was absent. No cars rumbling down the streets, no honking horns, no blaring music. Even the warning bells on the bridge for Lake Shore Drive were silent, drowned by the river. The structure itself remained, each leaf locked in place, though it might take months to repair the mechanism to lower them again.

“We should…” Thomas trailed off as the helicopter grew louder, emerging around a bend in the river. It was Chicago PD, assessing the damage, looking for survivors (or looters, though there wasn’t much to loot). It slowed as it approached our position, hovering over us long enough for me to ready my shield spell. Normally officers didn’t shoot unarmed civilians from helicopters, but these were far from normal circumstances.

It finally turned away, following the river towards the lake at a slower pace.

I wondered if even now someone was radioing Detective Rudolph to report my position. He’d love to arrest me for something, like setting off a bomb in downtown Chicago. Which, to be fair, was pretty much the truth. There were potentially hundreds, even thousands of witnesses, people trapped on the higher floors of nearby buildings by the flooding river.

My height, my staff, and my duster made me rather conspicuous.

“Let’s go before they come back with a warrant,” I said, gesturing to the helicopter.

“Let them try,” Thomas growled, shooting it a dark look.

Because that’s all I needed, my brother the vampire throwing down with a bunch of cops in a misguided attempt to save me.

It was difficult walking through the city, and not just because of the occasional body or mounds of debris, shattered glass from broken windows, chunks of stone and concrete from buildings. In places, the cars were packed so tightly together that we had to crawl over hoods and bumpers.

Now that the world didn’t appear to be ending, people emerged, some scared, some injured, some shell-shocked, others panicked and searching for family or friends. Names, an endless litany of the missing, each drove a nail through my heart. I wanted to stop, to help, but I wasn’t in any position to do so. I could barely remain upright.

I made it three blocks. Three long, exhausting, nightmarish blocks, where the sun was too bright, the voices too loud, and the world was on spin cycle. Then I fell to my knees and promptly threw up. I kept heaving long after my stomach was empty.

Thomas probed the back of my skull. “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard,” he said. “I can feel a lump here. Bet you have a concussion.”

Stars flew across my vision. “Thomas?”

He withdrew his hands. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can get up. Can you call us a taxi?” He helped sit me down on the edge of the curb. “Or maybe one of those giant eagles from Middle Earth can fly us home.”

“Sure. Why don’t you just lean back a moment and rest?”

Thomas repositioned me against something solid, and I closed my eyes. The sun felt so good on my face. Warm and drowsy, an image of Murphy surfaced in my mind. “Hey, Thomas?”

“Yeah?

“Thanks for saving Murph. I love her, you know.”

“I know you do.”

“I love you, too, man.”

“You’re clearly delusional.”

The world began fading away. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” I mumbled, joining the world in oblivion.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Dresden?”

I was sitting on the steps of what looked to be an apartment building’s internal stairwell. An older one, thin granite slabs atop wood with an ornate railing and silver finials. Beneath my feet was a tiled mosaic floor of varying shades of gray, a patterned border of black running along the base of the stairs and down the hall. To my left was a pair of elevators and to my right was a long hall with wood doors and frosted glass light fixtures that evoked an art deco style. Above each door was a transom that you’d find in older prewar buildings, designed to open for air circulation and allow in light from the windows at the end of the hall.

And the air… had that musty smell of dust and mold and decades of Chicago summer humidity ingrained in its walls. The floor, too, spoke of age, years of dirt and grime accumulating in the corners, a few tiles chipped or replaced with ones a poor match to the original.

This is much more detailed than most of my dreams, I thought bemusedly. And because it was a dream, the nausea and pain were gone, both hands healed and healthy. I took a moment to flex my fingers, then clenched them into fists a couple of times. You never realize how much you depend on your hands or their dexterity until it’s taken from you. While I’d lived through this before, it didn’t make it any more pleasant the second time around.

“Mr. Dresden.”

I jerked my head up.

A little girl stood in front of me, staring. She couldn’t have been older than five, wearing a navy dress dotted with bright pink and white flowers, and black sandals on her feet. With her dark, curly hair done up in long pigtails and large, dark eyes, she reminded me so much of Maggie, though the two looked very little alike.

That thought brought with it an ache in my chest, thinking of all the years of Maggie’s childhood I’d missed.

“Who are you?” I asked her.

She twisted a finger in her hair. “Paige. Are you Mr. Dresden?”

I nodded. “I am.”

“I have something for you.” She held out her clenched hand. I cupped mine underneath, and she dropped a small object into my palm. A tingle of magic washed over my skin. My magic. I brought it closer for examination, pushing it around with a fingertip. A dried lima bean glued to a steel backing. A pin I crafted for those survivors of the Battle of Chicago who’d fought under the banner of the Winter Knight, each imbued with a promise of aid. I’d handed out fifty or so at Graceland Cemetery during Karrin Murphy’s wake, and I knew none of them had been to a five-year-old child.

“Where did you get this?”

She smiled shyly. “Daddy gave it to me. He said to give it to you if I need help, and I need help.”

This wasn’t how my dreams usually went. By now, there should be some big, nasty monster with eight arms and five rows of teeth and acidic saliva trying to eat my face off. Or trying to eat her face off, and me trying desperately to save her. It typically didn’t end well for anyone involved.

I gave her a my best smile. I didn’t want to scare her, but I got the impression this kid wasn’t scared by much. “With what, kiddo?”

“My daddy is sick. You have to help him.”

“I’m a wizard, not a doctor,” I replied, chuckling inwardly at my joke. “If he’s sick, he should go to the hospital.”

Paige shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no, not doctor sick. Magic sick.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of magic?”

She wrinkled her nose. “The magic kind,” she said, sounding as if I was a not terribly bright adult and she had to dumb things down for me. Which… was fair. It was me, after all.

“Where’s your dad?”

Paige pointed down the hall. “There. Promise to help him.” When I didn’t respond, her eyes filled with tears. “Promise!”

I hate seeing kids cry, even more now that I’d been a full-time father for a year. The tears rolling down Paige’s cheeks tugged at my heartstrings, hard, and it was all too easy to picture Maggie standing here in her place. I wanted to give her a hug, but resisted the urge. I’d probably be reported for kidnapping or something. “Okay, okay, I promise,” I told her gently, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “All right?”

The scene shifted suddenly in that abrupt way dreams do, the building’s interior replaced by a roofless Greek temple, marble columns rising into the sky. I sat on a stone bench, the air warm from the bright sun high above. A handful of puffy white clouds drifted along, in no hurry to get anywhere.

Someone was sitting next to me.

“Sir Knight, I thought it time we spoke.” The man’s face was youthful, though his hair and neatly trimmed beard were pure white. But his pale blue eyes… they were beyond ancient, spoke not of millennia but epochs, to the beginning of the universe itself. His presence, too, spoke of age and power far greater than any being I had ever met.

It was humbling, awe-inspiring, and terrifying all at once.

“Do you know who I am?”

“The Lord of Time,” I guessed. “But I don’t see a Tardis.” Yeah, even around a primordial god I can’t control my mouth.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Insouciant, but I expected nothing less. I have been observing you your entire life.”

That… bothered me. Vadderung told me after my death and resurrection (so to speak) I’d drawn the attention of beings who before took no notice of me. To find out Chronos paid attention to my existence before that was somewhat scary. “Why?” Before he could answer, another thought popped into my head accompanied by a flash of anger. “Have you been meddling with it?”

An image from Clash of the Titans (the original, you heathen) came to mind, of Thetis picking up a clay model of Perseus and transporting him to the city of Joppa, altering his life forever. Had my life been similarly toyed with, simply because Chronos could?

Grab the popcorn, let’s see what happens when we kill off his father.

He shook his head. “No. I limit my interactions with the mortal realm, as they tend to produce adverse effects. Destabilization in the continuity of time, for example. In extreme cases, a complete collapse of the universe. That is why I am speaking to you in the realm of dreams while you are unconscious in a location more resilient to temporal paradoxes.”

The nascent anger faded, replaced by disbelief. I raised my eyebrows. “Chicago?”

“On the island you refer to as Demonreach.”

“I’m on Demonreach? How?”

He waved a hand. “The All-Father owed me a favor. He brought you here at my request.”

Vadderung definitely had the power to create portals between two locations of his choosing. But my last memories were of stumbling through several severely damaged city blocks, listening to people desperately search for their missing friends and family. Thomas setting me against sun-warmed stone after I couldn’t go any further. Had we made it home safely? Or had Vadderung taken me right then and there?

“And Thomas Raith? The White Court vampire I was with?”

Chronos gave me a knowing look. “Your brother is unharmed, though it was necessary to incapacitate him. He is quite protective of you.”

My stomach flipped a few times, wondering what exactly had been done to him. Venting my anger on Chronos seemed a bad way to make a good impression, so I did my best to push the worry away. I’d have plenty of time later, provided I survived the next few minutes. “So I’m guessing you didn’t drop by for my hot cocoa recipe.”

A faint smile. “No. This is about the Outsiders, and what you refer to as the adversary.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“Do you know the origin of the universe?”

“Uh… is this a trick question?” I asked. “I know the general concept. The Big Bang, the universe expanding, gravity causing stars and planets to form from the gas and dust left behind.” I’d visited the Adler Planetarium a couple times and picked up a few things.

He nodded. “But what caused the Big Bang?”

I frowned at him. “I have no idea. Don’t think the scientists know, either.”

“It was my sister,” he said with a sigh. “Chaos, with her ever-fickle nature, grew bored with our existence and created the universe on a whim. New worlds, new life, and new gods born of the old, which went on to breathe life into their own creations. Those new gods rose in prominence and power through belief, eventually eclipsing our own roles in the natural order of things. Death and I, we are more pragmatic than our sister, for she didn’t see it as an inevitable progression but as her power being stolen. She grew jealous, began populating the universe with hideous creatures that desired one thing: destruction. Beings that defied the very laws of nature she helped create.”

Chronos spread his hands in front of him. “And so, we were left with two choices. Let her destroy this fragile, beautiful existence we’d nurtured and watched grow beyond every expectation, or stop her. We chose to banish her and those that followed her to the realm outside our universe, where they could do no harm.”

Hell’s bells. That meant… “Chaos is… the adversary?” I asked quietly.

Chronos nodded slowly. “She is the driving force behind it, yes, though ‘the adversary’ as you put it isn’t just one being. It is the collection of creatures outside of the universe, unified under a single purpose: to destroy what they cannot have. In countless timelines, they have succeeded. In countless others, they have not. Yet.”

My heart beat hard in my chest. “Does that mean there’s no way to win? Destruction is inevitable?”

His eyes flashed, shifting from pale blue to stormy gray. “There is always a way, Starborn. A slim chance, requiring a perfect alignment of forces and choices to defeat my sister that has yet to happen. Thus far, in every future I have glimpsed, not a single universe survives.”

“You helped Vadderung bring me here in the hopes of changing that,” I said quietly, chewing on my lip.

“Yes. Your presence and your actions here continue to ripple forward, creating new pathways that even I cannot completely ascertain.” He must have seen the fear in my expression, though I tried to hide it. “You think this is a bad thing, but it is not. If I cannot fully see the future, then Chaos likewise cannot fully plan for it.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “It’s… a lot to take in.”

Chronos nodded solemnly. “You are Starborn. One of many, in fact, but uniquely positioned to affect the fate of your universe. Do you know what being Starborn means?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I know it offers me protection from the outsiders’ influence. It also allows me to sense the starlight and bend it to my will, in a manner of speaking.”

Chronos looked up, and the sun winked out, replaced by diamonds scattered across a night sky crafted of the darkest velvet. The cool brush of starlight washed over my face, the song of creation and destruction all at once. “There is no light, outside the universe.”

“Empty Night,” I said.

“Just so. Here, the stars are a light in the darkness. As are you. As are all Starborn, though most do not know their true origin, and fewer still their purpose.” He turned to face me, and I averted my eyes so as not to be drawn into a soulgaze that would likely leave me insane. If I survived it at all. “You, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, are the fulcrum around which your universe pivots. Chaos, and those she commands, cannot abide the light. The light you carry within you, and that you use to inspire others.”

No pressure, Harry. But as my mind usually does, it began compartmentalizing, breaking something that seemed too vast to comprehend into smaller, easier to handle fragments. And one thought stood out.

“Does that mean if Chaos is destroyed, the Outsiders will fall?”

Chronos waggled his hand back and forth. “Like an ant colony, remove the queen and the workers will eventually die. But… you cannot destroy Chaos. It is impossible for one of us to be truly wiped from existence.“

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Then what are we supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?” Then I looked down at my feet, to the ground beneath, and remembered where I was. “Can she be contained by Demonreach?” The prison held many dark, nameless gods in stasis. It held the Last Titan. But would it hold Chaos herself, a primordial force of creation and destruction?

He raised a snow-white brow. “I believe that is the island’s purpose, is it not? You will need to confer with its guardian.”

My stomach tied itself into knots. Stars and stones. I barely survived the Battle of Chicago. Hell, Chicago barely survived. To bring Chaos here, to the shores of Lake Michigan, and pit my will against hers? Because as its Warden, it would be my will needed to contain her on Demonreach. If she could be contained at all, and I had serious doubts about that.

“Your life thus far has not been an easy one, and I fear the road ahead of you is harder still. But I have delayed you long enough. The guardian requires your assistance.” Chronos stood, blue robe falling to cover sandaled feet.

“What? Why?”

He offered me a genuine smile. “So many questions. Do not lose faith in yourself, Harry Dresden. You have a good heart.”

“WARDEN.”

The voice was immovable, implacable, ringing in my ears though it had been spoken directly into my mind. The force of it shocked me instantly awake, exchanging a warm evening for a chilly autumn afternoon, brilliant stars for a sullen sky filled with raging storm clouds. Two seconds after I registered the lightning flashing above me, an alarm klaxon drilled through my skull.

If you’ve ever watched Star Trek, heard the Enterprise’s red alert on the bridge, you have some idea of what it sounded like. Just imagine it twenty times louder and inside your head where it’s impossible to escape, because plugging your ears does no good.

I curled up into a fetal position and clapped hands over my ears anyway, whimpering in pain.

“YOU MUST CLOSE THE RIFT.”

It’s too LOUD, I thought, jaw clenched tight. Abruptly, the alarm was silenced, and I slowly straightened. In those few seconds, an entire encyclopedia of information was dumped into my thoughts through the intellectus of the island. I barely had time to wonder how that was possible when one thought became blazingly clear.

I had twenty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds to stop an enormous power drain on the island’s defenses before the fail-safe detonated, taking a large portion of North America with it. Me, Murphy, Thomas, all of Chicago, plus countless other cities large and small. Close to sixty million people lived in the Great Lakes megalopolis, and that didn’t include the large swath of the Midwest within the radius of a blast powerful enough to vaporize over six thousand of Demonreach’s inmates. All the dark, evil, powerful creatures locked up by the Wardens who’d come before me, and the two I’d consigned myself.

The last threat to the island’s defenses had been a bomb through time, and we’d barely stopped it. This… was something else.

This shouldn’t be possible.

The genius loci of the island appeared, a massive figure twelve feet tall enveloped in a black robe with only a pair of burning green eyes visible under its hood. It pointed at me. “YOU MUST CLOSE THE RIFT BEFORE CONTAINMENT FAILS.”

“At least you’re using your inside voice this time,” I muttered, pushing myself into a sitting position. I was on the stone floor of the ruined cottage, surrounded by dirt and debris blown in from storms through its missing roof and broken door. Someone had thoughtfully started a cheery fire going in the hearth, and though unnecessary, its warmth was welcome.

I found my staff at hand, and using it for leverage, managed to get into an upright and locked position. Mostly. Exhaustion weighed me down, making every limb heavy and ungainly to move. My head throbbed, as did my bandaged hand (where blood had nearly soaked through). The Winter Mantle was clearly suffering from power drain, leaving me weak and slightly nauseous.

And then there was my right leg, where Cassius thrust the Spear of Destiny through my thigh all the way to the bone. The wound was hot to the touch, and itched worse than any insect bite I’d ever had. It also made the bone ache uncomfortably. The black tendrils covered an area roughly the size of my hand, and didn’t appear to have grown while I’d been unconscious.

All in all, not the best for a fight or intense working of magic, but I’d been in worse situations.

“Show me,” I told Alfred, following him through the doorway.

Once outside the cottage, the sheer wrongness hit me sideways. Even in its ruined state, the cottage’s wards were extremely powerful, and had blocked the insane flow of energies I was now subjected to. I staggered, fell to one knee.

Hell’s bells.

Above me, the storm’s vortex spun violently around a central point, down the hill and through the trees two hundred thirty-two paces away. I felt that concentration of power, yet I was alone on the island. A summoning spell without a practitioner to infuse it with a constant push of will and energy should not be possible, and yet my senses told me otherwise.

Demonreach’s spirit waited silently for me to regain my feet, then limped down the expanse of rock and into the forest. I knew precisely where to step without thinking, avoiding a yellow jacket nest burrowed beneath the roots of a tree five paces to my left.

We emerged into a small stone clearing, the eye of a metaphorical hurricane. I stepped through a curtain of power thick enough to choke on and into absolute stillness.

Then I looked up.

Ten feet above me, a perfectly round portal shimmered in mid-air, its circumference delineated by delicate strands of violet lightning weaving in a constant circular pattern. As tall as I am, I couldn’t reach it with an outstretched hand. I could use a burst of kinetic force aimed at the ground to propel me up through it, but rejected the idea immediately. The Nevernever side of the portal was likely in one of the darkest, deadliest corners of the spirit realm, potentially filled with air I couldn’t breathe, or heat I wouldn’t survive.

I closed my eyes, concentrated a few moments, then opened my Sight.

I saw the funnel of energy pulled from Demonreach all around me, thick green strands of glowing light swirling up and disappearing into the portal. I saw… screams. Voices. Malevolent whispers. It was the only way to describe it, and even then my brain couldn’t make much sense of it. They, too, were draining up from the island, prickling my skin with foul, nauseating magic.

Closing off my Sight, I drew in a few, slow breaths trying to calm my racing heart. Then I looked at the spirit. “Can’t you destroy it?”

Its eyes flamed brighter. “IT IS NOT OF THE ISLAND.”

The one failing of Demonreach’s defenses; it couldn’t see or affect anything outside its boundaries. That included several dozen yards offshore, so you’d think it would also include several dozen yards above it. Apparently not, which explained how Cowl had been able to open the portal in the first place. Flying or floating that far off the ground was just enough to avoid the island’s countermeasures.

Which explained why the intellectus hadn’t made me aware of the portal.

Jörmungandr’s summoning was merely a distraction, or a byproduct of Cowl’s true intention. An easy way to keep any practitioner powerful enough to close the portal busy until it was too late. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Vadderung’s intervention (or Chronos’ request I be brought here), I wouldn’t have reached the island in time to stop it even had I known about its imminent collapse. It takes an hour by boat, and I didn’t know a Way that led to Demonreach, direct or otherwise.

And let’s face it, what other wizard was going to show up to save Chicago? The Wardens and the Senior Council were too busy fending off a major Red Court offensive to assist, and few if any of the other wizards trusted me.

My alter-ego had been right. He was usually right, seeing patterns my conscious mind was too busy to assemble, or telling me truths I refused to acknowledge. But I’d never admit it to his face; he’s smug enough already.

“Cowl did this?” I asked, staring up into the portal’s depths. Nothing could be seen of the other side, no indication of where it led or what - if anything - was absorbing the massive amount of energy draining from the prison’s wards.

Could he be powering it from the other side? It was a possibility, but unless I wanted to jump through and find out for myself, there wasn’t much I could do about it from here.

“THE DEATHEATER WAS RESPONSIBLE,” the spirit confirmed.

I gave him a side look. “Didn’t know you were a Harry Potter fan.” It continued staring at me, likely wondering why I was wasting time we didn’t have to waste. “Never mind. Alfred, one of these days we’ll have to educate you on relevant pop culture. If we manage to live through this, remind me to invest in some air support. I bet a few flying golems would’ve surprised the hell out of him.”

It still felt wrong, standing here with the genius loci on Demonreach ten years in the past, long before I became its Warden, and still have it treat me as its Warden. And I had no idea why.

One thing at a time, Harry. Save Chicago first.

Right.

Normally for an out-of-control portal such as this, I’d draw a circle around it and will it closed. Provided the practitioner was on this side of the mortal realm, the portal should collapse when the will bolstering it was cut off. Problem was, that only worked with portals perpendicular to the ground, one of those odd quirks of magic that logically make no sense. This one was parallel, and since I didn’t have an air spirit handy to create the circle in mid-air, I’d have to close it the hard way.

I planted my staff, drew upon my will and power, shaping a spell. The runes flared orange, then crimson, then shifted into the deep green-gold of Demonreach’s energy. While the Winter Mantle had little to draw from, hellfire jumped to my fingertips at a thought, boosting the spell tremendously.

Raising my right hand, I splayed out my fingers and spoke a word.

“Instaurabos.”

Out flowed my will, only to be met by immovable force. Near-unbreakable will held this spell in place, and pushing against it revealed that its power was self-sustaining, siphoned directly from Demonreach’s ley line beneath my feet. Which was, in turn, created by those same nightmarish beings locked up in its prison. Dark gods, nameless things, immortals.

And the chains binding it together were failing.

Twenty-one minutes and eighteen seconds.

Thanks, Jack Bauer.

I strained as I held the spell, trying to collapse the portal, and when that failed, tried to find any weakness with its creation.

More, I needed more. I was exhausted, and there was nothing left to give. Tapping into the ley line’s power was too risky, both for the insanity-inducing whispers of Demonreach’s occupants and because it was already fueling the portal. Using that same power in an attempt to close it was akin to introducing matter and antimatter in a warp core.

A bad idea, unless you’re a starship.

With a wordless shout of rage, I let my own spell disintegrate. “This isn’t going to work,” I told the spirit, gasping for air.

“YOU ARE THE WARDEN,” it replied, as implacable as the portal above us. “IF YOU FAIL, WE CEASE TO EXIST.”

“Us and God knows how many others,” I muttered, absently scratching my leg. It helped soothe the insane itching, but also hurt as if I’d been badly sunburned. Overwhelmed by those two sensations, it was a few seconds before the nauseating, greasy feel of black magic registered against my fingertips.

I stopped, looked down.

Power. Part of the power from the spell I’d used on Jörmungandr was trapped in my own flesh. A combination of necromancy, divine, Winter Fae and my own electromancy, along with a sliver of a very human soul.

If it stopped a mythical serpent, it should be more than enough to close a single portal summoned by a mortal practitioner.

Fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds.

I sat cross-legged on the ground and put a thought in my mind. Demonreach went to work, and an unbroken circle of smooth, gray stone split the earth and rose around me. Touching a finger to the stone, I willed the circle closed. It cut off the chaotic energy, and cut me off from the drain on the island’s defenses. I slipped the knife from its sheath, then slid it across the base of my thumb, reopening the scabbed-over wound. Fresh blood smeared across the blade.

THRUMthrumTHRUMthrum. As before, its throbbing echo matched my heartbeat, slowing as I began the breathing exercises that helped me settle into a form of light meditation. Then, closing my eyes, I reached deep inside myself, for the essence of who I was.

A tight knot of power writhed and pulsed, amethyst and diamond, onyx and sapphire. Gossamer-thin tendrils extended from its surface, weaving around and through my aura, a field of stars against twilight blue. I pictured the knife in my hand, and its gleaming edge sliced through the tendrils with ease. With every stroke, it whispered of violence and bloodshed and a hunger for battle I found hard to ignore. It was like and unlike the Winter Mantle, just as strong but more subtle with its intentions, using coercion and promises rather than overwhelming force.

It reminded me very much of Lasciel.

Once freed, I carefully molded the jewel-bright strands around the leaf-shaped blade. “Similatius,” I murmured, pushing will into the spell, fusing stolen power back into the metal. It took very little to bind the two together, the knife eagerly transmuting it into a golden glow that refracted light in every color imaginable.

THRUMTHRUMTHRUM. I winced as its vibrations grew exponentially louder, echoing in my mind and shattering the construct I’d built for myself. I jolted back to consciousness, knife throbbing in my hand with its own separate heartbeat. It hummed with power, and it hungered for violence.

Eight minutes.

I’d kept my staff in the crook of my arm, angled enough to keep it inside the circle. As I stood, I made sure the circle remained unbroken, steadying myself with the staff. I removed its cap, secured the knife into the socket, then raised my eyes to the portal above me. The shimmering, translucent doorway was growing darker, more solid. The same lightning framing it now shot through its center in random, beautiful patterns. The storm above was likewise growing darker, spinning faster, though it generated little wind and thankfully no rain.

I might not be able to reach the portal, but the staff would.

I broke the circle by taking two steps back. Chaotic energy rushed in like a tidal wave, for a moment nearly drowning me. I ended up choking and coughing until I thought my lungs would bleed.

“Okay,” I said when I had my breath back, more to myself than to Alfred, “here we go.”

Don’t cross the streams.

Actually, this is more Avengers than Ghostbusters.

Focusing my will, I raised the staff above my head, slowly pushing its tip into the porous membrane separating the mortal realm from the spirit one. Instead of a seamless transition, I met unexpected resistance, requiring additional physical effort to pierce the veil. As the knife finally breached the Nevernever, my staff quivered in my hands and the Spear of Destiny turned the volume up to eleven.

THRUMTHRUMTHRUM. Startled and temporarily deafened, I scrabbled for control over the spell I crafted before the entire thing blew up in my face. The power inside my staff writhed and twisted like a living thing seeking escape, and forcing it back into the shape I wanted took every scrap of concentration I had.

“Instaurabos!” I shouted, pushing out power and will in an explosion of light and sound. The runes on my staff turned incandescent, the heat enough to scald my hand through the bandages, and it hurt. I yelled, a long and wordless expression of the sheer effort required to maintain my focus, forcing pain and anger back into the spell. Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes, blurring my vision until I managed to blink enough to clear it.

That unbreakable will began to crack. Then it began to scream, high-pitched and dizzying. That same scream of thousands of nightmares demanding to be freed, demanding vengeance and retribution, demanding carnage and death. Those cracks spread, spitting sparks of white-hot energy that fell onto my upturned face and burned, tiny pinpricks of pain lasting only an instant before fading.

“Instaurabos!” I repeated, gritting my teeth as I dredged up reserves I didn’t know I had. Reserves pulled from Future Harry, I realized, whose power remained trapped inside his soul and trapped inside my body. Even without his active participation, apparently I could tap into it if properly motivated.

Desperate times and all that.

The screaming increased in pitch and volume, moving out of my audible range though it remained a physical thing, pressing on me from all sides. A bolt of lightning shot from the clouds, slamming into the portal. It shattered with an immense crack of thunder and concussive force that flung me back twenty yards and into the dirt. On my back, again, stars flickering in and out of my vision.

Then Demonreach towered over me, staring down with burning emerald eyes.

“Did we win?” When you have ask that twice in the same day, perhaps you should reevaluate your life choices.

“THE RIFT IS CLOSED,” it replied, which was likely as much an answer as I was going to get.

I sat up, dizzy, ears still ringing from the thunder. Everything ached, a staticky pain the Winter Mantle was doing its best to numb. The bloody gash on my left hand I’d made with the knife was covered in dirt, and the bandages on my right were bright red with fresh blood and stained by soot. I looked down at my leg, finding only a cauterized stab wound and no trace of necromancy when I touched the area around it. The scar I’d end up with once it healed would be fairly impressive.

I tilted my head up, towards the sky, finding it cloudless and blue, the sun bright and warm in the cool breeze. Though it felt like I’d been fighting monsters for hours, it hadn’t shifted all that much in the sky.

There was a patch of blackened earth twenty yards away, in the shape of a perfect circle. Every tree in the blast radius had been uprooted and tossed aside. Twelve in total, the intellectus informed me.

My staff was lying nearby. Apparently I’d had the sense to drop it just before impact, to prevent the stabby end from inadvertently gutting me. I rolled to my knees and crawled over to it. The runes I’d carved when I was sixteen stood out sharply in the length of oak, each freshly outlined by a thin line of burned, blackened wood. Generally the runes were difficult to see unless I was actively using the staff, but no longer. The price of using that power had left it branded, permanently. Not that it mattered much. Harry Actual could carve a new one to replace it, if he wanted. It felt no different in my hands, so the enchantments within the magically-imbued wood hadn’t been compromised.

I glanced up to the genius loci. “Little help?” It tilted its head at the question, and I sighed. Once more on my feet, under my own power, my legs trembled. Shock, or the expulsion of energy, or my body trying to heal too many injuries at once. I shuffled towards the cottage, my feet knowing exactly where to go. I didn’t trip, or stumble, other than due to my own body’s failings, as I made my slow way back. The cottage had a pump where I could wash the grime from my hand.

You shouldn’t be able to walk. Hell’s bells, you shouldn’t even be conscious, not after the power you’ve expended today. Yet I was, exhausted and achy and sick to my stomach but still moving, likely under power that wasn’t my own but borrowed from Future Harry when I’d drawn on his magic.

“Why did you call me Warden, and why does the intellectus work? I haven’t bound myself to the island yet.”

Alfred kept pace with me, his limp matching my halting steps. “YOU WILL BE THE WARDEN, THEREFORE YOU ARE THE WARDEN.” Which made no sense at all. Had that been the case, then I would’ve sensed the island the very first time I set foot on it, back when I had no idea what it was.

I eyed the spirit. “You can see into the future?”

“THAT IS NOT AN ABILITY I POSSESS. THE FIRST FORETOLD YOUR COMING AND GRANTED YOU THIS RIGHT. IT IS TEMPORARY IN ORDER TO FULFILL THE PURPOSE FOR WHICH YOU WERE BROUGHT.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Meaning once I leave, I am no longer its Warden.”

“THAT IS CORRECT.”

“And I was brought here to close the rift?”

“THAT IS ALSO CORRECT. BY THE ONE-EYED GOD.”

At the behest of Chronos. Or maybe it had just been in Vadderung’s interest to provide me transport, as he did say he brought me back through time to save Chicago. This would qualify.

“Do you know of the god of chaos?” I asked it.

The green eyes burned hotter. “I AM FAMILIAR WITH THIS ENTITY.”

“If I can perform the binding, can you hold her?”

For several steps, the spirit didn’t answer, which I took for a bad sign. “YES, BUT THE METAPHYSICAL MASS WOULD EXCEED MY CURRENT CAPACITY. SEVERAL OF THOSE CONFINED WOULD NEED TO BE REMOVED.” It didn’t sound happy about it, either.

I swallowed. “Which ones?” The intellectus gave me the knowledge instantly. Two of the inmates I’d reviewed previously, gods of dark things, human sacrifice, mind manipulation, blight and terror. One I had not. The fourth I’d put here myself; the Last Titan. Gulp. “Removed how, exactly?”

“RELEASED BY THE WARDEN, AS IS HIS RIGHT.”

I waved a hand towards the city I couldn’t see. “So I just let them go, free to continue whatever they were doing before incarceration?”

“OR YOU DESTROY THEM.”

“If I could destroy them,” I said tiredly, “they wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

It stopped to look directly at me. “THEY ARE MERELY TOOLS FOR YOUR USE, WARDEN.”

Then I understood. “Use them to fight in the war against the Outsiders, you mean.” If anything could kill them, it would be Outsiders. But if they survived, what then? Banish them beyond the Gate protecting our universe? And what of me? I’d taken a single naagloshii from Demonreach to fight Cowl, and it had been a constant battle of wills to keep it from destroying my mind. “Am I strong enough?”

“NO.” Then there was a pause as it tilted its head, listening. “BUT YOU WILL BE.”

Have faith in myself, indeed. “Good to know.” Something to consider later, when I wasn’t so damned exhausted.

We finally reached the cottage, and I used the pump and a bit of scrubbing to clean the knife wound. As it was on my left hand, there was little discomfort when the scab ripped free, the trickle of blood washed away by the water.

I removed the knife from my staff, cleaned it, wiped it dry on my jeans and sheathed it, then turned my attention to my bandaged hand. It was worse off, the blood soaked through and caked with mud, and it took patience to peel the bandages slowly away. I hissed as the water sluiced over my palm but held it steady in the stream. Some of the abrasions bled, and I had nothing with which to wrap my hand in, but at least it was clean. Or as clean as it would be without proper medical supplies.

The pump ran dry and I fanned my hands gently in the breeze. Then I eyed the spirit, standing over me unmoving and silent. “I don’t suppose you can alter time, speed up the harvest, or teleport me off this rock?”

A slight pause. “NO.”

“Well… crap.” How the hell was I going to get back home? No one knew I was here, and I had no way to call for help. Using a portal to the Nevernever was out of the question; even had I the strength, I didn’t know a Way back to Chicago from here. Getting lost in the Nevernever was high on my list of Things Not To Do, especially when I couldn’t defend myself properly.

“THE ONE-EYED GOD LEFT SOMETHING FOR YOU INSIDE.”

I stared at it, then sighed. “You couldn’t have mentioned that sooner?”

“IT WAS MENTIONED AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME,” it replied, and I thought I detected a slightly smug tone to the words.

“Fine, whatever.” I stomped into the cottage. Well, I wanted to stomp, but it ended up more of a lurching stumble, ending with me collapsing on the floor next to the hearth. On it sat a small wooden box, the logo for Monoc Securities carved on one side. A box that I would swear hadn’t been there when I woke earlier.

Picking it up, I sensed magic bound inside, though there were no hinges or lid, or any way I could see to open it.

“What do I do with this?” I asked, but the room was empty. Demonreach had gone, back to wherever it spent most of its time. I wondered if it ever got bored, as Bob often did. Then a slight sense of guilt descended. I was Warden, after all, and the spirit just as much a prisoner here as the actual prisoners it guarded. I had a duty to take care of it.

Mental note: bring some books with me next time I visit.

The box in my hand rattled, shifting my thoughts back to my current situation.

Well, if Vadderung made this for me…

I set it on the floor, backed a few feet away, then said, “There’s no place like home.” I even clicked my heels together three times, which wasn’t easy in my present condition.

The box crumpled, releasing a shimmering greenish-tinted portal roughly the size of your average front door. Through it all I could see was the back wall of the cottage, and no smells drifted out that might indicate where it led.

If Vadderung wanted me dead, I would’ve been dead long ago.

I put on my big boy pants (even if one leg was slit all the way to my thigh), took a steadying breath, and walked through. Right into my apartment, as if I’d come through the front door and not a portal on an island in Lake Michigan no one knew existed. The wards I’d woven into the walls should’ve prevented it, but this was Odin the All-Father’s power, not to mention he was my sort of part-time liege lord as Winter Knight.

A low fire burned in the hearth, Mister curled up on its warm brick. He opened a single reflective eye and closed it again, clearly unimpressed.

Thomas bolted from my bedroom, eyes gleaming silver. His expression was one of murderous rage, but before I could do anything to defend myself, he engulfed me in a bone-cracking hug. “You ass,” he said, releasing me just as fast. “I thought you were dead.”

“It’s so cute when you worry about me,” I quipped, setting my staff by the door.

“I’m serious, jackass. Some guy shows up, punches me into next week, then absconds with you and that gets me believing you’re in serious trouble.”

So much for being unharmed. But Thomas didn’t seem any worse for wear. He’d changed into a tight black tee and white leather pants, and nary a cut or bruise was to be found on his flawless, pale skin.

I tried to remove my duster, but my hands made that difficult. Thomas stepped in to help, and after hanging it on its hook, grabbed my wrist for closer inspection. “I thought Georgia bandaged your hand. Not only is it bleeding again, but you burned it.” He looked up at me. “What the hell happened?”

“That will take some time to explain.” I wobbled to the couch, sank down into its cushions gratefully.

“Why does that not surprise me. Did it involve saving the world or something?”

“Or something,” I agreed, closing my eyes. Everything still ached, and hurt, and bled, and I wanted to sleep for five days straight. I might have dozed off, for the next thing I knew Thomas was rebandaging my hand, the smell of iodine lingering in the air.

“That stab wound looks better,” he said, nodding to my leg. “Chicks dig scars.”

I raised a brow. “How would you know? You don’t have any scars.”

He smirked. “Trust me.” He packed up the kit, offering me two pills. “For the pain.”

I swallowed them dry, chasing them with the glass of water Thomas returned with. I remained the Winter Knight, felt the Mantle’s presence coiled and waiting, but its mechanism for numbing pain was broken. Or at least non-functional at the moment, so I hoped the medication would work quickly.

“Where’s Mouse and Murphy?”

He snapped his fingers. “Knew I forgot something.” He pulled out his cell, retreated to the furthest corner of the kitchen he could, and dialed a number. “It’s Thomas. Yeah, he’s back. Seems fine, all things considered.” Then a pause as he listened. “All right.” He closed his phone and powered it off. “Murphy said she’d call you later.”

“She’s all right?”

“Broken ankle, but she has a boot instead of a cast.” He put his hands on my shoulders as I tried to get up, forcing me back down. “She’s fine, Harry. And Mouse is asleep on your bed. The medication I gave him knocked him out.”

Burns hurt. I could only imagine how much pain he was in trying to walk on burned paws.

Thomas squeezed my shoulder, sensing my guilt. “He’ll be fine, too. Just needs a few days of rest is all. It wasn’t your fault.”

I blew out a breath. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

He rolled his eyes, marched into the kitchen and retrieved a cold can of Coke. “Here. Now talk.” Thomas flopped down in the recliner, graceful as always. I would’ve tipped the thing over. “Let’s start with who that was.”

I popped the top, took a swig. “Eyepatch, business casual?”

“That’s the one.”

I huffed a laugh. “Donar Vadderung, CEO of Monoc Securities.”

He blinked. “Oh.” I’d told him who Vadderung really was. “Guess I don’t feel so bad about not winning the fight he picked with me.”

“He picked the fight, did he?” I drawled, one corner of my mouth turning up.

“Shut up,” Thomas replied with a glare. “You were injured, and I was trying to protect you.”

My smile spread. “I know. And thanks.”

“For all the good it did me. Where did he take you?”

“Demonreach.” It took a while, telling Thomas the entirety of what happened, because first I had to explain what the island was, at least in general terms. That way he understood the danger of Cowl’s drain on its defenses, and how close we’d come to being obliterated.

When I was finished, he just looked at me. “You do this often? In the future, I mean. Save the world, or at least Chicago.”

“When the mood strikes me.”

“You need a costume. Or at least a logo.” I gave him a look. “Branding, Harry! It’s all about branding.”

I rubbed my eyes, wincing at the pressure and pain. “I’m too old for this.”

“You’re younger than I am.”

“Not right now.”

We were quiet for a while, Thomas getting up to add more fuel to the fire and prod it until a nice, cheery glow filled my apartment. I should shower. But I was tired, and mostly didn’t care if dirt got on the couch. The brownies would clean it the next time they came. So I stretched out, shredded jeans and all, and pulled a blanket around me. A minute later, Mister jumped up to sprawl over my legs, purring like a motorboat’s engine. I scratched his head and chin, along his back to his stump of a tail, and the purrs grew louder.

I’d miss this. My home, the scents surrounding me that brought tears to my eyes. The castle, as nice as it was, could never replace this sense of belonging. And Mister. Just thinking of his death made me ill.

Oh, crap. I still had so much to tell Bob, but my eyes were closing as exhaustion caught up to me. There was one more thing I needed to know before I could rest. “How bad is it, Thomas?”

He understood what I was asking. “One hundred forty-eight bodies recovered so far, three times that still missing, but they expect both numbers to climb as more reports come in. The National Guard is on its way to help with the recovery and clean-up.”

So many more than I had expected. People trapped in cars, drowning, or washed away, or pulled into the river. Crushed by falling buildings and debris. Killed by monsters. Eaten. Chances were good that a few of those missing would never be found.

“Get some sleep, Harry,” he added quietly. “They won’t be any less dead tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” It was good advice. “Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“If Mouse wakes up, give him a treat. He’s a good boy.”

Thomas chuckled. “Absolutely.”

Then I closed my eyes, put my hand on Mister’s back, and drifted off to his incessant rumbling purr.

The stairwell was back. As was the little girl, frowning at me, fists on her hips. “Mr. Dresden, you promised to help my daddy.”

I get a lot of dreams on repeat, especially those that involve death, dying, pain and fear. This one was different. It wasn’t a variation on a theme. The hall I was in, the little girl, what she was wearing, it was identical to the first dream, down to the grime on the floor’s patterned tile.

Maybe it’s not a dream. Or not just a dream. I gave Paige a second look, finding nothing to indicate she was anything other than what she appeared to be, an upset child. So I decided to play along and see where it led.

“And I will, kiddo. I just haven’t had time yet.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You have to hurry, okay?” She took my hand and tipped it over, setting the pin into my palm before curling my fingers around it. The magic of my promise tingled. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Promise…

It was the whisper that woke me, I think. I blinked, groggy and disoriented, staring up at my ceiling as flickering light played across the dark beams. Weight on my legs told me Mister remained draped across them, and my gloved hand was still on his back. My other hand was clenched tight to my chest.

And it tingled with a familiar magic.

When I opened my fingers, my palm held a dried lima bean glued to a steel backing. I stared in disbelief. Hell’s bells, how had that happened?

Then I remembered what Chronos said, that his power could affect even the realm of dreams. Paige wasn’t just a child I imagined, but one from the future, my future, visiting me through a temporal paradox caused by his presence.

Was she asking me to save her father now? If so, that would mean… Paige was far younger than ten. If her father died in my current time, she would never exist. But clearly I had already saved him since she did exist, and she’d given me back the pin. Before she was born.

Paradox.

Thinking about it too hard was sparking a headache.

Stars and stones, I didn’t have time to sleep, let alone track someone down just because a dream asked me to. Less than a day, and I’d be pulled back to my own present, and I had so much to take care of. Briefing Bob, talking with Murphy. Lara still owed me an answer as to Rudolph’s benefactor, and I needed to decide how best to use that information.

I carefully folded my fingers around the pin, because not helping wasn’t an option. I’d made a promise. Not to Paige but to her father, an offer of aid with no questions asked. He had stood with me at the Battle of Chicago; it was my turn to stand with him.

But I’d need help, and knew just who to ask.

Chapter Text

I tried to extract myself from underneath Mister, but weighing upwards of thirty pounds, he didn’t dislodge easily. I finally annoyed him enough that he jumped down with a yowl of protest, stretching to sharpen his claws on the nearest rug as an expression of his displeasure.

“Sorry,” I told him. He twitched his stump of a tail.

Slowly, I moved into a sitting position. I was still somewhat dizzy, though that passed after a few seconds of the room spinning. Everything else ached or hurt, depending on my focus, though it seemed the Winter Mantle was able to provide partial pain suppression. Nothing precluded me from standing, so I did, my pants leg swinging free. At some point while I slept, Thomas had slathered the burn with antibiotic cream and covered it with a bandage.

There was a note on the table, a torn-off corner that had one word written on it in Thomas’ handwriting. Out.

I placed the pin in my hand on the table, gently scratching at the bandage over my palm as I stared at it. It itched, which was a good sign. Then I poked the pin with a fingertip, causing it to rock back and forth. The faint clinks caught Mister’s attention, and he jumped on top of the table. He promptly batted it off, chasing the pin as it tumbled to the floor.

Not a hallucination, then.

Which meant I needed help, but first I needed a shower. Actually, first I needed to make a phone call. Slow and steady, I made my way to the kitchen counter, leaning on it for support as I picked up the phone.

Murphy answered after two rings. “Harry, you should be sleeping.”

“I did,” I said defensively. “How are you feeling?”

She chuckled. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one that set off a bomb in downtown Chicago, then went missing.“

My stomach fell. “Is that was the cops think?”

“Yeah, but as no explosive debris has been recovered, that’s a hard sell. Rudy’s already demanding your arrest, he’s got eyewitness reports saying you were the cause of the blast. You should keep out of sight for a while. What the hell happened to you? Thomas said you were abducted.”

“I, uh…”

“Dresden.” It was a warning. “You promised no more secrets.”

“It’s not that. It’s just not something we should discuss over the phone.” Yeah, I knew that magical eavesdropping didn’t work with technology, but wiretaps worked just fine. And I wouldn’t put it past Marcone to have my phone tapped, through whatever not-so-legal means he had at his disposal.

“Oh.”

“And not something I can get into now. I need your help, Murph. You mobile? Thomas said you broke your ankle when a monster dragged you into the river.”

Murphy snorted softly. “Is that what he told you?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Clean break, so they put me in a walking boot. I can get around fine, just a little slower than usual.”

“Can you drive?”

“Provided I don’t have to operate a car older than I am that requires me to shift gears, yes.”

A smile ticked up the corner of my mouth at her oblique complaint regarding the Beetle. “I need you to run to the library and pick up three books for me. The Lincoln Park Branch, special collections. Write these down.” I gave her the titles and authors.

“Why do you need books on Chicago architecture?” she asked.

“I’ll explain when you get here.” She was silent a moment. “Please, Murph. I don’t have much time left, and I really could use your help. I’m trying to save two lives, maybe more, and I don’t have enough information or any time to waste.”

She blew out a breath. “You don’t ever stop, do you?”

I frowned. “Stop?”

“Trying to save people.”

Oh. “Not as long as I’m breathing, and not when I made someone a promise to help, no questions asked.”

“You wouldn’t be you, otherwise,” she said, and I heard the smile in her voice. “I’ll be over in an hour, two tops. You hungry? The city might be on lockdown, but I know for a fact the Burger King near me is open.”

My stomach gurgled. It wasn’t hungry, but not entirely displeased with the idea of food. Maybe it’d help the dizzy spells that seemed to come and go. “Starving,” I lied.

That earned me a laugh. “Figured.”

“Let yourself in if I don’t answer, I’m going down to the lab for a bit.”

“All right, see you soon.”

I stared at the icebox after I hung up. Coke? The jolt of caffeine and sugar might help, but it might also make things worse. I decided against it and made my way into the bedroom, finding Mouse sprawled out on my bed. His tail thumped weakly as I came over and patted his head. “Good boy,” I said, wincing in sympathy at his injuries. It hadn’t just been his paws burned by the electrical discharge. Bandages covered all four legs to the elbow, and above that I saw tiny spots of blackened fur.

My eyes blurred a moment. “I’m so sorry, Mouse.”

He made a small doggie noise, not quite a whimper, and I scratched behind his ears. “You did great. It never would have worked without your help. You’re a big damned hero, you know. As soon as you feel better, we’ll go out and get you a treat. Vanilla shake, if you’re up for it.”

His tail thumped a few more times.

“You hungry? Thirsty? Thomas didn’t leave any instructions for your care, but I figured you’d tell me what you need when you need it.” He huffed out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Sleep, huh? All right, just going to shower quickly then you can rest.”

As I removed my torn, sliced, stained, bloodied clothing, I realized my gun and its shoulder holster were missing. Had Thomas removed them, or had I lost them somewhere during the fighting? Both were replaceable, but it was disconcerting I hadn’t noticed it before. The gun could’ve come in handy when Cassius showed up, had I been able to use it. Or remember I had it.

Shoulders protested, as did my knees, as did one of my ankles. Nothing was swollen or broken, just covered by bruises in shades of purple and red. I removed the bandage on my leg but kept the one on my hand as it would be more difficult for me to replace without help.

Stepping into the cold water felt amazing, even if the shallow slices covering my stomach stung with pain. It numbed my skin and soothed away the aches, the painful bruising and cuts. Keeping my right hand out of the water made washing my hair difficult, as my fingers barely moved on the other.

This is one time I wish Lasciel was real. An extra set of hands would really come in handy right now.

But I managed, scrubbing at my face, and at the dirt on my arms and legs. Dried blood, dirt, and more than a little detritus swirled down the drain. Likely I’d had dead leaves and bits of brush stuck in my hair from Demonreach, and Thomas hadn’t said a word. It felt good to be clean, to smell only soap and shampoo instead of the stink of venom and blood and the Chicago River.

After I dried off, I doctored my leg. The wound was still an angry red puckered burn, which I knew from experience would fade. It hurt only a little, and only if I pressed down right on top of it. Yes, I routinely poke and prod my injuries; sometimes it’s the only way to see how badly I’ve been hurt, as the Mantle’s numbing power doesn’t let pain get in the way of my Winter Knight duties.

Antibiotic cream applied and bandage secured, I rummaged around my room to find a semi-clean pair of sweat pants to go with my long sleeve shirt, this one in chocolate. They were easier to put on than jeans would be, and loose in the leg so it wouldn’t rub against the bandage too badly.

I stroked Mouse’s head once more, and his ears twitched though he didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll be downstairs in the lab for a bit.”

I flipped back the carpets and descended into the subbasement, waving the candles to life. “Bob, wake up. I don’t have much time.”

The skull blinked, yawned, then eyed me speculatively. “You’re not dead.”

“Not at the moment.” I pulled the stool over to his shelf.

“Then you’re here to make good on your promise,” he said, grinning. Being a skull, he didn’t actually grin, but somehow I always knew.

“Soon as we’re done, Bob.”

His eyelights narrowed. “You’re not trying to get out of the deal, are you?”

“No,” I said, sighing. Bob deserved a night off for his help. “But I have a few more things that Harry needs to know after I’m gone,” I said, tapping the end of a pencil on the work table.

“I hope this story involves more sex than the last one. It was woefully lacking,” he complained.

I let out a sigh. “Just listen, all right?” Then, of course, the phone rang. I glared at the skull, as if he could make it stop.

“Maybe you should answer that,” he said after the fifth ring.

“Dammit,” I swore, then trudged back up the stairs, because he was right. It could be Murphy calling me about the books, or Thomas needing help. “Tell Harry he needs to run an extension down to the lab,” I shot over my shoulder.

“Will do, boss,” Bob replied. He sounded agreeable. Too agreeable, and that made me suspicious.

I picked up the receiver. “Dresden.”

A cool female voice replied. A voice I’d know anywhere, had heard in countless dreams and nightmares, one that made me shiver unexpectedly. “Mr. Dresden, I have the information you requested. Meet me at your grave in Graceland Cemetery in thirty minutes.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by the breadth of Lara’s information regarding me, considering her only brother is staying with me. I had done the same thing with her, after learning Thomas was my half-brother. Better to know your potential frenemies before being forced into a compromising position with one.

An image of Lara popped into my head, of her straddling my prone form after knocking me on my ass in her manor’s private dojo. Before the dates or the engagement, when she’d merely been a dangerously intriguing woman. My body hummed with tension, concentrating in the lower parts, and it took an effort to shove the image away.

I swallowed. “Now’s not really the best time, Lara.”

“You told me this was an extremely urgent matter, and this is the last time I will be in the city for several days. If you wish to obtain this information in an expedient manner, then you have thirty minutes with which to do so.”

That made me angry. I might have snapped back a good response, had I thought of one in time. But the line was already dead, leaving me a choice. I could be there and back before Murphy arrived, but I’d have to sacrifice time with Bob to do it.

A choice that might save her life wasn’t a choice at all.

“Dammit,” I muttered to myself, then louder, “Guess we’re done for now, Bob. Heading out for a bit.” I heard him grumble, but it was too low for me to pick out the words. From the top of the stairs, I extinguished the candles, then closed the trap door and piled rugs on top. A quick check of Mouse found him dozing. “Be back soon,” I told him, but he didn’t stir.

I tossed on my duster, grabbed my staff, and lowered the wards for the front door.

“You promised!” Bob chortled, swirling up to engulf Mister, who then bolted through the barely-cracked door before I could stop him, trailing orange sparks behind.

“Dammit, Bob, we’re not done!” I swore, but the cat - and the spirit - were already gone. I’d made an amateur mistake choosing the words I had, and Bob took advantage of the opportunity. “Twelve hours!” I shouted after him. Would I even be here in twelve hours? Too much to tell him and not enough time left.

I can give Murph the highlights and lowlights. She’d probably be a better choice to tell Harry Actual than Bob would be. Bob didn’t always pick up on nuances of human emotion, and much of the time even when he did, he ignored it. Or made a joke of it. Neither would be useful for Harry, because some of what he needed to know would hurt.

Stepping outside was like stepping into a city on the brink of catastrophe. Not that there were meteors plummeting from the sky, or buildings on fire or anything. Just an eerie stillness, a quiet that Chicago seldom has and never during daylight hours. A low-grade, palpable fear quivered in the air, nothing close to what I’d felt during the Battle of Chicago, but enough to make itself known.

Those that could lock themselves inside their homes had done so. No cars drove down my street, or from what I could hear, on any nearby streets. It made me uneasy, standing on the sidewalk in plain view. An inviting target, for any supernatural hunting for prey.

By contrast, the day was still bright and cheerful, a cool breeze rustling what few dead leaves remained on lawns and on bare-branched trees. The sun was already casting long shadows as it sank in the sky. Dusk wasn’t far off, and once it was truly dark, it’d be more dangerous to be outside, alone.

I worried for Mister (and yeah, a little for Bob). But short of summoning Bob back, there was nothing I could do. At least with the spirit riding around, Mister had a better chance of escaping dangerous situations.

I could have walked to the cemetery. It was less than three miles, something I did occasionally when I wanted fresh air and exercise and a chance for my mind to process in the background. If I jogged, with the Winter Mantle, I would’ve made it in a fraction of the time. But I was tired, and ached, and my head still throbbed uncomfortably, reminding me the Mantle, like the rest of my body, was still in recovery mode. Driving wasn’t advisable with a concussion, but it was either that or try to call a cab, and I suspected few cabs were taking fares right now.

So I drove with the windows down, enjoying the time I had left. I’d miss the Blue Beetle, more so now that I’d had a second chance to drive it again. It wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t all that clean, but it was mine. The car I’d bought with money saved from working on Ebenezar’s farm, an allowance he began paying after I turned eighteen. Hadn’t said a word, just set an envelope with a few bills in it on my nightstand every other week.

The car I’d driven around part of the country when looking for a home, before settling on Chicago. The car that had taken me even further, traveling to teach Paranetters how to defend themselves from all the big and nasty things that go bump in the night.

Part of my past, one of the many, many building blocks that set the foundation for who I became. I patted its steering wheel fondly. You don’t look like much, but you’ve got it where it counts.

I turned into the cemetery, parking near Inez Clarke’s statue which was easy to see from the road. Sculpted from stone, the six-year-old’s likeness was encased in a plastic box to protect it from the elements, the seated girl wearing a frilly dress, holding a parasol and smiling an enigmatic smile.

Leaves crunched under my sneakers as I walked past, slowing to study the child. I shivered involuntarily. Mab had borrowed Inez’s guise to speak with me while I’d been a ghost. She had called me a monster. Not the first, not the last, but perhaps the most accurate. It had certainly hurt, realizing she was right.

My grave wasn’t far from Inez. Bianca of the Red Court had purchased the plot as a grand gesture, trumpeting her power in front of the supernatural community while simultaneously delivering a threat to my life. It remained as she had envisioned, a six foot deep hole with a marble headstone that read, Here lies Harry Dresden. He died doing the right thing. The gold lettering and the pentacle gleamed in the autumn sunlight.

Ten years later and here I was, still standing, still breathing, while the Red Court was nothing but ash on the wind.

It was uncomfortable, seeing it lying open and empty like this, disrespectful to all those who died last July. But it also felt like a warning, as if I could stop what was coming, lay waste to the Fomor nation as I had the Red Court before they became a threat.

If not the Fomor, it would have been someone else. The Last Titan wanted vengeance, and working with them had been expedient, if not smart. There were always other monsters lurking in the shadows, biding their time. Hell’s bells, for all I knew she might have attempted freeing the prisoners on Demonreach for use as her own personal army.

I heard the car approaching, though I didn’t bother to turn around. I sensed Lara Raith as soon as her door opened, her allure and her Hunger’s desires spilling forth to swallow me whole.

Even still, even now, my body reacted, and not just because she was a succubus. I knew the difference between that mindless lust and what I felt for her. The two weren’t in the same orbit, and I smiled bitterly while Lara couldn’t see it. In less than a day I would be standing in front of Mab and endless representatives of powerful supernatural nations, and I would marry this woman. Bind my life to hers, for however long that would be. Three centuries and change, if I lived out my entire lifespan, though I suspected that unlikely. Future Harry was proof of that.

And… I was afraid. More so than on the actual wedding day, where I’d had other things to occupy my mind. Maggie’s safety, for one, and the guests on the other side of the door, waiting for me to expose a weakness.

I shoved that fear to the back of my mind. The last thing I needed was Lara trying to leverage it to her advantage.

“An impressive gesture, if an ultimately futile one,” Lara said, stopping alongside me. I glanced at her without turning my head. “Your grave, still open and empty while the Red Court vampire who purchased this plot is several years dead.”

Had I been the wizard I was ten years ago, I would have used it as a reminder to Lara that those who stood in my way didn’t stand there for long. But I’d developed a hard-won confidence in myself, and instead of rising to the bait, weariness settled over me.

“I leave it as a reminder,” I said simply, letting her infer what she wished. But when I finally turned to face her, it wasn’t confusion or worry I saw. It was anger. She hid it well, but something in her expression, or her eyes, or even her posture gave her away. The time we’d spent together over the past year had provided me more insight into her personality and behavior than I previously thought.

I raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You knew there was a credible threat to Chicago, yet you made no attempt to warn the city,” she said, looking as ravishing as ever as she said it. Wind-tousled hair I wanted to sink my fingers into. A demure blouse I wanted to unbutton. A faint touch of crimson to lips I wanted to kiss.

“I informed John Marcone, and the Chicago P.D., but I had no specific, concrete information I could provide either of them,” I replied, not doing any of those things.

Her elegant brows drew together in a frown. “The river flooded the ground floor of my building and the parking garage underneath. It is only by fortuitous circumstance that I had no need for the Wraith this morning, otherwise it would have been consigned to a watery grave.” She took a step closer, close enough for her to touch me, had she tried. The tiny motes of silver in her eyes betrayed her anger. “Several of those in my employ were injured. Two remain missing. With sufficient warning, that could have been prevented. As the self-proclaimed wizard of Chicago, you should have informed me.”

Great, now I felt guilty. But it honestly hadn’t occurred to me to tell Lara. “Would you have believed me?”

She considered that a moment. “Yes.”

I blinked at her. “Really. If I had told you the world serpent from Norse mythology was being summoned to Chicago, you would have believed me without question and without any evidence to back up my claim.” It was a statement, and hung in the air between us.

Lara became a living statue, unmoving for several heartbeats, then let out a soft sigh and inclined her head. “Likely I would have dismissed your theatrics as improbable exaggeration and not given the warning the consideration it deserved. It is not a mistake I intend to make twice.”

It surprised me. She surprised me.

“Was this practitioner caught and remanded to the White Council?”

I gritted my teeth. “No. I never saw him.”

She gave me a condescending look, which made me feel even guiltier. “Is that not your job, wizard?”

Anger at myself shifted its focus to Lara. “Only on Tuesdays. Did you come here just to interrogate me? Because I’ve got other places to be, if that’s the case.”

Lara rolled her eyes. “Do not be so dramatic, wizard.” She passed me a Manila folder, ignoring my glare. Inside was a single picture, eight-by-ten, black and white and grainy in the way that made me think it was a still taken from a security camera. On it was Detective Rudolph, sitting at a table, with another person in profile.

My fingers involuntarily crumpled the picture’s edge as I studied it, then looked at Lara. “You sure?” My voice came out low and angry, the chill in the air having nothing to do with the time of year. It wasn’t the Winter Mantle’s full power, but it was something.

Lara nodded, once. “All my information points to the same individual. Rudolph was followed, discreetly and at length. I am sure, wizard.” There had been little time for her to have Rudolph followed; ‘at length’ implied she’d already been watching the detective for reasons all her own.

I shoved the picture back into the folder, crumpling it further. Then, holding it by my fingertips, I said, “Flickum bicus.” A little too much power and rage went into the spell; it flared to life with a column of flame two feet high. I flicked the unburned corner into the fire just before it vanished, running out of fuel.

Lara’s guards flinched at the sudden heat and light. Lara did not. She merely raised a brow. “I would suggest you be circumspect when dealing with this situation, but clearly you are beyond listening to reason.”

My hand fisted, straining the bandage and making my hand throb with pain. “It isn’t your concern, Lara.”

“If my brother comes to harm because of your vendetta, wizard, I will make it my concern,” she replied in a perfectly calm, neutral voice.

I eyed her. “Is that a threat?”

She shrugged, a liquid roll of her shoulder. “It is a statement. Take it as you will.” She turned to go, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “I am a better ally than enemy, wizard. Keep that in mind when the next threat arises.”

Lara wasn’t wrong. She had defended Chicago while I’d been gone for a year. Perhaps not from altruism, or any great love of the city, but to preserve her Court’s source of food. Didn’t mean she hadn’t saved a great many lives, and those results mattered, if not the reasoning behind it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your people, Lara,” I said quietly.

She nodded once. As she walked to her car (a giant black SUV with dark-tinted windows that made it impossible to see into), I was treated by elegant perfection of the female form, hips swaying as they whispered promises to my libido. And to the Mantle, as it sat up and took notice, but the usual drumbeat pounding in my blood was absent.

Lara hadn’t mentioned last night, not the party nor what happened between us. I wondered if it would be a problem for Harry Actual in the coming weeks, months, years, an incident he wouldn’t remember and never believe himself succumbing to. Unless Alt-Harry shows him the truth.

I waited until the SUV was out of sight, then went back to the Beetle. Where I sat for a good ten minutes, arguing with myself over what to do with Lara’s information.

I didn’t want to fall in love with Lara Raith. Hell’s bells, I didn’t even really want to like her, yet I couldn’t stop myself. That didn’t mean I was facing down Future Harry’s future with an inevitability I was powerless to change. He told me fighting the Mantle’s urges became more and more difficult as the years passed, and that I believed. It was already evident that despite the physical activity I subjected my body to, it only went so far to curb its appetites.

Yet I’d be damned if I ever used Lara Raith as my crutch.

Had Murph survived…

But Murphy was gone, and I was damned well going to get some answers as to why.

I drove to a nearby gas station, dropped a quarter into the pay phone, and placed a call.

“Yes?” I hadn’t expected the voice that answered, and it took me a moment to gather my scattered wits. “Who is this?”

“It’s Dresden. I need to speak to Gard,” I said.

“Dresden?” Hendricks sounded… surprised. I wasn’t sure if anything could truly surprise him, but me asking for Gard had come close. “She’s busy,” he added in a smug tone, hinting he was the reason behind it. Likely he was. I knew they’d been close; we shared tears at the Bean, grieving over lost loves gone too soon, without even bodies left to mourn. Only a valknut remained, burned into a wooden crate where she had once lain.

One Einherjar, picked up and in transit. I heard the echo of Sigrun Gard’s words in my head.

I shoved those thoughts away forcefully.

“I don’t care if she’s got two men in her bed and you’re filming it for posterity,” I snapped. “I need to talk to her right now.”

Of course, being Hendricks, all my anger did was turn him belligerent. “Why I oughta -“

Whatever else he wanted to say was cut off as the phone was pried from his fingers. Rather forcefully, if his exhalation of surprise and pain was anything to judge by.

“What do you want, wizard?” Gard snapped.

“An audience with your boss,” I replied, using the same inflection she had.

She blew out a breath in irritation. “Now is not the time. He’s been busy with -“

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what he’s been busy with. He owes me. He damn well better make the time,” I growled, fingers clenching the receiver hard enough that my palm stung.

“I would caution -“ she stopped herself. “One moment.” The faint background noise from her side of the call turned into utter silence. She’d either put me on hold, or on mute. Either way, I chewed on my lower lip to vent my frustration until the noise resumed. “He will meet you at the Bird Sanctuary in fifteen minutes,” she said, relaying the news unhappily.

“Perfect.”

I made it in ten, the streets eerily deserted on a Thursday afternoon as rush hour approached. I was happy to see that the lakeshore hadn’t suffered any ill effects, at least this far north. Whatever caused the river to rise wasn’t from the lake itself rising, or swamping its shores with twenty foot waves.

My car was the only one along the road that led to the sanctuary. It was just to the south of Montrose Beach, fifteen acres filled with trees, brush, and well… birds. It was also known as the Magic Hedge, and not because of magic or hedges. It was a popular spot for men looking to hook up with other men.

But neither bird nor man was to be found today, the earlier storm driving them away from Lake Michigan for a safer sanctuary. I followed one winding path until I reached the edge of a series of wide steps, leading down to a strip of concrete beach that in warmer months would be filled with sunbathers. Deserted, it looked cold and lonely.

Looking south gave me an impressive vista of the city skyline. From this distance, I couldn’t make out any damage, though I did glimpse a helicopter slowly flying between buildings. Searching for survivors, perhaps. With the sun nearly behind the horizon, it would become difficult to locate anyone from that height, alive or dead, once true darkness fell.

But not yet. Thanks to the trees blocking my view, I could no longer see the sun, though it didn’t matter. That shivery sense that prickled my skin at sundown, as if a door into the world of dark, dangerous things slid open and predators spilled out to begin their nightly hunt.

There’s a reason we cling to light, and huddle around campfires.

“Wizard Dresden. Or should I say Sir Knight?”

I hadn’t heard him approach, but then again I wouldn’t. I turned to face the man from Lara’s picture. “Why?”

Donar Vadderung’s blue eye glinted in the fading light. “That is too broad a question to provide an adequate answer.”

I’d brought my staff. I left it in the Beetle while meeting with Lara, near enough that a simple flick of power would deliver it to my hand should it prove necessary. But with Vadderung, the length of oak turned crimson as the runes flared to life under my clenched hand. With that came the distinctive tang of brimstone in the air.

“Why Detective Rudolph? Why move him into S.I., then to Internal Affairs? He doesn’t have the capacity to believe in supernatural threats, and because of that, Murphy is dead.” The runes flared brighter as I emphasized the word.

Vadderung waved a hand. “He was expedient. The easiest way between two points.”

The air grew cooler. “And what two points are those?”

“Karrin Murphy alive, and Karrin Murphy dead.”

“You knew. All this time, you knew.” It came out hard and angry.

“My future self, yes. It is the fate of Karrin Murphy to die,” he said, almost gently. “The more important the outcome, the more it resists change.” It was something he’d told me before.

“That is bullshit,” I growled, pushed beyond the limit of what was wise. “She is but one individual, and a mortal one at that. Even if her fate were set in stone, stone can be broken. I should know that better than anyone. How can her death mean that much? And why?” The power was building, hellfire flickering at my fingertips, and I was just so damned angry. It was too much to hold inside. “Forzare!” I shouted, without warning, pushing rage and power into a coherent whole.

I’ve done a lot of stupid things, some because I knew no better, some because I knew better and did them anyway. This was one of the latter, and like most, it didn’t end well for me.

The power that would have hurled a human dozens of yards, smashing them into the nearby trees, did absolutely nothing to Donar Vadderung. The kinetic energy didn’t bounce off, wasn’t absorbed by any sort of shield. It slithered around him, diverted as a river would be around an island. He was that island, a power beyond reckoning. Judging by his expression, the only thing I accomplished was to make him angry.

I knew of Odin, long before I met Donar Vadderung. But once he’d expressed an interest in me, I made sure to thoroughly research every myth I could find. And Odin, for the most part, wasn’t known for cruelty or capriciousness. But cross him, or violate a rule he believes inviolate… well, there is a reason he’s known for leading the Wild Hunt on occasion.

“Oh, crap,” I had time to say, realizing the depths of my stupidity an instant before Vadderung showed me how outclassed I truly was.

Force gripped my neck, lifting me off my feet and slamming me into the dirt. My entire body hit, hard, though my duster managed to absorb some of the impact. I turned my head at the last moment, so instead of the back of my skull, my cheekbone took the brunt of it. Starbursts of light blinded me. Then his will immobilized me, pressing down to smother until I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“I pride myself on tolerance,” Vadderung said, and his voice held power. His voice was power. Power that scraped over my skin and peeled it away, leaving me raw and bleeding. “But you go too far.”

“Why, damn you?” I gasped, struggling even knowing it would do no good. “You owe me that.” If I was going to be killed in the next few minutes, I wanted an answer. It used up the last of my air, and I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, drowning on dry land. Tears blurred my vision, spilling from the corners of my eyes.

The pressure eased, just enough, that my lungs worked.

He crouched next to me, and that blue eye was filled with violent storm clouds and lightning. “You, too, are expedient, wizard. I might find your determination admirable. I might even like you. But never forget you are a mortal, and like all mortals, you are expendable. You are but one of a host of options, more agreeable than the rest, true, but replaceable all the same.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. Rumors, offhand comments made by wizards with centuries of experience told me otherwise. Even Vadderung himself had implied on more than one occasion that I, specifically, was important for the battle to come.

But I had no proof to contradict him, either.

“Detective Rudolph was shaped into the man I needed him to be, placed in your path again and again to fuel the fears driving him. Expedient, as I said, but not the only means at my disposal.” He held out his hand, palm up. “What if a building, already destabilized by the destruction, collapsed because of the Jotun’s fall and crushed her, instead? Would an accident, an ‘act of God’ as you mortals so often call it, make her death any more palatable to you? Or do you require someone to blame?”

The pain left me breathless. “At least I wouldn’t have tried to kill him,” I croaked. “He lost his sanity because of what you did.”

Vadderung smiled faintly. “Because of what he did, wizard. I simply nudged him in the direction he needed to go. My future self has explored other options. If you are the fulcrum around which your universe pivots, then she must die. Not only that, but she must die at a specific point in time.”

It hurt too much to look at him. I closed my eyes. “Because I need to marry Lara Raith. Had Murphy lived, Lara couldn’t touch me without injury. None of the White Court could. Not to mention I would have fought the marriage with everything I had. I might have even done something stupid, like tried to kill the Winter Queen, or Lara, or… myself.” All options I had already considered, and that was without Karrin’s presence. What would I have done with her still alive?

“That too, yes.” Vadderung gentled his tone. “But her death allowed your friends to pull you back from the edge of darkness.”

Sympathetic pain shot up my left arm, where I’d passed my arm through Butters’ sword, believing it would not harm me. How wrong I had been. Monster, you are a monster…

“It also required you to suppress your grief for a time, if you wanted Chicago to survive the night. If you wanted your daughter to survive the night. Had it happened elsewhere, the city might have fallen to the Fomor.”

I swallowed, picturing the destruction, then pictured it ten times worse. I had bound the Last Titan, consigned her to Demonreach. Without me… could she have been stopped? Marcone proved that demonic weapons worked as well as angelic ones, so… maybe. But I wasn’t willing to bet my daughter’s life on a maybe.

And then he was gone. I was left lying amidst the dead leaves and dried grass, alone. I wanted to curl up and cry until this pain squeezing my heart drowned beneath the flood. I wanted to give in to my body’s demand for rest, pushed once again beyond its physical limits regardless of what the Mantle tried to make me believe.

Instead, I locked the grief and pain away; not gone, just not as present. I had too much to do, not enough time, and an emotional breakdown could wait. I thought of Murphy, probably waiting for me at my apartment right now, wondering where I was. I thought of Maggie, safe and loved by her foster family. And I thought of Paige, a little girl who might never have the chance to grow up at all.

I drew in a breath, spat out the dirt, and pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. The side of my face felt like it’d been subjected to a sandblaster, and a quick exploration of fingers found a long abrasion down my cheek that included the previous night’s vampire-inflicted scratches.

My cheek was beginning to swell, and from experience I knew it would spread around my eye. Not enough to close it completely, but enough to make it difficult to open it properly. Likely I’d end up squinting before the night was over.

Vadderung hadn’t tossed my staff into Lake Michigan. He could have. Or broke it in half by simply willing it to happen. Or burned it to ash. I’m not any less dangerous without my staff; the complete opposite, really. I have power. Too much of it for my own good sometimes, but I lack control. The staff provides a focus for that power, so instead of incinerating an entire block, I send a single house up in flames.

A bad example, but you get the idea.

As I used it to help climb to my feet, I found myself grateful I still had it at all. Harry Actual would need it in the coming days.

Back inside the Beetle, I turned the rear-view mirror towards me. Yeah, my face was as bad as I thought, a nasty case of road rash embedded with dirt. The bruises weren’t visible yet, but I’d bet the twenty dollars I didn’t have I’d end up with a black eye by morning.

Night fell as I was driving home, sliding over my preternatural senses like silk over bare skin. The time when the monsters come out to play. Good thing I already was one.

When I parked in my building’s small lot, I found Murphy’s car already here. I took a few moments to steady myself before I brought down my wards and unlocked the door, tucking the raw, painful truth clawing at my insides into a box, where it could do no damage. There was always later, and my later didn’t feature a living Karrin Murphy in it.

“Heya, Murph,” I greeted her as I opened the door.

Her leg was propped up on the coffee table, the room ablaze with candles, a warm fire crackling in the fireplace. She had on a black walking boot that stopped at mid-calf, and her toes were peeking out from the front of it. The nails were painted a delicious, pearlescent pink that shimmered in the light. Murphy rarely painted her nails where anyone could see them, believing it displayed feminine weakness to the men she worked with. It was one reason she generally wore little makeup.

Personally, I found it very attractive, a strength instead of a weakness. I wasn’t much into feet, but the polish on Murphy’s toes reminded me of another night, another time, when I’d taken the opportunity to explore each one with lips and tongue and heard the maddening noises she’d made as I did. She had still been too badly injured from the fight with Nicodemus to go much further, but the memory made me smile.

Plus, she had cute toes. They went well with her cute nose.

She smiled, which quickly faded as I stepped inside, illuminating my injuries.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

I dumped staff and duster, pulled off my sneakers, and shuffled over. “Should’ve seen it an hour ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not as bad as it looks, honest.”

“It looks like it’s covered in dirt.”

I ran my fingers over it, flakes falling to the floor. “Yeah, it is. Give me a minute.” I used the kitchen faucet so as not to disturb Mouse, rinsing my cheek free of grime. It wasn’t until I dried my face that the smell of charred meat and fried potatoes caught my attention. My stomach growled, and loudly.

Murphy chuckled. “You weren’t kidding about being hungry.”

“Guess not.” I brought the paper bag and a can of Coke into the living room, lowering myself carefully into the recliner.

“Where were you? I expected you to be in the lab.”

I took a bite of burger, chewed and swallowed. It was delicious. “Lara called. She had some information I requested.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Is that how you…” she gestured to her own face.

“No,” I said with a snort. “Let me back up.” I told her what happened after Jörmungandr went nuclear, Cassius’ appearance and Will’s timely arrival. Then I told her about the portal on Demonreach, which, like Thomas, necessitated a brief introduction to the island and its inhabitants.

I also told her everything I hadn’t told my brother, regarding Chronos’ visit in my dream. Not that I was trying to keep things from him, but I’d just been so exhausted. And to be fair, while the information was important, it wasn’t urgent, and wouldn’t be urgent for years to come. I trusted Murphy’s judgment more than Thomas’, because though he was my brother, he wasn’t human. His priorities were not the same as mine or Murph’s. He saw humans as victims, as food.

Murph was silent for several minutes after I finished. “And Lara? What did she tell you?” she asked, a barely-concealed note of dread in her question.

This… was tricky. I couldn’t tell her it was her fate to die, that Vadderung would somehow make it happen no matter what I did, or what I tried. The door in my head rattled in its frame, the emotions I’d shoved behind it threatening to burst free.

I blew out a breath. “I wanted to know who was pulling Rudolph’s strings.”

An eyebrow raised. “And you asked Lara Raith?”

“Her network of information is impressive.”

Murph shot me a look that said, I bet that’s not all you found impressive. I blushed a little. She wasn’t wrong.

“Marcone?”

“That had been my guess, too, but no. Donar Vadderung.”

She blinked. “That explains why he was promoted into Internal Affairs, all right. More money and power than Marcone, and far more influence. Why, though?”

The door rattled again. I chained it shut.

Shrugging, I said, “She didn’t know.” Which was the truth. It wasn’t a lie, and still made me cringe inside. Telling her would do no good, I repeated to myself. That was true, too, but made me feel worse.

“Harry…” she began, then tucked her sock-covered foot under her leg, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear at the same time. “I don’t believe in destiny or fate, you know that. I do believe in having all the facts, then doing something about it. Rudolph is my problem, and I’m going to deal with it.”

She made it sound so cold, so impersonal, when it was anything but. And suddenly I was afraid for her. “What, exactly, are you planning to do?”

Murph shot me a wry look. “Not what you’re thinking, Dresden. I’m going to make sure he enrolls in a few classes on gun safety. I’ll take him to the range myself if I have to. He might not be a friend, any more. Hell, he might never have been a friend. But he was under my command, and I have a duty to make sure he never hurts anyone, including himself.”

I couldn’t help my smile.

“What?”

“It’s a very Murphy thing to do.”

“Show a man how inadequate he is?”

I snorted, which morphed into a full-blown chuckle. “Face your problems head on, no hesitation. I’ve always admired that about you, from the first time I met you.”

We shared a laugh, remembering the troll under the bridge that had tried to eat a child. Murphy, a beat cop then, hadn’t even slowed down her attack on something that clearly was not human. She’d taken the whole supernatural thing surprisingly well at the time.

“And look where that got me,” she quipped. “Head of Special Investigations. We’ve done a lot of good work together, you and me.” She let out a breath, then looked back to the stack of books she’d piled on one corner of the table. “So, what did you need my help with?”

I crumpled my soda can and set it on the table. “Ah… about that. I’m going to tell you something, and I’d like you just to listen. All right?”

She raised her eyebrows, but nodded.

“During the Battle of Chicago, people followed me. Not just people, but Little Folk, other allies of Winter, all inspired by the psychic banner the will of the Winter Knight created. I felt them, Murph. Every one. I felt them live, I felt their pain, and I felt them die. Eleven hundred and eighty-seven, that’s what I started with. By the end… well, the banner collapsed and I don’t know the exact number of survivors. I invited them all to the wake we held at Graceland Cemetery, for -“ you “- those that died, and about fifty or so showed up. To each one I gave a pin, a dried lima bean glued to a steel post, and each pin came with a promise of aid.”

I swallowed, the pain rising in my throat, as I spoke the words that had burned themselves into my memory. “I told them, ‘If you or anyone you love is ever in danger, come and find me. If it isn’t you, tell them to show me this. I will help. No questions asked.’”

Then I reached under the coffee table and retrieved the pin from where Mister had left it, setting it in her hand. “This pin. It’s one of mine, I could tell by the magic imbuing it.”

Murphy looked at the pin, then back at me, one question written plain on her face. But she’d promised just to listen, and didn’t ask.

“Both before and after Chronos’ visit in my dreams, I had another dream of a little girl named Paige. She asked me to help her father, and gave me that pin. Not only did I manage to pull it out of my dream, but through time itself. Paige couldn’t be older than five, which means she hasn’t even been born yet.”

I paused, let her gather her thoughts. But instead of asking me any of the impossible questions tumbling in her head, she went with a practical one. “Is that all you have to go on? No last name, no name of her father?”

“God, I love you,” I blurted out. Not from love, but from her acceptance of my belief and her willingness to help, and from the trust and friendship that’d grown between us over the years. When I realized what I’d said, I winced a little, wondering if she’d take it the wrong way.

Karrin had always been my friend, first and foremost. She knew my heart, sometimes better than I did. “I know,” she replied with a smirk, turning a moment that could have been anywhere from awkward to heartbreaking into a shared joke. That, coupled with her sparkling blue eyes, made me love her all the more.

I stomped down on the grief that hovered around the edges, because I wanted to remember this moment. I grinned back at her, a goofy, nerdy grin because she understood me. I basked in the feeling a moment longer, then answered her question.

“We were in an apartment building hallway, near a stairwell and elevator. One of those prewar buildings. When I asked where her father lived, Paige pointed down the hall. My hope is we find the building, we find Paige’s dad. I know I’ve seen that pattern of tile on the floor before, the staircase and elevators in a picture in one of these books.”

She gave me a disbelieving look. “Why were you researching Chicago architecture?”

“For a case I worked, years ago. Someone’s grandmother had allegedly hid valuables inside the wall of her apartment, and when a rental search didn’t turn up anyone with her name, I used the books to help pinpoint the building based on her son’s memories of it.”

Murph stared at me when I didn’t say anything else. “And?”

I snorted. It hadn’t occurred to me she’d want to know the outcome. “Found the right building, but all Mrs. Schmidt left behind was a small box of jewelry, most of it costume, none of it worth much. Except to her granddaughters.” I smiled at the memory. It was one of the easier, more enjoyable cases I’d had early in my career as a private investigator. They were barely able to afford my fee, but I’d always treasure the family dinner they had invited me to as thanks.

She returned the smile, then leaned over to grab the top book. “So what am I looking for?” Before she had to strain to reach it, I handed it to her. She shot me a glare, and I held my hands up in surrender.

“Don’t need you more injured than you already are. You’re my ride tonight.” If the city was under curfew, having a cop behind the wheel was better than me risking arrest. Not to mention her badge might come in handy, if we had to go door-to-door. I’m tall enough, and with my injuries and duster and staff in hand, scary enough that few would even open the door to talk to me.

I went to the kitchen and brought back my notebook, turned to a fresh page. “The mosaic floor tile has a border like this.” I drew it out, a repeating ‘T’ motif. “The picture features stairs with a wooden railing, the steps covered by thin slabs of granite, and there’s a pair of elevators to the right.”

She studied a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” She began flipping through her book, while I picked up another and did the same. For a long time, there was only the sound of the fire and pages turning.

“Is this it?” Murph asked, holding the book up.

I squinted. “Maybe?” I took it from her to study the image. “Yeah, yeah I think so.” I scanned the caption. “The Brittany, built in 1926.” That fit with the Art Deco embellishments I remembered, and the light fixtures. “You know where this is?” I might have lived in Chicago for a decade and change, but Murphy had been born here.

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “yes, I do.”

Chapter Text

I would have loved an old-fashioned doctor’s valise, all dark leather with brass accents and sturdy handles that folds open, something Dr. Watson might have carried. But it was impractical for someone who always needed both hands free, especially now when one of those hands was nearly nonfunctional. So I took the backpack that served as my wizard’s kit down into the subbasement to pick up a few things I might need in addition to the commonly used items it already held.

It’s hard packing for an investigation. Magically speaking, I mean. There are so many items that come in handy given the right circumstances, but the pack isn’t that large. I had to pick and choose, select the most logical given Paige’s statement that her dad was “magic sick.”

Ghost dust, for starters. A small plastic bag of powdered quartz crystal and a piece of paper folded into a fan, the runes on it written with ink infused with that same powder. A glove, the other half of the pair I wore on my left hand. I’d once pulled a spell out of someone worked into the shape of barbed wire with bare hands, and it hurt. Wearing gloves in the physical world would help create gloves in the metaphysical one, simply by touch. Magic is about belief, after all.

While I was in the subbasement packing, Murphy offered to take Mouse outside for a slow, careful walk to the back yard where he could take care of business. By the time I climbed back upstairs, Mouse was eating from his bowl, slurping instead of crunching which meant a can of wet food. I had a few that I doled out as extra treats, mixing it with kibble on occasion.

I secured the lab, then went over to gently rub my hand over his back. His tail wagged once, twice, but slowly, just as he was eating slowly.

“You got everything you need?” Murphy asked.

I shouldered the pack. “Hope so. Hard to know what I’ll need until I need it, but this should cover a wide range of possibilities.” When Mouse licked the bowl clean, he turned those doggy eyes up at me. I scratched behind his ears. “You finished?” He huffed, then walked with a stiff-legged gate back into the bedroom. He managed the bed by himself, then stretched out on his side. “We should be back in a few hours. Get some rest.” I offered one final scratch and rejoined Murphy in the kitchen.

“I gave him another round of medication with his food, so he should sleep the entire time we’re gone. Ready?”

“Just about.”

I left a brief note for Thomas, telling him I was with Murphy and to call her cell if he needed me. I specifically wrote down I was working a case with her, so my brother wouldn’t get the idea we were out for a romantic evening. Even if in my heart I’d much rather be curled up on Murph’s sofa, her in my arms. If there was an emergency, I didn’t want Thomas to not call just because he thought he’d interrupt us enjoying each other.

That done, I followed Murphy outside. The sun had well and truly set, the streetlights beacons in the dark. As before, I heard few cars on the road, and the tension in the air, the low-grade sensation of dread, was still present. But it hadn’t grown any worse, and with most safe inside their homes, behind thresholds and surrounded by family, any preternatural out hunting tonight would find little prey.

Murphy had to take the concrete steps leading up to street level slowly, turning slightly sideways to make it easier for her to lift her left foot. It was to avoid tripping on the boot’s toe, which extended past her own and curled up just enough that it became a hazard. I knew that from experience.

I wanted to pick her up and carry her, but knew that was about the worst thing I could do. So I forced my chivalrous instincts down, clenched my jaw, and waited patiently until she was at the top.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, shooting a glance over her shoulder as I locked my door and reset the wards.

I raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Those blue eyes were nearly black, the streetlight behind her throwing her face into deep shadow. “For letting me do this on my own. I know you wanted to help.”

I climbed up to join her, shrugging. I didn’t disagree with her. “You didn’t need my help. If you actually needed it, you’d ask.”

Murph gave me an odd, considering look. “Most of the time, I forget you’re not my Harry. Then you say something like that. Harry would’ve turned it into a joke or movie quote, but you…” she trailed off with a shrug, turning away as if faintly embarrassed.

“Hey, if you want to go back downstairs I’d be happy to throw you over my shoulder, caveman style.” Her head snapped back around to find me with a smile on my face, warm and genuine. Seeing that, the glare she’d shot my way faded. “Don’t want you to think I’ve totally lost all my charm. It’s just…” I waved a hand vaguely, and it was my turn to be embarrassed. “My thoughts regarding you tend towards the more serious, I suppose.”

She unlocked her Saturn. “Because you’re in love with me.” She said it matter-of-fact, but I could tell it bothered her by the sudden tension in her shoulders.

“Yeah,” I replied gently. “That.”

Several emotions flickered over Murphy’s face, too fast (and it was too dark) for me to read. She blew out a breath, then gestured with her chin to the car. “Come on, loverboy. Let’s go storm the castle.”

“You know Murph,” I said, dumping my staff in the back seat and climbing carefully in the front, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

It caused her to laugh, and she was still laughing quietly as we pulled out of my parking lot and into the night.

We hadn’t gone but a few blocks when flashing lights ahead caught my attention. A police checkpoint, one patrol car with two officers, blocked our progress. Murphy stopped behind another car, using the short wait while that car was cleared to proceed to pull both her wallet and badge from her jacket.

“Evening,” said the officer after we pulled up and Murph rolled down her window. “There’s a curfew tonight, you folks shouldn’t be out on the street.”

Murphy flashed her badge. “Lieutenant Murphy, Special Investigations. This is my civilian consultant. We’re working a case.”

The officer - Clark, by his name tag - took her ID for closer examination, then shined his flashlight in both our faces. I squinted against the brightness, but didn’t raise my hands or make any sort of gesture at all that could be construed as hostile.

“Bad business today, Lieutenant,” Clark told her, handing the ID back to her. “Be safe out here tonight.”

“Thank you, Officer Clark,” she replied with a congenial nod. “You do the same.”

We were waved through.

“Think it’ll help?” she asked, glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes.

“It should keep most people inside, away from anything looking for easy prey. And you know how the supernatural avoids mortal authorities if at all possible. Yeah, I think it’ll help.” I looked out my window as we passed numerous businesses closed for the evening, letting the silence stretch.

The apartment building was in a part of town I didn’t frequent often. Humboldt Park was south of where I lived, west of Bucktown where Murphy lived, and as the name implies, butted up against an actual Humboldt Park. Some blocks were borderline, some would be considered upper middle-class, and some (particularly the southwest portion) featured light industrial. Most fell into what I’d call working class, old buildings that once were the gems of their time but had fallen into disrepair over the subsequent decades.

The Brittany fit that description perfectly. It was six stories, and between floors two and four, twin sections of the building’s façade featured bow windows, similar to bay windows but formed by curves instead of straight lines. On the top floor, separated by the one below by a thick decorative border, the windows were smaller and arched at the top.

I could see an echo of its former beauty in the details of the brickwork, the carved stone embellishments. In the decades since its construction, it had suffered for lack of maintenance. Crumbling brick, dark lines running down its façade from rusting window air conditioners. The windows didn’t all match, and many had slashed, bent, or missing screens. About half facing the street were illuminated.

It was sad, seeing the former grande dame in such a dilapidated state.

The front door, whatever it had originally been, was now glass like you might find in a convenience store, and locked when I tested its handle. But standing in the entryway, something brushed against my senses, tingling, leaving a faint trace of unease behind.

“Think we’re in the right place,” I told Murphy, stepping back from the door. “I can sense something here.”

She frowned at the door, then at me. “Now what?” I was about to suggest using magic, as I saw through the glass a push bar on the other side, but she’d already noticed the old-style buzzer panel tagged with last names for most of the units. The units themselves were not identified. She ran her hands down the panel, pressing every buzzer. Ignoring the few that answered, she remained silent, waiting. And sure enough, the door clicked as someone unlocked it.

Bad for security, but good for us.

I pulled the door open and gestured with a flourish. “Ladies first.”

Murphy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me use my boot to kick your ass, Dresden.”

“I might enjoy that,” I shot back, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.

She snorted. “Pig.”

The lobby, if you could call it such, was just a narrow hallway between two walls of mailboxes leading to a pair of elevators. The floor was mosaic tile, in varying shades of gray, but without the border I remembered from my dreams. When it was first built, the entry had likely been larger, then remodeled later into this smaller version to gain space for additional apartments.

As we walked down the hall, I sensed that same trace of magic and followed it like a hound following a scent. It led to the elevators, and standing in front of them, I finally located the staircase. That looked exactly the same from my dreams.

Murphy had already called the elevator, and its door slid open with a ding. “We’ll stop at every floor,” I told her as I got in, “and see if I can find a trail.”

She didn’t respond, simply pressed the button for the second floor. It wasn’t until the fourth that I found that sense of unease again, followed it down the hall. I spared a glance for the stairwell, found the step I’d been sitting on in my dream. It was surreal how exactly the details matched, right down to the smell.

Door after door we passed, every step of mine down the tiled, echoing hallway bringing me closer to the man I needed to save. The touch of magic grew so concentrated it was like wading through waist-high water, and I abruptly stopped in front of one of the doors. Its badly tarnished brass numbers told me it was unit 412.

“This is it,” I said quietly.

Murph nodded and knocked on the door. I heard movement inside; someone was home. A chain slipped off, a lock turned, and the door opened just enough to see a man’s pale, haunted face peek out from behind it.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming.

My mouth fell open, because I recognized him. “Randy?” One of the few under my Winter Knight banner whose name I learned, and remembered. A skinny guy in his late thirties was at present a still-skinny guy in his late twenties who looked distinctly unhealthy. His paleness wasn’t from lack of sun but from sickness, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead from a sheen of sweat covering his brow. Dark circles under his eyes stood out like bruises, and his skinny frame was too skinny, not quite emaciated, but thinner than I remembered. As if he hadn’t eaten anything for days, or what he’d eaten he hadn’t been able to keep down.

I had wondered from time to time what became of Randy. If his wife and daughter survived the devastation the Last Titan brought to our city. He’d been at the wake, accepted a pin from me, but I had not been in the mood for catching up. In fact, that day’s memories were blurred so effectively in my mind that I couldn’t recall his face among the Knights of the Bean.

Randy looked up at me. “Yeah?” he repeated. I continued to stare at him - while not meeting his eyes - and had no idea what to say. Your future daughter sent me to save you seemed rather inappropriate.

Murph shot me a sideways glance and took matters into her own hands when it became clear I wasn’t going to initiate the conversation.

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Murphy with Chicago P.D.” She unclipped the badge from her waist and held the shield up for inspection. “This is my civilian consultant, Mr. Dresden,” she continued, gesturing to me. “May we come in? You are not in any trouble, we just have a few questions for you.”

Instead of suspicion and hostility and a demand for further answers, he merely pulled the door open wider and moved aside. Being an apartment, there was no threshold to speak of, no magical barrier I had to force my way through as I entered.

Glancing around, it was clear he was a bachelor. It was messy, but mostly with discarded clothing. No dirty dishes lying about, or stacked up in the sink waiting to be washed. No empty containers of food or pizza boxes. Most of the lights were off, save for a single lamp in the corner, which left the majority of the room in deep shadow.

And it stank. Not with a detectable odor, but with the presence of magic, my tongue coated with its thick, rancid taste. It wasn’t black magic, of that I was sure, but as I let my senses adjust, I realized I knew the taste. The taste of Outsiders, beings beyond our universe, held at bay by the Outer Gates buried deep in the Nevernever. One was here, in Randy’s apartment, or possibly inside Randy himself.

“How long have you been feeling ill, Randy?” I asked him, watching as he nearly fell trying to sit on the couch.

“Couple of weeks,” he said, nearly mumbling the words. “It got worse, so I took the last two days off work, but it didn’t help.” He put his face in his hands. “Nothing helps.”

I handed my staff to Murphy, who took it without comment. Then I approached the man slowly, hands empty and extended outward to show I was no threat. “I might be able to help, Randy, if you’ll let me.”

He let his hands fall away. He’d been crying, his cheeks glistening with tears. “Really?”

“Really. But I have to touch you for a moment, if that’s all right. Just your hand.” I crouched down next to him so we were closer to eye level. No one likes having people loom over them. The naked hope on his face was plain, and this close, whatever was affecting him began affecting me. My stomach roiled with nausea.

“Is that all right?” I asked again. I wasn’t going to touch him without his permission. Even with, depending on what specifically was affecting him, he might become enraged and attack. I didn’t see any weapons on him, and physically he appeared weak, not to mention I had the Mantle’s strength to call upon if needed. But it doesn’t take much to push thumbs into an eyeball.

He gave me a jerky nod, then held out his right hand.

As soon as my skin made contact with his, the presence swarmed over my shields. I felt its weight, its alien thoughts pressing against my will, searching desperately for a way in. But by being Starborn, I was immune to their mind control, and realizing the futility of its efforts, the Outsider shrieked. Immune to mind control, yes, but not to physical damage. The sound scraped across my eardrums, and while they didn’t burst, I felt a trickle of blood in my ear canal.

What I did pick up was enough to understand what it had done, and was still trying to do, to Randy. There was a woman in his office he had a crush on, but she had a fiancé. Randy, being a decent human being, merely admired her from afar and had no plans to ever act on his feelings. Then the Outsider found him, or infected him, latching on to his psyche and feeding him ideas of how to make the woman his and only his.

Murder of her fiancé to start. Or torture, then murder. Or abduction and rape, keeping the woman as his own personal plaything for weeks, months, years. The images flicking over the surface of my mind became worse from there, and the will pushing them into Randy’s… I don’t know how the poor man had remained sane, let alone fought off its litany of cajoling whispers.

I opened my eyes to find him shivering, staring at me with despair carved into deep lines on his face. “Can you help?” he whispered, the shivers becoming more violent. Murphy picked up a blanket tossed carelessly on the floor and draped it over Randy’s shoulders.

Maybe. Maybe not. But I was determined to try, and let that determination show in both my expression and my voice. “I believe I can, but you’ll have to do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”

“Y-y-yes,” he stuttered, teeth chattering. “I can’t… I can’t live… like this…” I couldn’t be sure he was even fully aware of what was going on. Hell’s bells, I couldn’t be sure he believed we were real.

“Murph, we need to clear enough space for a circle.” She jumped into action, helping me move the table out of the way, push the sofa to one side, shove clothes into messy piles in the corners. Randy’s apartment had old wood floors, boards badly gouged and scraped that hadn’t seen the shine of polish for a decade or more. All of that meant chalk would suffice for a circle, rather than the sand I thought I’d need.

I had a box of chalk in my bag, but I also had several pieces in various duster pockets. I pulled one out, then took off the duster and draped it over the couch. It would be easier to sit without it. I drew a circle large enough for the both of us.

“What are you d-doing?” Randy asked, clutching the blanket to his bony shoulders.

“Come sit with me,” I said, not bothering to answer the question. I took up a position on one side of the circle, cross-legged.

He let the blanket slide off. He was wearing a long-sleeve tee and jeans, and I had the impression he hadn’t changed clothes in at least a day, likely more. He stepped over the line of chalk carefully, like he was afraid it might bite him, then sat across from me.

Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. A children’s rhyme, used when jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. Randy behaved nearly the same way I’d seen kids do while playing the game.

I had never been one of those kids.

“Rest your left hand on your knee, palm up,” I told him. He did. “I’m going to hold your hand while I examine you. I need you to remain calm, and stay in the circle, all right?” I was going to pull the thing out of him, or turn it to ash if I couldn’t, and it was likely going to hurt. A lot.

I shot a look at Murphy. And she understood. “I’ve got the door.” In case someone heard screaming and came to investigate. Having a cop flash a badge would hopefully deter them.

I nodded my thanks, sent a push of will down my finger touching the chalk, and closed the circle. When it snapped shut, suddenly all that magic and unease concentrated itself in the small space, and it became hard to breathe.

You have enough oxygen. Just relax, Dresden, let your lungs do what they’re designed for. Spoken in my mind from one of the Harrys, I didn’t care which one because the advice worked.

“Close your eyes, Randy. It’ll be easier.”

The man blinked at me. “Uh… okay.” He closed his, I closed mine, and gripped his hand firmly.

I’ve had the pleasure of fighting a shoggoth and packs of cornerhounds, dealt with Walkers and many - too many - Outsiders that defy description.

This Outsider I had never encountered. While I could see its energy, I had the sense it also had a physical body, something small, compact, and had embedded itself deep into Randy’s brain. Something scorpion-like, chitinous plates covering a segmented body, waving around two giant pincers. My brain gave me an image of the sand-dwelling creature Khan kept as a pet, using its larvae to infect the Reliant’s officers with the goal of bending them to his will.

A Khan worm.

As I named the Outsider, it became real, its amorphous cloud coalescing into something sold and tangible under my fingertips that brushed along Randy’s aura. It didn’t want me here. It didn’t want me anywhere close to its chosen prey, and it began to struggle. It… was afraid. Afraid of me, and it was a specific fear I tasted, one not born of being told about monsters lurking in the dark, but of Harry Dresden, Starborn.

I am the Outsiders’ John Wick. Not the boogeyman, but the man you send to kill the boogeyman. Which not only had the virtue of being true, but suited me just fine. Perfect, in fact.

I’m going to make you regret this, I told the Khan worm, felt my smile widen until my teeth were bared. And I’m going to enjoy it a hell of a lot.

The Outsider shrieked again, and somewhere my physical body responded to that sound. But in here, it couldn’t touch me.

Had the me of ten years ago met Randy, he wouldn’t have understood what the creature was. Wouldn’t have had the experience or the knowledge to remove it, or failing that, destroy it. I, being the Harry ten years from now, had both. So I cracked my metaphysical fingers and got to work.

First, I had to see what I was dealing with.

I focused on Randy’s aura, throbbing a sickly pale yellow. Like all auras, it didn’t correspond to a human shape; it mostly resembled one of those homology models of proteins you sometimes see on science shows, or fictional shows that liked to highlight the science. Randy’s folded in on itself in complex shapes that weren’t real. This was just my brain’s interpretation of what my wizard senses encountered.

Using my hands, I rotated it to get a better view, and found the Outsider nestled deep within a vital, vulnerable part. The brain, the source of thought and reason, emotion and empathy. It was difficult to see, masking itself with Randy’s aura, trying to blend in as a cuttlefish or octopus would.

Come out, come out, wherever you are, I whispered in a sing-song voice. Then I poured more energy and will into the effort, and the Khan worm turned a brilliant blue, its outline now easily visible against the backdrop of Randy’s far paler color. It was attached not by one mouth, but by dozens. Hundreds. All filled with tiny, sharp, hook-like teeth. With every pulse of the Khan worm’s essence, Randy’s aura dimmed for a moment. Only a moment, but I knew it was just a matter of time before the worm swallowed every part of Randy’s personality until only a shell remained, to be filled by whatever the Outsider desired.

That was a scary scenario. Walkers were different. Walkers seemed to possess coherent thought, became effortlessly melded into the human body they chose to house their incorporeal form. But this? I could pick up nothing of its own wants, only its influence on what Randy wanted.

I took a moment to study the Khan worm. Then I made the decision to kill it, which wasn’t a decision at all because I’d already planned on that before delving deep into Randy’s essence.

It was an act of will.

Had I thought beforehand about using starlight, it likely would have failed. But I didn’t think, I imagined the starlight shining down through the night sky above us, the power of creation and destruction as old as the universe itself. Felt it brush across my upturned cheeks despite two floors of solid building between me and it, heard the echo of its beautiful, haunting song thrumming in my blood. I used that power, not by forcing into the shape I wanted, but by visualizing an athame in my hand crafted of nothing but starlight.

It is hard, very hard for me to relinquish control. I am not a passive person by nature, and using a spell in this manner went contrary to my instincts and my training. But I’d been learning, and relaxed my body and mind, letting the starlight flow into me and out through the fingertips of my right hand.

The athame shimmered into being, razor sharp, gleaming brightly and comfortable in my grip.

The Outsider… screamed. It was terrified of the light, of the multihued strands woven together so tightly it formed a solid object in my hand. I felt that terror, that scream, deep in the hindbrain where primal instincts take over. Fight or flight, that’s what the scream vibrating against me warned, with a heavy emphasis on flight. But it was only fear, and I’ve been afraid before.

I chose to fight.

As delicate as a surgeon, I cut through each tendril just below its mouth as I kept up a murmured litany composed of one word, almost like a prayer. “Astrare.” The tendrils parted without resistance, curling up into oozing black stumps against the Khan worm’s body. It screamed and screamed, and I sliced and sliced. The word I was repeating wasn’t exactly for a spell, as the spell was the athame itself. It was to keep my focus on the knife, suppressing the Outsider’s pain and terror from worming its way into my thoughts, shattering the delicate weave of starlight.

My arm began to ache, as did my eyes. I was sweating, but too wary of calling on the Winter Mantle for assistance. Add an actual spell into the mix, or draw from power not part of my innate gifts, and the construct might rip itself apart. So I gritted my teeth and kept working. Too stubborn to give up. That was one of the Harrys again, but it was a welcome thought instead of a distraction.

When the last tendril was cut, the last mouth severed from its food source, I turned the knife on the Khan worm itself. “Astrare!” I shouted, this time imbuing kinetic energy into the thrust. It penetrated the chitinous exterior without effort, burying itself deep in whatever the Outsider used as its brain. It shrieked and writhed, trying to pull away, trying to flee.

Oh, no you don’t.

“Flickum bicus,” I murmured, using the barest touch of magic. I didn’t want to immolate Randy, or myself for that matter, and focused that flame through the blade made of starlight so only the Outsider burned. And burn it did, with white-hot fire in a kaleidoscope of colors as my spell met with - and absorbed - that same starlight, giving off a sick, greasy, rancid-smelling smoke, thick and cloying. As the Khan worm convulsed and turned to ash, so too did the mouths attached to Randy’s essence. Then it was gone, and that pale yellow aura of his grew brighter, healthier, until it became close to burnished gold.

“Harry!”

The circle broke with a snap of energy, my consciousness thrown back into my body as the force slid me several feet across the floor. Instead of smashing into the wall, I landed in a pile of clothes, dizzy and blinking as I tried to clear my blurred vision.

Murphy leaned over me. “You all right?”

“How’s Randy?” I asked, taking a moment before trying to sit up.

“Unconscious.” She shot a look over her shoulder. “Managed to drag him onto the couch.”

“You broke the circle.” It was more statement than question, but she nodded.

“Your hand…” she started, then stopped and swallowed. “It caught fire. Not the normal fire I’ve seen you use for spells, but a… I can’t even describe it. It contained every color, but had no color. I wasn’t even sitting that close to you and I could feel it, somehow both hot and cold at the same time.”

Huh, that was new. It also meant the fire wasn’t just magic; it had a physical presence the circle couldn’t contain. I held up my hand, turning it over to examine the back of it. Nothing, no scorch marks on the bandages or frostbite on my fingertips, no damage of any kind. Although… were my nails… sparkling? I examined them more closely; sure enough, tiny flecks glimmered in the light like holographic glitter added to nail polish. But this wasn’t on my nails. The flecks were embedded underneath, turning my fingertips into an array of pink-hued starlight. I scratched at the surface of one nail to be sure.

“I still wouldn’t normally have broken your circle, but the flames spread to Randy’s shirt. They started to burn like a real fire would, so I had to put it out.”

I paused in my examination to look up at her. “You did the right thing, Murph.”

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, which promptly fell back into its original position. “Is it… gone?”

“It’s gone. I’ll check once more to be sure. Help me up?” I offered my hand and she took it without hesitation, pulling me into a sitting position. From there, it was merely a matter of moving slowly, not straining already protesting muscles. The bruises on my back were aching again, as were my ribs. But as I got to my feet, an arctic gale blew through my body, the Winter Mantle finally reclaiming its power. It dampened the pain, made it bearable to move again.

“What was it?” Murph asked.

“An Outsider. One I haven’t encountered before. It was attacking Randy psychically, pushing thoughts into his head, fixated on a woman he has a crush on at work. Thoughts that could turn him into another Lloyd Slate, or worse. A lot worse.” I blew out a breath. “A few more days and we would have been too late. Honestly, I don’t know how he managed to resist the Khan worm this long.”

She raised a golden eyebrow. “Khan worm?”

I grinned, though it was half-hearted at best. I was too damned exhausted. “The first impression I had of it resembled those worms in The Wrath of Khan. It helps to name a thing, gives you power over it even if it’s not a proper or true name. Or… at least it does in my case.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s all in my head, but it works.” Magic was like that. I believed it to be true, and it was.

I went to Randy. As Murph said, the man was unconscious on his couch, lower half covered by the discarded blanket. The cuff of his left sleeve had small burn holes through the fabric, but the skin underneath was untouched when I pushed it up gently. That touch of skin on skin, my fingertips to his wrist, opened my new senses to his aura. I found… nothing. No trace of the Khan worm or its influence remained.

“Yeah, it’s gone,” I confirmed for Murphy, straightening.

“Should we try to wake him up?”

Already the man looked healthier, the sickly pallor giving way to a pale complexion with a touch of color to his cheeks. The purple shadows under his eyes had faded somewhat. “No,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “It’s better if he thinks this was just a fever dream. Another day or two of rest, some solid food, and I think he’ll be fine.”

She frowned, studying the man.

“You can always come by in a few days for a welfare check, Murph. I’m sure you can think up an excuse.”

That got her to look up at me. Really look. And the frown deepened. “I think we need to get you home. Whatever little sleep you had wasn’t enough. Not for what you just did.”

I waved her off. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Then my feet betrayed me, one getting caught behind the other as I tried to walk. It sent me crashing to the floor. “Okay, maybe you’re right,” I conceded, using her strength and offered hand once more to pull me up.

It hadn’t woken Randy. I didn’t expect anything would wake him, not for hours.

“You knew who he was. You said he followed your banner during the battle?” Murphy asked, watching as I borrowed a t-shirt from one of the clothes piles and scrubbed at the line of chalk.

“He did.” We’ve got a goddamned wizard! I remembered his shout, full of fierce pride. I’d just burned alive several dozen enemy combatants, humans either paid or coerced by the Fomor. Used magic, my magic, a force of what should be filled with life and light and goodness in the world, to kill humans deliberately. In front of God and everyone, I’d broken the First Law of Magic.

At the time, I just wanted my people out of the line of fire, and we needed to cross the bridge they held. No time for second-guessing, or doubt, or any kind of feeling whatsoever other than relief. But it was a recurring nightmare of mine, not as bad as it used to be, but occasionally made its appearance while I slept.

Did I regret the necessity of it? Yes. Would I do it again if faced with the same scenario? Hell, yes. The Mantle agreed with me, pounding in my blood to a drumbeat only it could hear.

I imagined my face went through a wide range of emotion after uttering those two little words. Murphy saw it. She saw everything, even the tears that didn’t make an appearance but I felt catching in my throat. “You became the monster so others didn’t have to make the choice. You did it to save lives, and to protect the city you love in the only way you know how,” she said softly, extending her hand to cup my cheek. I was too tall for that to work, so I bent down for her to reach. That light touch, that caress, was a benediction.

I set my bandaged hand over hers. “I know.”

“And it doesn’t help a damned thing, does it?” Murphy smiled faintly. Sometimes there are no good choices, only ones you can live with. She gave Randy one last look. “Let me take you home.”

I dozed off on the ride back, slumping down in my seat as much as I could and leaning my head on the window.

That was a mistake.

I found myself surrounded by endless dark forest in every direction, though it was too dark to make out the trees. I felt them, heard wind whistling through branches, smelled the sharp, fresh scent of pine. Underneath my boots was a thin layer of snow, crunching as I shifted my weight.

My senses screamed I wasn’t alone.

The night is dark and full of terrors. Butters quoted that on occasion, taken from a fantasy show he thought I’d like. In this case, the quote was absolutely true.

I felt the eyes of predators watching me. Dozens, all focused on me and me alone, deciding if I was prey to be eaten, or merely toyed with. And I was afraid. That primal, instinctive fear all of us carry, left over from a time when we were not the top of the food chain. Most of humanity believed those days were in the distant past; but some of us knew we remained on the menu for countless monsters. Perfect hunters that saw us as nothing but prey. In many cases, the ideal prey. In others, the only prey.

But fear was just fear, and I wasn’t anyone’s prey.

“Come get some,” I growled, drawing on that fear, focusing my will and power. Hellfire flashed at my fingertips. “Who’s first?”

Eyes appeared in that blackest of nights, hovering in mid-air like some emerald version of the Cheshire Cat. But this was a predator watching me, a jaguar twitching its tail as it waited for the perfect moment to pounce.

“My Knight.” Mab’s form shaped itself around those eyes, bringing light with her. “The contract is fulfilled, and the Winter Mantle mine to reclaim.”

I watched her warily, releasing the power I’d gathered back into the earth once I realized where I was. This was Mab’s domain; I had little chance of hurting her here. “You’ll give it back to Slate, and you’ll keep torturing him for years to come.” It wasn’t a question.

She lifted a brow, her eyes shifting from deep Winter green to indigo and back again. “Of course. The mortal betrayed me, I who demanded nothing but his loyalty and obedience. He will be punished, though I must needs find more creative ways. Even without the Winter Mantle, he is too fond of pain.” She stepped closer, and I saw we were of a height. Her eyes bored into mine. Though there was no risk of a soulgaze, not here, I shivered as she stared at me.

“Now, my Knight, we will complete the bargain.” If it was anything similar to how she’d bestowed the Winter Mantle on me, I’d start screaming. With Murphy driving, my abrupt reaction meant we might end up crashing.

“What did you request of Vadderung?” I asked, partly to stall, partly because I was curious. What could Odin offer the Wicked Queen that she couldn’t get - or bargain for.- herself?

The smug, self-satisfied smile she offered made my shoulders tense. “A boon to be collected at a future time, when I so desire it.”

I frowned, puzzled. Then a realization smashed into me and stole the breath left in my lungs. Vadderung said Murphy needed to die, at a specific place and time, so that I would be available to marry Lara Raith. What if… my stomach plummeted as my head spun, dizzy with possibilities. What if that had been Mab’s price? An unencumbered Knight to solidify Winter’s strength with an alliance to the White Court, using marriage to bind the two inextricably together?

What if it had never been Vadderung’s idea or intention at all, but Mab’s?

She was Fae, Queen of the darkest, scariest Fae in existence. To keep her power, to grow her power, she would do everything possible within the constraints of Winter Law. She couldn’t murder a mortal, but she could order me to do it. Or she could call in her favor with Vadderung and have him manipulate events so I had no recourse to stop it.

Or maybe I was simply paranoid, seeing shadows where none existed.

These thoughts passed through me in a single heartbeat, leaving behind echoes of grief and anger. Whatever Mab saw in my expression in those moments caused her to narrow her eyes thoughtfully.

“Let us finish this, my Knight.”

“Wait! I need - “ I never finished the sentence. Her hands gripped my face as her lips made contact with mine, and it was too late.

I had no doubt she could be sensual if she chose; she was Fae after all, Queen of the Winter Sidhe, home to beings that believed sex and violence were one and the same. And in their eyes, the most violent sex always started with the sweetest of seductions. This kiss, while intoxicating, wasn’t meant for seduction. It was a means to an end, the most expedient way to retrieve the part of her power currently residing in me. Cold poured down my throat, the cold of darkest winter nights, a breathtaking, icy chill. It encased my heart, and as it did, began pulling something out of me, something borrowed but mine just the same. There was no pain at first, not until that inexorable pull met with unexpected resistance.

Someone yanked hard in the opposite direction.

“That power is mine!” I snarled, but it wasn’t me speaking. I was locked in Mab’s embrace, unable to move. My eyes found my alter ego, mine and not Harry Actual’s, dressed entirely in black with a snowflake brooch pinned to his chest. His right hand was raised, poised to launch a spell at the Queen of Air and Darkness without a second thought.

The rage in his expression was frightening.

It was enough for Mab to release me. I stumbled backwards, out of reach, rubbing at my chest. It hurt, frozen icicles growing outward trying to punch through my ribcage. But the Winter Mantle remained mine, its power swirling through my body, and it was enraged. In fact, if I had to give a human face to that bristling sensation, it would mirror my double’s.

Which… shocked me, honestly. The Mantle was a part of Winter, a piece of the Queen’s magic loaned to her Knight for the length of his duty. In practical terms, until his death, which for most of the Knights was a handful of years after accepting the position. Yet the Mantle disliked being forced; actually, dislike was too strong, and too human, a word. It reacted badly to being removed, despite the greater power of the Queen retrieving it.

That made me wonder. Does the Mantle care who it belongs to, or who is on the receiving end of its power? Am I changing the Mantle, just as it changes me? Or does it always behave in this manner when not transferred between the death of one Knight at the hands of his heir?

It was something I’d have to consider later, when I had the luxury to do so.

Mab was studying my double. “The power comes from the Winter Queen, Knight. It is merely on loan.” Then she bared sharply pointed teeth and hissed, “It belongs to me.“

“It is mine by right, by blood and breath and bone. That is what you promised me, and that is what I demand,” he replied, still snarling.

I thought Mab would become angry, attack him, or me, or both. This wasn’t a true dream, but a dreamlike construct that she’d brought us to, where actions here led to consequences in the physical world. If she slit my throat, there was a good chance I’d wake up to blood fountaining down my chest. It might not be quite as extreme, but there would be repercussions.

I don’t know about you, but I was tired of being injured.

“Hold on -“ I began, but my double cut me off.

“It is my right!” he repeated, and did what I feared he would do. He cast a spell. Or he tried. “Fu-“

Mab snapped her fingers, freezing the spell mid-cast. Not only that, but she’d completely frozen my alter ego. Encased in a glittering, transparent block of ice, not even his eyes moved. She walked over to him, trailing long claw-tipped fingers over its surface. They left faint gouges in the ice. “Oh, yes,” she breathed, smiling a smug, possessive smile that struck fear in every molecule of my body. “You will do. I have waited centuries for a Knight such as you, one worthy of my favor.”

It ended in a throaty purr filled with such lust - partly bloodlust, partly sex, because in Winter you can’t have one without the other - that I took two steps towards her, needing her, needing to be close to her, needing her to acknowledge me, desperately needing her approval. Not even Lara had such a hold over me, but then again, Mab owned my very soul.

The Winter Queen’s eyes flicked to me as I fought the compulsion, but ended up stopping a handspan away from her alien, intoxicating beauty. “Let it be known that I tried to make this easy on you, my Knight. What must happen next is the consequence of his actions.”

“Wait!” I protested, trying to raise my hand to stop her, trying to move my feet, but like my inner self, I was frozen in place, frozen from the inside out. That clawed hand blurred, driving through the flesh and bone of my chest, reaching for my heart.

Pain. I thought I knew a little about pain. This wasn’t pain, or agony, or any word I could think to describe it properly. The burning of my hand came close, though this was not just a hand but my entire body, and it wasn’t from heat but cold. Bitter, arctic cold, burning me, consuming me, that same liquid nitrogen pouring down my throat now poured into my chest, encasing my heart.

My back arched as I screamed, my body able to respond to the pain despite being unable to move. Fingers, delicate and featherlight, brushed over that frozen heart, fondling it, caressing it. Then they punched through the muscle, ripping free something small embedded inside. I screamed, and again when Mab’s hand withdrew, shuddering from the sensation and cold and heat and raw nerves long after my chest became whole again.

Through the haze of pain and tears, I saw her hold the object she’d pulled from me between two fingers, studying it. Swirling with Winter colors, deep greens and pale blues and darkest purples, it was roughly the size of a marble, exuding an unexpected amount of power for something so small.

Still shivering, shuddering, whimpering in pain, I couldn’t wake myself up. Couldn’t force this dream to end, or destroy the construct she’d created.

“Forzare!” came a thundering voice. Again, my voice, but not me. Future Harry, armed with the Blackstaff, stood shoulder to shoulder with me as his spell smashed up against whatever barriers the Queen of Air and Darkness built to keep me here. Everything - including Mab - shattered into glittering fragments that fell like rain. “He’s not yours to keep,” he snarled, supporting me as best he could while I collapsed to the ground.

As the dream began the slow fade to black, laughter echoed around us. “Not yet, my Knight. But one day, you will be mine. One day, you will come to me of your own free will. And we will accomplish great things together, triumphs spoken of in hushed, terrified words for centuries to come…”

My head rocked back from a slap to my cheek. “Harry, wake up!” The panic in Murphy’s voice did more to force myself back to consciousness than the sting of physical pain. “Dammit, don’t do this!”

“Murph…” I managed to mumble, though I couldn’t seem to open my eyes.

“Harry? Oh my God, you’re all right.” Her arms went around my much larger shoulders in a desperate hug, pulling me partially out of my seat.

“I’m okay.” That was a lie, because no, I wasn’t okay. Every bruise, scrape, cut and fracture throbbed in pain. The headache I woke up with was a jackhammer, and I tried hard not to wince with each heartbeat. My eyes finally unglued themselves, and I blinked as tears overflowed.

We were still in Murphy’s car, but parked in a small lot next to a bank. She had her face pressed into my shoulder, and she was shaking. Crying? I forced my arm up around her, holding her. She smelled so good, like home and comfort. And love. I didn’t try to force anything, hold her as tightly as I really wanted. I kept my arm around her in a friendly hug and let her cry.

Murph was like that. When in need of the rare emotional outlet, she’d take a few private minutes and cry (or scream, if the reason warranted it), and then she could move forward. Whether that meant dealing with the issue or putting it on the back burner depended on the current crisis she faced.

When she drew in a shaky breath and started to pull away, I let her. She offered me an embarrassed smile, though her eyes were dry. “Sorry. You started screaming like you were being burned alive, then… you just stopped, like a puppet whose strings were cut. For a few seconds I couldn’t feel a heartbeat. I thought you died from…” she trailed off unhappily.

“It wasn’t Kravos, Murph. He’s dead with a capital D and not coming back.” I opened her glove box to retrieve the bottle of ibuprofen. “The Winter Queen reclaimed her power, and she wasn’t gentle about it. Now everything hurts.” I didn’t mean to whine, but my voice broke on the last few words. I swallowed down four pills dry, then leaned my head back against the seat. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Her hand brushed across my forehead, smoothing hair away. It felt so gentle, and wonderful, and absolutely heartbreaking. I leaned into her touch, drawn as a moth to flame, even as grief tried to claw its way up from deep inside.

“I’ll take you home.”

Chapter Text

I stayed awake for the rest of the trip home. Part of that time I spent controlling my pain, using the technique Lash taught me. It took longer than usual, my exhaustion seeping through to distract my focus. But Murphy was quiet as she drove, allowing me to concentrate. Either she knew I was struggling, or just didn’t have much to say. Eventually the pain receded, the block I put in place good for the next few hours provided the monsters left me alone long enough. All that remained was my headache from the probable concussion, and the continual pressure behind my eyes.

Not long now, Future Harry told me. He kept himself shielded from me, but even so some of his emotions leaked around the edges. Pain, grief, guilt, the three building blocks of so many consequences in my life. For him, likely because he’d be returning to his own timeline ten years ahead of mine, where everyone he knew and loved was dead and the wolves were breaking down the door.

We’ve changed the timeline with our actions, I replied, trying to comfort him. Trying to comfort myself as well, sitting next to the woman I loved that I was about to lose for the second time. Maybe it’s enough.

If Vadderung wasn’t lying about that, too, he growled.

I wanted so desperately to believe that telling Murph about Rudolph, and her intentions to handle the problem in her own way, would change her death. But doubt festered, thanks to Vadderung’s words, that no matter what I did, what she did, what any of us did, she wouldn’t survive the Battle of Chicago.

We passed through another police checkpoint, though we barely had to stop for it. Murph knew the officer on duty, and he waved us through after they exchanged a few words.

Once she parked next to the Beetle and I got out, I found it hard to stand and more difficult to walk. I retrieved my staff from the back for stability, but it didn’t help much. I likely needed food. I definitely needed sleep. But I didn’t believe I’d be getting much of either tonight, the worry gnawing at my gut giving rise to a wave of nausea.

“You all right?” Murphy walked over to me, peering into my face.

“I’ll manage,” I said, slowly moving towards my apartment. I stumbled once or twice, and she helped me down the steps. I should’ve been helping her; she was the one with the broken ankle and walking boot, but the dizziness kept coming and going. It made me unsteady, even with my staff to lean on.

I made an effort of will and lowered my wards, unlocked the door, and waited. “Dammit,” I muttered after a few seconds.

“What’s wrong?” Murph asked, tensing as she scanned for danger.

“Mister isn’t back, which means Bob isn’t back.” I let out a sigh.

She opened the door for me. “What do you mean Bob’s not back? I thought he was trapped in that skull.”

I shuffled inside, dropping my staff into the Popcorn Tin of Holding and murmured a word, waving the fireplace to life, along with a dozen or more candles. “He’s not trapped. It’s his home, and I prohibit him from leaving it most of the time. But he conned me into letting him out for twelve hours, and he uses Mister as his ride.” Duster and boots were next, and once divested of them, I wobbled to the couch and sat down. It was closer to falling down.

Murphy joined me on the couch, removing her sneaker after she did. “But he’s a spirit, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So… what does he do, when he’s out?”

I blinked my eyes open and looked at her, slightly embarrassed. “He, uh… sometimes he goes to strip clubs.”

She stared at me. “Strip clubs?”

“Or college dorms. He’s very… um… appreciative of the female form,” I stammered, blushing a little.

Murphy frowned, in the way that meant she was putting together pieces to form a complete picture. I often saw that expression when she was working a case. “This is a master-servant relationship, isn’t it? Even though you treat Bob more like a friend than a servant. He’s picked up parts of your personality, which explains… a lot, actually.”

“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how to reply to her revelation.

She looked back at me with a small smile. “It’s all right, Dresden. I already know you’re a pig. Funny you passed it on to Bob, though. I mean… he’s a spirit. He doesn’t have the proper equipment.”

“I try not to think about it. I, uh… have a favor to ask.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Okay.”

I rubbed at my eyes, but it didn’t relieve the pressure or the gritty feeling that was becoming a distraction. “I wanted Bob here so I could have him pass along information on future events to Harry once he wakes up, but I don’t think he’ll be back before I’m gone. Would you tell him, instead?”

Murph frowned, considering the request, then nodded. “All right, but I’ll decide when and how.”

It made me smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.” I started with the Fomor’s activity in Chicago, years before the battle. Even if some events didn’t - couldn’t - change, I wanted her to be aware of who and what they were, and do her best to prepare for them. I touched on the Walker infecting Justine and Thomas’ assassination attempt on Etri. Hopefully Harry could take what I’d explained to Bob and use it to remove the Outsider long before those events happened.

I told her of Ivy’s kidnapping (and yeah, Marcone’s, too) and Michael’s injury, then of Cowl’s second attempt that cost Michael his life. Which brought me around to Molly, her use of black magic, her kidnapping by the fetches and the rescue that eventually cost Murphy her job.

“I didn’t think the time slip would be that great between the Nevernever and the mortal world. You ended up getting demoted for going AWOL while on the job. So if that plays out the same, keep it in mind. I hate that you were punished simply because you helped me.”

Murph gave me a look. “I chose to save a life, and I stand by that decision regardless of the consequences.” Then she smiled faintly. “But if it happens that way, I’ll take time off first. Stallings is a great detective, but I’m not ready to give up my department just yet.”

I snorted. “That’s fair.”

She was quiet a moment. “What happened to Molly? Did your Council kill her?”

“I wouldn’t let them. She became my apprentice after I vouched for her conduct. If she violated the Laws again, we would both pay for it.”

“Meaning they’d kill both of you.”

I nodded before remembering that was a bad idea. “Yep.”

“How is she doing?”

“Well… she’s now the Winter Lady, and technically my boss.”

She blinked. “What?”

While I explained, it got me thinking back to the original reason Future Harry asked for my help. He intended Molly never to become the Winter Lady, because her decimation of the White Court after Lara’s removal as Queen started a war we could ill-afford. It gave the adversary the opening they’d been waiting for, and now his universe - my universe - stood on the brink of annihilation. But now that I knew what would happen, couldn’t I convince Molly otherwise? If Future Harry had just explained it all to me first, instead of reacting, well… then I wouldn’t have Murphy sitting here next to me, would I?

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“What is it? You went kind of quiet,” Murph said, refocusing my thoughts.

“Sorry. I want to make sure you tell Harry about Demonreach. The sooner he becomes its Warden and learns what that means, the better off we’ll all be.”

“You think he could stop Maeve before anyone dies?”

Not exactly what I’d been considering, but… “He could kill Maeve as soon as she stepped onto the island.” He’d be able to kill Peabody, trap Shagnasty and incarcerate him. Or maybe none of that would happen. Bob knew of the traitor within the Council, and he’d tell Harry. It might take some time, but I had faith in myself to figure out a way to expose the bastard before LaFortier’s murder.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about Demonreach,” she said, tracing the back of my hand with her fingers. Over the bandage, down to my fingertips and up again. She didn’t mean it to be sexual, more something you do when you’re thinking through a problem. Either way, I didn’t draw any attention to it, just enjoyed the closeness for what it was. “The guardian said you’d have to remove several of the inmates in order to contain her, because the metaphysical mass exceeded its capacity.” Her being Chaos, the god who created our universe, then obsessed over destroying it.

“Yeah?”

She shifted position a little so she could look up at me, but not enough that her fingers stopped what they were doing. It was more than a little distracting. “Why not just increase its capacity?”

“I…” I started to refute the idea, then stopped. Could it be possible?

“I mean, you said that the ley line under Demonreach is one of the most powerful in Chicago, and that it originates from the prisoners’ own supernatural abilities. Doesn’t that mean the larger the population, the stronger the ley line, and the more the prison could potentially hold?“

I frowned as I thought through the logic, though with metaphysics, logic was often a suggestion, not an absolute. “Maybe. But then by removing a few, wouldn’t Demonreach’s capacity decrease, rather than increase? Alfred’s statement makes no sense.”

She snorted. “Alfred? Really? As in Bruce Wayne’s butler?”

“Obviously,” I replied with a sniff. “What other name would the island’s guardian possibly have? It is in charge of a batcave, after all.”

Chuckling lightly, she leaned a little more against me. “Not if the combined power creating the ley line is exponential. Remove a few powerful beings to free up space only marginally affects the energy output. So all you need to do is provide more space, and the ley line will take care of itself.” I looked at her, startled. She sensed my tension and glanced up with a grin. “Told you, I’m a detective. I investigate, and I ask questions.”

This was more than that. Someone she’d talked to had a grasp of metaphysics like a wizard would. Not just any wizard, but one with power and experience.

“Did you speak to Wizard McCoy?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

Murph shrugged. “I had some questions.”

And then, just like that, I felt hurt. It was stupid, and selfish, because Ebenezar knew more about magic and metaphysics than most wizards alive. He had centuries on me; I should have been proud she’d gone to my mentor - and my grandfather, though she didn’t know that yet. Instead, just like the kid too small to be picked for a team, it hurt. It hurt not to be wanted, or needed. It hurt that my friend hadn’t bothered to ask me first.

Her hand stopped moving; she sat up so she could better see my face. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem.” I sounded angry, and petulant, and… God, what was wrong with me? I had hours left, maybe less, and instead of sulking I should be enjoying Murphy’s company.

Cops rely on their intuition to help solve cases and catch bad guys. Some likely had a touch of preternatural power, too faint for even a wizard to sense. But with or without it, there was a reason Murph was in charge of Special Investigations. “You’re upset I didn’t ask you.” I said nothing, refusing to look at her by staring into the fire. “Do you remember back in January, you drove up to Wisconsin for a case?”

After two decades as a private investigator, a lot of cases tended to blur together, especially one from ten years ago. But this case remained rather vivid in my mind for a number of reasons. “The gremlin thing.”

I saw her nod out of the corner of my eye. “The gremlin thing. Harry, you were unconscious for three days. Thomas was worried enough that he called me. He thought you might die. I called Wizard McCoy for answers, and he explained about the cost of magic and what it did to someone who didn’t take care of themselves properly. Once he told me you’d eventually wake up and be fine as long as you got enough food and rest, I asked a bunch of other questions I didn’t know I’d even saved up.”

My emotions ran the gamut from worry to shock to fear to, Yeah, that sounds like Ebenezar. He was always cautioning me about using too much power too quickly and overextending myself. That last thought made me smile faintly. “I… I didn’t know that. You never said anything, and neither did Thomas.”

She gave me a glare, but a half-hearted one. “I was worried about you, you big dumb idiot.”

I leaned forward, rubbing my eyes again. Still didn’t help. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I just… I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say, the words I needed too tangled up with everything else.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, putting her hand on my knee and squeezing gently. “It’s close, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. A few hours, tops.” I leaned back into the cushions and closed my eyes.

“And then you’re gone and Harry wakes up, oblivious to the past few days.”

“Yeah. He’s going to need you and Thomas to help fill him in, if the timeline sticks.”

She was quiet a moment. “You don’t think it will?”

“I think that Vadderung has been subtly manipulating things to his liking for a long time. If this was one of his plans, then it stands to reason it’ll stick. Why else do it?” I let out a troubled sigh.

Murph squeezed a little harder. “You’re scared of what will happen to you.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.” I didn’t want to die, or cease to exist, or come back to a life that little resembled my own, or was so, so much worse.

We were quiet for a while, just the fire crackling breaking the silence. That, and the occasional doggy snore emanating from the bedroom.

“You know, we were supposed to have that talk tonight,” Murphy said, a trace of humor in her voice.

That got me to raise my head. “What talk?”

The corner of her mouth tipped up. “Before I left for my vacation.”

Hell’s bells, that seemed like weeks ago, and what I had wanted then childish. “I did, but that was before you knew who I really was. Now…”

Her body thrummed with a sudden tension as she narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying? That you would have lied to me?”

“No, of course not. It’s just… I’d been minutes away from binding my life to Lara Raith’s in front of two powerful Courts, and then you were in my arms. Alive, and in my arms, and…” I let out a sigh. “I wasn’t thinking. I overreacted to your presence, because I hadn’t been able to hold you for more than a year.”

“And now?” Her anger had faded a little.

I looked at her upturned face, fixating on her nose. It was a way to meet her gaze without truly meeting it, allowing me to see her expression. “Murph, I have no right to say anything to you about who you choose to spend time with, or how you choose to spend that time. I want you to be happy, and it’s unfair to bring a future relationship into a discussion that I’m not really a part of. Harry Actual should have this conversation with you, not me.” And then I couldn’t resist touching her, my gloved hand pressing against her cheek. “If going to Hawaii with Kincaid makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

Murphy’s cop face took over, which meant I couldn’t read her expression. “I cancelled my trip. One, because having a broken ankle makes a trip to Hawaii a lot less fun. Two, the doctor recommended waiting a few days before flying, until the swelling’s down. And three…” she looked away, towards the fire. “It didn’t feel right, leaving you here like this.”

I swallowed, not sure what I should be feeling. Happy? Elated? Sad? Worried? I was all that and more, and this time I had no one to blame for all the wicked, wicked things I wanted to do with Karrin except my own imagination. “I won’t be here much longer,” I said quietly, because I couldn’t think of what else to say. She knew how I felt about her, and restating the obvious wasn’t fair. “Don’t do it for me.”

Murphy looked back at me, studying my face for a long moment.

Stay with me, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

She finally let out a soft exhalation and shook her head. “I’m not doing it for you, Harry. I’m doing it for me. I have a long list of reasons why ‘us’ is a bad idea. At this point in my life, I don’t want serious. I don’t want a commitment. And then you go and look at me like that.” She glared at me, eyes sparking with anger, though I had the impression she was more angry with herself than with me.

I glanced down at myself in confusion. “Like what?”

“Passionate and possessive, and a little dark and dangerous. Dammit!” Then her free arm wrapped around my neck and pulled me down for a kiss I was totally unprepared for.

It was a good kiss.

“Dammit, Dresden,” she swore, pushing me away with a hand to my chest before the kiss could develop into anything further. Not far, just enough to see my face. Hers was flushed, and judging by the heat, mine was as well. Her hand rested over my heart, which was hammering hard and fast against my ribs. She met my eyes for a second, then looked away with a huff of amusement. “Our timing sucks.”

I cupped her face and ran my thumb along her jaw. She leaned into it, but made no other effort to move. “It usually does,” I said in a huskier voice than I intended.

It made her laugh. “It does, doesn’t it?” Then the smile slid into something… sexier. That smile women get when they have wicked, wicked plans of their own and know you’ll agree to whatever they propose. My heart sped up in anticipation. She pulled herself into a sitting position, legs hanging over the cushion’s edge. “I could use some help with the boot.”

I shifted the coffee table enough to kneel in front of her, then unstrapped the Velcro securing it to her leg. I had to be careful slipping it off; her ankle was swollen, a ring of raw, abraded skin just below the worst of it. She drew a sharp breath between her teeth, then sighed in relief once it was off.

Seeing her injury tamped down the lust. “You sure you should -“

“Harry?”

My head snapped up. “Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

It sounded like a fabulous idea, even if it probably was one of the worst things I could do. I shifted to kneel between her legs, grabbed her hips to pull her closer to the edge, and kissed her. Soft, and gentle, because I didn’t want to screw this up by being too eager or demanding something she wasn’t ready to give.

So for a while, we just kissed, as my pulse pounded in my ears, as my desire and lust rose, as my hands skimmed down her arms, under her shirt for the barest brush of skin along her waist. As our tongues explored each other, it was all at once new and exciting and achingly familiar; her touch, tentative at first, growing bolder as she discovered what I liked. Which was pretty much everything she did, but there were certain parts more sensitive than others.

Her kissing behind my ear was one of them. It was more the exhalation of breath in that area along my skin that sent shivers down my spine. Sucking on earlobes was another, and in that, I surprised myself. I thought I’d have a negative reaction, the reminder too much of what had been done to me by Lara’s sisters. But this was Karrin, a woman I trusted unconditionally, and her kisses washed away any trace of memory of that night.

And if Future Harry was helping keep those memories at bay, I wasn’t going to complain.

Unlike every other time I’d been with her (we’d done a lot of kissing and heavy petting for months before we’d officially consummated the relationship), there was no Winter Mantle drumming sex and violence into my head. There was no risk of me accidentally hurting her because I hadn’t kept my supernatural strength leashed.

I wanted to throw her onto the couch and kiss and lick and expose and explore every inch of her, but feared her broken ankle would be too painful. So I stayed where I was, let her grind her body against mine while I knelt on the floor. One good thing about my current position was that we were much closer in height. I barely had to lean down for our lips to touch.

I fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. With my hand both being barely able to move and encased in a glove, I had to do it one-handed. I didn’t want to stop kissing her, so I had to do it by feel. I managed two buttons, but Murphy growled, “I’ll do it,” as she pushed my hand aside. Then her shirt was off, exposing a functional, no-nonsense white bra. Except for the small bow secured on the lower band, between her breasts.

I let my hands explore the bra, over it, under it, caressing and rubbing and lightly pinching certain places that hardened under my touch, all of which caused Murph to shift on the cushions. The noises she made began driving all thought from my head, until there was only the need to touch and be touched, the rising pleasure coiling in my gut.

“I want to feel your hands on me, Harry. Take off your glove.” She said it in a breathless voice.

I pulled back a little. “It’s not pretty to look at.”

She gave me that look, the look that said, Stop arguing, you big idiot. “It’s part of who you are,” she said in a much quieter, gentler tone than her look implied.

The hesitation was stupid. She’d seen my hand before; in fact, she’d seen it right after it’d been burned, in much worse shape than it was now, and she hadn’t flinched or turned away.

Don’t screw this up, Harry.

I let her remove the glove, made myself look at the melted flesh in the shape of a hand. My thumb twitched a little, as did my index finger, but the rest were nearly fused in place. Murphy placed a kiss in the center of my palm, where Lasciel’s sigil was imprinted on an irregular section of unburned skin roughly the size of a quarter.

I thought I heard laughter in the back of my mind, and smelled the faint scent of brimstone.

She held the hand to her cheek, then leaned forward and kissed me. It was light, barely any pressure on my lips, and I responded in kind. It quickly grew hot and passionate, and when she drew back, I chased her lips, hungry for more. But she stopped me, cupping my cheeks and forcing my head up. “Look at me, Harry,” she said softly.

“Not a good idea, Murph,” I said, setting my hands on top of hers. I kept my gaze fixed on her nose, but saw in my peripheral vision her eyes searching mine.

“Please.”

I leaned my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, shivering but not from cold. A soulgaze reveals the innermost part of you, lays it bare to whoever gazes back. Based on the reactions I’d gotten from those I’d shared a soulgaze with, my inner self was a frightening place. “I’m… afraid. Afraid of what you’ll see in me.”

She placed a gentle kiss on each eyelid. “I’m not.” Then she traced the scrapes and vampire claw marks on my cheek with her fingertips. “Please.”

I could never refuse her, especially now. I opened my eyes, searching her face to make sure she really wanted this, and let my dark gaze meet hers. Almost immediately I wanted to shift my eyes away, as I’d done so many, many times. Because she had asked, I fought the urge, feeling the tug as our souls met, and -

I saw Karrin Murphy, resplendent in shining silver armor trimmed in gold. She held a sword in one hand, wreathed in blue and white flame, the head of Medusa in the other. Black ichor slowly dripped from the neck, splashing into a growing pool at her feet. As the scene shifted perspective, I recognized where she was. On Lake Shore Drive, in the middle of the bridge that spanned the Chicago River, turned to face the lake itself. She lifted Medusa’s head, and I knew it for the warning it was.

This is my city, under my protection, that expression, that stance said. Come here, face the consequences, and die just as this monster did.

Pride and determination and hope and duty and honor and everything that made Murph who she was, reflected back at me a hundredfold.

God, I loved her.

God, I missed her.

And then it ended, and I was looking into Karrin’s blue, blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Harry,” she said, in a tone I couldn’t really interpret. Well, at least she wasn’t screaming, or running out of the room, or falling over unconscious. She smiled at me, really, truly smiled. Then she cupped my face in her hands and pulled me in for a kiss. Unlike before, this wasn’t hesitant, tentative. This was passion and fire, and I groaned a little into her mouth as our tongues dueled and danced, heart pounding loud in my ears. My hands slid down her sides to hug her hips, pulling her towards me.

In the middle of the kiss, she put a hand to my chest and pushed. Gently, but firmly. I broke the kiss and let her lean back. Her blue eyes sparkled, and I relished for a moment how I could finally stare into those beautiful, expressive eyes and have nothing left to fear.

The corner of her mouth turned up. “You’re staring.”

I gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah.”

“I want to see you, Harry,” she said, her voice low and husky as her hands played with the hem of my shirt. “All of you.”

I blinked at her. It was a request seldom made of me. Not that I typically had sex while partially clothed, but for me, removing said clothes most of the time was a matter of necessity, done in haste in order to progress to the fun part of the program. I wasn’t much to look at, all lean muscle and an average body type despite my height, despite the miles I ran and weights I lifted after becoming the Winter Knight. I didn’t have broad shoulders, would never be winning any bodybuilding competitions, and couldn’t compete with the sheer physical presence of men like Michael and Sanya.

“You’ve seen me without my shirt on before, Murph. Hell’s bells, you’ve seen me naked before.”

She smiled, a slow, sexy smile. “Yes, I have. But now I have the time to appreciate it.”

I blushed, I couldn’t help it.

“That is endearing as hell, Dresden,” she said in a breathy voice, leaning in for a long, lingering kiss, a press of her lips to mine that took my own breath away.

She started by pushing the shirt up, baring my stomach to the firelight. It was a snug-fitting shirt, and stayed where she put it. When she leaned back to get a decent view, she drew in a sharp breath.

“God, Harry…” then her hands, gentle and warm, traced the bruises covering my ribs, the scabbed-over wounds Cassius left behind. It made me shiver involuntarily. It wasn’t pain, it was the feel of Murph’s hands caressing my skin, soft, tentative touches, and the pleasure it brought.

When I could barely stand it any longer, I pulled my shirt off, and those eager hands used nails, down my shoulders and up again. Murphy kept her nails neatly trimmed and very short; difficult to put on gloves at a crime scene with long nails, not to mention the risk of them breaking when working out in hand-to-hand combat. Short or not, they felt incredible, especially when raked through the dark patch of hair on my chest.

I let her explore for a few minutes, and by that time her touch turned my skin hypersensitive, just on the borderline of becoming too much. Then I gently held her wrists and gave her a wicked smile. “Your turn.”

Heat flashed through her eyes. She reached behind her back to unhook her bra while I tugged off her pants. She’d chosen a loose-fitting pair to make it easier to dress with a painfully tender swollen ankle, which made my job likewise easier with one hand. But I was careful, so careful, removing one foot at a time. It seemed that as long as there was no pressure on the swelling, the break itself caused little pain.

Her panties were also white, decorated with tiny bows to match the bra. I smiled as I saw them, feeling the bow’s satin texture. Then I looked up at her, at that incredibly beautiful, desirable, nearly naked body, and my smile grew.

“Jesus, Harry, that look…” her face was flushed, so whatever she saw in my expression was apparently a good thing. “Now,” she growled.

Now, I agreed, and it was only me, no Fae magic involved.

I stood and stripped off my sweats and boxers, then knelt once more, sliding her panties down as she leaned back against the cushions. I kissed her inner thighs, starting at the knees and working my way up until I reached what we’d both been waiting for.

“Oh, God…” her breathy moan was nearly enough to break all self-control, but I’d had an entire year to practice with a succubus while fending off a lust-crazed Mantle. I didn’t break that easily. I teased her with lips and tongue, enjoying her eager sounds, her back arching to find that perfect position, the moans as I brushed fingertips lightly up and down her legs.

Her hands rested on the back of my head, not holding me, or pushing in any one direction, just resting, as if she wanted physical contact but had no need to control what I was doing. Which meant whatever I was doing, I was doing it right, or at least how Murph wanted it.

Then she began to urge me on, with words such as yes and there and harder and… the tension grew, her breathing sped up, as did the movement of her hips, grinding against me. Her fingers fisted my hair as she gasped and then… her body shuddered and came apart, quivering like a plucked guitar string.

While we’d done a lot of kissing and exploration, we’d only had actual sex the one time. It wasn’t enough to learn how her body behaved, so I eased off. It seemed to be the right decision, as her hands fell limply to her sides, letting me lean back a bit. And that gave me a fabulous view all the way along Murphy’s body, enough to see her head tilt up and regard me with flushed cheeks and bright, unfocused eyes.

“You’ve done your homework,” she said breathlessly, smiling. Oh, for that smile, I’d do anything. Everything. She eased herself back into a sitting position, reaching for me. “Time for extra credit.”

“I want you,” I growled, pulling her hips to mine. I wanted to take her, fast and hard until she screamed my name. But I had to be mindful of her ankle, and I wanted this time with her to last. I probably wouldn’t, not for long, not with her looking at me that way, all sultry and sexy and so very human.

It took a moment of maneuvering and manipulation - and maybe some swearing - to move into the right position. But once there, I hesitated, rubbing my length along parts that were still sensitive enough to make her gasp. “Now, please…” she begged, and the way she said it would have broken the control of a younger Harry Dresden. I fought the urge to give in to lust and just take what I wanted in every way possible.

I wanted to savor this. Savor us in this moment.

I eased myself in slowly, groaning at the sensation of her around me, me inside her, and there was no more talking. Just our bodies intertwined, Karrin’s head thrown back exposing a neck I nibbled and kissed even as we found a rhythm that worked for us. Her hands held tight to my shoulders, nails digging into skin. Pain was a distant memory, replaced by lust and endorphins and a high I never wanted to come down from.

My gut tightened in anticipation, sending shivery tingles down my legs, as our pace sped up by mutual need. Murph’s legs wrapped around my hips as my hands slid from her waist further down for support, under soft skin and compact muscle. I didn’t wonder if her ankle hurt, because having her pressed to me like this felt incredible, and higher reasoning had already lost the fight to unthinking primal lust.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, shuddering, clutching at me, eyes fluttering shut. “Please, please…” I pushed her higher and higher, her breath coming in gasps and moans, her fingers gripping tighter. I shifted position slightly so I had a better angle, and that was all it took. Her entire body clenched, hard and tight, inside and out. I was close, so close to the edge, when she murmured in my ear. “Harry…”

That was it for me. My name spoken from her lips while she shivered in my arms, and I was lost, plummeting over the cliff. Pleasure exploded from my gut, setting my blood to boiling as I pressed her against my chest. “Oh, Murph.”

I don’t know how long we held each other, unwilling - or unable - to let go, to give up the last dregs of pleasure coursing through our bodies. Our breath intermingled in the space between us, my heart finally beginning to slow from its frantic drumbeat. My arms relaxed enough for her to lean back, meeting my dark gaze with her own. That self-satisfied smile sparked a similar response from me.

“That was…” she began.

“It was,” I said, trying not to let the pain show on my face. For when she moved back, I found holding her that tight hadn’t made my ribs happy, causing tiny pinpricks of pain if I breathed too deep. The fresh injury leaked through the pain suppression technique I’d used.

The shivery sense of my wards lowering made me jerk my head around. Before Murph could ask me what was wrong, we both heard the jingle of keys, and the front door unlock.

It was Thomas in the doorway, silver-sheened eyes reflecting the light.

Murphy made a squeaking sound, trying to press herself against me in an attempt to hide her nudity. It was adorable, and for once I could indulge my chivalrous nature without her objecting. I reached over her for the blanket draped on the back of the couch and tucked it around her shoulders, laughing softly.

“It’s not funny,” she snapped, hitting my chest with a fist for emphasis.

“Yeah, it kind of is.” I kissed the top of her head, since she refused to expose her face. “Only in my life would I get everything I wanted, just to have my brother walk in and ruin it.”

That earned me a look, one eyebrow arched. Then she smiled up at me, though her cheeks were red. “Does kind of sound like you, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Thomas protested, closing the door with an emphatic thud. “At least I waited until you were finished. Even gave you a little cuddle time.” He smirked without the faintest trace of embarrassment.

Murph’s blush deepened. “You heard us?”

He shook his head. “Felt you.”

“Felt… oh,” she said softly, understanding his meaning. White Court vampires feed on lust, but usually through skin contact. Only those with a strong Hunger could feed off others’ emotions from a distance, and Thomas was stronger than any of them except Lara.

I glared at Thomas, hoping he’d get the hint. He stared blithely back, silver motes fading from his eyes. “Thomas, a little privacy?”

He tilted his head. “Your apartment’s too small for privacy.” That damned smirk was back. I wanted to punch him in the jaw.

“Just go stand in the kitchen,” I growled.

Thomas held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll even turn around.”

I extricated myself, pulling the blanket around Murphy for modesty’s sake. Then I searched for my boxers, and finding them, pulled them on to cover up any remaining physical evidence. She watched me, her expression a mix of embarrassment and… what? Appreciation? Her mouth curled up at the corner as she caught me studying her.

Then it was my turn to blush. “Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?” I asked, figuring she’d want to dress out of sight, and maybe clean up a little.

Her face was still flushed, eyes still sparkling, though the afterglow was clearly ruined by my brother’s entrance. She shook her head, grimacing slightly. “No, but if you could put my boot back on and find my clothes, I’d appreciate it.”

Like me, Murphy didn’t do passive well. She hated being injured, more so when the injury meant there were certain things she could no longer do as easily, or at all, on her own.

“Sure.” I secured the boot carefully to her foot, resisting the desire to run fingers up her bare calf. Then I gathered her clothes and handed them over in a messy pile. She was able to hold them with one arm while keeping the blanket secured around her.

Murph headed into the bedroom, stopping in the doorway to look at me over her shoulder. “Did you notice your bathroom is missing a door?”

Thomas snickered. I shot him a glare he didn’t see, since his back was still to us. “Yeah, Thomas broke it.”

Her eyes flicked to the vampire, then back to me when Thomas didn’t refute the charge. “Okay, then. I’ll be just a few minutes.” She closed the door behind her.

While Murphy was dressing, I did the same, all under the amused, smug gaze of my brother. I knew at this point he’d seem me often enough naked, because he was right, my apartment really was too small for privacy. Still, I felt my cheeks heat from embarrassment.

“What?” I demanded once I was fully clothed.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the icebox. “Happy to see you finally took my advice.”

I went into the kitchen, intending to get a Coke. But as I came close to Thomas, he recoiled, shifting out of my reach between one blink and the next with inhuman speed. And then I realized why. He was afraid to touch me.

“She doesn’t love me, Thomas,” I said in a voice low enough not to carry. “Murphy cares about me, but she’s not in love with me. My touch won’t burn you.” I held out my hand, my eyes daring him to take it. After a moment he did, and nothing happened. “See?”

Thomas shook his head. “I thought for sure…”

I snorted. “She will, if she allows herself to, and if Harry Actual doesn’t screw it up.” Then I gave him a look. “Don’t let him screw it up.”

“Do my best,” he replied, holding his hands up, “but you know how you are. Stubborn and oblivious is a difficult combination to wear down.”

At that, I chuckled. “Yeah, it took me a while to figure it out.”

My bedroom door opened, and Murphy emerged, dressed and holding the folded blanket in her arms. Thomas sprang into action, taking it from her. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said, shutting himself in the bedroom. That wasn’t privacy either, not from a vampire who’d hear us clearly even if I turned on the kitchen faucet. But he’d made the effort.

“I should go,” Murphy said, heading for the door. Because the boot slowed her down, I got there first, opening it with a bow.

”Madam,” I said in my best upper class British accent.

She snorted and rolled her eyes, the tension holding her shoulders rigid relaxing slightly. Then the smile slipped. “Harry, I… I don’t…” she looked away, unsure of herself. And Murphy was rarely unsure of herself.

I gently gripped her chin and turned her head up to mine. “It’s all right, Karrin.”

She made a face, part grimace and part smile. “I prefer Murphy from you.”

I smiled back. “Murph, then. You don’t have to say anything, or prove anything to me. I’ve seen your soul, and it’s so damned beautiful. You are so damned beautiful.” I fought the pain and grief, fought it hard. I would not cry in front of her and make her feel worse, because I could guess what she’d wanted - tried - to say. She didn’t love me, or Harry, but she cared a hell of a lot. I didn’t need her to love me, not here and now, because this wasn’t my here and now. “Take care of Harry for me, all right?”

She nodded, eyes filming with tears she refused to shed, stubbornly blinking them away. She reached up to touch my cheek as I leaned down. Our gazes locked on each other, and I didn’t know what else to say. Words failed me as too inadequate, and far, far too late.

“Take care of yourself.” Her hands tugged me into a kiss, a gentle press of her lips to mine. “Goodbye, Harry.” She turned away, went up the steps slowly, carefully, and disappeared into the night. She didn’t look back, not once, and I hadn’t expected her to.

I stood in the open doorway, concentrating as I Listened to gravel crunch under her limping gate, her car door unlock, the engine start and her car drive away. Out of my life, likely for good.

Closing the door, I slid the deadbolt home and brought back up the wards. Then I leaned my forehead against the nearest wall and let my inner shields collapse. I didn’t want to look at my brother, have him witness the emotions flickering over my face I could no longer suppress. But Thomas was still an incubus, and felt them all the same. A hand gripped my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

I said nothing, just nodded and let the tears escape to drip down my cheeks.

I must’ve stood that way for ten minutes, trying to piece myself back together. That entire time, Thomas didn’t move from my side. There’s a reason I love my brother. He might be a jerk some of the time, even an oblivious ass on occasion, but he also understood me better than most. And he was family.

It was the thought of Maggie waiting for me that finally allowed me to breathe.

“I’m all right,” I said quietly. “Thanks.” I glanced at my duster, and sudden panic set in. “The knife, Thomas, I still have the knife -“

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied, in that older brother tone he sometimes used. And as it always did, it made the panic recede. Thomas would handle the problem, and I didn’t have any reason to worry.

Agony raced up my spine like wildfire, every muscle locking stiffly into place. I screamed, because something - someone - with razor-tipped claws was carving up my insides.

I didn’t think it would hurt this much, was all I had time to think before another wave of agony drowned me in pain. Thomas caught me as I fell, brought me to the couch. When I began to convulse, he covered my body with his own, clamping down on my wrists with strength that far exceeded mine. My body bowed as that ripping, shredding sensation grew to unbearable levels. I screamed again, I couldn’t help it.

“It hurts, Thomas,” I babbled breathlessly, sobbing. “It hurts, and I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes flecked with mirror-bright silver. A piece of me tore off, so agonizing it stole the next scream from my lungs. And Thomas, being an incubus, did the only thing he could.

He kissed me.

He kissed me, and his Hunger nibbled at the pain and the fear, enough that my muscles began to relax, and my body respond to his. It was a primal, physical reaction to the Hunger, had nothing to do with the fact Thomas was male, or that he was my brother. If I’d been able to think rationally, or think at all, it would have seriously creeped me out. No one should kiss their half-brother the way he kissed me, but I trusted him. Even knowing somewhere in the back of my head he could easily kill me, I trusted him.

And when the rest of me was ripped from my borrowed body, Thomas swallowed that scream, too. My soul, my essence, whatever you believe gives our flesh that spark of life, floated above the scene for a few seconds, or maybe longer. Long enough to see Harry’s silent, still form, face sheened with sweat. Thomas pushed himself up, then off, and checked his heartbeat by pressing an ear to Harry’s chest. The relieved expression told me everything I needed to know.

Take care of him, I thought. Take care of us.

Then I fell into a void so black, so empty, I thought I’d been pulled through the Outer Gates, outside our universe itself. No light, no heat, nothing but the cold and the dark. Empty Night. But it wasn’t Empty Night, because I found myself sitting on a bench in a halo of light that had no source.

And I wasn’t alone.

The man next to me wasn’t a man at all, but a being of power hidden behind a countenance of a young, handsome face framed by dark curls, punctuated by eyes a shade of gray-green.

“Mr. Sunshine,” I greeted him.

He raised a dark eyebrow over those pale eyes. “You’re not afraid.”

I shrugged. “Not any more.”

“Even though you have no idea what’s about to happen?”

I shrugged again. “You made me a promise, and should things play out that way, I expect you to honor it. If I’m dead, there’s not much I can do about it now, is there?”

The archangel Uriel smiled, and I swore I heard something like a choir singing, just for an instant. “Very practical of you.” His smile faded. “Donar Vadderung broke his neutrality for the first time in centuries by bringing you here.”

I found it interesting he called Vadderung by the current name he’d chosen, and not any of his older, truer names. But I suppose when faced with a god of a different flavor, you offer him the respect of addressing him as he chooses to be addressed.

“Yeah, heard he asked Chronos for help.”

Uriel shook his head. “That was… unexpected. Unprecedented. It has…” he frowned as he tried to find the right word, “caused concern among many of the immortals.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Meaning what?” Yeah, it sounded defensive, because I did not like the way this conversation was heading.

He met my eyes, and I immediately dropped my gaze, fixating on his chin. He had a cleft chin, just like Kirk Douglas. “Meaning, Harry Dresden, if you believed yourself under scrutiny before, you should prepare for an escalation of interest.”

I let out a snort. “An escalation of interest? Sounds like a bad detective novel.”

He smiled briefly. “That may be so, but it does not change the fact that you’ve drawn the attention of a few very dangerous immortals. It is beyond my capability to interfere, unless the balance is tipped, but I can caution you, young wizard. Trust your instincts.”

I frowned. “That’s it? Trust your instincts?”

“That’s it.” Then he pushed me off the bench, into the great abyss gaping below us. It was terrifying. Plummeting through pitch black without a way to stop is always terrifying. I choked on the fear I claimed not to have, trying not to scream.

Then a shiver of magic as I plunged through what felt like a portal, and my fall came to an abrupt stop. I ended up on my back, trying to catch my breath. Above me was a ceiling of glittering ice, shimmering with dark greens and blues and violets. Winter colors, carved into the perfect sculpture of a fairy tale castle by the Lady of Winter herself. I was back in the dressing room, on the morning of my wedding to Lara Raith, still partially dressed in the silver three-piece suit Molly picked out for me.

No matter what you do, you will always end up here.

The thought made me so violently ill I nearly lost whatever was in my stomach. I swallowed a few times, trying to blink away the grief. If I hadn’t been able to change the wedding, then Murphy was dead, just as Vadderung promised.

I closed my eyes, blocking out the colors of Winter because I couldn’t stand to look at them any longer.

You made your bed, Harry. You knew the cost. You agreed to it. Self-pity isn’t going to change the facts.

Fuck.

I tend not to swear that often, an ingrained habit left over from living with DuMorne. But in this case, I felt it justified, because not only I was right, I was angry at myself for being right. No one forced me into Mab’s tender embrace; I’d chosen that all on my own.

So get up, get dressed, and show the monsters in the next room exactly why you’re the Winter Knight, the one mortal who could do what no other could: bind a Titan to his will and save a city on the brink of utter destruction.

I packed up my emotions and locked them away. I was about to face a room full of predators, and I refused to act like prey. The Winter Mantle rose in response, because it, too, refused to be anyone’s next meal. Its familiar drumbeat of anger and violence helped wipe away the last traces of grief. It was almost a comfort.

That same stubborn will got me on my feet. I snatched the crumpled tie from the floor and tried to smooth it out, then stood in front of the mirror. My hands fumbled the tie, again, and I loosened the knot with a sigh.

“Harry.” My eyes flicked up to my reflection. Future Harry was standing behind me, dressed as I had originally seen him; jeans, tee, black duster, a gloved hand holding the Blackstaff. Thinking he was somehow trapped in the mirror, I whirled around just to be sure. Only he wasn’t in the mirror; he was in the room with me.

“Oh, crap. You’re still here.” I had that sinking feeling in my stomach you get when you know something’s wrong, but can’t quite figure out what it is.

He nodded. “I’m still here. And we’ve got a problem.”

Chapter Text

I stared at my older self, the man I would be in ten years provided I lived that long. “You think?” I snapped. Yeah, I was a little on edge.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then shook his head. “Can’t you feel it?”

I froze in place, opened my senses just a crack and extended them a few feet in front of me. Any further and I’d start picking up energy from the guests eagerly anticipating my marriage. Or judging my potential as their next meal. “No, nothing,” I said, letting my concentration fade. “Do you think someone prevented you from returning to your own time?”

Future Harry frowned. “Not many with that kind of power.”

“Vadderung,” we said at the same time, our grimaces matching.

“We should talk to him after the wedding.”

“He’s here? Of course he’s here, he’s under Winter’s aegis part of the year, and outside of that he’s a Freeholding Lord of the Accords.” I sighed. “Let’s just get through the ceremony first before we start making plans.”

“I really don’t -“ he cut himself off as someone knocked.

“Harry?”

“Come on in, Molly,” I replied, making a shooing gesture to Future Harry. He rolled his eyes but vanished just as she opened the inner door.

It was the Winter Lady, but it was also Molly entering the room, beautiful and otherworldly but with that lingering trace of humanity. Her gown was indigo fading to the palest blue at the hem, the form-fitting bodice strewn with silver crystals in swirling, elegant patterns. Scoop-necked and long-sleeved, I realized as she moved it was form-fitting everywhere, though not tight enough through her long expanse of leg to prevent her from walking normally.

Wait, wasn’t the gown violet?

But she’d become Fae, a master at glamour; changing her appearance was as easy as breathing.

“You’re not dressed.” She frowned, marching up to me. Molly’s skin brushed mine as she took the tie from my hand. I flinched at the sense of her power. Same, but… not quite. From that brief touch I couldn’t quantify it, other than to know something had changed. Not in a negative way; I didn’t have the sense that Molly had turned into a ravening beast, the Lady’s Mantle completely stripping her of humanity. But she did feel more… primal, I guess was as good as any way to describe it. More in touch with Winter’s power.

Wasn’t that the entire purpose of the last few days? Trying to change my past in the hopes of a better future? Still. It took me by surprise, and Molly, being one of the most emotionally sensitive practitioners I’d ever met, picked up on it. Her eyes flicked up to mine, and I avoided them on instinct. Had I changed too much? Would a soulgaze happen between us? Not that I feared it, exactly, but I feared the consequences and endless explanations we didn’t have time for. “What’s wrong?”

I deflected, having an excellent reason to give as an excuse. I raised an eyebrow, trying for calm. “Really? You’re asking me that today?”

She had the grace to blush, her cheeks pinking, and shook her head. “Right, sorry. Hold still.” I let her secure the tie around my neck, watching her concentrate as she adjusted it. “Are you thinking of breaking the bargain, Harry?” she asked in a quiet voice that was barely louder than a whisper.

“No. It’s too late for that.”

Molly searched my expression, then let out a relieved breath. “Good. She’s invoked Winter Law, and…” she bit her lip and looked away. “I can’t help you. In fact, I would be forced to hunt you down and bring you back by any means necessary.”

I blinked at that, swallowed carefully. “Even if it means breaking my mind?”

When she looked back at me, the slightest hint of tears shimmered in her crystalline eyes. “Yes.”

Well, then. Running, regardless of the shoes I wore, was out. I’d rather have my mind whole and unbroken and married to Lara Raith than end up like Jorge Delgado, trapped in an endless nightmare on repeat. “She really wants this wedding, doesn’t she?” I tried for levity; didn’t work. Neither of us were in a humorous mood.

“It’s not a matter of want, it’s a matter of need. It’s -“ she abruptly cut herself off, straining as if against a great weight. “I can’t… tell… you…” she managed in a strangled voice, barely able to breathe.

I grabbed her shoulders. “Molls, it’s all right. I don’t need to know why. It doesn’t matter.” Actually it did matter, quite a bit. If Mab was willing to break her Knight completely for a union between the White and Winter Courts, something big was about to happen. She was shoring up and consolidating power in expectation of… what? But I didn’t need Molly to tell me. I was still an investigator, and could hunt down what I wanted to know using my own information network.

She nodded jerkily a few times, let out a shuddering breath. “Okay, okay.” Then she gasped. “Shit. We have to hurry.” She spun me around and dressed me with hasty efficiency, smoothing down the shirt and tucking my mother’s pentacle amulet underneath, buttoning the vest, arranging the jacket.

She stood back, considering, then finger-combed my hair in a few places. “I don’t know how you manage to mess up your hair just by being in the dressing room,” she said as she fussed. It would have been cute, had I actually been looking forward to this day as something to treasure, rather than something to dread. “All right, you’re as presentable as you’re going to be. Remember, I’m escorting you, not the other way around.”

These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. For some reason that phrase popped into my head. I was so nervous my stomach flipped a few times; I swallowed hastily, trying to keep the coffee I drank (four days ago) down. “Let’s go, before I change my mind.” Not that I would, or could, but it made me feel a little more in control to say it.

At that, Molly’s humanity slipped away, and standing before me was the Winter Lady. It wasn’t anything as obvious as her dress changing or her appearance, but something stilled in her, and something dark and dangerous rose with claws and fangs of ice, bloodlust in its heart.

It was impressive. It was also terrifying. I kept my thoughts to myself and my feelings on lockdown, except for the simmering cauldron of anger that never quite vanished. Even with the Mantle’s urging, I generally could keep control over it. Now I let it rise, just a fraction, because I’d rather be angry than afraid. Fear makes the predators sit up and notice. Fear makes them hungry.

Anger makes them cautious.

Molly offered me her arm. “My Knight,” she said, and even her voice was different, deeper and more distant, from the depths of a frozen ocean. I took it, drew in a breath, and nodded.

“My Lady.”

The inner door opened by itself, spilling forth light and murmurs of seated guests, quickly silenced. As we proceeded through the doorway, everyone turned to stare at us.

At me.

I quickly blanked my expression, letting anger rise a little more to the surface. I might not be able to hide or suppress every emotion, but anger is great at cleansing most of mine. It probably helped that I was actually angry, at myself, at the Queen of the White Court far in front of me, at Mab for forcing me into this against my will.

The room was massive, a great hall crafted from ice with giant columns holding up the arched ceiling. Each was intricately carved, the one nearest me featuring wolves snarling, howling, hunting, ripping apart prey and feasting in the snow. Had it been in color, crimson would have dominated the scenes.

Rows and rows of wooden benches similar to church pews were laid out between us and a raised dais at the far end where Thomas and Lara Raith were waiting. We walked behind one section, turning once we reached the center aisle to face them.

Tall arched windows ran the length of the hall. In a cathedral’s nave, which the great hall somewhat resembled, they would be stained glass depicting either abstract shapes or Biblical scenes. Here, they were sections of ice colored as bright as gemstones, allowing natural light to seep in from outside. I suppressed a shudder as I recognized the designs, images taken from the Battle of Chicago. The armies of Winter and the vampires of the White Court fighting alongside each other against the Fomor and the Last Titan herself.

The one of Ethniu using the Eye of Balor on a skyscraper was particularly chilling.

So was the one of Mab, mounted on her unicorn, enduring a blast of power from that same Eye. Not just enduring it, enjoying it, based on the feral grin and display of sharp, pointed teeth.

A rose window dozens of feet across loomed high over the dais. Typically, the subject of a rose window is the Last Judgment. This, however, featured something else. It featured me, clad in Winter’s armor, staff blazing with green-gold fire as I fought Ethniu on a rubble-strewn beach, Lake Michigan stretching behind us. I could see the fear in her face even from this distance, and the rage in mine. It wasn’t an exact depiction, because Molly hadn’t been there to witness it. My staff wasn’t the Spear of Destiny, and there was no spirit of air containing her in a circle, but it was close enough.

The most important point was that I, as the Winter Knight, defeated the Last Titan, and everyone entering the great hall saw this image before all else. A reminder of Winter’s role in saving Chicago. A reminder of the mortal who had the power and the will to fight an immortal and win. And a very pointed reminder of whose ceremony this was, and what it represented.

Music echoed through the great, ice-carved hall from an unseen source. Musicians, likely hidden on an upper balcony not visible from this angle (or likely any other), played a classical piece I did not recognize. My classical music education consists only of a few well known composers.

It was beautiful, filled with passion and fire and such longing, it was obvious the musicians were human. The Sidhe were better, but their music was too perfect, and lacked that spark mortality granted. We may burn out quickly, but we burn bright. It was a concept the Sidhe, and Fae in general, seldom understood.

I had been right about the slick-soled shoes. Fleeing through the woods would’ve only resulted in me slipping in mud and falling on my ass. But this floor was crafted from ice, and I was the Winter Knight. Each step found purchase easily, and I didn’t slip. I could have run from one end of the great hall to the other, as sure-footed as I’d ever been in sneakers on pavement. There were a few benefits to being part of the Winter Court that had nothing to do with power, or bloodlust or sex; this was one I actually enjoyed.

The light above us dimmed as we walked, turning to the darkest of twilights, a hue of deep indigo. And in that false night sky, thousands of pinpricks in a dozen colors of light appeared, whirling as if in some slow, stately dance. The smallest members of the Za Lord’s Army, here to honor their Knight. It was breathtakingly magical, something usually found only in children’s dreams.

Maggie would love it.

In fact, I could likely recreate the effect at home. The front section of the living room had a ceiling that ran up the entire three floors to the roof, and for a few pizzas, I thought the Za Lord’s army could be convinced to spend a little time imitating stars.

Despite the night sky above, the remainder of the great hall was well-lit, a combination of cleverly concealed Fae magic and good old-fashioned wax tapers, the candle flames combining into a warm, even glow. It allowed me to view every face sitting in the audience on both sides of the aisle.

Guests of the White Court were on my left. Even if I hadn’t instantly recognized Irwin near the front, head and shoulders taller than anyone else seated, the subtle sense of the vampires’ combined Hunger would have given them away. It washed over my skin, teasing, tugging gently at my insides, but the sensations weren’t hard to ignore.

They were, as always, beautiful, sexy… immortal, watching me with silver-flecked eyes and the faintest traces of luminescence on their skin. Not everyone was a vampire; many had brought human guests. Thralls, lovers… kine. Sustenance for later. I couldn’t imagine any of them being romantics at heart; minus a few notable exceptions, that wasn’t who - or what - the White Court was.

I gave them all a quick glance, then scanned the faces of those allied with - or were guests of - Winter, desperate to verify Maggie’s safety and trying not to let it show. I found a familiar face turned towards me, the solemn face of a man who should be dead.

Michael.

I stumbled slightly on recognizing him. Whatever else had or hadn’t happened, I managed to prevent my friend’s death.

I felt the Winter Lady’s eyes on me. What’s wrong?

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the mental contact, not expecting her to use mind magic to talk to me. My psychomancy was slim to nonexistent, but we were of Winter, and she one of the Queens I served. I struggled to follow the thread of “Molly” in my thoughts, and concentrated. Nothing, I’m fine.

Her doubt trickled through the link, but she said nothing further.

Michael was next to the aisle, and Charity two spots away from her husband. Between them was Mouse, sitting on the bench and watching me, tongue lolling in a doggie grin. But where was Maggie? The head next to Michael had short, dark hair several shades lighter than my own. Had they brought Hank?

Where’s Maggie? I asked Molly. She’d left the link open, which made it easier for me to talk. Who’s that next to your dad?

She raised a brow in question. You mean Cal? And who’s Maggie?

Dizzy, I was suddenly dizzy and too hot, and the clothes too tight, and… an icy gale blew through me, chilling me instantly.

And then the boy, who I’d only seen from the back, turned around and knelt on his seat for a better view. Younger than Maggie, perhaps eight or nine, and if I had a picture of me from when I’d been that age, you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart. Same hawkish features (if a little softer), same chin, same shape of the eyes.

But that nose was all Murphy.

Our son, for he could be no one else, spotted me and grinned as he waved excitedly. Like Maggie, Cal’s grin was all his own and just as infectious. He had an endearing gap where a tooth was missing.

My heart stopped, my emotions teetering between absolute panic and unimaginable joy. I don’t know what I would’ve done had Molly not pushed past my mental shields, through my defenses (that didn’t really keep her out anyway), and said, Be still, my Knight. With the words came the cold of Winter, smothering my emotions with a blanket of snow, allowing two thoughts to shine through with crystal clarity.

Survive the ceremony.

Then get some damned answers.

It allowed me a measure of calm, enough to nod back to the boy with a slight smile. I drew myself up and kept walking on the Winter Lady’s arm not as Wizard Harry Dresden, but as her Knight. I would marry Lara Raith, witnessed by the White and Winter Courts and the Queen of Air and Darkness with a contract sealed by blood, because if I failed, it could mean the death of me, of my friends, of everyone I held dear. The apparent son I gained, the daughter I might have lost… neither fact was going to change in the next few minutes.

I found the White Council delegation in the front row, which didn’t surprise me. Mab was fiercely proud of having snatched one of their strongest wizards out from under their control. She wanted them to witness her power and mine, realize they could have prevented it, yet chose to do nothing.

Ebenezar McCoy and Joe Listens-to-Wind sat together, both in dark suits, both with worried expressions as they watched me approach the dais. Flanking them were two Wardens, grey cloaks of their station draped over their backs.

Carlos Ramirez I’d expected, though not the hint of a smile or the joking salute he offered.

Donald Morgan I hadn’t. His face was its usual disapproving scowl, his mostly dishwater gray hair pulled back in its usual tail.

Nice to see some things never change.

Somewhere beyond the cold of Winter was a spark of satisfaction. I’d managed to save Morgan’s life, and though I had mixed feelings about the man, he never deserved to die for a crime he hadn’t committed.

I climbed the stairs to the dais in perfect step with the Winter Lady, up to the altar. It wasn’t exactly an altar, but I had no other name for the expanse of smooth, raised stone in the center of the platform. It was pure obsidian flecked with silver, an echo of the night sky above, polished to a mirror shine. Yet the stone seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light.

We walked around the altar, stopping opposite Thomas and Lara.

My brother was dressed in a pale silver suit, a three-piece like mine, though he looked much better in it. He met my eyes a moment, a flicker of something in his gaze there and gone before I could figure out what it meant.

Lara… was radiant. It had been days that felt like weeks since last I’d seen her, the sleeveless white gown baring the milky perfection of her skin. Her black-as-night hair studded with diamonds, an echo of the display above us and of the stone below. The smile she offered me wasn’t her usual self-satisfied smirk, or the one filled with sex and temptation. No, this was nearly human, sweet bordering on shy, and it filled me with incomparable desire and tenderness, because this Lara knew me, or at least parts of me. We’d been intimate beyond the physical, sharing parts of our selves that normally remain off limits to others.

I hadn’t forgotten what her sisters had done. In fact, I could see them in the front row, just out of the corner of my eye, dressed in identical pale blue gowns. Yet the memories didn’t touch me, frozen in place by the Winter Lady. It allowed me to smile back at Lara and actually mean it, which, for whatever reason, made her blush.

It surprised me, for I’d rarely seen Lara blush under any circumstances. Was it all for show? Make it look good for the audience? My instincts told me otherwise, that the emotion was genuine on her part, though I couldn’t fathom why.

Maybe she’s just as nervous about this as you are, Future Harry commented.

I had to resist rolling my eyes. Really? You can’t just leave me alone for five minutes? I immediately regretted the choice of words. He’d loved Lara, for better or worse, and to see her again on their wedding day was a pain I couldn’t imagine.

Future Harry easily followed my thoughts. This is one of my favorite memories.

Oh. Um… sorry.

A sudden shift in energy caused an icy fog to coalesce next to the altar. It slithered around the stone, growing colder and darker as it formed an archway, and Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness, walked through it. And the Winter Court held its breath.

My Mantle responded to her power instantly, throbbing in time to a low, steady beat. The beat of her heart? Or the drums of Winter?

The Winter Queen wore a gown of blue opalescence, long and formal, shifting colors depending on how light hit the fabric. She’d chosen a form that nearly equaled my height (or was wearing heels I couldn’t see), silver-white hair caught up in numerous braids that trailed down past her waist, secured with matching blue opal beads.

She regarded me with emerald eyes, pupils contracted into slits. “My Knight,” she said, those two words caressing my insides as if she’d plunged a hand through my skin. It reminded me too much of having the Mantle ripped away, and I shivered at the sensation.

I inclined my head. “My Queen.” It managed to sound low and deep and impressive, my voice ringing in the now-silent room.

Mab nodded to Lara in acknowledgement. “Lara Raith.”

“My Queen,” she responded, bowing deeply. She made the bow look elegant and effortless.

Mab looked out over the audience, then raised outstretched hands in welcome. “Today we witness the alliance of the White and Winter Courts, bound together through the union of Lara Raith, Queen of the White Court, to Harry Dresden, the Knight of Winter. By blood and breath and bone, I so command it!”

Winter and its allies cried out, not cheers, not exactly, but something more primal. A call that spoke of the Wild Hunt, of bloodlust and violence and sex. Our baser instincts laid bare and celebrated, the veneer of civility sloughing away.

Lara’s people were silent, staring at the spectacle, which took some time to quiet. When the noise finally died down, a lone clap echoed through the hall, causing everyone to turn their heads. A man stood in the center aisle, halfway between the dais and the door. “Well said, Queen Mab,” he commented, adding a flourishing bow as he did. “Well said, indeed.” He was of average height, dark hair neatly trimmed, dressed in a dark suit, his tie a worn length of rope secured in a noose.

Nicodemus Archleone.

What the hell am I supposed to do about him?

I… have no idea, Future Harry replied after a moment. This didn’t happen at my wedding.

Terrific. I’ve been back less than ten minutes and we’re already going off script. Then I raised my voice so it carried through the hall. “Nicodemus. Missed you at my bachelor party. Oh, wait. No, I didn’t.”

“Mr. Dresden. I’d say it was a pleasure making your acquaintance again, but truly it isn’t.” He gave me a smile.

I returned the favor. “Where’s your entourage? Ah, that’s right, they deserted you when they saw just how weak you truly are. Too bad your lovely daughter couldn’t be here today to share in my special moment.”

His face darkened with anger, and his eyes shifted from me to Mab. “Enough games, boy. As you have taken my daughter, I will take yours.”

My eyes darted to Sarissa, seated in the front row with the delegation of Summer, wearing a gown of deep green accented in gold. Fix was next to her, staring at Nicodemus, daring him to try.

“Harry,” Lara whispered, and my eyes flicked back to her. “Trust me.”

Trust me?

Before I could frame a question, Nicodemus pulled a small object from his pocket and flicked it into the air. A blackened silver coin engraved with a sigil flipped end over end as it hurled towards me, as if inexorably drawn to my presence like a magnet. I barely registered the fact a Denarius was loose among a crowd of powerful immortals - and that Molly was standing right next to me, a likelier target than Sarissa - when Lara moved.

She moved so fast she blurred, leaping high into the air in a series of somersaults to catch the coin mid-flip, dropping to the ground on one knee with a dancer’s grace. Her fingers clenched around her prize.

Oh, crap.

When Lara lifted her head, a pair of violet eyes flickered above a pair of shining silver.

Crap, crap, crap.

“Yes,” she breathed, and Lasciel wreathed her in purple smoke. She began to laugh, and in that laugh I heard echoes of Lash’s voice. But this wasn’t Lash, this was the Temptress, the Fallen angel herself, bound to a White Court vampire. And her burning violet eyes were staring straight at me. The laugh broke off suddenly as hate filled the space between us.

“Hello, lover,” she crooned, in Lara’s voice but in a completely different tone, one filled with broken glass and promises of blood.

“You forgot something,” Lara said softly.

“What is that?” Lasciel asked, conversing to her through her own body as I’d seen Marcone do with Thorned Namshiel.

“I bow to no one! I repudiate you, Lasciel!” And in a whirling blur of motion, she threw the coin she still held straight at Nicodemus and flipped backwards onto the dais. It might as well have been a bullet fired from a gun, that’s how fast it traveled. Nick’s shadow reacted instantly, shifting to the side and out of the coin’s path, carrying his human body as it did.

A man stood behind Nicodemus. I hadn’t seen him rise from his seat, or enter through any door, and I didn’t recognize him. As the coin flew past the Denarian, the man caught it one-handed, almost as if it were an afterthought.

I judged him to be about Thomas’ height, which meant six feet or a little over, and of a similar body type, muscular but not to the extent of a bodybuilder’s physique. He was clean-shaven, his features and coloring a blending of heritages that made it impossible to say for certain where he was from. Tanned skin, high cheekbones, eyes a stunning shade of liquid gold and black hair that just brushed his jawline. A thick, shocking streak of silver-white curled over one side of his face.

Unlike every guest here, he was not in formal attire. Well, scratch that. It likely was formal attire, just not from this century. White pants, black shoes, and a deep blue coat with tails over an off-white shirt. A cloth-of-gold cravat completed the ensemble. He looked like a ringmaster who’d recently escaped from the circus; all he was missing was the top hat.

Oh, did I mention he wasn’t anything close to human? The aura accompanying him was a sheer force of presence, drawing your eye to him no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. Look at me, it said. Worship me. It slid over my skin like warm honey and the afterglow of great sex.

Lucifer, Future Harry said.

My mouth nearly dropped open. What?

I had seen Nicodemus Archleone afraid before, when Fidelacchius’ broken hilt came to life in Butters’ hands. The expression now on his suddenly pale face was something else. Something more. Not just terror, but dread, almost an expectation of punishment and pain. He turned around slowly, as if any sudden movement would trigger an instantaneous, murderous response from Lucifer.

Maybe it would.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Prince of Darkness and first of the Fallen, smiled. He ignored Mab completely, focusing that weighty gaze on Nicodemus. “Ah, Nicodemus. Still playing your little games of power?” The coin turned over in his nimble fingers. “Still trying to recruit an army to your side? Still trying to thwart my will? Anduriel, I thought you would grow bored of him long before now.”

Great, just what we need. A freaking power struggle between two Fallen angels. And how the hell do you know Lucifer? I asked, nearly shouting the question at Future Harry.

Grief, guilt, loss, such terrible, terrible loss. It’s… a long story.

My mind made a connection to something a demon told me not too long ago. Chauncy? He was right?

He was right, Harry agreed. And he was wrong. And it cost me nearly everything I am, and everything I had.

“This is a surprise,” Nicodemus said, trying for nonchalance. “I thought you no longer dabbled in mortal affairs.”

Lucifer raised a single eyebrow, flicking Lasciel’s coin into the air. Nicodemus caught it. “What I do is no business of yours. I suggest you remove this mortal body from my sight before I crush it into dust. Not even you, Anduriel, will be able to bring him back.” He said it with a complete lack of interest, merely stating a fact.

Nicodemus’ shoulders tensed. I would’ve paid money for a glimpse of his expression, but could only see the back of his head. “As you wish. My lord.” He added the last two words after a pause, expelling them through clenched teeth as he bowed. Then his shadow grew large, darkness expanding to cover him like a shroud, and he was whisked out of the castle on wings of smoke.

Lucifer smiled. “Now, then.”

I glanced over to the Winter side, found every Sidhe, every ally of Winter, every human, enthralled by Lucifer’s visage, all save two. Charity Carpenter had her head bowed, hands clasped in front of her, lips moving in silent, fervent prayer. Michael had wrapped his arms around the boy, Cal, shielding him from Lucifer’s influence. He, too, was praying, whispering into the boy’s ear as Michael cradled Cal’s head to his chest.

Mouse’s fur stood on end and on fire, blue flames licking over his body.

While I had some measure of protection through the Mantle, I was slowly succumbing to that same, strange power. I risked extending my wizard’s senses, a bare trickle compared to what I normally used, and found something shocking.

The aura surrounding Lucifer was otherworldly and incredibly powerful, more beautiful and inviting than I had words to describe. But his body… that was as human as Nicodemus’ was. I found it interesting that Lucifer required a mortal body, and like the Denarians, likely needed consent to possess it.

I’d never really thought much of Lucifer, the Devil, Satan, whatever you prefer to call him. I knew he existed; Hell existed, as did demons, and a ruler had to keep all those demons in check. Otherwise we’d have found ourselves in the middle of not just an apocalypse but the Apocalypse, demons and angels, Heaven and Hell, laying waste to the earth.

But I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I always assumed that unlike the Denarians bound to their thirty silver coins, Lucifer would remain in his original body. I had never heard it said Lucifer himself was bound to anything, coin or otherwise, and required the consent of a mortal to walk the mortal plane.

Of course, that body could be as old as the Homo sapiens species, but I didn’t think so. My instincts told me that maybe it was several thousand years old, though likely a lot younger. Perhaps human flesh could only contain a once-divine being for so long. Or perhaps Lucifer enjoyed switching bodies, each a new experience. Search the world over for that one unique physical form of perfect beauty and lead them unto temptation. For he was Lucifer, the Deceiver, the Father of Lies, and who could resist him?

Not me, apparently. Or at least not this specific power he exuded. The more I fought, the more entangled I became, until I was frozen, an insect trapped in amber, wanting nothing more than his undivided attention.

“Morningstar,” Mab said, icicles dripping from her voice. That one word carried with it a howling arctic wind straight from the bowels of Arctis Tor. It swept over me, over the Court of Winter, freezing and shattering the impenetrable bonds holding me in place. And suddenly I could breathe again.

Lucifer inclined his head a fraction to the Queen of Winter. “Mab.”

I was beyond fear, beyond panic. A seething, boiling, red-hot rage rose within me, the Winter Mantle screaming for violence. Outwardly, I didn’t react, didn’t move an inch other than to draw breath, because I’d seen what other Denarians were capable of. Lucifer was the first, the strongest, the ruler of Hell and master of them all.

Doesn’t sound much like me, I know. Maybe I’d learned a thing or two about patience.

Michael and Charity never stopped praying, their whispers rolling over me and extending protection from Lucifer’s influence.

No one else spoke.

“You are here without an invitation and without my express consent. Explain yourself.” Mab snapped, eyes blazing with cold fury.

Lucifer smiled, and every vampire sighed at his beauty. Except Lara. Her expression was a mask, though her eyes sparked with anger. “Had you held this wedding in Arctis Tor, I would not have been able to breach its defenses in time.”

I swallowed. If Lucifer believed he alone could breach Arctis Tor… was he stronger than Mab? Could he actually kill Mab, or incapacitate her in such a way that she might as well be dead? As the Queen of Air and Darkness continued to regard Lucifer with her icy gaze, I wondered.

“There remains a truce between us, Lucifer. Do you intend to break it?” Mab asked, black battle armor spilling over her shoulders to consume the gown, her eyes sparking with lightning, a two-handed sword sheathed at her waist. The Winter Lady echoed her Queen, though she didn’t bother with a weapon.

“That is totally not fair,” I said under my breath, though I knew the words would carry. “I’m stuck in this suit while you two get to change into cool outfits. This is what happens when I don’t have a phone booth handy.”

Molly snorted softly. A faint smile played over Lara’s lips. And Thomas just gave me a look that said I should keep my mouth shut. Like that would ever happen.

Lucifer’s eyes flicked to me, and his aura intensified as his focus shifted. It no longer held sway over me, and I stared back with a stony expression, folding my arms over my chest. Inside, my heart was hammering, though most of my fear had been supplanted by the Mantle’s rage. “You’re Lucifer?” I asked, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I thought you’d be…” I paused a beat, eyes raking him from head to toe. “Taller.”

“Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.” I shivered as he Named me, his inflection perfect. “It has been centuries since a mortal intrigued me enough to seek him out. Wizard, Knight, Warden; a potent combination with compelling possibilities.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t much like his calculating expression, either. He was sizing me up, either to kill me or to offer me a job.

“Is this a job interview? I feel overdressed.” I walked down the steps, putting myself between the Winter Queens and Lucifer. While neither Queen needed protecting, it was kind of in my job description as Mab’s enforcer. “I’m also busy. Call my answering service and make an appointment for next week. You’ll find my fees are very reasonable.”

I saw my grandfather’s slight shake of head out of the corner of my eye. He was cautioning patience. Whether I’d listen or not depended on what happened next. Lucifer was outside my weight class. I knew it, he knew it. In a straight up fair fight, I’d lose and lose badly. Didn’t mean I’d offer him my throat, and someone (my brother, of course) told me if I ever found myself in a fair fight, I wasn’t trying hard enough.

I was of Winter, as was the castle I stood in, as were the Queens standing behind me. And I planned to cheat. I began gathering power, strands of cold and ice building slowly in the palm of my right hand.

Lucifer threw his head back and laughed. Warm and rich, vibrant and so full of life, his power tickled the hair on the back of my neck. “I have been told you are quite humorous, Dresden. I’m glad you did not disappoint.”

“Because that’s my goal in life, not to disappoint you,” I shot back. I made a show of looking around. “Can we move this along? You here to kiss me, kill me, or offer me a job?”

It wasn’t the words so much that made him hesitate, but something he saw or sensed in me. Lucifer frowned, as if puzzled. “Who are you?”

The power had reached a level that I either had to use it, or ground it. I released it into the air with a murmured, “Infriga.” Snowflakes formed high above and began to fall, though they melted before they reached the ground. “You see another Harry Dresden around here?”

Currents of magic washed over me, the distinct taste of a portal opening from the Nevernever. It appeared on the other side of the White Court, putting a room full of guests between me and whatever was coming. And sure, maybe I could’ve used some of them as vampiric shields, monsters to slow down the monsters, but they were still guests - my guests - and Winter Law thrummed through my body.

No one violates guest right.

I took two steps, readying my shield as I did, when a tall, lanky figure appeared in the shadows, holding a staff blazing with green-gold fire. He shouted a hasty, “Instaurabos!” and the portal collapsed behind him. When he straightened, I found myself looking at… myself. Another Harry Dresden, dirty, disheveled, hair sticking up in every direction. He had on dress pants and a white button down shirt, the clothes slashed, ripped and covered in dark stains.

A set of parallel gouges ran from temple to chin, blood dripping down his face.

And he was barefoot.

Should’ve kept my damned mouth shut.

His eyes locked onto mine. “You!” he bellowed, pointing at me. “This is all your fault!”

Everything fell into place.

Stars and stones, Vadderung created a twinned universe.

Once, I’d asked Vadderung what would happen if I traveled back in time and killed my grandfather. After not-so-subtly letting me know he knew precisely who my grandfather was, he claimed it would result in a twinned universe. One where I killed McCoy and subsequently ceased to exist, and one where I failed (and presumably died). A single universe, until that monumental event spawned an identical copy. Separate timelines, with the potential for drastic differences between them.

I’m in the wrong damned universe.

That bastard, Future Harry snarled in the back of my head. He wanted to replicate our universe, and knew how dangerous that could be.

It’s also why he said there was no risk of a temporal paradox, I thought back, my humor tinged with bitterness. I wasn’t changing our past at all.

Our conversation, had we spoken out loud, would have taken time. But it happened with the speed of thought, and not even a second had passed since Harry’s accusation. Should I still refer to him as Harry Actual? Maybe Harry Prime would be more accurate.

“Ah,” Lucifer breathed, his smile like the first rays of dawn.

Harry froze, eyes shifting to look at the Fallen archangel. “Who the hell are you?”

Lucifer chuckled, and the predatory look in his eyes as he studied Harry scared me. Scared me more than anything else he’d done. “I am Hell. I have been waiting for you, Harry Dresden. Come, I have such wonderful things to show you.” Then he was behind Harry and I hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t felt any magic indicating a spell. He clamped down on Harry’s wrist and they were gone, vanished into the ether.

Pandemonium.

I didn’t know whether to be horrified that Lucifer had taken Harry, or outraged I hadn’t been good enough for the honor. Both, along with a great sense of relief I hadn’t been the one chosen. I flung out my wizard senses, but the combined energy of every preternatural in the room made me head-blind. Too much noise and distraction.

“Find them!” Mab demanded, and magic coursed over my skin. Dozens of malks - including Grimalkin himself - materialized out of thin air, running through the aisles to where Harry Prime had been standing. The size of bobcats, they only resembled cats in the way a great white shark resembles a piranha. They began to prowl around the area, their far too long tails twitching as they inspected every inch.

The guests were understandably upset. While no one ran for the exits, many moved out of their seats and away from the pack of malks.

Thomas was beside me, and I hadn’t heard or sensed his approach. Although with all the noise and energy coiling in the air, a rampaging ghoul would’ve been hard to notice. I found him watching me with wary eyes, sizing me up.

“You’re the Harry from ten years ago, aren’t you?” he asked in a low voice.

I let out a sigh. “I guess I am.”

“You’ll help me get him back.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course. You think I want to be here?” Maybe it came out a little defensive.

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you went home.”

I caught a glimpse of Michael and Cal through the throng of guests. Michael was looking at me, the expression on his face not a welcoming one. The boy’s hand was fisted in Mouse’s fur, just as Maggie did when she needed comfort. That same thrill of panic and joy raced up my spine. “So did I.” Did I have any right to ask about my daughter? Was she even my daughter, here? You’ll always be her father, part of me whispered, and that part was absolutely right. “What happened to Maggie?”

Thomas’ face became a mask of marble. “Your daughter’s dead.”

I’d never felt such brutal agony as I did just then. My legs trembled, sending me to one knee on the cold, unforgiving ice. I wanted to know, couldn’t bear to know, had to know. But there was no time for explanations.

“We find no trace of them, my Queen,” Grimalkin mewled, his voice scratching at my eardrums.

“My Knight!” It was a commandment from the Winter Queen, one I could not ignore. I had to obey, the summons a hook in my gut pulling me to my feet, ignoring my pain, my grief. It dragged me several steps towards the dais before I realized what was happening. But there was no sense in fighting the geas. This was Winter Law and Mab owned me, body and soul.

I did manage a scowl at Vadderung, flanked by two of his Valkyrie. One was Freydis, the other a brunette with stunning blue eyes I didn’t recognize. I didn’t say anything, or do any of the dozens of things that popped into my head. He’d used me, used me hard, and still I’d ended up right back here. But he hadn’t known, I realized just before my gaze was drawn back to Mab. The concern on his face was genuine.

“Come to me,” Mab purred, holding her hand out. I took it, because I had to.

Thomas had followed me back up the stairs, resuming his position behind Lara. Lara’s thoughtful expression bothered me almost as much as Vadderung’s had, but for different reasons. Had Harry Prime never explained about the party, or the sex afterwards?

The Winter Queen stared into my face. I kept my eyes studiously fixed on a spot just above her left eyebrow. “You are the Harry Dresden Donar Vadderung bargained for. You are the one who was given my Knight’s Mantle and refused to return it.”

“Hey! That wasn’t me -“

She smiled, leaned in and kissed me. It shocked me into silence, those soft lips pressing against mine just long enough to turn the Mantle’s pounding beat from anger to lust. I pushed that thought down hastily. You don’t have sex with Mab, you barely survive it. I did not wish to repeat the experience, especially in front of an audience consisting of my friends and family, and one young son I’d never planned on having.

“You are all that was promised and more,” she purred, drawing long nails along my cheek. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to notice. Then that hand grabbed my chin with the force of a steel vise, her eyes shifting from emerald to a storm-tossed sea. “But you are not my Knight. He has been stolen from me, under the banner of truce. You will hunt him down and bring him back, unharmed. Otherwise…” her other hand fisted my hair and yanked my head back, baring my throat. Those long, long nails drew light lines down the length of my neck, hovering over a pulse point.

“You will remain here, and I will make you mine.”

I swallowed, causing her nails to dig into my skin a little more. “Is this a bargain, Queen Mab?”

“This is Winter Law, my Knight. Though you are not in truth mine, your Mantle responds to me. By right I can force you to do so, but…” she looked over to Molly. Whatever the Winter Lady thought about this or felt from me, her face was an expressionless mask. “I have been cautioned, more than once, that to force you will result in the loss of your unique value.” She released me and took several steps back. It allowed me to take a breath not saturated with her power, or her scent that was driving the Mantle berserk with need.

“Therefore, yes, Harry Dresden, this is a bargain. You return my Knight, and I will assist in returning you to your own timeline.” Power fluttered over my cheeks. Once Mab gives her word, she would die before breaking it.

“Agreed,” I replied, amazed I sounded even halfway normal.

Mab raised her hands. “As it is witnessed by both Courts, a bargain made between us.”

I turned my head towards our guests. I’d completely forgotten about them; they, in turn, had heard and seen everything. I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. It was rather difficult to hide my body’s reaction to the Winter Queen in these pants, and while neither vampires nor Winter would care, my friends witnessed it as well.

So had my son.

A page of vellum appeared in the center of the black stone, covered in elegant script. The marriage contract between Lara and Harry Prime. Had his negotiations resulted in better terms than mine? Worse?

I held up my hands and backed away. “Oh, no. I can’t marry her. I don’t even belong here.”

Something changed in Mab’s face, turning it from beautiful to terrifying in an instant. I didn’t flinch. I wanted to, but sheer stubbornness kept me from doing so. You never, ever, let predators see your fear. “You will do as I command! I am Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness, and you are bound by Winter Law. By blood and breath and bone, you are mine to do with as I wish. You will be my Knight’s proxy until he assumes your place. I will have my alliance, if I have to break you to do so.”

Perhaps you see the irony of the situation. On one hand, Mab didn’t want to force me to track Harry Prime down. But she absolutely would force me, right here and now, into this marriage willing or not. There were plenty of hills I’d die on, but this wasn’t one of them. I had expected to marry Lara today; if she wasn’t the exact same Lara I knew, did it matter? I didn’t intend to stay any longer than necessary.

I was also deep in denial and ignoring the fact that no one, even the Winter Queen, might have enough power to send me home.

By their own accord, my feet returned me to the altar. I met Lara’s eyes over the smooth, black stone and held them. But there was no pull between us, no soulgaze. It was a little surprising. The smile she offered was her usual, dripping with sex and desire and a whisper of wicked promises in the dark. Lara always did know how to turn a liability into an advantage.

Her eyes… were gorgeous. I mean, all of Lara was gorgeous. But her eyes always drew me in, once I was able to look at them properly. Slate gray flecked with blue, they appeared to change color based on what she wore. Today, wearing a white wedding gown that glowed softly in the candlelight, the blue was almost jewel-bright. I appreciate a woman’s body, but I absolutely love eyes.

Ironic, coming from a wizard who routinely avoids looking at them. Likely that was part of the appeal, the forbidden, a window that offered such an unfettered glimpse into another’s soul.

I suddenly didn’t want to know anything about Harry and Lara’s relationship. If she’d fed him to her sisters as she had me. If they’d shared a completely unexpected, romantic - and treasured - date watching Star Wars and its sequels. If they’d had more private moments, more intimate moments than I had. If he’d staved off temptation longer (which still brought up guilt when recalling how enthusiastically I gave in). If they despised one another.

“A request, my Queen,” my mouth said before I thought better of it. I broke Lara’s gaze to regard Mab, doing my best to appear humble. I probably just looked pissed off. “I ask that consummation of the marriage be delayed to three nights hence, allowing me time to locate your wayward Knight.” I planned to be long gone in seventy-two hours.

Mab considered it, weighing the benefits and disadvantages against one another. “Granted,” she said at last. “I would rather your effort be spent on locating my Knight than on pleasures of the flesh. But know this,” she said raising her voice to address the guests. “We are bound by blood.”

I hadn’t seen Molly move, but felt a sharp prick on the tip of my right thumb. I hissed, jerking my hand away, but the damage was done. A bead of blood was growing, crimson on pale skin. Lara, likewise, had blood on her thumb, courtesy of Thomas.

I knew what was expected of me. I moved around the altar to face Mab, Lara at my side. Together, we pressed our thumbs to the bottom of the contract, and I felt a current of power surge between us. It left my entire hand tingling.

“Our Courts stand united!” Mab cried, her voice ringing throughout the hall.

Everyone cheered.

Well, almost everyone.

Chapter Text

The Winter Lady murmured a word, and the contract vanished. It left both Lara and I with bloodied thumbs, though the wound was barely more than a pinprick and the bleeding had slowed. I looked around for something to wipe the blood off with; it seemed rather rude and childish, not to mention dangerous, to use my pants leg.

Lara’s eyes locked on to mine as she inserted her thumb between crimson lips a few shades darker than the blood staining her pale skin. Those lips curved up into a wicked, smoldering smile as she sucked and licked her skin clean.

Then she took my wrist, gently but firmly, pulling my hand inexorably towards her.

I knew what she was going to do, and I could have stopped her. I should have stopped her.

But I didn’t.

She smiled as she drew my thumb into her mouth. Then her perfectly soft, kissable lips wrapped around the base, just as they’d wrapped around another part of my anatomy aching with want at this very moment. Her tongue swirled around the skin, over the tiny puncture wound and down, only to repeat the process. She might not be the Lara I truly knew, but she knew me enough, knew what would excite me, tease me, turn that want into need so desperate I let her Hunger sink its claws into me and feed. I felt the scrape of those claws even now, through the slide of tongue over skin, the gentle caress of teeth.

I wanted to touch her so badly my entire body vibrated with it. I wanted to fist that midnight dark hair, pull her mouth from my thumb and explore it with my tongue. My body tightened, thrumming with need, with the Mantle’s pounding desire in my blood. It was only then, in a far distant corner of my mind, that I realized the purpose of the stone in front of us.

A raised platform for the guests to witness the consummation of the marriage, much as the Stone Table had provided one for my bargain with Mab. For a few delirious seconds, I considered it. Had it been solely the Winter and White Courts… I don’t know. I can’t honestly say what I would have done. I’m only human, and Lara had a way of pushing the boundaries of what I was comfortable with. But my friends were here, my grandfather and a son too young to witness such an act of primal lust.

I clenched my jaw and forced the Winter Mantle down, inch by stubborn inch. I couldn’t do anything about my body’s response to her, but I could - I would - control my reaction to that response. Too stubborn to give in, especially when I had any number of good reasons not to. At the top of that list was my refusal to let anyone tell me what to do.

Lara sensed my reaction. She drew back, giving my thumb one last, long lick, her expression a mixture of satisfaction and puzzlement. She’d expected my reaction, even expected it to go further than it had. Did Harry Prime have so little self-control? Or was it his anger, the same anger driving both of us, that would have undone him in the end?

The blood was wiped clean, the wound no longer bleeding. Molly handed me a scrap of white cloth to remove the saliva (and smears of lipstick) clinging to my skin.

Lara’s eyes danced with silver flecks. “You surprise me, wizard.” Her words were husky, thick with desire. It pulled at my gut, difficult but not impossible to ignore.

“I surprise even myself, sometimes,” I replied, folding the cloth and tucking it into my pants pocket. “I’m not him, Lara.”

Her smile flashed, her eyes dropping to my groin and back up. “Clearly.”

I was grateful that only those immediately around me could see my embarrassment, as I was facing the Winter Queen and away from the seated guests. “Can we just finish this?” I grumbled, trying to ignore the flush in my cheeks.

Mab watched me, her fierce approval resonating through the Mantle. I’d passed a test of sorts.

Exchanging the rings was strangely anticlimactic.

“Major General!” Molly’s voice rang with power.

Major General Toot-toot Minimus flew in with an open box held between his hands. “Congratulations, my Lord!” he said, flying in a dizzying spiral before executing a perfect landing on top of the stone. “My lady,” he added, bowing to Lara. His puff of lavender hair floated around his head, drifting on an invisible breeze.

Inside the box nestled two rings on a bed of sapphire velvet. Lara’s was a dainty circlet of silver, meant to match her engagement ring. Mine was a gray metal so dark it was nearly black, inlaid with a wide band of deep blue opal. Tungsten, if I had to guess. I was familiar with a variety of metals, though I’d never worked with tungsten personally.

My ring was tasteful. Elegant, actually. I hadn’t expected anything so understated, not from Winter, but in that, Mab knew her Knight. I routinely use physical violence, more so than most wizards. Being able to throw a punch and not have the ring catch on clothing or flesh is a necessity if I intend to keep my fingers attached.

I slid the ring on Lara’s hand, that shy, sweet smile appearing for an instant as I did. As she lifted my ring from the box, that smile turned a little more daring, a hint of wickedness hovering at its edges. When she slid the band on my finger, a tiny spark of magic jumped to my skin. I drew in a breath, because I knew that magic. An almost perfect copy of the kinetic force spell I used on my own rings, but the signature was Molly’s. She’d imbued my ring, which meant she either crafted it herself, or helped in its creation. It was an unexpected gift. Even knowing it had been intended for Harry Prime didn’t diminish the warm, fuzzy feeling in my gut.

The band rested heavy on my finger. Not that it was heavy, or any thicker than the braided silver rings I wore. It was more the weight of obligation and responsibility, a reminder that I was bound to the woman standing next to me for the rest of my life.

Or the rest of hers, whispered a dark voice in my head. Not even vampires live forever. You proved that by murdering Lord Raith. Usually my alter-ego, if that’s who was speaking to me, was not quite so blunt. It took effort not to flinch.

Murder.

But truth was truth. I had murdered Lara’s father to save Thomas’ life, and used magic to do it. Not just murder, but premeditated. I made a judgment call, and decided Thomas’ life held greater value to me than Lord Raith’s.

Kiss her, Harry. That from Molly, speaking directly into my mind.

I turned to face Lara, took both her hands in mine and drew her in for a kiss, leaning down so our lips touched gently. It was a chaste kiss, a promise of things to come. I could smell the scent of wild jasmine in her hair, recalled other times, other kisses not so chaste that devolved into wild abandon. My gut twisted in anticipation, and Lara, as she drew away, smiled.

I caressed her cheek without thinking.

Lara blinked at the touch, a momentary flicker of surprise visible as I dropped my hand.

The Winter Lady howled approval, primal and fierce, the call taken up by those of Winter. The room plunged into darkness for one breath, two, then burst into light. The entire wall of the castle next to the White Court had melted away, creating an enormous, unbroken archway leading to a ballroom lined with tables, food, and ice sculptures.

Music drifted out, but it was clear by the room’s configuration it was meant as background, not something to dance to. I appreciated that. Seeing the Sidhe dance is akin to staring at the sun; dazzling, dangerous, and potentially insanity-inducing. There were too many human (and too close to human) guests to subject them to that kind of beauty.

“Come, let us rejoice!” Mab proclaimed, her battle armor shifting into a gown of sea-foam green and amethyst. Her eyes, too, took on an amethyst hue, and a crown of thorns and roses sculpted from ice sat atop her long, silver-white hair. She stepped off the dais, escorted by a tall male Sidhe in a suit of shining silver and black, and made her way into the ballroom.

I tried to follow, but Molly grabbed my arm. “We must be the last to arrive.”

I gave her a look. “Why’s that?”

“Protocol.”

So we waited, in my case not that patiently, for the hall to clear. From the raised dais, it gave me a good vantage point and the time to peruse the guests. Marcone, Gard and entourage. Vadderung, flanked by his Valkyries. Lara’s sisters and their guests, including Inari and… what was his name? Bobby. They were holding hands and smiling blissfully at each other. The Huntsman and a group of goblins. Ferrovax, in human guise, winked at me while smoke drifted lazily from his nostrils. Carter LaChaise, head ghoul himself and family. It amused me to consider setting them all on fire. I wouldn’t really have done it while they were under Winter’s protection, but it was an entertaining fantasy.

Michael, Charity, Mouse and Cal were one of the last groups to leave, surrounded by the Alphas, Butters and Sanya. I caught most of them shooting me not-to-friendly glances when they thought I wasn’t looking. It hurt, but it wasn’t surprising. To them, I was a stranger in a Harry suit; caution was warranted, especially with his - our - son involved. Had this had happened in my timeline, Charity would be downright fanatical about Maggie’s safety.

A cold, hard truth wormed its way into my thoughts. What if this had happened in my timeline? Or would happen? Harry Prime married to Lara and me snatched away by Lucifer? Panic, pure crystalline panic surged through my body and I began to hyperventilate.

“Easy, Harry,” Molly said, her grip on my arm tightening. “Your presence isn’t required for long.”

“Not that,” I replied hoarsely, trying to calm down by thinking peaceful thoughts. Burning ghouls danced in my vision. “What if this happens to me?” The words weren’t right, but she’d been my apprentice for years and understood me better than most.

“Deep breath. That’s it, again. Don’t you think you have enough to worry about right now without bringing hypothetical situations into play?”

I bent over. It was easier to slow my breathing that way. “Yeah, but panic doesn’t always make sense.” Then I waved to the ballroom, where guests were mingling, drinking, eating, laughing. “You know, it doesn’t feel like there’s any great sense of urgency about getting the Winter Knight back.”

Molly gave me an oblique look. “You’re close enough to the actual thing for it not to matter right now, Harry.”

That… was disturbing. Mab had given her word, but she’d also made sure there were loopholes. With the Fae, there were always loopholes. Detain me long enough that Harry Prime ends up dead, and I’m stuck here for the rest of my life. Or at least until I can find someone with enough power who could get me where I wanted to be. Someone who owed me.

Vadderung would do.

I spotted him in the back of the room, glass in hand, speaking to the Summer Lady and her Knight.

Molly put an arm around my waist. “Let’s go enjoy the party.”

I straightened, slowly, to avoid the dizziness that often comes with standing too quickly when you’re as tall as I am. “Do you need to escort me inside?”

She frowned up at me. “No.”

“Then give me a few minutes to collect myself.”

Molly huffed out a breath. “All right. Five minutes.” It was an unspoken threat. If Winter Law included the party as well as the wedding, she wouldn’t have a choice. She’d drag me in there handcuffed, if necessary. One thing I hoped to never, ever do was go up against Molly in a fight. She’d been powerful before taking on the Winter Lady’s mantle, but her magic ran to subtlety rather than direct confrontation. Confusion, blindness, fear, mental manipulation that set enemies at each other’s throats.

Combine that with the power of Winter and she was very, very dangerous.

“Five minutes.”

She gave me one last look, then stepped off the dais. The black leather that looked so Kate Beckinsale on her flowed away as she strode towards the ballroom, the gown that replaced it the deep blue of sapphires, with a pattern of white and silver at the hem.

It wasn’t just that I needed to get a handle on my emotions. I wanted a chance to examine where Harry Prime had emerged from his portal, see if I could catch a resonance as to where he’d come from.

As I wandered through the rows of benches, I noticed a length of wood on the floor half-hidden underneath them. Harry’s staff, which he’d dropped, or been forced to drop, when Lucifer took him. I crouched down to pick it up. As soon as my fingers touched the wood, I knew it wasn’t mine. It was close, very close, but not exactly the same as the one I’d carved on Demonreach. But he had carved it on Demonreach, that much I could say for certain. The magic of the oak itself, before it had been imbued by Harry’s power, still resonated softly. I knew the taste of that magic, as I’d been surrounded by it for more than a year.

His runes were neat, precise, done with tools designed for woodworking. Mine were rougher, crude, because I hadn’t had much to work with at the time. A few small knives and sandpaper left over from building Whatsup Dock got the job done, but clearly Harry had prepared in advance.

It made me a little jealous.

I gathered power through the staff, and it responded to me effortlessly, the runes taking on a faint green-gold fire before I dispersed the energy.

Good enough.

I felt more at ease holding the staff than I had all morning. That, combined with my shield bracelet secured around my wrist made me feel like a wizard again, instead of just the Winter Knight, consort to Lara Raith.

I shut out the sounds of revelry from the ballroom, focusing on my breathing, forcing it to slow. Listening to the beat of my heart, which was also the beat of the Winter Mantle throbbing in my blood. Then I extended my wizard’s senses outward, forming a circle about six feet across. Here, the fabric of reality was thin, porous. I reached out a hand, tentatively touching the air, but it wasn’t the Nevernever I picked up on. What I sensed was Harry. His rage. His terror. His panic. He’d left a psychic impression behind thick enough to taste.

What the hell happened to you?

Normally, I’d use that to help me open the portal; it offered a greater chance of success in taking me back to where Harry had come from. But I was inside a castle created by Fae magic, not far from several hundred guests with magical energy of their own. It would drastically change the results by their simple proximity.

Harry had been barefoot, and bleeding. I found both dirt and smears of dried blood on the floor, along with a single, somewhat trampled flower. White, trumpet-shaped, when I picked it up I recognized what it was. Jin had called it a moon-leech, a plant with paralytic venom that could drain a human body of blood in under a minute. Likely they were common in the Nevernever, but I’d only ever seen them at the house Jin took me to. And the start of that journey had been inside Demonreach’s little stone cottage.

I hadn’t had a chance yet to ask about Harry’s disappearance. I assumed he had been in the dressing room before something tossed him aside, replacing him with me. He could have ended up anywhere. Anywhen, for that matter. From his perspective, he might have been gone for weeks, or longer, not to mention that time doesn’t always match up between the mortal realm and the Nevernever. Falling asleep for a few hours only to find when you return a decade has passed? It’s happened, more than once.

“There you are.” Lara Raith appeared. I stood to greet her, staff in hand.

“Lara.”

She inclined her head, a wicked smile curving her lips. “Consort. It is time for your introduction.”

That didn’t sound like something I’d enjoy. In fact, it sounded like something I would really rather avoid. I inwardly sighed and offered her my arm, because it was the gentlemanly thing to do. She slid her hand over the crook, an innocent caress of skin over my jacket sleeve that made the Mantle sit up and take notice.

“You don’t seem upset that your true consort is missing,” I said, eyeing her.

She rolled a shoulder in an elegant shrug. “You are proving an adequate substitute. And I find myself intrigued by another Harry Dresden, wondering if he has the same proclivities in bed. The same anger. The same passion.” That wicked smile was back, and I gulped. “It shall prove an enlightening experience.”

Mine, the Mantle growled. Mine mine mine.

Lara laughed, beautiful and enticing, her eyes flicking to a lower part of my anatomy that always responded to her, regardless of what she did. “Do not look so distraught, Harry. I will endeavor to make your time here quite enjoyable.”

She is yours to do with as you wish. Take her, now!

“I have no doubt of that, Lara,” I said. It came out low and husky. Dammit. I beat the insatiable lust back with a crowbar.

“I assisted the Winter Lady in choosing the design of your ring,” she said, touching the band with a fingertip. “It is quite stunning.”

I turned it with my thumb, grateful for something else to focus on other than her. “You have excellent taste. It’ll take some getting used to, but it’s actually perfect for me. Thank you.”

Lara graced me with one of her rare, almost-human smiles, pleased with herself and even more so with my reaction. “Come.”

So I played the dutiful consort to the White Queen, pasting on a bemused smile as she introduced me around the Court. Thankfully, we didn’t approach any of her sisters, though Inari came running up to offer me a congratulatory kiss before returning to drape herself on Bobby’s arm. He was still tall, tanned, his suit stretching tight over his well-muscled body. He and I hadn’t really hit it off, but seeing him now with Inari when surrounded by the top beauties the White Court had to offer, I had to give the guy credit. He only had eyes for her, and she for him.

At least someone’s happy.

I felt Marcone watching me. I looked over at him, standing with a mixed group of vampires and their human guests. Politicians or businessmen, either would be useful to Marcone. It wasn’t just Baron Marcone assessing me. Though a second set of eyes didn’t appear on his forehead, I knew Thorned Namshiel was taking my measure, wondering if I could pull off the interdimensional spell that brought me here. I’d never heard of such a possibility, not even theoretically. Sure, Chronos was capable, but he was a primordial god; I was just a wizard booted from the Council for playing slap and tickle with the monsters.

I sketched a salute, smirking all the while. Let him think I knew the answer to a great riddle that Marcone - and Spinyboy - would love to pry from my cold, dead fingers. I never tired of yanking Marcone’s chain. To be able to do that in two universes made it even better.

His flat expression didn’t change, but I always found it difficult to read Marcone. He kept a tight lid on his emotions and rarely let anything slip. After a moment more, he nodded in response, raising a glass of pale gold liquid in my direction. I entertained a brief fantasy of freezing the drink and exploding the glass, just for the shock value and not because I wanted Marcone injured. Much. But Sigrun Gard narrowed her blue eyes at me, as if reading my mind. I held up hands in apology.

Only then did Marcone offer the tiniest twitch of a smile.

Bastard.

I turned away and spotted Thomas to one side, without food or drink or company of any kind. He’d been giving me odd, considering looks the entire time Lara pulled me around the room, when he thought I wouldn’t notice. There was an ache in those looks, an old, deep pain.

Lara followed my gaze. “If you wish to speak to my brother, you have my leave, my consort,” she said, her eyes twinkling with humor. The endearment grated on me, as she knew it would.

I shoved the anger down, smiled congenially and bowed. “My thanks, my lady.”

Thomas didn’t move from his spot as I approached, pretending to ignore me. “What is up with you?”

His eyes narrowed as he studied my face, then widened in shock. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” He backed away from me, hands out as if pleading. “Thomas, don’t know what?”

A tear shimmered, falling down his cheek. I reached for him, grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly. “Dammit, Thomas, what the hell is going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Mur…” he stuttered to a stop. “It’s my fault Murphy’s dead.”

I froze as a yawning pit of grief opened beneath me, filled with sharp, jagged teeth. Thomas saw my reaction and pulled away. “Thomas, Thomas, wait dammit!” This time I latched onto his wrist and wouldn’t let go. He might be stronger than human, but so was I. He’d have to drag me over the floor if he wanted to leave.

But he stopped, turned to face me once more. His silver-flecked eyes met mine. “It’s my fault,” he whispered again. “And Harry hates me for it.”

Harry Prime didn’t know what Vadderung told me, or at least he hadn’t believed it.

I believed it.

“Thomas, listen to me. It’s not your fault. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.” I pulled him closer, mimicking a hug though neither of us raised our arms. “Vadderung told me ten years ago that Karrin’s life couldn’t be saved. No matter what I did, or what anyone else tried, she would die during the battle. You were just the means he used to do so.” My heart broke for him, my brother who’d had no real family since our mother left him at the tender age of five. Not until he found me. To have Harry reject him… I could only imagine the agony and self-loathing Thomas carried around.

But that meant… Thomas had been with me, with us, and not trapped on Demonreach. It seemed the broad strokes of the Battle of Chicago hadn’t changed, but some of the details had.

First things first.

Thomas just stared at me, his face an expressionless mask. “Vadderung told you this?”

“Yeah, he did. In my timeline, Murph was accidentally shot by a detective. I warned her about her death, and about him. She said she was planning on teaching him gun safety.” The last sentence caused me to smile, just a bit. “But I never told her what Vadderung said. I just… I couldn’t do that to her.”

“So this is your fault.” His eyes turned hard, flinty.

I sighed. “No, it’s not. Did you miss the part where I said Murph couldn’t be saved? We aren’t gods, Thomas. We’re not omniscient. If someone that powerful needs something to happen, it will eventually happen. And we’re the ones left paying the price.” The first bubbling bits of anger started floating to the surface. “What would you have done differently had you known?” He didn’t answer. “You weren’t there, in my Chicago. You want to know why? Because Justine had been taken over by a Walker, gotten herself pregnant, and then threatened both their lives if you didn’t assassinate the svartalves’ leader. You were beaten so badly that your Hunger cannibalized your body. You were dying, and I tossed you into Demonreach to prevent it until I could find a way to save you.”

I drew a breath, let it out slowly. “I made sure Harry knew about the Walker, and I’m going to guess he was able to pull it out of her just as I did.” He flinched, and I realized I hadn’t seen Justine at all. “Thomas, where’s Justine?” I asked, dropping my voice.

His eyes swam with tears, but they remained unshed. “She died.”

I’d had help, Jin and his group of Wyldfae keeping Justine unconscious. And I’d had experience with Lara’s sister Natalia, removing the corruption the Walker left behind. Harry must have tried to remove it years before I did, and failed, and Justine was dead. It broke my heart, seeing the broken look in his eyes.

“I don’t blame you - Harry - for Justine,” he said tiredly, as if it was an old argument, ground trod over so often that the path had transformed into a deep ravine. “He did his best, but he wasn’t strong enough. He nearly died, too.”

“That’s why he blames you for Murph. He thinks you didn’t do enough to save her, because he believes you blame him for Justine regardless of how many times you’ve told him otherwise. Right? God, Thomas, I…” what could I say? This was pain years in the making. Nothing I could offer now would change the past.

Thomas shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing with me. “I think Justine’s death, combined with what happened with Susan and Maggie… Harry stopped trying to change the events Bob and Murphy told him would happen. He just… shut down.”

Fear choked me. “What happened with Susan and Maggie?”

The look he offered was full of compassion and sorrow. “He found a way to cure the Red Court infection. It killed vampires and restored humanity to those merely half-turned. He altered the course of the war, but not before Martin’s betrayal cost both of them their lives.”

It hurt, by God did it hurt. It’s not my Maggie, I thought desperately, and only that thread kept me sane. “That doesn’t make sense,” I replied. It came out hoarse and rasping. “Martin was a duplicitous ass, but he wanted the Red Court to fall.”

Thomas shrugged. “I don’t really know all the details. Harry told me very little, before he stopped talking about it completely.”

“So how did I - I mean, Harry - become the Winter Knight? I agreed to it in order to save Maggie. But if she was already dead, then what was his motivation?”

Thomas glanced over to a small group of guests. “Calvin.”

I saw the boy he indicated, mostly hidden behind Michael and Charity. At the moment, they were deep in discussion with Sanya and Butters, the Alphas not far away at one of the buffet tables. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Michael was standing without aid of a cane. Had he avoided the shot that nearly ended his life and ended his career as a Knight?

“Cowl took him as a sacrifice, and Harry… took him back.”

I’d been ready to die for Maggie, a daughter I’d only known existed for a few days. Had I been a part of her life from the day she was born… I would’ve killed anyone standing in my way, and not cared who or what they were. Broken every Law of Magic twice over, if necessary. Clearly making the choice of becoming Mab’s enforcer had been the best of his options, as it had been mine.

“Cowl’s dead, then.” I didn’t make it a question. With the Leanansidhe’s help, if Mab granted her participation to Harry as she had to me, it would have been easy. And likely messy.

Thomas eyed me. “Very.” Something in the way he said it made an icy ball form in my stomach.

“Tortured?”

“Very,” he repeated, watching me.

Well, not really a surprise. Lea would’ve loved it, and loved convincing Harry to give in to the Winter Mantle’s urges. But to push Harry that far… I had the sinking feeling not all of him came back. A stain on his soul that would only grow with time, under the Mantle’s relentless onslaught. And the future events I’d tried to prevent only served to make Harry Prime’s life worse.

No wonder he blames me.

“Shit.” Thomas blinked at that. I realized I was still gripping his wrist, likely too hard to be comfortable, and let him go. “I tried, I really tried. I thought I’d been given an opportunity to change my past. A do-over. Instead, all I did was screw up Harry’s life.”

“You didn’t know.”

“True, but doesn’t change anything, does it?”

He sighed, raked a hand through his perfect hair. “No, it doesn’t.” Then he gave me the ghost of a smile. “I missed… this.” He gestured between us. “Talking to you. To Harry, I mean. It’s been… lonely, without Justine. I’ve really missed my brother.” Then his eyes slid to Cal once more. “He’s yours, you know.”

A punch to the stomach would’ve hurt less than to hear that. It meant I’d taken advantage of Murphy, and then left her to deal with the fallout on her own.

“Don’t you start with the guilt,” Thomas whispered fiercely, moving until we were barely inches apart. “It took Harry a long time to get over what you did.”

I was suddenly enraged, grabbed his collar in one hand. “Don’t you dare blame me for that,” I snarled, even though I’d just done that exact thing. “Or did I misremember you standing outside while it happened, feeding off our lust? Or the jokes and innuendo afterwards?”

His face flushed, part anger, part… something I couldn’t identify. “I admit pushing you and taking pleasure in the aftermath. But that was before she found herself pregnant, and Harry with no memory of how it had happened.” She’d kept the child, of course she had. She was Catholic, but more than that, she believed in owning up to your mistakes and taking responsibility for them. “He even proposed to her. You can imagine how that went over.” Oh yes, I could imagine exactly what Murphy would’ve said after two failed marriages. I also knew she would never deny Harry the chance to be a father.

“What happened?”

Thomas rolled a shoulder, and I let go of him. “They worked it out. He’s a great kid.”

The anger bubbled away, leaving me infinitely tired. “Then why tell me at all?”

He met my eyes unflinchingly. “You deserved to know.”

Had the roles been reversed… yeah, I’d make sure Thomas knew. “I’m sorry about Justine,” I said softly, meaning every word. She’d been my friend, too, and I had no better words to offer him.

“Thanks.” Something caught his attention. “I’d better go.”

I turned to find Ebenezar McCoy approaching, Morgan not far behind. Neither held a staff, and Morgan’s sword was absent. Not a surprise, as Mab would hardly allow cold iron in her presence. Though I wouldn’t put it past Morgan to have a knife or two hidden somewhere.

Morgan gave me a hard look. I returned it. “You warned Captain Luccio about the hospital in the Congo,” he growled, as if unwilling to admit it.

My heart sped up. Had they listened? “Yeah.”

He grunted. “I didn’t trust you, but Luccio did. Turned out you were right, the hospital was compromised. Saved a lot of lives.” Then his eyes narrowed. “You broke a Law of Magic.”

“Dammit, Morgan. You want the truth? Okay, fine, here’s the truth. Someone else broke it and dragged me along for the ride. Do you really think I have the power for chronomancy of that magnitude? Truly?” I loomed over him (though not by much, Morgan was only a few inches shorter), the Mantle screaming for blood and violence. Nearby conversations had quieted, and guests eagerly watched the exchange. Nothing excites the Winter Court more than violence. Except maybe a side order of sex to go with the violence.

Morgan eyed me disdainfully. “No, I don’t. The Council gave you a pass last time. Do it again, and you’ll find yourself at the end of my sword. I don’t offer second chances.” Threat delivered, he turned on his heel and walked away. Not too far, not so that he lost sight of the Senior Council members he was there to protect, but far enough that he wouldn’t overhear our conversation.

“Hoss,” Ebenezar said, looking me up and down, peering over his gold-rimmed glasses, the wispy fringe of white hair around his bald pate smoothed down. I’d been mistaken in his attire. It wasn’t a suit at all, but the formal black robes he wore during Council meetings, along with the deep purple stole signifying his Senior Council membership.

I found him trying to meet my gaze. I knew why, and I let him. Dark eyes similar to my own stared back and me, and he looked… weary. As if he’d lived longer than he’d ever expected to, and found the experience exhausting. I also saw worry and fear, likely for Harry’s safety.

When nothing happened, he grunted, though I wasn’t sure if it was from surprise or satisfaction.

“It’s still me, sir,” I said.

He shook his head. “I’m gonna guess it hasn’t been you for ten years now.” It made me wonder what Harry Prime’s relationship with our grandfather was like. We’d come to an understanding of sorts, bridged by Justine’s insistence that he meet his great-granddaughter. But without Justine and Gabriella… without Thomas attacking Etri and killing Austri, what had happened?

“Well… that’s fair,” I hedged. It wasn’t my life, not any more, and I had no right to pry. The look he gave me provided an inkling of insight. A strained relationship, but perhaps not completely broken.

“Why are you here, hoss?” he asked, and it wasn’t a friendly question.

I sighed. “Wish I knew. I was supposed to end up back in my own timeline. Instead, I ended up at the same place, but in an alternate universe.”

His eyes narrowed. “You working with Lucifer?”

I blinked at him, shocked into momentary silence. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“The usual. Power.”

I held tight control over the rising anger. “Really? You really think I could do something like that?”

Ebenezar poked me in the chest with a finger. “I don’t know you, hoss. I don’t know what you’re capable of. You’re already in bed with Mab and those damned vampires.”

I scowled at him. “So is Harry.”

“Don’t much know what he’s capable of any more, either,” he said, more frustrated than angry.

“Once I bring him back, maybe you should correct that, sir.” Then I leaned down to speak in a much quieter voice. “My grandfather killed me last year. I used holomancy to project my image, but he didn’t know that. He believed it was me, and he killed me. Accidentally, sure, but the spell he used… I never would’ve been able to deflect that much raw power. He was trying to kill a couple of vampires, and I purposefully got in his way. That’s how blind his rage made him. I truly hope, sir, that you won’t make the same mistake.”

Ebenezar scowled but said nothing, his usually ruddy face darkening.

“Don’t wait until it’s too late.” I blew out a breath. “Do you know how difficult it is controlling the Winter Mantle’s urges? It’s the constant pressure of sex and violence, beating inside his skull every minute of every day. Harry needs his friends and family to balance it out, a reminder of how to claw back his humanity and prevent it from being swallowed by the Winter Court. Don’t let him fight that battle alone, sir.”

He was still angry. Stubborn, we were both so damned stubborn. Maybe he’d listen, maybe not. Either way, it was something I wish I’d told my grandfather years before I did.

“You know where Lucifer took Harry?” he asked. Guess we were done with that topic.

“Hell, I assume.”

He raised a bushy white brow. “You’re just gonna waltz into Hell and take him back?”

I nodded. “That’s the plan.” I also intended on gathering as much information as I could before attempting a rescue, and needed to see who was willing to join me on the potentially suicidal mission. Thomas, obviously, but I wouldn’t mind a few werewolves accompanying me, or a Knight of the Cross. Hell, I’d even take Lara.

“Boy, you really don’t know who you’re up against, do you?”

“The same monsters I’ve been dealing with my entire adult life. He just lives in a different zip code.”

Ebenezar shook his head, muttering, “Stupid, foolhardy…”

“You’re welcome to join me.”

His expression shifted. “The Merlin has forbidden us from direct confrontation with Lucifer and his ilk. Not to mention Harry is no longer a member of the Council.”

Oh, right. That.

“Then I’ll handle it on my own.” I couldn’t prevent the anger leaking through.

He grunted, eyeing me. “Likely you will. Stubborn, just like him, aren’t you?”

I huffed a laugh. “Just like all of us, apparently.”

“Take care of yourself, hoss,” Ebenezar said, putting a hand on my arm. Then he nodded towards the staff I held. “Might wanna check the spells in that staff of his before you attempt to use it. Wouldn’t want it blowing up in your face.”

“I will.” He grunted, turned to go. “Thank you for coming, sir. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure it would to Harry if he were here.”

He gave me a quick look over his shoulder, his eyes suspiciously damp. Then he nodded and went to rejoin Listens-to-Wind and the two Wardens. My gaze tracked him, then slid to the side as I saw a man I needed to speak with, right the hell now.

I stormed over to Donar Vadderung, bringing a chill in the air along for the ride. As I approached, Freydis and the other valkyrie (as gorgeous as her sister) blocked the way, so I had to either stop or run into them. I stopped, because I’m a gentleman. Also because they would kick my ass if I tried anything and not even break a sweat.

“Ladies,” I said. “Need a word with your boss.”

Both glared at me. “I think not,” the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty said. Her Nordic accent was thick, as if she seldom left Monoc Securities.

“Stand down,” Vadderung said. He wasn’t a short man, but the two Valkyries were tall enough to hide him from view.

Freydis raised an eyebrow at me. “You going to behave?”

“Do my best.” I made an effort to calm my anger and grounded out the magic swirling between us.

She flashed a wicked grin. “I hope you don’t,” she purred, giving me an assessing once-over. “I really hope you don’t.” Then she and her sister melted into the background, and part of me wondered what sex would be like with a valkyrie. Like Lara, I bet my near superhuman strength wouldn’t pose a challenge, and it was always a welcome release to stop fighting and give in.

The Winter Mantle liked that idea, a lot, and my eyes lingered on Freydis as she moved gracefully, effortlessly, but with such confidence and control.

“Sir Knight,” Vadderung said, his smirk indicating he noticed me ogling his employees.

I shoved carnal thoughts and the accompanying hormones down into a deep, dark place. Distraction is never wise when angering a god. “Murphy’s dead.” He didn’t respond, likely seeing no need to confirm what I already knew. “Did you have to use Thomas to do it?”

Vadderung shrugged. “Lieutenant Murphy made surprising progress with Detective Rudolph. Enough that he reconsidered my patronage.”

That sounded ominous. “You kill him?”

His grin was wolfish. “No, but I withdrew my protection.” Depending on who - or what - Rudolph antagonized while protected from reprisals, they would have gladly done the job for him. “I required someone to take his place, and Thomas Raith was… convenient.”

I struggled with the rage, enough that the two valkyries starting moving towards us. They stopped mid-stride when Vadderung held up a hand. He wasn’t afraid of me, or what I’d do. Why should he be? He had demonstrated his power more than once. And there was nothing I could do about the past, no matter how much I wanted to fix the pain in my brother’s eyes.

I tried to refocus my brain on something more useful. “You owe me an explanation as to why I’m here.”

He spread his hands. “I was assured you would return to your own universe at the exact moment of departure.”

“Not that. Well, yes, that, but also you created a twinned universe on purpose and you didn’t bother saying anything.” I stepped closer, my voice getting angrier. I didn’t want to start shouting, which is where this conversation was headed, so had to force myself to lower the volume.

His piercing blue eye regarded me, and what lurked behind it wasn’t human. “I owe you nothing, mortal. You were expedient, and given the proper motivation, did what needed to be done.”

My hand clenched the staff hard enough to hear the wood creak in protest. “You could have at least warned me.”

“And what would you have done with such a warning?” he asked mildly.

I opened my mouth and couldn’t come up with a good answer. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Knight?”

I realized then I didn’t really have a point. “There had to be a better way than dragging me into the past and shoving me into Harry’s body.”

Vadderung shrugged. “That choice was one of many available, but offered the greatest chance at success.”

“Why? Why would you risk everything to create a duplicate universe?”

He looked at me with an unreadable expression, and I didn’t think he would answer. “Because I wanted an alternative to the future your future self lived through.”

The anger drained out of me, and I was so, so tired. Of the wedding, of immortals’ machinations that treat humans as pawns on a chessboard, of the wrongness I felt crawling over my skin because this wasn’t my universe.

I wanted to go home.

“Can you send me back?” I asked.

“It would fail,” he said, almost kindly. “The Queen of Winter has bound you to this universe until Harry takes your place. She might not have enough power on her own to return you, but it is more than sufficient to keep you here.”

I made a disgusted sound. “That figures. Is there any information you can share regarding Lucifer, or his possible plans for Harry?”

It took him a moment of consideration before he answered. “Potentially. I will need time to consult my resources. Because the unintended consequences are of my making, my offer carries no obligation.”

“I appreciate that.” It meant I had time to get some sleep. As much as I wanted to be home, having more information was preferable to less, especially if it’d prevent me from stumbling into a gruesome death. I probably should eat, too. But my stomach bubbled with nausea at the thought.

“I believe your friend wishes to speak with you,” he said, gesturing to someone behind me. “I will be in touch.”

It was Michael, standing apart from his wife and my son. His expression made me nervous, and wary, and I wasn’t sure why. I ambled over to see what he wanted, because it was clear he wanted something. Maybe an explanation.

“Michael.”

“I won’t let you near Harry’s son until my daughter can confirm you are who - and what - you say you are,” Michael said. His tone was implacable, his stance solid. Michael would die before he let me touch the boy, I knew that with absolute certainty.

It made me smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

His brows drew together. “Why?”

“Because I know you’ll protect him. Of all the people in this world, I absolutely trust that you and your family will keep him safe.”

He relaxed a fraction, nodding. “Then you see my concern.”

“I do.”

“And you will agree to let Molly examine your mind?”

I shrugged. “Sure, why not? Nothing in there she hasn’t seen before.” Yeah, I lied a bit. Michael frowned but didn’t object, beckoning Molly over. She was speaking to a delegation of svartalves, and I only knew that because I recognized Etri and his sister, Evanna. After a few moments, she said her farewells and joined us.

“Papa? What’s wrong?”

Michael looked at me. “I need you to tell me who he is, and if he’s trustworthy enough to be around Harry’s son.”

“Why?”

“Cal is… asking about him.”

I glanced towards the boy, half-hidden behind Mouse’s bulk. He’d been staring at me and quickly looked away, then chanced another curious look.

“Harry.” My attention shifted back to Molly. She tried to meet my eyes, and I let mine skitter away. “You’re afraid of a soulgaze. You really think that will happen?”

I shrugged. “It might.”

She smiled mischievously. “Promise I won’t throw myself at you this time.”

“Um…” I trailed off, glancing at Michael. Molly must have told him, as his expression didn’t change.

“Trust me, Harry,” she said, laughing. “It’ll be all right.” Her blue eyes stared into mine, and I felt the pull of the soulgaze start.

Before, I’d seen countless versions of her, possibilities of what she could become under the right circumstances. Molly using black magic with impunity was a terrifying proposition, considering her skill with psychomancy and holomancy. But there had been enough good in her still for me to make the effort to save her, offer to be her mentor and prevent her murder at the hands of the White Council.

Now, I saw an endless winter landscape. I was standing in the middle of a frozen lake that stretched in every direction, the air filled with a raging blizzard. Molly - as I remembered her, blonde, shoulder-length hair, bright blue eyes, wearing one of her goth-inspired outfits consisting of a lot of black and torn-up jeans - stood next to the Winter Lady in all her inhuman, terrible beauty. Their hands were joined, and both had their eyes closed, arms raised to the storm in welcome.

Things broke through the ice. Hands, muzzles, wings, fins, shapes I had no name for. All of them rose, an army of monsters, of wicked creatures that humankind’s myths had long forgotten. And all of them were terrifying.

The soulgaze ended, and I found myself staring back at Molly.

“I didn’t understand what Mab meant until now. You’re not from this universe, are you?” she asked, frowning.

“No.”

She glanced at her father, then back at me. “If you permit it, I would like the opportunity to examine your memories.” Then she leaned in to whisper, “I think it’ll help my dad accept who you are.”

As the Winter Lady, Molly didn’t have to ask, but I appreciated that she did. She’d learned something of boundaries during her apprenticeship, and I did trust her, with my life and my mind. That, in fact, was one of the very reasons Mab chose Molly as the Winter Lady’s understudy. “All right.” I closed my eyes as her palm rested against my cheek, doing my best not to fight off the invasive fingertips that brushed over my mind. It took a few minutes, but felt a lot longer. I began to sweat with the effort of ignoring the sensation of ants crawling around inside my skull.

Molly finally pulled her hand away, and her eyes swam with tears. “Maggie is beautiful,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

I swallowed the suddenly painful lump in my throat. “She’s not dead to me. She’s waiting for me, and I’ll be damned if I give up on her.”

“It’s okay, Papa,” she told Michael. “It’s really Harry, the one you met ten years ago.”

My best friend, the man who prayed for help on my behalf when I thought myself broken beyond repair, narrowed his eyes and searched my face. “You told me I would die.”

“You did die, in my timeline. In this one, Harry killed the man responsible long before that could happen.” I reached out to grab his shoulder, swallowing down another lump in my throat. “I’m really, really glad you’re not dead.”

And then Michael smiled, warm and welcoming. “So am I, my friend. So am I. I think it past time I take Cal home,” he said, his eyes drifting over to a corner. When I looked, I wished I hadn’t. It was a ménage à trois but doubled, White Court vampires mixing with Winter Fae and human alike. Everyone was still dressed; they hadn’t moved beyond kissing and exploring already-exposed skin, but it was clear what direction they were headed.

“I think you’re right,” I said, trying not to listen to the drumbeat of the Winter Mantle in my head urging me to join them. Today anything was possible. Everything. But had casual, mindless sex been what I wanted, I’d had plenty of opportunity before today.

Mouse approached, Cal’s hand on his back, sniffing my outstretched hand. He chuffed, then gave me a doggie grin. “Glad you approve,” I told him, ruffling his ears.

“I want to go home with my - with him,” Cal finished. He was going to say ‘my dad’ and it made my heart twinge uncomfortably. Because I truly was his father, in spirt if not in actual flesh. That sparked a memory of Murphy in my arms, shuddering as she gave in to the throes of pleasure and dragging me down right along with her.

It’d only been a few hours since I last touched her, felt her, pressed her body to mine, heard her whisper my name. To everyone else, it’d been ten years, and once again I’d missed watching a child of mine grow up.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Cal,” Michael said, looking down at the boy. I didn’t either, but the brave front Cal was trying to project was crumbling, and I saw the hurt lurking behind the mask.

I knelt next to my son - acknowledging he was my son - and looked him in the eyes as close as I dared. Which meant I fixated on a nose that was an identical, smaller copy of Murphy’s. This close, it was easy to see his eyes were hazel, only the barest hints of green surfacing in the light brown of his irises. His short, neatly trimmed dark hair glimmered with golden highlights, a little longer on top than on the sides, revealing ears resembling Murphy’s more than mine. His skin, too, was a healthier shade than my normal pallor, which told me he spent more time outside than I typically did.

“You really want to come home with me?” He nodded vigorously. “Even though I’m not exactly your dad?”

He nodded again, then threw his arms around me unexpectedly, clinging tightly. I, of course, had to respond in kind, hugging him right back as my heart melted. He was smaller than Maggie, all bones and sharp angles. “You’re my transdimensional dad, and that’s pretty close to the real thing.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Where had he learned about that? Then I realized if he was like me, he probably read a lot of comics and watched a ton of science fiction, encouraged by his dad. I tilted my head up to regard Michael, watching us with a frown. I had no plans on dragging Cal away against Michael’s wishes, no matter how much I longed to spend what little time I had with him. But Michael, after a long pause, nodded his approval.

I squeezed Cal. “Okay.” My arms reluctantly released him as I stood and addressed Molly. “Will anyone miss me if I take Cal home? I think the revelry has surpassed my nuptials and the guests are focusing on… other things.” I glanced pointedly to the group of Fae, vampires and humans in the corner. “Your dad’s going to take him home regardless, and…” I let out a sigh. “I’d like to spend time with him.”

She raised a brow. “Weren’t you just telling me how there was a lack of urgency in tracking Harry down?”

I snorted. “I know, I know. But…”

“He’s your son,” she finished for me, her tone soft and compassionate.

“Yeah. That, and I truly am exhausted, grasshopper. I need a few hours of sleep, at least, and time to talk to a few of my contacts about Harry’s situation.” I frowned at her. “You don’t know anything about that situation that might be useful to me, do you?”

Molly shook her head. “No. I had no idea Mab had ever spoken to Lucifer, let alone had a truce with him.”

My eyes flicked over to the Winter Queen, who was clearly delighted to be talking to Marcone, though I couldn’t fathom why. “Am I to assume that truce no longer exists?”

It was the Winter Lady who replied, Molly’s voice deepening. “There is no truce. You are free to use any methods you deem necessary to return the Winter Knight to us.”

“Understood, my Lady.”

Then Molly blinked, and it was just my former apprentice gazing back at me through the visage of a Queen. She put a hand on my arm. “Take Cal home, Harry. Get to know your son.”

I took that hand and lifted to my lips, kissing the back of it. “My thanks, my Lady.” I smiled, letting her know it was meant more as a private joke than anything official. Then I looked down at Cal. “You ready to go home?” I asked, offering him my hand. He nodded, reached up to take it and nearly had to stretch because he wasn’t quite tall enough. His hand was so small compared to mine.

I took a step, then stopped. “Uh, where is home, exactly?” I asked Michael.

He smiled faintly. “The castle.“

So that at least hadn’t changed. In that moment, I wanted to be home so desperately I had to swallow a few times just to fight down the tears. “So this Harry conned Marcone out of his castle, too.”

The smile grew. “It was quite the argument. Had Lara not stepped in, I think it would’ve turned into an actual fight.”

Huh. “I used the diplomatic approach. It worked surprisingly well, once I had the backing of the Winter Queen.”

Michael laughed. It was warm and real, a sound I hadn’t heard in more than a month. It made my chest ache with pain. “Harry could use a lesson or two in diplomacy.” Then he crouched down to hold Cal’s shoulders. “Call if you need anything, son. We love you, you know.”

The boy nodded. “I know. I love you, too.” He petted Mouse, but didn’t clench his fur as Maggie would have. Then he looked up at me with shining eyes and that adorable, gap-toothed smile. “Ready, alt-Dad!”

Alt-Dad. I grinned back. I could work with that.

Chapter Text

I led Cal through the side door into the dressing room to pick up our clothes. I didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary, so just gathered them into a messy pile and left. We emerged from the enchanted ice castle into a bright blue mid-afternoon, cooler and less humid than a typical late July day in Chicago. Part of Molly’s work for the wedding so no one would melt on the hot concrete waiting for their car.

Which I thought we would have to do, but the Munstermobile was already sitting nearby, one of the human valets in an impeccable charcoal suit with a royal blue tie standing by its open door. Same car, same eye-bleeding paint scheme as mine. I took the keys from the valet, then fished for a wallet in the jeans pockets.

“No need, sir,” the man said. “Complimentary of the Raith estate.”

“Thanks.” I opened the back door for Mouse, and Cal climbed in after him.

I bent down to peer inside. “Don’t you want to sit up front?”

He gave me a look like I should know better. “Dad says I can’t sit in front until I’m older. It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, er… right.” Apparently he was still small enough that the law - or at least Harry Prime - required him to ride in the back seat. Something about age, or height, or maybe a combination of the two. I never considered it with Maggie, and Michael hadn’t said anything. Guess it was a good thing I’d never been pulled over because of it.

Cal secured the lap belt by himself and tightened it with practiced ease, and only then did Mouse flop down, his head resting on Cal’s leg. I wiggled the staff into the back and closed the door, since there was no way Cal’s arm would stretch far enough to reach the handle.

I slid carefully into the driver’s seat, dropped the clothes on the seat next to me, and started the engine, feeling the familiar rumble under my feet. I’d just driven it to Château Raith a few days ago, but it seemed more like weeks with everything that had happened. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I found Cal watching me.

I turned around. “I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a vanilla shake right about now.”

He squinted at me. “You’re gonna say it, aren’t you?”

“Say what?”

“You know.”

“Um… hail to the king, baby?” I hesitantly asked. Just because I was going to say it didn’t mean Harry usually did.

“Ugh, you always say that!” But he was grinning under his pretense of irritation, so clearly this was habitual. A back and forth born from years of familiarity, an inside joke between Cal and his dad.

He hadn’t noticed he swapped me for his father, and I didn’t want him to feel bad by pointing it out. I smiled at him instead. “Because it’s always true.”

We drove down the long driveway of the Raith estate, through trees that likely predated Chicago as a city. Their tall trunks and thick, leafy branches arched over the roadway, sunlight and shadow dappling the asphalt. It was beautiful, and I rolled my window down a bit for the breeze. It allowed one of the Fae that belonged to the Za Lord’s army to buzz through the crack and alight on my dashboard.

“Greetings, Za Lord!” said the pixie. It was Purpleweed, dressed in an outfit of black on black with a tiny sword sheathed on one hip. She saluted. I preferred to keep my hands on the wheel, so nodded in response.

“At ease, kernel. Do you bring news?” I glanced at Cal in the mirror. His eyes were wide, watching, but he didn’t seem shocked enough for this to be his first time seeing a pixie.

“Yes, my Lord! The way ahead is clear, and the Major General has arranged an escort to the castle.”

“Very well, kernel. Pizza shall be arranged this eve, plus extra to members of my escort. Please inform thy brethren.”

She saluted again, her purple light glowing even brighter. “Yes, sir!” With that, she circled around my head once before darting out the window.

“They’re so cool,” Cal said in a reverent whisper.

While cute, it was a dangerous line of thinking. “They’re also Fae, which means they’re dangerous.”

I was looking at him so saw him nod. “I know. Dad won’t let me talk to them.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Your dad has a lot of rules.”

“He says they keep me safe. Rules are there for a reason.” He said the last sentence in a deeper voice, trying to approximate Harry’s, complete with furrowed brow and stern expression. I had to hide a smile.

“Your dad’s right.”

“I know,” he said, sighing dramatically. It was remarkably similar to Maggie’s dramatic sighs. “Can’t wait until I’m older.”

Which reminded me of a question I wanted to ask. “How old are you?”

“Nine. My birthday was last week. Dad took me to the planetarium for the laser light show and it had music and spaceships and rockets and it was awesome!” The more he talked, the more excited he became. I really wished I wasn’t driving, so I could watch his very animated expressions without having to resort to quick glances in the mirror.

“Your dad didn’t break anything?”

Cal shook his head vigorously. “Nope. He practiced and practiced and it was perfect! And then we got ice cream. With sprinkles.“ He emphasized the word, letting me how unusual that was.

“Sprinkles make everything better,” I replied.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing dreamily.

I tried once, very very hard, not to blow up a television studio. It mostly worked, until Duke Ortega arrived and destroyed my concentration. If Harry had enough motivation, he’d make it through the laser show. I’d taken Maggie to the planetarium and scrambled a few interactive podiums by simply trying to read over her shoulder. I never thought of using enough discipline so we could watch the show together, but she hadn’t expressed any interest in it, either. I remembered the posters scattered around the main entrance. Astronauts, rockets, shuttles, space scenes, and a guest appearance by the U.S.S. Enterprise, sketched out in laser light across a 76-foot wraparound screen set to rock music? Sounded like my kind of show, but I didn’t offer and Maggie didn’t ask.

Now I felt guilty that maybe I should have said something.

Fix it when you get back. There’s still a month before Maggie’s school starts.

If I get back.

The thought was so depressing I shoved it down as far as it would go.

Cal began humming a song, maybe a theme to a show he liked, and watched the scenery out his window. One hand rested on Mouse’s head, patting him occasionally. He was content in his own world, so I kept any further questions to myself, happy that he was happy. He seemed like a pretty well-adjusted kid, consider he’d been kidnapped at some point by Cowl and had to grow up with me as a parent. I’d built up a list of enemies, and even if he went to St. Mark’s as Maggie did, I wasn’t sure I’d be trusting enough of his safety at this young an age.

At least Maggie had a Wyldfae roommate with a century of experience in skilled combat to keep an eye on her. Had Harry made a similar arrangement to protect Cal?

We pulled up to the drive-thru where I did my best to order and hear through the speaker’s static. But we were handed three vanilla milkshakes as requested, and I pulled into an empty parking spot to distribute them.

“Try not to make a mess back there,” I said, handing Cal a stack of napkins along with two of the shakes.

“We never make a mess, do we, Mouse?” Cal asked, and Mouse grinned his doggie grin.

Somehow I didn’t believe that, but I couldn’t watch them the entire drive home. I had to trust they’d done this before, and I hadn’t seen any evidence in the back seat of former food-related accidents.

Other than the sounds of slurping melting ice cream, the remainder of the drive back was quiet.

When I turned on to my street, it looked much as it did in my Chicago. Maybe a house or two painted a different color, or remodeled differently after the battle, but largely the same. The castle, as it rose above its neighbors to squat on its corner like a big fat toad hadn’t changed. I parked in my usual spot and helped Cal and Mouse out of the back, then retrieved my staff. He ran ahead of me, but made sure to check both directions for traffic before crossing the street.

I slowed on the sidewalk, reaching for my gargoyles through my wizard senses. It was a habit I picked up after Maggie had been abducted from the roof by a shapeshifter, a quick verification that nothing had happened in my absence and that they were not currently tracking anything that could be construed as a threat. But all I found was silence. Harry Prime hadn’t created gargoyles, or any other type of magic-imbued sentry I could feel.

My senses smashed up against the wards on the castle’s front door, and I stopped in my tracks. It was a variation of my own wards, but more complex than anything I currently used. In fact, it pushed the boundaries of what I felt comfortable using, and I wasn’t certain I’d be able to lower them correctly.

Cal didn’t wait for me to try. He knocked twice on the door, then said in a firm voice, “Bob, let me in.”

The wards dropped, the pressure pushing on my skin vanishing, and several mechanical locks clicked. Before I could stop him, Cal depressed the handle and opened the door, then ran inside with a whoop of glee. Not surprising that Harry gave Bob orders to let Cal in no matter what; I had similar orders regarding Maggie.

I paused at the entrance, studying the door. It was wood, but tapping on its surface I found it to be steel-reinforced. It had no inset window, so no way to see who was on the other side.

When I stepped inside, it felt… the same, yet not. I set my - Harry’s - staff in the corner, running my fingers down the duster’s spelled leather. The entryway wasn’t any different, but walking past the archway leading into the living room, I stopped. Like me, Harry hadn’t really done anything with the space except scatter around secondhand furniture that looked rather comfortable. It didn’t match mine, and he hadn’t bothered with the screens I used for some semblance of privacy. There were also several worn bookcases along the side wall, stretching between the two unused fireplaces, and they were filled with not just books, but board and card games.

A very loud meow came from the nearest couch. “Mister?” My old grey tomcat was curled up on one end, in front of the fireplace. I brought the embers back to a merrily crackling fire without thinking, dropping to my knees to cuddle Mister. He was not the cuddling type, but he bore it with stoic dignity, his rumbling purr vibrating against my cheek. “You’re still here,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.

He headbutted my jaw, then yawned loudly in my face.

“Alt-Dad?” Cal called, peering around the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Saying hello to Mister.”

Mouse came over and snuffled the cat, who swatted at his nose half-heartedly. Mouse gave him a doggie grin, tongue lolling.

Cal scratched Mister’s head, then behind his ears just as he liked. “Dad says he’s getting long in the tooth. He doesn’t play like he used to.”

I sniffled and blinked back the tears. “Yeah, we’re all getting older.”

“Are you sad?” Cal ducked his head so he could see my face better.

“A little. My Mister… died last year.” Better that than explain what Mavra had done to him.

Cal patted my hand. “Sorry.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” It seemed wrong to call him punkin, because that was Maggie’s nickname. Not to mention it didn’t really fit him.

My suit was starting to itch around the neck. I needed to change. One final rub from head to stubby tail and I headed for my room. Cal raced to follow.

“Where you going?”

I kept trudging up the stairs, loosening the tie. “To get out of this monkey suit.” I heard pounding on the steps; Maggie did the same, when she was excited. I pushed my bedroom door open, and found… a very bland room with a very bland bed, and nothing of mine at all. Or at least nothing I could recognize as mine. Even in my own room, as neutral as it was, I kept a few things around that let you know it belonged to someone. Like the black comforter emblazoned with Batman’s logo.

This room appeared unlived in, the closet bare.

“Where’s all his stuff?” I asked Cal, who was now standing in the doorway.

He frowned. “Dad’s stuff is in his room.”

I looked around. “I take it this is not his room.”

He shook his head. “Basement, next to mine.”

Basement?

In my castle, the basement was a gigantic, mostly unfinished space where a row of industrial-sized washers and dryers once sat. When Marcone pulled them out, Will helped me add a set of my own, but I hadn’t bothered doing anything else except scattering rugs over the concrete floor. That way, it looked more natural covering the trap door to my lab.

Cal saw my confusion. “In your castle, you live here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we live in the batcave.” Then he grinned. “Race you!” And he was off, Mouse trotting after him.

I followed a little slower. Sure, I could (and had) run down the stairs, but I’d rather not break my neck in the first ten minutes.

The niches in the basement stairwell weren’t occupied by candles, as in mine, but with spelled Fae stones. Each gave off a warm, bright glow, a touch of the Summer Court brushing over my senses. It made going into the basement easier, especially for a young boy who had no magic to light candles with.

At the bottom was a hallway that didn’t exist in my castle. The walls weren’t drywall or brick, but rough gray stone. As I passed my left hand a few inches over its surface, I knew where most of the stone had come from. Demonreach, scavenged from the broken tower much as the cottage had been. The rest of the wall was comprised of inert but close-matching stone that Michael probably supplied. He’d likely helped build the wall, too. Like the cottage, the stones fit together perfectly, pieces in a jigsaw puzzle without the need for mortar.

Why go to all this trouble? Maybe in an effort to make himself feel safe enough to bring Cal to live with him, full-time. After the Battle of Chicago, his castle could’ve been a refuge to those who’d lost their homes, as mine had. But he’d clearly taken extreme safety precautions that I hadn’t considered. Of course, I had animated four gargoyles as sentries and set up additional wards outside, so I hadn’t been lax, either.

I poked at one of the cracks. It almost appeared the stones had melted and fused together, rather than expertly cut into shape. When I brushed a fingertip over one of Demonreach’s stones, I felt its resonant hum against my skin. Suddenly, the entire wall lit up with fox fire, growing brighter until the wisps coalesced into flowing sigils. It activated a ward I didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t malevolent, or intended to cause harm. It was intended to protect, earth magic of some kind, but beyond anything I knew how to create. Placing my palm flat against the stone, I closed my eyes and opened my new senses a fraction.

The spell revealed itself; its shape was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Harry’s work, not McCoy’s, that I knew. I carved it into the mental space where I kept spells in exacting detail. I’d examine it later, after a few hours’ rest.

“Come on, come on!” Cal said, bouncing up and down with boundless kid-powered energy. He grabbed my hand and I let him drag me through an open doorway.

It was disorienting, walking into a living room that roughly resembled the one from my apartment (though twice its size) when the rest of the floorplan didn’t match up. A wood-burning stove occupied the space where the fireplace had been, a cast iron black box squatting on top of a raised brick platform, a neat log pile to one side. Its ventilation duct was secured to the concrete and disappeared through the ceiling. I wondered where it emptied out.

As the Winter Knight, the year-round damp and cold wouldn’t bother me, but Cal was a different story. The stove would easily heat up the main room, likely better than the fireplace ever had.

I didn’t bother to light it. I might want a nap, but wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep down here. I really wanted to stretch out on the couch with Mister upstairs, in front of my usual fireplace.

Rugs covered the floor haphazardly in various colors, styles and textures. There was the usual assortment of used furniture, a couch and two recliners arranged around a scarred coffee table. Bookcases were pushed against any available wall space, and like the ones upstairs, completely filled. Mostly paperbacks, but the one where my kitchen had been contained larger, hardbound books. Books on monsters, magical theory and myths from what I could gather, in several languages. English, Latin, and German dominated, but I spotted a couple in Russian and Greek. Harry had been busy.

And there were pictures.

Not on the walls, but on top of the bookcases. Pictures of Cal, and Murphy, and me. I was drawn immediately to the first one, framed in silver. Murph holding a tiny swaddled infant, tears streaming down her face as she smiled for the camera. Harry was there, too, but wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at Cal, one finger rubbing over the baby’s dark peach-fuzz hair. The expression on his face, so full of joy and amazement and fierce, protective love made my stomach clench with envy.

I never had that with Maggie. Just thinking her name conjured her face in my mind’s eye, laughing and screaming as we jumped off the castle’s roof again and again.

I nearly broke the frame, had to release my fingers one by one before setting the picture back down.

She’s not dead. She’s waiting for you. I had to believe that.

My eyes roamed over other pictures. One of the three of us by a river, Murph helping Cal hold up the fish he’d caught. Cal and I throwing a baseball at the park. Cal, dressed in the cutest aikido outfit possible, looking very serious as he faced off against another boy roughly his age but taller. That’s my Murph, making sure any child of hers learns the basics of hand-to-hand before he outgrows Saturday morning cartoons. A selfie of Murph and me. We were both laughing and looking at each other instead of the camera.

My whole life, here in pictures. Mine, but not truly mine; they belonged to Harry Prime. He’d had a son with Murphy and they’d raised him together. Had they lived together? Maybe they chose to remain where they were and shared Cal between them. Yeah, I could see Murphy wanting - needing - her own space. It wouldn’t have mattered to me, not if I had a son in my life and a woman I loved to share it with me.

Judging by the pictures, they had a life together full of family moments, enough for a handful of photos in frames, and likely more in an album or three. My chest constricted so tight it hurt to breathe, that’s how jealous I was. And suddenly the anger rose, filling the empty hollow in my heart. Anger directed at Susan for denying me the chance to know my own daughter. I’d never be free of that anger, no matter how guilty I felt for taking Susan’s life.

A small hand touched my arm cautiously. “It’s cold, and Dad makes it cold when he’s mad. Are you mad?”

Dammit, I have to do better than this. I drew in a deep breath, forcing the power I’d inadvertently gathered into the ground. “Not at you, just at myself.” A small lie, but the truth would take too long to explain, and it wasn’t something I’d ever wish a child to learn.

Cal nodded. “That’s what Dad says.”

“Guess we’re a lot alike, huh?”

He grinned, flashing that missing tooth. “Yeah. Wanna see my room?”

“I would love to see your room.”

“This way!” I followed as he ran down the only other hallway. I passed a door and poked my head inside. This was Harry’s room. If the pictures on the nightstand hadn’t given it away, it had the feeling of home that my apartment had. My current bedroom didn’t quite feel like this, probably because I spent so little time there. I slept more often than not on the couch in the living room, because the fireplace gave me that same sense of home, the same comfort.

A full bathroom, tub included, was at the end of the hall between the two bedrooms. It was large enough that it had two sinks, one with Harry’s toothbrush, the other with Cal’s. If the SpongeBob characters weren’t enough to tell which sink was whose, the small green stepstool gave it away.

There weren’t any pictures on the walls of Cal’s bedroom. Instead, built-in bookcases took over, filled with everything from toys and games to books and comics. I spotted a T. Rex with an action figure sitting on it in what appeared to be a homemade leather saddle.

“What’s this?” I asked him, picking it up. The figure wasn’t any superhero I recognized, short black hair, black coat, jeans, boots, holding a javelin in one hand. Or… was that a staff?

He jabbed a finger at the figure. “That’s you, when you rode Sue the Dinosaur. Well, my dad, I mean.”

I grinned. “I got to ride Sue, too.”

“Dad says she saved his bacon.”

That made me laugh. “That is absolutely true.” I placed the Sue and Harry action figure set back where I’d found it. One of the other shelves was half-filled with trophies. I thought they were Murphy’s, but picking one up I saw the plaque was engraved to Calvin J. Dresden.

“Your room is pretty impressive,” I told him. He beamed. “What’s your middle name?”

“Jack. Mom says I’m named after Grandpa Murphy.” Her dad, who’d died when she was only a few years older than Cal.

A corner of my mouth turned up. “It’s a good name. Ready to get out of the suit?”

He nodded pulling at the collar. “Yeah. It’s itchy.”

I knelt to help him unclip his tie and unbutton the collar of his dress shirt. That was when I spotted a slim gold chain around his neck, just peeking out from underneath.

“What is that around your neck?”

Cal pulled it out slowly. “Mom gave it to me. She said it was a promise from Persephone and it keeps me safe.” He held up the pendant, but it wasn’t a pendant. It was the coin Persephone had given Murphy set in a bezel, allowing it to hang on his necklace. I took it carefully from his fingers, but there was no tingle of magic. No boon imbued this coin, not any longer, and I wondered what she’d used it on. Looking at Cal’s earnest face, I could hazard a guess.

“When did she give it to you?”

He blinked, as if unsure why I was asking the question. Then he remembered I wasn’t actually his father. “I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve always had it.”

Murph would never have given him the coin at such a young age, not with the boon still active. She’d keep it until he was old enough to understand what it was, and what it should be used for. Older than he was now, certainly. Perhaps when he turned sixteen and drove his car for the first time alone. Or eighteen, and off to college. So if he didn’t remember, then something happened when he was just a baby. Something bad enough that Murphy needed her boon. Cal’s life in imminent danger would qualify, and she wouldn’t hesitate.

“It’s very special, you know. Persephone is the goddess of the harvest, and this -“ I flipped the coin over to display the engraving on the reverse “- is a sheaf of wheat.“

He frowned, taking the coin back to study it by squinting. “What’s a sheaf?”

“It’s a bundle of wheat after it’s been cut and tied together. See the stalk of wheat here, holding it together?” I pointed to the small detail. It almost looked like rope or a piece of twine, if you didn’t know agricultural history.

“Yeah. Neat.”

Together we got the rest of his suit off, one that had been a near-perfect, smaller copy of my own, revealing Spider-Man underpants. I couldn’t stop the smile as I gave him back his clothes. “Gonna go change, holler if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Unlike Cal, I did not change into the same clothes that Harry had been wearing earlier that day. It felt too creepy to put them on, so I picked a tee from the closet that smelled clean, and helped myself to one of several folded pairs of jeans in the dresser.

I found him back in the living room with Mouse, changed into a tee with a picture of Underdog and khaki shorts that covered his knees. The cuffs were starting to fray. “Do you have any kids?” he asked. The question took me by surprise.

“I do, actually. A daughter a few years older than you are. Her name’s Maggie.”

“I have a sister?” he asked, his eyes shining, his face filled with delight. “I always wanted a sister. Maggie. My sister Maggie.” It was heartbreakingly cute. He really did have a sister, but would never have the chance to meet her. Then, unexpectedly, his face crumpled. “I miss my dad. Will you hug me?” Looking up at me with those wide, tear-filled eyes, you’d have to be dead not to have your chest ripped open.

I knelt on the floor and pulled him into my arms. “Of course. You never have to ask. I’m still your father, even if I’m just a transdimensional one.” Mouse huffed and leaned against us both.

Cal buried his face into my shoulder, and here his age showed. He sobbed into my shirt, his entire body shaking as I held him tight. “I’m scared,” he whispered, sniffling. “I’m scared I’ll never see him again.”

“I won’t let anything happen to him.” That was almost guaranteed to be a lie, so I tried again. “I swear by my power to do everything I can to bring him back to you. All right?”

He hiccuped, nodded, rubbed at his eyes. Then he relaxed in my arms, the tears drying on his face. “Your hugs are almost as good as Dad’s.”

I smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “I’ve had some practice.”

“Will the man who took my dad take me, too?”

I looked solemnly into his worried face. “If he does, I will come for you. I will always come for you. It’s what dads do.”

He ran a sleeve under his runny nose, looking up at me. “But you’re not my dad.”

At that, I smiled. “No, but I’m close enough, and I’ll always come for you.”

It must’ve sounded convincing, because he nodded at me. “Okay.”

I gave him one last squeeze as he started to pull away. He felt so small and frail in my arms, and I wanted desperately to protect him from the evils in this world. He’d already lived through his share, but apparently had been too young to remember much. Cal was surprisingly well-adjusted, and handling his father’s abduction better than I expected. Tears and grief and fear were normal, but as young as he was, maybe he didn’t completely understand the implications.

“Hungry?” I asked him.

His face scrunched up as he thought about it. “Maybe. Peanut butter and jelly?”

“That I think I can manage.” I wasn’t a bad cook, but wanted something fast and simple. You never know in my life when I’ll be interrupted because a plague of locusts descends on Lincoln Park and decides humans are tastier than vegetation. Not to mention my stomach wasn’t completely happy with the idea of food.

We went to the kitchen, which looked like a carbon copy of my own. Except for the coffee maker, which was some industrial-looking nightmare of chrome and steel and too many levers for a simple cup of coffee. Though I had to admit, it didn’t seem very breakable, either.

While I went rummaging in the pantry, Cal sat at the kitchen table. Larger than mine, it had eight chairs, which indicated Harry Prime often had people over for meals. Either that, or it’d been cheap.

I found a fresh loaf of bread, then a jar of peanut butter and several of jelly in the fridge. “Strawberry?” I held it up.

He stopped swinging his legs long enough to answer, “Blackberry.”

Blackberry for him, strawberry for me. I cut each sandwich in half and arranged a small handful of potato chips on the plate. Taking a hint from the two containers of milk, I poured Cal a glass and treated myself to a Coke.

When I set the plate in front of him, Cal gave me a look. “You left the crust on.”

“Just eat around it.”

He pushed the plate away. “I don’t like crust.”

I stifled a sigh and stopped my eyes from rolling out of my head, grabbed a knife and cut the crusts off. “Better?”

He picked up the crusts by his fingertips, one by one, and dropped them onto my plate. “Yeah.”

Maggie’s never this picky. But Maggie’s childhood had been anything but normal, and I always had the sense she believed her situation to be fragile. That one day I’d decide I no longer wanted to be her father and dump her back with the Carpenters. Because of that, she rarely objected to anything I said or did. Though she seemed bolder, more assertive, since returning home for the summer, so I had hope with time she’d grow out of her constant worry.

Because there was no way I’d ever give up my daughter again.

I ate my sandwich, watching Cal eat his. Mouse got the crusts. After a few minutes, the chips turned from things you eat into things you play with. Cal arranged a line on the table and then had them fight each other, adding sound effects like explosions and gunfire.

“What’s going on there?” I finally had to ask, indicating the chips.

“Bad guys are losing,” he replied, as if that explained everything, popping one of the ‘losing’ chips into his mouth and crunching loudly.

“Ah.”

The doorbell rang.

Wait, Harry has a doorbell?

Cal paused his mock battle and looked up at me.

“I’ll get it. You stay here.” In case the visitor wasn’t friendly, it’d give me the space I needed to act.

He shrugged, clearly used to the command from his father. “Okay.” Mouse remained on alert in the kitchen as I walked down the hall. I had no idea who’d stop by today of all days, knowing it was Harry’s wedding, and I missed the little window in my own door that gave me a glimpse as to who was on the other side. Before lowering the wards, I grabbed my staff from the corner, then unlocked the door and opened it a few inches.

“Kincaid?” Even in the summer heat, he was wearing a long black jacket over his gray Henley and jeans to hide his shoulder rig and the pair of knives sheathed on either hip. His long hair was pulled back in a tail, a blonde so dark it was nearly brown, and he had stubble on his cheeks and chin as if he hadn’t shaved for a few days.

Those blue-gray eyes glinted with humor. “So you married to the Wicked Bitch of Chicago yet?”

I moved to block the doorway and gave him a frosty look. Whatever the reason for Kincaid’s visit, I had to treat him as the potential threat he was. I wasn’t risking my son’s life. “What are you doing here?”

He frowned at the question and didn’t answer it. “Can I come in?”

I stood a little straighter, a little more threatening. “I don’t know. Can you?”

He narrowed his eyes, giving me a considering look.

“Uncle Kincaid!” Cal came running down the hall and nearly flew into Kincaid’s outstretched arms.

Hell’s bells, Uncle?

Kincaid seemed genuinely pleased to see him, which was even more confusing than having Kincaid show up on my doorstep on my wedding day. Had Harry invited him?

He hoisted Cal up and held him securely in his arms. I didn’t miss that he’d taken a half-step back from the door. “There a problem I should know about, Dresden?”

“My dad’s been kidnapped,” Cal told him. “That’s my transdimensional dad from another universe.”

A cold mask descended over Kincaid’s face, the eyes turning hard and distant. This was the Hellhound, formerly Drakul’s assassin, and his conscience wouldn’t bother him at all should he have to kill me. In fact, he nearly had killed me, but from a distance. He believed me too dangerous to go up against in close quarters. Like where we were standing. And based on his current body language, we were quickly approaching DEFCON-1.

“Really.” The single word was without inflection.

I wasn’t going to throw down with Kincaid, not with my son in his arms. Or ever, if I had a choice. I blew out a breath and let my anger go with it. It was clear that Kincaid was in Cal’s life, likely at Murphy’s request. And what better bodyguard than the Hellhound? He’d guarded the Archive for generations. “We paid up through April?” I asked, gesturing to Cal, hoping to diffuse the situation.

He frowned, studying me, then his face relaxed a fraction and he shook his head. “This isn’t like Ivy. That was business. This is personal.” I would have argued that Ivy was absolutely personal, but this didn’t seem like the time.

“Murphy?” I asked.

“Karrin,” he confirmed. He was one of the few that routinely called her by her first name, rather than her last. I’d met her as a beat cop, worked with her as a lieutenant, and it was more common inside Chicago P.D. to simply use an officer’s last name.

“If she trusted you, then I trust you.” It was clear he hadn’t shot me in this timeline, or Murph never would’ve let him anywhere near her son. Maybe I hadn’t died at all.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really not from here, are you?”

“Afraid not. It’s a long story. Well, maybe not a long story, but certainly a confusing one.” I backed up and held the door. “Come on in.” Only then did I set my staff back in its corner.

Kincaid walked with Cal in his arms as if he’d done it a thousand times. Cal’s arm wrapped around the man’s neck, and he was busily chattering away with an animated if largely incoherent recap of the wedding. Kincaid, for his part, gave Cal his almost-undivided, serious attention. He was still well aware of where I was in the room in relation to him, and moved with more grace and agility than should be possible for any human, especially one his size.

Then Cal laughed at something Kincaid murmured to him, throwing back his head in childish glee. My heart suddenly hurt for my little girl who rarely expressed such unfettered joy. She was so shy, unwilling to show much emotion thanks to that single, horrific night where she’d witnessed her entire foster family butchered. How different would her life be now had she lived with me, grew up with my friends as the plentiful aunts and uncles I always dreamed of having? Even an uncle in truth, and a great-grandfather.

I’d never know if it would have been possible. Susan took that choice from me.

Once Kincaid reached the couch in front of my working fireplace, he stopped and set the boy down. Mister, not surprisingly, was nowhere to be seen. He always knew to hide when the monsters showed up.

“Your father and I need to talk,” Kincaid said, but in a gentle voice. “I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“You’re gonna talk grown-up talk.” Cal looked between us with a frown on his face.

“Afraid so, kiddo,” I replied.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. Come on, Mouse.” He flopped down on the large U-shaped couch facing a blank wall with enough space to qualify as a drive-in movie screen and wrapped himself in a blanket. Mouse bounded up next to him. “Bob, play the X-Men episode from yesterday.” Bob started the cartoon without commentary, which was unlike him. He never passed up a good opportunity for snark. For that matter, where the hell was Bob? I hadn’t seen him since I arrived.

I thought the show’s voices and sound effects would be distracting, but something about the acoustics in the room kept the volume to a low buzzing background noise. So I mirrored my son and flopped down on the couch, bringing the fire back to life in front of me. Kincaid tensed at my hand gesture, then relaxed as the flames grew and brightened the room.

He took the chair closer to me, which was surprising. Figured he’d want space between us, then realized he was that close for a reason. He’d have his hands locked around my throat before I had time to cast a spell.

Should’ve brought a gun.

But supposedly this Harry and Kincaid were friends, or at least friendly, and Cal obviously was familiar enough with the man to call him Uncle.

“Uncle Kincaid?” I asked, emphasizing his name slightly.

He shrugged. “Pretty much everyone calls me that. Except Karrin, she always did prefer my first name.” A hint of a smile played around his lips. Jealousy raised its ugly head and the Winter Mantle followed the promise of violence.

I have no reason to be jealous. I do not. And to the Mantle, I thought, he has centuries of practice hunting supernatural and human alike. We need to protect our son, and we can’t do that if we’re dead. Surprising me, the Mantle actually backed off enough for me to get the jealousy under control. It understood violence. It also understood the compulsion to protect what’s ours. Even wicked Fae queens once had children needing protection until they were old enough to defend themselves.

Kincaid had seen the entire struggle flicker over my face, though his expression hadn’t changed. “I take it we’re not friends where you’re from.”

I gave him a look. “Didn’t think you did the whole friend thing.”

He shrugged. “I make the occasional exception.”

“No, we’re not friends, just acquaintances.”

“I do something to piss you off?”

I couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “You killed me, and I paid you to do it.”

Kincaid’s look was long and searching. “So a job, then. You’re not really angry at me.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Angry at myself for ever believing that planning my own assassination was preferable to living with the choice I made.”

“Becoming the Knight of Winter.”

I glanced at him. “You can tell?”

He waffled a hand. “There’s a flavor to a wizard’s magic, and yours - and Harry’s - also reeks of Fae. You made the same choice Harry did. For the same reason?”

“Pretty much. Though I have a daughter, not a son.”

“Maggie,” Kincaid said, which surprised the hell out of me. If Harry hadn’t told much to Thomas, how did Kincaid know? But then again, sometimes it’s easier to confess to someone you’re not close to, and Kincaid wouldn’t offer sympathy. He was too practical for that.

“Yeah, Maggie.”

Kincaid’s steel eyes flicked over to the area where Cal sat. “Tell me what happened to Harry.”

I gave him the quick version, starting with my own wedding and Future Harry’s interruption, ending with Harry Prime’s abduction. I left out Uriel’s appearance and Chronos’ invasion of my dreams, painting only the broad strokes of Jörmungandr’s summoning and destruction.

Those steel eyes hardened to titanium. “The job regarding Cowl, that was you, wasn’t it? You’re Cal’s father.” He said it in a voice low enough it wouldn’t carry to the boy, but it carried the threat to me just fine. “Karrin told me all about you.”

I held up my hands. “I didn’t know, all right? I never thought… I just didn’t think through the consequences. I loved her, and held her in my arms as she bled out and died. I didn’t even get a body to bury, because the Valkyries claimed her as Einherjar.” That image triggered a wave of anger, and Kincaid was a convenient target. “It was her choice, Kincaid. I didn’t force her to do anything. She was the one who kissed me.”

His face was a mask. I knew he could kill me, here and now, and have no regrets. Kincaid was a killer without conscience, because having one would interfere with his job, whether it be assassination for hire or bodyguard duty. “Yeah, that’s what she said,” he replied, almost grudgingly. “She refused to blame you. Harry, on the other hand… I think he would’ve killed you if he could’ve found you and gotten away with it. Especially at first.” He leaned closer to me, which made me want to pull back. I didn’t. “That boy in there is his entire world. If you do anything to jeopardize that, try to poison Calvin against his father, and I will bury you where no one will ever find you.”

I was afraid of him, but didn’t let it show. For all I knew, he could smell the stink of it clinging to my skin. I had no idea what capabilities a demon Scion might have. “I’ve had my life threatened before, Kincaid.”

The smile he offered was chilling. It didn’t touch his eyes. “I didn’t say you’d be dead, Dresden.”

I swallowed. “You’re taking Cal’s safety very seriously.“

“I made a promise to Karrin when he was born. I’m his godfather,” he said, a faint smile appearing for an instant.

“I assumed Michael Carpenter was his godfather.” He was Maggie’s, as well as her legal guardian should I be missing, incapacitated, or dead. Then I inwardly cringed, because now with Michael dead, Charity assumed that role. I’d made sure to have both their names on the guardianship papers Max drew up for me.

Kincaid nodded. “Michael’s a good man to have as a godfather. He will take excellent care of Harry’s son, if necessary. But I’m the godfather. I don’t take care of Cal, I take care of potential threats to his safety.” Like you, that blank expression told me.

I pretended to ignore it. “And Marcone is still breathing?”

“He hasn’t made any overt threats. But if you wanna talk business, letting him remain breathing is up for negotiation.”

That’s all I needed, plan out another assassination for hire. It worked out so well last time. I could only imagine what Marcone would do if Kincaid’s attempt failed. “No, no need for that. He’s the devil I know. Speaking of… what do you know about Hell?”

“Asking because of my parentage?” Though his cold mask didn’t slip, he did sit back away from me, giving me room to breathe.

“Asking because you’re centuries old and your nickname is the Hellhound. I figured you might be familiar with the place, and you might’ve even paid one of the demons a visit.” I couldn’t imagine a scenario other than violence and rape that would result in a half-demon child, and I couldn’t imagine Kincaid not hunting down the demon who’d brutalized his mother.

Which led to a question. Can demons truly die? Or do they just keep respawning like some sort of demented video game?

The tiniest corner of his mouth curved up. “I might have made a certain demon’s acquaintance.”

“Then how do I get into Hell?”

His eyebrows raised. After a slight pause, he said, “Well, there’s always the quick option. You die.” I didn’t miss the smirk that accompanied the words.

I rolled my eyes. “Apart from that. I’m going to get Harry back.”

“You. Not the Wardens or the Fae, but you.”

“Yes, me, and you can lay off the sarcasm. I won’t be alone.”

Kincaid sighed. “Unless you’re taking an army of angels, you can’t fight Lucifer.”

“Have you learned nothing in the years you’ve known me? Er, Harry, I mean. I’m not going to fight Lucifer. I’m going to steal Harry back, and to do that I need to know a way into Hell that doesn’t involve me being dead. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt to prove it.”

He just looked at me, eyes cold and empty. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely.”

“Always knew you were insane, Dresden. This just proves it.”

I pointedly looked at Cal. “I’m going to get his father back. If you can’t - or won’t - help me, then stay out of my way.”

Kincaid gave me another long, searching look. I let him, but didn’t dare meet his eyes. I’d seen him with my Sight, and that was bad enough. His demonic bloodline revealed itself as a huge, malformed creature with horns curving up and away from its head, its batlike wings dragging on the ground behind. It was a terrifying image, one I’d never be able to forget, but over the years it also served as a reminder that we don’t choose our parents. We can only choose what to do with the life we’ve been given.

He finally nodded. “I might have an idea, but you’re not going to like it. You need an audience with Hel.”

I frowned. “Hell?”

“Not Hell. Hel, the Norse goddess of death. Her realm is adjacent to Lucifer’s.”

Hel was the Norse equivalent of Hades, though much less personable. It was said the left half of her body was beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, and pale. The right half was little better than a rotting corpse, decomposing skin and flesh, the milky eye blind. She was neither good nor bad, adopting a cold, distant demeanor to rule over her realm. She was also one god that you never, ever wanted to provoke, because she would make sure you lived to regret it. Right up until she executed you.

All in all, kind of like Mab, actually. Except for the rotting corpse thing.

“How does one go about getting an audience with Hel?” I asked him.

Kincaid’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “You ask the Hellhound.”

Of course you do.

Chapter Text

I eyed Kincaid. “Does that mean you’re in?” He hadn’t been on my short list of people who might walk through Hell with (and for) me, but he’d be an excellent resource to have at my side.

He didn’t answer. “You were there, when Persephone granted Karrin her boon.”

It wasn’t framed as a question, but I nodded anyway. “I wasn’t in the actual room, but in the Underworld with her, yes.”

Kincaid’s eyes flicked to Cal. “She used it on him.”

“I figured as much.”

They flicked back to me, a cold, steely appraisal. “There were complications with Karrin’s pregnancy. She was seriously ill, and her unborn child dying. When the doctors finally recommended terminating the pregnancy to save her life, Harry wheeled her into the hospital chapel at her request. She prayed to God for help, and when He didn’t answer, she prayed to Persephone. Persephone answered. The doctors had never seen such a miraculous recovery.” Kincaid paused to snort at the irony of it. “If they only knew God hadn’t been the one responsible, but a mostly-forgotten Greek goddess. Three months later and right on time, Karrin gave birth to a healthy baby boy, six pounds, eight ounces.” He shifted in his chair. “That’s how much Calvin meant to her.”

I couldn’t imagine how desperate Murph had been, how utterly terrified. She needed control in her life, and to have that ripped away in such a painful manner… Michael had been Harry’s choice as a godfather, but Kincaid had been Murphy’s. A guardian angel side by side with a guardian demon to balance things out.

“Harry is the only parent Cal has left, and Karrin would haunt me the rest of my days if that boy became an orphan when I could’ve prevented it.” I didn’t bother to explain that Murph didn’t leave behind a ghost. That wasn’t Kincaid’s point. That he had the potential to feel some measure of guilt or remorse was… interesting. “So yes, I’m in. Missions bordering on suicidal are my specialty. And you’re going to need all the firepower you can get. Sneaking in might work, but you won’t be able to sneak out with Harry in tow. He’ll probably be branded with a tracker, or worse.”

Worse than branded? I decided not to ask. “Does that mean fire will work?” I’d always assumed true demons were impervious to fire, given where they called home.

He snorted a laugh. “With the proper motivation, even demons burn, Dresden.” Words like napalm and white phosphorous floated through my thoughts. Napalm I had direct - and agonizingly painful - experience with. Phosphorous I’d only read about, and none of it good. Anything that can burn underwater wasn’t something I should be playing with.

“Why’d Lucifer take Harry?”

I raised a brow. “How would I know?”

“You must have some idea. You’ve interacted with his flunkies for years.”

“Demons? You mean Chauncy? He’s pretty weak for a demon, low on the pecking order. I don’t think he’s the kind to converse with Lucifer regularly.”

Kincaid waved a hand. “Not him, the Denarians. From what Harry’s told me, Nicodemus has a hard on for him, and I expect you know why.”

“And from what I saw earlier today, Lucifer and the Denarians - or Nicodemus, at least - do not work well together,” I replied. “You did hear the part where Lucifer threatened to destroy Anduriel’s body, right? Harry didn’t even recognize Lucifer.”

But I had a few suspicions as to why Harry had been abducted. Wizard, Knight, Warden. Those qualities were what caught Lucifer’s interest. Wizard wasn’t likely. While Harry was one of the strongest wizards of his generation, he didn’t have the experience or knowledge to do the really impressive, powerful spells as say McCoy could. If Lucifer merely wanted a wizard, there were far better options.

Winter Knight gave him access to a sliver of Mab’s power. While that access might go both directions and allow Lucifer to weaken the Winter Queen, I couldn’t see what he’d gain.

But Warden… that I could.

The Warden of Demonreach controlled thousands of monsters, things so old their names had been lost to time. Things so powerful and dark and twisted that even one let loose could ravage a dozen cities far worse than Chicago before anyone could contain it. If it could be contained at all.

It also held an armory, and if Harry Prime had gathered artifacts as I had, then several holy relics along with the Eye of Balor were secured far underground, in a place not even he knew about. He might also have a Denarian or two, if his year had been as eventful as mine, though the return of a few coins would be incidental. Not to mention Lucifer didn’t seem all that interested in the Denarians.

Dread began to build in my gut.

“You’ve thought of something,” Kincaid said. He’d remained silent while I thought, and now my expression gave me away.

“Harry’s a Warden.”

“Thought he was kicked out…” then Kincaid’s eyes widened a fraction. “You mean that fucking island. I know what it is. Can Lucifer use Harry’s connection to it to free the prisoners?”

“I have no idea.” I could ask Alfred, but to do that I’d have to go to Demonreach itself. Would it even welcome me as it had before? Or now that Harry was Warden here, would I be considered an intruder, summarily executed as soon as my feet touched soil? Either way, I needed to take a trip to the island to find out just how badly we were screwed.

“Got any firepower I could borrow?”

One of Kincaid’s eyebrows lifted slowly. “Aren’t you a wizard?”

I glared at him. “Power eventually runs out, no matter how efficient your spells are. Not to mention in the Nevernever physics aren’t always… stable. I would think Hell isn’t any different. Might even be worse. Rather have weapons that don’t rely on magic and not need them than the other way around.”

He shrugged. “Got a point. And I do remember first time we met you were wearing a .44.”

“I like the classics. Never go out of style.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Karrin’s probably got more than you need in her gun safe.”

“Gun safe?”

“In the basement,” Kincaid replied. “Harry had it moved from her garage after she died.”

I blinked at that. I didn’t handle the aftermath of Murph’s death well. I never thought about what happened to her house, or the things inside it. Things were just things, after all, and nothing would bring her back. I figured the house went to her mother or one of her brothers, and likely they sold it. If they had, they’d never contacted me asking if I wanted anything personal of hers. And honestly I don’t know what I would have said if they had. Probably hung up on them.

But Harry Prime shared a son with her, and judging from the pictures in the basement, a long, mostly happy relationship. I wondered how many things in Cal’s room had come from Murphy’s house, or what else might be lurking in my - Harry’s - room that I had yet to find.

Kincaid watched me process the news. “Take it back home you don’t have a gun safe.”

“Uh… no. Was in the basement earlier but didn’t see anything that looked like a safe.” Of course, I hadn’t been looking for one.

He grunted and got to his feet. “It’s in the workshop. I’ll show you.”

I did the same. “One sec.” I walked over to Cal, watching him engrossed in the cartoon. Gambit was on screen, looking… hell’s bells, he looks a lot like me. How did I never notice that before? Okay, maybe not the outfit’s red and blue color scheme, but the duster, staff, and kinetic abilities? Absolutely.

Maybe I need to learn how to throw exploding playing cards at my enemies. Then I could yell, “Dead man’s hand, Marcone!” and mean it. The ten-year-old in me giggled at an image of Marcone’s shocked face just before the cards blew up in it.

I fought to get my inner child under control. “We’re gonna be downstairs for a bit, kiddo.”

“‘Kay, Dad,” Cal replied without looking, too distracted by the show. My heart stuttered a beat, hearing the word ‘Dad’ from him. Like Maggie but not, it still tugged hard at my parental feelings. Love, in particular. I’d barely met the kid and already I loved him, knew I would do anything to keep him safe. Right now, that meant getting his father back.

I followed Kincaid into the basement and around the corner from where my kitchen used to be. I hadn’t noticed the barn door hung on a track that when slid aside, revealed a large room behind it. It was, as Kincaid said, a workshop, looking much as Michael’s did in his garage. A long wood table with bench seating, high counters on both sides where machines of various sizes and complexity sat. One I recognized as a reloading press.

In the corner nearest the door sat the gun safe. It was a good six feet tall, four wide and close to two deep, bolted to the concrete floor. The thing was massive. I could only imagine how much it must have weighed.

“How’d he even get that down here?” I asked, tapping on the door. It had a keypad and handle that spun like a bank vault. It was also warded. No one was getting through that without a lot of firepower, and let’s face it, if you already had that kind of firepower, why bother?

Kincaid snorted. “Never asked. Magic, I assume.”

Likely magic, but not his own. Molly could move something this big with a snap of her fingers. Or, you know, command a troll to do it for her. I’d seen trolls lift SUVs and toss them around like bowling pins. A safe like this wouldn’t pose a challenge, though the cramped stairs might.

I lowered the wards, a series that locked together like a jenga tower to prevent it from being opened. Lower one in the wrong order, and you’re going to have a really bad day. That done, I glanced at Kincaid. “What’s the combination?”

He looked at me like I was an idiot. “What do you think?”

Sometimes I truly am an idiot. “Cal’s birthday. I know it was last week, but not the actual day.”

“The seventeenth.”

I punched in the month, day, and last two digits of the year. A loud click told me the lock disengaged, and I spun the wheel. It turned easily, the door swinging open on silent hinges.

I drew in a breath. “This… is a lot of firepower.”

The door had rack space for a dozen rifles, though it only held four. Ten gun pouches were at the top and looked to be half full. Additional non-gun pouches ran down the sides, some bulging with items hidden from view. Inside the safe were more rifles, shotguns, machine guns, Murphy’s beloved P90, and boxes and boxes of ammunition. There was also something that looked suspiciously like a shoulder-fired RPG.

But what froze my blood was a simple gold ring suspended on a gold chain, hanging from a hook mounted inside the door. As soon as my fingers touched it, magic sparked over my skin. Love has a magic all its own, and this ring was saturated with it. It also contained a promise, my promise. Harry’s promise.

It wasn’t an engagement ring or wedding band, but clearly he’d given it to her as a substitute. I spotted engraving on the inside of the ring. Squinting and turning it slowly allowed me to read it, and I nearly dropped it in surprise. We’ll always have Hawaii, it said.

I swallowed, hard. Murph had gotten her trip after all.

“I take it you never made it to Hawaii with her?” My throat was dry.

Kincaid shook his head. “Nope.”

The room faded to black as the ambient sound died away.

“I’ll dress up as Velma and you can look for clues,” Murphy said, laughing.

“How’d you know I had a crush on Velma?” Harry asked.

“Because, Harry, despite you being a man, you prefer women with brains.”

Harry chuckled. “You know me too well.”

A pause. “What is this?” Murphy sounded wary.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he replied hastily. “It’s a promise ring. My promise to you, that I love you and I love Cal with all my heart. It’s a promise that I will protect you both.”

“I can protect myself, Dresden,” Murphy almost snarled.

“I know you can,” Harry said softly. “All I’m saying is you never have to do it alone.”

Then I blinked and found Kincaid frowning at me. “What the hell just happened? You blanked out for a few seconds.”

I glanced down at the ring. “I… I’m not sure. I think I overheard the moment Harry gave this ring to Murphy. His magic imbued it with more than just a promise.” I’d heard of such things happening, a piece of pottery created during a conversation that managed to capture sound waves in its surface, played back centuries later like a misshapen record.

“Huh.” Kincaid, man of few words. “See anything you like?”

Weapons, right. I’d forgotten the reason for the trip downstairs. I picked up the P90. The see-through chamber showed the gun as empty, but you always handle guns as if they are loaded. “You gave this to her.”

Kincaid grunted. “Before Jörmungandr showed up. Couldn’t get the rocket launcher she wanted in time.”

I looked up at him. “In my timeline, you gave it to her in Hawaii.”

He blinked. “Guess we had a good time.”

Despite the flicker of jealously, I huffed a laugh, remembering how pink Murphy’s cheeks turned when I asked about the trip. Never did hear the story of how she’d been injured. “Yeah, I believe you did.”

I set the P90 back and put a hand on one of the shotguns. “Benelli M4,” Kincaid said, then pointed to several boxes of shotgun shells. “Modified to use dragon’s breath rounds without melting the barrel. Got ‘em special for her. Be useful to have on the trip.” A bandolier hung from a hook, half-filled with shells. That, combined with the .44 revolver I saw peeking out from one of the door pockets and a talon knife much like Lara’s, and I’d be set. At least for the mundane weapons.

As for magical gear, there were a few potions I could think of that’d come in handy, and I wanted to see if I could craft a couple of sleep gas globes that Butters used. All of that would take time.

“How long will it take to get an audience with Hel?” I asked, closing the safe’s door.

“You don’t just show up to a goddess of death’s realm unannounced. I need some time to acquire an appropriate offering.” Kincaid gave me a once-over. “And you look like you need sleep.”

My eyes had been burning for a while. I gave in and rubbed them, nodding. “I do. I haven’t slept for… I couldn’t even hazard a guess at this point. It’s just… I worry what Lucifer wants from Harry, and what methods he’s using to convince him. Even if he’s as stubborn as I am, something will break, eventually.” Maybe it’d be Harry, or maybe he’d just end up dead. If that happened, would Lucifer come after me as the backup plan?

“It’ll take at least a few hours. I’ll call you when I’m ready,” he said. “I suggest you sleep in the meantime. Hel is not a goddess to be taken lightly, so you’ll need to think before opening your mouth.”

I snorted. “Doesn’t sound much like me.”

He chuckled as he climbed the stairs. “No, it doesn’t.” Once in the hall, Kincaid called out, “Cal? I’m leaving.” His voice was loud enough that Cal heard over the show.

The boy and his dog came running (both far cuter than Don Johnson and Blood), and Kincaid picked Cal up in his arms. “Promise I’ll see you soon?” he asked.

“Of course,” Kincaid said. “Next time, we’ll go…”

I wandered down the hall and into the kitchen to give them some privacy. It was hard, as part of my brain kept screaming it was a bad idea to leave Kincaid alone with my son for any reason. I could hear the murmurs echoing down the hall, but not the words, and Listening to the conversation would just be rude. Instead, I busied myself with getting another Coke from the fridge.

It didn’t take long for Cal to round the corner.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said. “He gone?”

He nodded, absently petting Mouse. “Yeah.”

I took a swig of soda. “I need to go down to the lab for a while to make a few potions. Want to come with?”

“Dad doesn’t let me go into his lab,” Cal said, looking somewhat hurt. “Says it’s not safe.”

I waved his concern away. “Well, you’re with me, and I’d never let anything happen to you. Come on.” But the caution seemed misplaced. Sure, there were a lot of things in the lab I wouldn’t want Maggie to play with unsupervised, but very few that I’d be worried about her actual safety. For those, I’d made sure to lock and ward whatever containers I put them in, and kept those on a high shelf.

Cal and Mouse followed me into the basement. I flipped the rugs up, revealing the trap door that led into the subbasement. Like mine, it was worn and scarred, blackened in a few places. Unlike mine, it was warded. Not with anything lethal or dangerous, just a lock that prevented the door from being opened while the wards were active. It was stronger than anything I’d ever used (mostly because I combined them with nastier wards), but as I had learned the hard way, the strength of your door is only as good as the walls around it. When I extended my senses to the surrounding concrete, additional wards flickered at the edge of my perception, embedded in the floor.

Crouching down, I placed my left hand against the floor to get a feel as to what they did. These, unlike the door, were nasty. Electrocution combined with a powerful gravity spell that would cook and crush you at the same time. They’d only react to substantial damage to the concrete.

What was Harry doing in the lab that required such caution? Perhaps it wasn’t such a great idea to bring Cal after all.

“Tell you what. Let me go down first and make sure it’s all right. Deal?”

He nodded. “Deal.”

I lowered the wards on the door and pulled it open, murmuring quasi-Latin and waving my hand to light the candles below. Harry Prime hadn’t replaced the rickety stepladder with a folding staircase, as I had (with Michael’s help, of course). That meant Mouse couldn’t get down here, or if he could, he’d have a lot of trouble getting back up.

I was halfway down the ladder when I felt it. Powerful wards protecting magic that was so dark a gray it bordered on black. I slowly descended the rest of the way, my eyes immediately drawn to one side of my lab. The entirety of it had been cleared away from the wall, shelves and table removed. It looked like most of the things on those shelves had been dumped in plastic bins stacked to the ceiling in every available corner.

And what was on that blank patch of concrete, you may ask? A black, pulsing construct of magic and wards that roughly resembled a stargate. Tall enough that I could fit through, with a little ducking, because it was clearly meant to be a portal. But to what?

Hell’s bells.

“Alt-Dad?” It was Cal, and the tiny tremor of fear in his voice made me hurry back to the ladder. He was peeking over the edge of the trap door, his face pale with worry.

“I’m right here, I’m fine,” I told him. “But your dad’s right, he’s got some pretty dangerous stuff down here. You know who Bob is, right?”

He nodded. “Dad’s computer.”

I snorted, because he wasn’t far off. “Yeah. I’m going to stay down here for a bit and have a chat with him. Would you mind closing the door for me?”

Cal squinted at me. “You’re going to yell, aren’t you?”

“Your dad do that a lot?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

I offered him a smile I hoped was reassuring. “Well, I’ll try to keep it down.” But Bob had a lot of explaining to do. The more the magic tickled over my skin, the more it convinced me that Harry was trying something stupidly, insanely dangerous. The flavor that kept coating my tongue was thick and foul, and very familiar. “How about when I’m done we watch a movie? Your choice.”

He grinned back. “Okay!” The trap door slammed shut, cutting me off from the light above.

I moved back to the construct, studying it. In the dimmer light, the magic itself pulsed like a slow heartbeat. On the outer edge of the ring were concentric bands of runes written in a language I didn’t understand, but resembled those I’d seen light up Demonreach’s cottage. Two of gold rotated clockwise, the one of silver sandwiched between rotated in the opposite direction. In the center swirled a black cloud shot through with flickers of violet lightning.

When I held out my left hand and passed it over the construct, nausea twisted my gut so violently it was all I could do to keep my food down. A thick coating of rotting flesh, vile and putrid, covered my tongue. I wanted to gargle with bleach.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Bob chimed in from behind me.

I wiped my mouth with the hem of my shirt, but it didn’t help. “What the hell is that?” I managed to gasp. Bob didn’t answer. I turned to look at him, but he appeared to be ignoring me, his eye sockets dark. “Bob? Bob!”

His eyelights flickered on briefly, and fear began to take hold. They weren’t his usual campfire orange, but a more golden hue tinged with green. Demonreach’s colors, Demonreach’s magic. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.” They winked off again.

“Oh, really?” I forced myself upright and marched over to his skull.

“Don’t touch me!” he wailed. “Keep your grubby mitts off me!”

I picked up the skull. He blinked, and the flames shifted to the orange I knew so well. “You less conflicted, now?”

Bob rolled his eyes. “You know how it is, Harry. I have to obey whoever owns me.”

“How’d you even know who I was?”

He made a disparaging sound. “Please, I knew the moment you crossed the threshold. The same future version of Harry that showed up ten years ago and took over his body for a few days. Let me tell you, Harry was not happy about that when he woke up.” His eyelights gave me a once over. “And, hey, look! You got your original body back. So where’s Harry?”

“Abducted by Lucifer.”

Bob chuckled. “Sucks for him.”

“You don’t seem very concerned.”

“Well, you’re here. So either you’ve replaced him, or you’re going to rescue him. Either way, I win.”

I brought Bob over to the stargate portal. “Tell me what this is.”

“I told him it was a bad idea, but he never listens. What do you think it is?”

The buzzing from the wards made my teeth rattle, and even without my wizard’s senses open, that disgusting taste lingered in my mouth. I recognized that flavor, I’d run into it enough. “He’s trying to build a portal to the Outer Gates, isn’t he?”

Sparks flowed out from Bob’s eyesockets, and the most complex set of wards I’d ever seen illuminated with orange fire. Spheres within spheres, burning runes in a dozen scripts I recognized and a dozen more I didn’t, each spinning in a slightly different orbit that passed through the wall and floor seamlessly. The sheer intensity obfuscated the gate itself.

“Not just to,” Bob’s disembodied voice said, “but beyond.”

I stared at the construct, blinked once or twice. “What?” It was all I could manage with exhaustion muddling my thoughts.

He flowed back into his skull, the spheres of wards fading away, then rotated to face me. “It’s simple. Harry wants to open a portal beyond the Gates, toss a bomb through, and take them out from behind.” Bob chortled. “He’s working on something that will disintegrate the Outsiders at a molecular level. It’s all quite Machiavellian.”

“Can…” I swallowed. “Can he even do that?”

The flames in Bob’s eyesockets brighten. “You gave him the idea, showing up from another universe and kicking his soul into the back seat.”

“Hey, that was not my idea. That was his alter ego,” I said, grinding my teeth. Well, shoving him aside had been accidental. Keeping him asleep, while I thought it a good idea at the time, might not have been the best choice in the end.

He gave me a condescending look, hard to do when you don’t have any facial expressions. “You, him, whatever. Point is, once he really understood about the Gates and what’s on the other side, he’s been obsessed with building it. Think he’s even managed to borrow a few books from the Council library he was banned from reading.”

That led to several more questions I didn’t really need the answers to, so I ignored the comment. “How likely is this to work?”

“Oh, I give it… forty-six percent. That’s just to get the portal stabilized. Drops to twenty-eight if you include the disintegration spell.”

“I can’t imagine he’s found Outsiders to use as guinea pigs.” I set Bob back down on his shelf. Moving away from the portal at least helped with the nausea and reduced the buzzing to a somewhat annoying hum that wouldn’t loosen my teeth.

“Harry’s still working with scorpions,” Bob said gleefully.

“Uh… right.” I didn’t bother to ask where Harry was procuring said scorpions from. “Why would he risk this when Cal’s right upstairs?” Though I wasn’t sure why I asked Bob that question. Harry was the one I needed to have a conversation with.

“Desperation? Illusions of grandeur? Power grab? How should I know? You think he confides in me? I’m just a spirit of intellect, not a psychologist.”

I glanced back over to the portal. “Did Bonnie help build this?”

His teeth clacked a few times. “Yeah, the kid came up with a few ideas even I hadn’t considered. Harry’s finally making progress helping her sort all that Fallen angel knowledge she’s got stored away. Give her a few centuries and she’ll be almost as powerful as I am.” I thought he was doing Bonnie a disservice, but didn’t poke at his ego.

“Where is she?”

“Harry took her to Demonreach.”

I blinked. “Um… what?”

Bob cleared his throat, then spoke slowly as if to a small child, enunciating each word. “He took her to Demonreach.”

I glared at him. “I heard what you said, but… why?” Then it hit me. “He’s trying to increase its capacity, isn’t he?” Murphy must’ve repeated her idea to Harry Prime, and once Bonnie came into the picture, he had the perfect spirit to work with the island’s genius loci.

“Got it in one!”

“Is he making progress?” I worried more about Bonnie being alone. She was an infant, a very dangerous, impressionable infant with no moral compass and no one to teach her. I couldn’t imagine living with six thousand mostly insane, bloodthirsty, evil monsters would improve that situation. It certainly hadn’t improved mine.

“From what I understand, yes. It’s been a slow process. He goes out there every few weeks and spends a couple of days with her.”

The sheer amount of power, the calculations required… Merlin built Demonreach in at least four dimensions, and there was no wizard alive today capable of duplicating his feat. But Lasciel was older than Merlin, and a former angel besides. An angel familiar with chronomancy if what she’d said was true, and I had no reason to doubt her.

If Lucifer wanted Harry’s access as a Warden, and Bonea was there… could he be after her? I dismissed the idea almost as fast as it had occurred to me. Lucifer was far older than every other angel. First of the archangels, if I remembered my mythos right. He’d have no use for Lasciel’s knowledge.

I pushed the idea of Bonnie alone out on that island aside. I had more immediate concerns to worry about. “Bob, I need to make a few potions. You got anything that protects from heat, or gives the ability to convert carbon dioxide and sulfur dioxide into something breathable?”

The skull turned to face me. “Planning on swimming through lava, are we?”

“I seriously hope not, but I like to be prepared. I’m going after Harry.”

Bob chuckled. “Good luck with that. What’s Lucifer want with him? And why didn’t he take you?”

“Both excellent questions,” I replied. “What do you know about Hell?”

The skull blinked. “Oh, the usual. Hot, crawling with demons, souls of the damned being punished, lots of screaming and blood.”

I stared at him. “That’s it? You’re a spirit of intellect.”

He rolled his eyes. “Things generally don’t escape Hell, Harry. They’re summoned, but they don’t escape and they’re not given time off for good behavior. Information is hard to come by, because once a demon’s summoned to the mortal realm, all they want to do is destroy. Makes having an intelligent conversation with them rather difficult.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. I sighed.

“Hey, why don’t you summon that Chauncy fellow? Bet he could get you what you need,” Bob said.

“And then Lucifer knows I’m coming.”

He tsked. “Like Lucifer doesn’t already know you’re coming.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, either.

“About those potions.”

Bob’s tongue he didn’t have clicked a few times. “Yes, I have something that should work for you, provided you’re not actually on fire. It’ll protect from high temperatures, but not flames and definitely do not use it to swim in lava.”

We spent the next hour gathering ingredients for both, but since I needed a double batch I was only able to make one at a time. Harry only had two alcohol burners. I had spells that would work instead of potions, but they required a constant drain of power. Add to that Thomas and Kincaid with me, and the potions became an easier choice.

Once the beakers were bubbling, I drew up my will and pushed it out into the concoctions. It left me drained, but caused the liquid to boil and froth as magic imbued the ingredients, turning them into more than just a sum of their parts. I turned the flames down so the potions were at a low, steady simmer. It would take several hours before they were ready.

When I stood up, I swayed on my feet, my head spinning for a few seconds. “Gonna get some rest. If I’m not up, wake me when the potions are done.”

“You got it, boss.”

I extinguished the candles and slowly climbed the creaky ladder, giving the portal one last look. It gave me chills, just thinking of where it led. Would’ve been more useful if Harry had been working on a portal to Hell.

I closed the trap door and reset the wards, but didn’t bother covering it.

Upstairs, Cal and Mouse hadn’t moved. I fell onto one end of the couch and closed my eyes. They burned from the potions’ fumes, but at least the pressure squeezing them into paste was gone. That didn’t really make much sense, as this universe wasn’t mine. Maybe it had more to do with being out of time rather than out of place.

“You decide what movie you’d like to watch?”

I felt the cushions shift as Cal bounced up and down. “Beyond Thunderdome.”

I cracked an eyelid. “You are truly your father’s son,” I said, smiling. “It’s one of my favorites.” Because there’s nothing more fun than hearing Tina Turner’s husky singing voice fade out just before a good old-fashioned camel rustling unfolds in all its technicolor glory.

“Mine, too.” He gave me a big grin. He looked so much like a younger version of me, minus the nose. It was rather impressive, considering Maggie had only inherited my eyes and chin. Thinking of her made my chest ache. Not dead, she’s not dead.

“Bob, play Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome,” I said, stretching out. It was actually long enough for me to completely lie flat, with room on either end for Mouse and Cal. The X-Men episode faded away, replaced by the movie’s opening credits.

“Can I sit with you?” Cal asked, hopping off the couch to stand in front of me.

“Of course.” I turned on my side and shifted back against the cushions, then held out an arm. Cal snuggled into the void I left, my arm serving both as pillow and safety bar to prevent him from rolling off. Once secure, he let out a contented sigh. I draped his discarded blanket around us both.

Mouse wiggled close enough to rest his head across my legs and huffed out a breath.

“This is the best way to watch a movie,” Cal said, already sounding half-asleep.

“It is,” I agreed with a yawn, and closed my eyes.

I was asleep in minutes, lulled by a small, warm body held in my arms, love made flesh and bone.

My dreams can run from baffling to terrifying. I thought maybe with Max on the screen, it’d be one of those where I’m searching for something and can’t find it, lost in the desert and eventually hunted down by predators.

Looking back on it now, I suppose I wasn’t too far off.

I found myself in an opulent room, something in the style of Buckingham Palace. Heavy, ornately carved furniture, frescos on the walls and ceiling, enormous crystal chandeliers. It was only with a second look that little details stood out. The table and chairs weren’t wood, but polished bone. The frescoes weren’t pastoral scenes, but drowning men and rotting animals in the fields. And those weren’t candles in the chandeliers, but glowing imps trapped in wire cages, whimpering piteously.

And the smell… mostly it was brimstone and hellfire, a solid sulfury stink that clung to skin and clothing alike. But there were other, fainter odors. Burning flesh, roasting meat, the coppery hint of dried blood, and under it all, the fetid stench of rot and decay.

The smell was a clue, but it wasn’t until I saw Harry Prime that I registered this wasn’t a dream. Or wasn’t just a dream. A thread of magic thinner than spidersilk ran between us, something I could sense but not see. By the icy chill, it connected the twinned Winter Mantles, like calling to like. I had no idea how Harry had done it, pulling me here while I was unconscious.

He sat at the table, which was covered by a strip of black cloth. All eight places were set with porcelain plates and bowls and pewter goblets with clawed feet, though only each end of the table was occupied. Silver platters held piles of food, and meat featured prominently on the menu. I doubted it was from any animal I’d ever seen. I doubted it was from an animal at all.

He had showered, changed his clothes, though it didn’t look like anything either of us would choose to wear. Tight-fitting black leather pants, a loose-fitting royal blue silk shirt secured at the wrists with a deep V-neck that was more along the lines of Thomas’ style. His pentacle amulet swung free, though with the cuffs I couldn’t tell if he was wearing the shield bracelet.

The twin gashes on his face were covered by a bandage.

Lucifer sat opposite Harry. He’d also changed, now wearing a modern suit, tie and dress shoes. All in white. Probably making a statement, though I couldn’t hazard a guess as to what it was.

“You’ve made quite a home for yourself,” Harry said, gesturing to the frescoes. “Haven’t seen that level of detailed evisceration in a while. Can’t believe you’d want to give all this up to go topside.” His eyes shifted to where I was standing - or not standing. He met my gaze and held it, as if he could see me. Could he see me? “How’d you manage that? I thought your dad’s punishment was pretty clear.”

Summoned, Future Harry whispered in the back of my head. And once summoned, he was no longer bound to the realm of Hell.

You can summon Lucifer? Who would be that stupid? Then I remembered some of the wannabe wizards I’d run into over the years. Those kids from New Orleans, for example. They’d driven all the way to Chicago to chuck a smoke bomb into my apartment. It spewed scarlet and purple smoke and contained a mildly worded threat on a piece of paper shoved inside the pipe.

They absolutely would have been that stupid.

Lucifer smiled, though it was without humor. “You will refrain from speaking of my father or I will rip out your tongue. Then I will force it to regrow and rip it out again.” The calm way in which he said the words gave that much more power to the threat.

Harry looked back at Lucifer. He was afraid, and trying to hide it. I’d seen that look on my own face. “That would make conversation rather difficult, with all the blood dripping out of my mouth and the screaming. I’m sure you already get enough of that here.”

The Fallen steepled his fingers, tapping them against one another in rhythm. Long, elegant, each ending in a pointed, black-tipped nail. A black ring set with a fiery orange stone sat on his index finger, its colors subtly shifting in the light. “Yes, you’re right. While amusing, that would take time I cannot afford.”

On a schedule, is he? Curiouser and curiouser.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” Harry asked. He’d regained his footing, and anger rolled off in waves that even I could feel.

“What makes you think I want anything, mortal?”

Harry rolled his eyes, then waved his hand in a dramatic fashion. “You brought me here, to Hell. I know it’s not for the fabulous views and fresh mountain air.”

Well, that confirmed Harry was in Hell. I mean, where else would Lucifer go, knowing that someone would eventually come after him? In Hell, he controlled the inmates, the landscape, and everything dead (and undead) in the realm. Only an idiot would face off against him here.

Or another Harry Dresden.

“Hmm.” Lucifer picked up his goblet, swirled the liquid around inside, then drained the cup. I had the feeling that wasn’t wine staining his lips. The blood of nubile virgins seemed more his style. He set it down, then gave Harry a level look. “I desire access to the island you call Demonreach. As its Warden, you may invite me as a guest.”

Harry had clearly expected as much, since his expression didn’t change. He folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. “Hate to tell you, but the property values have really gone downhill after all those people went insane and murdered each other.”

Lucifer stared at him.

Bet you’re wishing right now your kidnapped Warden wasn’t such a smartass.

“I brought you here as a show of good faith. I wish to work with you, Warden. Tell me what you desire, and perhaps we might have a bargain. If you do not, I have other methods of coercion at my disposal, and I doubt very much you will enjoy them.” The smile he offered now was terrifying. “I, however, will find it a most pleasant diversion.”

Harry’s pulse jumped. I only knew that because I could feel it thudding through our tenuous bond, tasting of fear. Outwardly, he cocked one eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be the Lord of Temptation? Help you or be tortured to death? That’s a pretty pathetic offer.”

I blinked, and Lucifer’s hand was around Harry’s throat, lifting him high enough that his feet no longer touched the ground. Harry struggled as he choked, hands trying to peel Lucifer’s away.

“What is this?” Lucifer had found the magic linking us together, head jerking around to follow it. Right back to me. He narrowed his eyes, and cockroaches suddenly began crawling over my skin. “What is this?” he demanded, voice growing louder, eyes black as pitch.

Harry shouted in a hoarse, panicked voice, “Tell Bonnie -“

A snap of Lucifer’s fingers and I was thrown violently from the room. Colors dripped and ran like melting crayons, pooling around me on the floor.

Then the scene shifted.

I stood under a blood-red sky, heat boiling my skin, sulfur choking my lungs. The rocky, dust-covered landscape would’ve made an excellent stand-in for the surface of Mars, other than the river of lava plummeting over a cliff like a waterfall, and the rumbling of volcanoes in the distance.

Terrified, heartbreaking screams had me bolting after them without thinking, because I knew whose they were. Maggie. She was here, trapped and in agony, and I had to reach her before something worse happened. She was here, and it was my fault, my failure as a father to protect her.

I skidded into a clearing surrounded by dead trees. Iron cages hung from their branches, all but one empty. Maggie was chained inside, not as the child I knew but as the young woman I saw she’d become. Her face was covered in blood, several gouges still oozing including a long, nasty furrow from forehead to cheek. It ran directly over her left eye, which was swollen shut but seemed intact.

“Daddy! Please help me Daddy!” she screamed, twisting as she attempted to get away from the demon tormenting her. It was covered in iridescent blue and green chitinous plates, about ten feet tall, bipedal on heavily clawed feet. All eight arms were reaching into the cage, grabbing for my daughter. In the center of each palm was a mouth filled with serrated teeth, a long, thin tongue dangling over its lower lip licking at blood on Maggie’s skin.

It broke something inside me, and what filled it was pure icy rage. “Infriga forzare!” I bellowed, all the power of Winter imbuing the spell as I pointed my staff at the demon. To my surprise, it was mostly ineffective. Sure, it knocked the thing away from Maggie, which had been the actual goal, but other than covering it with a coating of frost, the ice did nothing.

In the way of dreams, the fight itself was a series of snapshots, finally ending with the demon’s head exploded by a miniature sun I shoved into its gaping maw. I was hurt, badly, a deep gash across my abdomen and weakness filtering through my body. The damned hand bites were poisonous, and I vomited up a bright orange liquid. Twice.

Maggie was in my arms, sobbing, exhausted, weak from the poison. Two fingers on her left hand had been bitten off.

Then everything froze, shattered apart into fragments like glass, only to be replaced by images flickering through my mind. Mouse, eviscerated. Will decapitated, his head several feet from his body, Georgia in wolf form howling as she mourned. Andi dying, legs twisted into impossible angles and bleeding out from a stab wound in her chest.

Butters, clutching the stump of his left arm with his right, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Maggie, so light, so fragile, cradled to my chest and unconscious from blood loss.

Blackness.

It was only then I realized I was crying, holding my knees to my chest as I rocked back and forth. Everything hurt, physical pain taking a back seat to the emotional agony beating my heart into pulp.

“I’m sorry,” Future Harry said, stepping out of the darkness. “I didn’t want you to see any of that. When Harry tethered you to him, it breached my memories of Hell and broke down the wall I’ve been using to protect you. What you experienced is only a tiny fraction of what happened. The reality was… far worse.”

I didn’t know how anything could be worse than what I witnessed. “We can’t let that happen,” I croaked. “I can’t let that happen. Maggie…” I choked on another sob.

He sat down beside me and put his arm around my shaking shoulders. “We won’t. I promise you that.”

Chapter Text

Time in dreams tends to skip around. It could’ve been thirty seconds or half an hour before I was able to pull myself together.

“What happened, exactly?” I asked.

“Lucifer took Maggie, trying to use her as leverage. I took her back. But unlike what you’re attempting, I used the brute force method. It did… not go as planned.” Pain, grief, loss, all of it flickered across Future Harry’s expression, along with the glimmer of tears.

I blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. What did he want?”

“Same as this Lucifer. Access to the island and to its prisoners,” he replied.

“But not the Eye?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t think he knew I had it.”

Well, that was something. “You ask Alfred if it was possible to grant someone else the ability to release and control the inmates?”

“No, because I had no intention of allowing that to happen.” He wiped at his eyes. “But now, with Harry taken…”

“Exactly. I need more information, and to see if there’s a way to suppress that connection, or even break it.”

His head jerked around. “Break it?”

I shrugged. “No Warden, no reason to keep Harry.”

“Lucifer will kill him if he finds out.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “So I better make sure he doesn’t find out. Besides, I don’t know if it’s even possible. What if breaking that connection runs the risk of scrambling his mind? Feedback from the island’s power or something.” Future Harry gave me a long, searching look. “What?”

“You all right?”

I choked down a bitter laugh. “Hell’s bells, no I’m not all right. What I saw… I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Then a ball of ice formed in my gut. “Would Lucifer take Cal and try to use him the same way?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t think so. He used Maggie because he couldn’t get to me directly. The castle’s wards prevent him from getting too close. Maggie -“ he broke off, swallowing hard. “She was in her dorm. It was warded, and we thought it was safe. Just not safe enough. Lucifer killed her roommate, Adi, and you saw what he did to Mouse.”

I shivered. “Did Mouse…”

“No.” A brief smile curved his lips. “Mouse is hard to kill.”

“Crap,” I muttered. “I need to get him to Michael’s. I need to get them both to Michael’s.” I pushed myself to my feet and nearly fell, then willed myself to wake up. Nothing happened. “Why am I not waking up?”

Future Harry sighed. “Because you need sleep, Harry. A few hours, at least.”

I got in his face. “You’re keeping me here?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Ass.” I took a swing at his jaw, but he dodged it easily.

“Don’t be surly,” he said.

“Surly? Seriously?” I folded my arms across my chest and glowered at him in a completely non-surly manner.

“You won’t do Harry any good if you’re so exhausted you can’t think straight. You’re both safe, the castle’s warded and nothing’s getting in,” he said.

He wasn’t wrong about needing sleep, but I hate being forced into anything, even if for my own good. Maybe especially then. “You’re still an ass, you know.”

He shrugged. “You’re only insulting yourself.”

That made me snort, easing the tension between us. “Fine, you win.”

“No bad dreams this time,” he said, and the light began to dim. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“If you’re taking requests,” I mumbled, my consciousness fading, “how about something happy with Maggie?”

Future Harry kept his promise.

When I woke, groggy and disoriented, Cal and Mouse had moved to a different section of the couch. It left me alone on mine, though I was still covered by the blanket.

“Hey, kiddo,” I mumbled, wiping sleep from my eyes. And maybe a little drool from the corner of my mouth.

“Hey, Alt-Dad,” Cal replied, barely glancing at me before returning his attention to the movie now playing on the wall. It was one I didn’t recognize.

“What’s that?” I asked him.

“The Amazing Spider-Man 2.”

“Huh. Never seen it.” I nearly laughed at his incredulous look. “My daughter isn’t as much of a fan of superheroes as you are.”

He made a face. “Girls are weird.”

That made me chuckle. “Yeah, sometimes they are.”

He was busy munching on a bowl of popcorn held in his lap, occasionally picking up a few pieces to drop onto the cushion for Mouse to inhale.

“Where’d you get the popcorn?”

Cal shrugged. “Microwave.”

I struggled into a mostly upright and seated position. Knowing I was going to disappoint the kid, I opted for a ‘good news first’ approach. “What do you say to a pizza party? I promised the Za Lord’s army extra pizzas today, and now is as good a time as any.”

“Pizza party! Woo hoo!” he hollered, raising hands above his head. Then, displaying insight beyond his years, he frowned and said, “You’re going to leave me at Uncle Michael’s after, aren’t you?”

Oh, the hurt in his face hurt my heart. He’d clearly been disappointed by his dad numerous times. I slid over next to him and gave him a sideways hug. “Afraid so, kiddo. Not because I want to leave you, but because I want you to be safe. I have to go out for a while so I can dig up information on how to get your dad back.”

His face lifted to look up at me, chewing on his lower lip. It reminded me so much of Maggie. “Can I come with you?”

“I wish you could, but it will be too dangerous. But tell you what. When I’m back, we’ll do something fun. You ever jump off the roof with your dad?”

Cal’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No.”

“I have a potion that causes you to float down, instead of falling. Would you like to try it out?” He nodded vigorously. “All right, it’s a date. Now, would you mind helping me get the pizzas ready?”

“Okay!” He jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Mouse merely lifted his head, huffed a breath, and settled back down.

“Lazybones,” I told him. He responded with a doggie grin, tail thumping loudly against the cushions.

In the kitchen was a small stepstool. Cal had already dragged it over in front of the ovens, frowning as he focused on turning them on.

“You know what temperature to use?” I asked him, opening up the freezer. Thankfully there was a stack of frozen pizzas, nearly all of them plain cheese, and I pulled out four. Yeah, I know you’re not supposed to bake two at a time, but I was in a hurry.

“Yep,” Cal said, pressing buttons. I backed up a bit, not wanting to interfere with the electronics. I figured they were likely warded by Sigrun Gard as mine were, but didn’t hurt to be a little cautious. I’d never seen ovens preheat as quickly as these did, and in minutes I was sliding the pizzas in.

Cal, clearly used to this routine, grabbed the mechanical timer from the counter, turned the dial, and set it down hard enough the bell inside chimed weakly. We were instantly surrounded by several of the Little Folk.

“Will there be pizza, my lord?” one asked. He had a puff of turquoise hair streaked with magenta, dressed in black armor. I didn’t recognize him, but as the guard rotated in and out so often, I didn’t recognize most of them.

“Aye, there will be pizza. Spread the word,” I told him. Tiny globes of colored light flashed in rapid succession, then vanished.

Cal was grinning. “Be right back!” He ran off on important kid business, and I heard him open the door to the basement. I bit back an unnecessary warning. He’d lived down there with Harry for a while, so I had no reason to worry about the portal. It was dangerous but heavily warded, as was the lab. But I worried anyway. I worried more when Cal didn’t return right away, but had to trust if he was doing anything he shouldn’t be, Bob would let me know.

It wasn’t until the timer dinged that Cal reappeared in the doorway, along with a swarm of Fae. I left three of the pizzas on the counter to the horde, took the fourth - along with two cans of soda and paper plates - into the living room and set everything on the long, narrow coffee table.

I was starving, and managed three pieces to Cal’s one and a half before he shoved a slim paperback in my face. “Would you read this to me?”

I took it from him, then grinned as I read the title. “Hey, this is a choose your own adventure! I loved these when I was your age, spent a lot of time at the library reading them. Where’d you get it?”

“Dad got me a couple for my birthday. We haven’t had time to read this one yet.”

I wiped my fingers on my jeans and set the plate aside. “I would love to read this with you. Here, sit with me so you can see all the pictures.” I lifted him onto my lap, adjusting us both until I was comfortable. “The Lost Treasure of the Black Swan,” I read, turning to the first page. After going through the introduction (which sounded not far from the plot of The Goonies), I offered Cal three choices.

“Do you want to go to the library to research the wreck, or go talk to the local historian for clues, or follow the treasure map?”

“Treasure map!” he said excitedly.

For half an hour, we went through the story’s twists and turns. Cal ended up dead twice, once in a rockslide, once jumped by a gang of criminals looking for the treasure. And once he managed to nab the treasure out from under the criminals and set a trap so they were subsequently arrested.

“That was fun,” I told him, closing up the book. “You have more of these?”

“Oh, yeah, I have a bunch. Sometimes Dad brings them back from his trips,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Trips? What kind of trips?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Trips.”

Demonreach? River Shoulders? Or something more sinister? Was Harry working cases, as I had? Or… was Harry spending more time with Lara than I had?

I tidied up, stacking used plates and napkins, handing Mouse one remaining crust (because of course Cal didn’t eat pizza crusts, either) before taking everything into the kitchen. “Leftover pizza if anyone wants!” I called to the empty air, setting it down on the counter.

A mob of Little Folk made quick work of it. By the time I tossed the trash away, the pizza had vanished.

Michael picked up on the first ring. “Calvin? Are you all right?”

While it touched me his first thought was for my son, his assumption that Cal was calling because he was upset irritated me. “It’s Harry, actually.”

“Oh, my apologies. What can I do for you, Harry?”

“I’d like to come by and drop off Cal, maybe for a few days,” I said.

A long pause. “You’re going after Harry,” he said at last. “I can’t go with you.”

That conversation I’d already had in my head. The ruler of Hell was not a wayward Denarian. I wasn’t going to try change Michael’s mind if his faith, or the Sword, or the fact he had a family to look after made his choice for him.

“I hadn’t expected you to. But I would appreciate it if you could take care of Cal while I’m gone.”

Michael was silent for a long moment. “I expected at least a little resistance to my decision.”

“Michael, this isn’t like breaking into Hades’ vault with Nicodemus. This is sneaking into Hell and breaking out Harry under Lucifer’s nose. I figure you’ve got a good reason for not coming, and I respect that.” And then, because I was curious, I asked, “Are you still a Knight of the Cross?”

“Retired,” he said. “I was injured while rescuing Marcone and Ivy, though not as badly as you remember. My leg aches from time to time, but I don’t require a cane to walk.”

I wondered where Amoracchius was. Not above the fireplace where I’d mounted it. “Are there only two Knights, then?”

He grunted. “For now. Harry is the sword’s guardian.” Then he cleared his throat. “We’d love to have Cal stay with us.” The words were filled with warmth, and made me smile. He cared just as much for Cal as he did for Maggie.

“Thanks, Michael. We’ll be over soon.”

“See you then.”

I tried Thomas’ number. I wasn’t sure it’d even be the same here, but he picked up on the second ring. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Besides stating the obvious, explaining would’ve taken a while, so I sidestepped the question. “Need a ride to Demonreach. Can you meet me at the marina in an hour?”

He hesitated before answering. “You sure you don’t want to go by yourself? Harry has a key to the Water Beetle.”

“Think that went missing when the rest of him did. Either way, I’d rather have you with me.” Then a thought occurred to me. “Uh, unless you’d rather not go.” Thomas didn’t answer. “I’m not him, you know,” I said quietly into the phone. “You will always be my brother, no matter what universe I’m in. I don’t blame you for her death.” He still didn’t respond, though I could hear noise in the background so knew the call hadn’t disconnected. “Please? I’d really like you to come.”

“An hour,” he replied, and abruptly hung up.

I grabbed a can of tuna as a lure for Mister, then went back into the living room.

“All right, kiddo. You have a bag you pack when you’re staying with Michael?”

He nodded. “But mostly he has everything I need.” I winced, because there was only one reason Michael kept enough of Cal’s things for him to be comfortable without needing to bring a suitcase. Harry Prime dropped him off at Michael’s. A lot. Thinking of the Black Hole To Certain Doom in the subbasement, I had an idea as to why. Poor kid. Made Maggie’s life seem well-adjusted, even with the fake dragon and the creeps and Mister’s death.

I held out the can of tuna with a smile. “Wanna help me get Mister into his carrier?”

“Sure!” Cal’s grin was worth it.

Thomas was waiting on the Water Beetle when I arrived at the marina. He was in the boat’s wheelhouse, watching me without staring directly at me, though the setting sun reflected off the glass, making it hard to see.

“Permission to come aboard, captain,” I said, stopping at the end of the dock and offering a salute.

He slid down the ladder, a small smile on his face. He’d changed into worn jeans and a plain gray tee. “Permission granted.” I tossed him my staff, untied the boat and grabbed his hand as it began drifting away from the dock, letting him pull me across the widening gap.

“You’ve been working out,” I said, flexing my hand as if it hurt. Which it didn’t.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That joke never gets old.” He climbed up to the wheelhouse and started the boat’s diesel engine, turning us towards the lake’s entrance. Once we cleared the harbor, I joined him.

After a few minutes, the tension slowly seeped out from my brother’s shoulders. “I haven’t been back here since the night it all went to shit,” he said, staring towards the island we couldn’t see.

I snorted. “I was just here yesterday. Or ten years ago, take your pick.” Though yesterday at this point was a relative term.

Thomas stared at me a minute. “Right. The portal.”

“Lara come with you?”

He shook his head. “Just you, me and Murphy.”

Which meant… “Then I take it you saved me from the kraken?”

He flashed a grin. “Of course. It was all very heroic and self-sacrificing of me, really. Not many can say they fought a kraken and won and looked dashing enough to belong in a hentai porn flick. Then Molly and her entourage arrived on bull sharks and escorted us back to the marina.”

Similar to my own experience, though a different Raith was responsible for my rescue. I imagined the entire battle in a lot of ways was a near-duplicate of my own.

“Do you…” Thomas broke off, swallowing hard. “Do you want to hear about Murphy?”

No, no I did not. I had plenty of nightmare fuel with images of her dying in my arms. I didn’t need to add scenes conjured from an alternate universe. But it was clear by the look on his face he needed to tell me, so I steeled myself and said, “If you want to talk about it.”

He looked away, then back at me. “You said you knew she was going to die.”

I sighed. “Not at the time. I only found that little tidbit out… today? Yesterday? I don’t even know what day to call it with all the damned time travel. Let’s go with I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours. Vadderung told me that for whatever reason, my marriage to Lara Raith is one of those constants in my life that I can’t change. That I shouldn’t try to change, because it leads to something immensely important, but I have no idea what that is. Apparently, the only way the marriage works is if Murphy isn’t around to prevent it.”

I felt sick to my stomach at the thought. “She wasn’t going to survive the battle, Thomas. Vadderung’s interference guaranteed it.” I put a hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you were involved.”

He knocked my hand away, face twisted in anger. “I wasn’t just involved. I killed her, and Harry hates me for it. We were fighting a Jotun when a group of Fomor ambushed us. While Karrin killed the Jotun with a rocket launcher, I went after the Fomor’s leader.

“I took him down, stabbed him and cut his throat. I thought he was dead, and I left him there. But not quite, because he managed to fire off three shots. One caught Karrin in the neck, just above her vest. Nicked the artery. There was nothing either of us could do. She bled out in under a minute. ” He drew in a shaky breath. “I watched Harry hold her as she died. And then he gave me a look that scared me shitless. It wasn’t my brother I saw, but the Winter Knight completely stripped of his humanity. All that was left was pure rage. He almost killed me. If it hadn’t been for Butters…” he trailed off, shivering involuntarily at the memory. “I left, didn’t see him until after it was all over. He told me he’d never forgive me.”

Hell’s bells. “And he’s stubborn enough to follow through on it. It was just a tragic accident, Thomas. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve made sure he was dead.”

I doubted anything I could say would make a difference. This was something he had to work out with Harry Prime. Still… I took a breath and steeled myself. “In my timeline, it was Detective Rudolph who shot Murphy by accident. I wanted to kill him and came pretty damned close, but Butters stopped me. He reminded me which side of good and evil I want to be on. Rudy’s murder might have provided temporary satisfaction, but when my rage finally slipped away, it would have haunted me.” I smiled a little. “Not surprised Butters stopped Harry here, too. He’s a good man.”

My hands ached, fingers clenched tight around the railing. I released them with a sigh. “Don’t let Harry isolate himself from his friends and family, Thomas. Don’t let him push you away. I think he’s heading down a dark, dangerous road and he’s going to need you. As a wizard, he’ll live a few hundred years, provided something doesn’t eat his face off first. That’s a few hundred years dealing with a construct of Fae magic that drives him much like your Hunger drives you. You can help him keep his humanity.”

Thomas barked a bitter laugh. “How can I do that when I’m not even human?”

I grabbed his shoulders and shook him, hard. “You’re family. His only brother. Act like it. Act like you give a damn what happens to him.”

“Of course I do,” he spat, jerking away from me in a blur of motion. “Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to him?”

“Try again. For his sake, please try again.”

Something in my tone made Thomas hesitate. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I wanted to tell him what I’d seen, but not here and not now. “When we get him back, be sure to ask him about the science project in the lab.”

Thomas glanced around, understanding it wasn’t safe to speak out in the open. Even if we were over an expanse of water that should neutralize most magic, my paranoia told me it was still a bad idea. “All right,” he said after a moment.

It seemed sharing time was over, and we spent the rest of the trip in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Thomas was likely going over Murphy’s death again, examining it from every angle, trying to see what he should have done differently.

I was busy analyzing the fragments of Hell I saw through Future Harry’s memories. It was all just landscape, so wherever Lucifer stashed Harry, my future self hadn’t seen it. Was it a castle? A cave underground? Hell’s bells, for all I knew it was a floating island of rock several hundred feet in the air. How would I find him? Could I track him with a spell? Could I track him with Mouse?

Maybe Kincaid would have an idea. Or a map.

We passed the submerged reef and pulled alongside Whatsup Dock, bobbing from the waves we kicked up. I held the boat steady as Thomas secured the lines, then shut off the engine. It left us in near silence, just the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, and the distant sound of birdsong. A number of animals make the island their home, but other than the few remaining deer, none were bigger than a raccoon.

The same sense of familiarity I felt the very first time I’d come to Demonreach hit me now. As if I’d been here before, in a past life, a dream, or reliving someone else’s memories. The same sense of dread was there as well, something I hadn’t felt since becoming its Warden. It didn’t recognize me, but it wasn’t being actively hostile towards me, either.

“Here goes nothing,” I told Thomas, and stepped off the dock. Usually the intellectus is immediate when my feet touch dirt, but this time there was a pause. I’d almost say a glitch in the matrix, but it wasn’t anything as obvious as that. There was a presence considering my own, deciding what action to take. A few frantic heartbeats later, the sense of dread faded and the intellectus sprang to life.

“Hell’s bells, we’re not alone,” I whispered to Thomas. I couldn’t tell who it was, or what they were doing. Whoever they were, they’d never stepped foot on the island before. I was hesitant to activate any of the defenses, because what if it was just someone who’d gotten lost, turned around on the lake, or capsized and barely managed to make it to shore? I didn’t want to scare - or injure - anyone unnecessarily.

His head whipped around. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

I knew exactly at what point on the island they were standing. “A hundred twenty-five yards in that direction, next to a small grove of oak trees.” I’d barely pointed and Thomas was gone, vanishing into the brush. I followed after him, just as quietly though not as fast as I wanted to give myself time to prepare a few spells, just in case.

A flash of magic, and Thomas’ startled yelp of pain had me bolting the rest of the way.

A man stood in the clearing, dark jeans, black jacket over a black shirt, and a long grey cloak secured around his neck.

Donald freaking Morgan. Of course it would have to be him.

On seeing me, he unsheathed the sword at his hip. “No one believed you’d be stupid enough to come here, Dresden,” he growled. “But I’ve been watching you since you were sixteen. I knew better.” His eyes flicked to Thomas. He was moaning, impaled through his stomach on a tree branch maybe two inches in diameter. It wouldn’t kill him, at least not right away, but the pain had to be excruciating. “And of course you’d come with one of them. They’re your family, now, aren’t they?”

For a brief second, panic flared in my chest. Did he know we were related? But no, had that been the case, Thomas would likely be dead. Morgan’s anger wasn’t strong enough to justify that.

There was no easy way to pull Thomas off, so I gritted my teeth and pointed my staff at him, muttering, “Laqueus.” A shimmering thread of pure force sliced through the branch behind him; both it and he fell to the ground. For the moment, Thomas was on his own.

“Morgan, why the hell are you here?”

“To stop you.”

I made a show of looking around. “To stop me from doing what?”

He spat as he talked. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I know you kept the Eye of Balor, hid it away on this damned island where no one would be able to locate it. I just couldn’t prove it. Figured you’d offer it to Lucifer in exchange for Dresden’s life, and I can’t let you do that.”

I stared at him. “You do realize that I am not the Harry Dresden you’re familiar with, right?”

He gave a sarcastic snort. “You’re both cast from the same mold.”

Thomas whimpered, and in my peripheral vision I saw his hands feebly trying to pull the branch out. Or pull himself off the branch. Neither was working.

Rage boiled up. “You know what? I’m done with this charade.” Directing my focus and will into a thought, Demonreach’s defenses went to work. The ground swallowed Morgan to his shoulders in an instant, pressing in from all sides just hard enough that struggling did no good. A circle of small stones popped up from under the soil, surrounding him. They flashed with foxfire runes, preventing him from accessing his magic so long as the circle remained unbroken.

And I had no immediate plans of breaking it.

“What the hell is this, Dresden?” Morgan roared, continuing to struggle long after Lara had realized the futility of her efforts. He was stubborn to the point of pig-headed and began to swear in several languages. I sensed him reach for his magic and fail time and again. The stone circle didn’t cause any pain as thorn manacles did, but acted more like a damper. A Faraday cage of sorts, cutting him off from his own power.

“This is what it means to be Warden here.” I gave him a big, toothy grin. “You wait right there.” I walked over to Thomas and crouched next to him. He was in worse shape than I thought, silver light barely visible through slitted eyes. A pool of pale pinkish blood with an opalescent sheen was growing around him. “Dammit,” I muttered. “Sorry, but this is going to hurt.” I grasped the branch in both hands, planted a boot on his shoulder, and yanked hard.

Thomas screamed, his silvered eyes shifting to blinding white before he crumpled and passed out. I tossed the branch aside. I really wanted to toss it at Morgan’s head. “You really are an ass, Morgan,” I snarled, which didn’t stop the litany of curses he directed at me. I could have compressed his lungs enough he couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t want him dead. I didn’t even want him injured. Much.

I just wanted him gone.

A rumbling shook the earth beneath me, then a horrendous grinding of rock and stone as Morgan was pulled into the ground.

Oh, crap.

“Alfred!” I yelled.

“WARDEN,” the spirit replied, standing several feet behind me. I whirled around.

“Where the hell is Morgan?”

It tilted its head. “THE GREY CLOAK HAS BEEN MOVED TO A BUILDING ON THE SHORELINE.”

I swallowed down the panic. Sure enough, the intellectus told me Morgan was in a small, dilapidated shack twenty-six yards from the dock. Though the floor was long rotted away, the roof was partially intact, as were two of its walls.

All it took was a stray thought, and Demonreach acted on it. And it shouldn’t have. “Is he all right?”

“HE REMAINS AS HE WAS, UNHARMED AND PREVENTED FROM RESPONDING BY EITHER PHYSICAL OR MAGICAL MEANS,” it replied. “DO YOU WISH HIM REMOVED FROM THE ISLAND?”

“Uh… what does that mean?”

“HIS BODY WILL BE DISMEMBERED AND CRUSHED BY THE EARTH.”

“No, let’s not do that,” I said quickly. “Just keep him as is for now.”

“AS YOU WISH, WARDEN.” The tall, cloaked figure vanished, taking its burning green eyes with it.

I turned Thomas over on his back, still unconscious, pretending I couldn’t see shreds of intestine through the hole when I lifted up his shirt. The wound was filled with debris I’d never be able to remove, even if I had the medical supplies to do it. But with a vampire, cleaning a wound wasn’t necessary provided they could feed.

I never wanted to do this again. I sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled his head into my lap, then touched either side of his face with my fingertips. Vulcan mind-meld, activate. I closed my eyes, opened my senses, and found the silver thread of his Hunger easily. I grabbed hold and let a trickle of magic from the Winter Mantle flow into it.

Thomas’ Hunger woke up, though he didn’t. It buried its claws deep into my chest, greedily reaching for the source even as it pumped me full of endorphins. I felt my arousal, ignored it best I could and fought to keep the Hunger from consuming me whole. It was always hungry, but right now it was starving.

Dammit, Thomas, didn’t you feed at the party?

Clearly he hadn’t. Likely punishing himself over Justine’s death. Again.

The lust grew. Knowing your body is merely responding to hormones doesn’t mean you can stop the physical reactions or will them away. It was getting to the point that I needed to do something about the building pressure. Of course, the Mantle had a few ideas.

He is weak. Vulnerable. Yours to do with as you wish. Dominate him, gratify yourself, revel in Winter’s might.

No! I shouted back, and then vocalized that frustration and need with a primal scream that tore at my throat. “Forzare!” My own magic shoved me away from Thomas, breaking the connection. My backward momentum was halted by a large tree, driving the air from my lungs. I sat there, gasping for breath, as the lust gradually faded.

Good thing Morgan hadn’t seen that little display.

Thomas groaned, sitting up slowly. “Harry?”

“Over here,” I said, struggling to my feet. I used the tree trunk to brace myself.

He brushed dirt and leaves from his hair, then looked down at the ragged hole in his blood-soaked shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“Morgan impaled you on a tree branch.”

“That much I remember,” he said, glaring at me. “What happened afterwards? Where’s Morgan?”

Thomas grasped my outstretched hand and I pulled him up. “In the time-out box.”

Lifting his shirt, he ran fingers over his abdomen, covered in streaks of drying blood. Of the puncture wound there was no trace, only unblemished skin and muscle rippling beneath. “It’s healed, and I’m not hungry. What did you do?”

“What do you think?” I asked.

His head shot up as he narrowed his eyes. “You let me feed from you?”

I waffled a hand. “Kind of the other way around. I force fed your Hunger with Fae magic. You’d rather me let you die?”

“Well, no, but -“

“But what? The only other person here is Morgan, and I wasn’t going to let you feed off him.” I pulled a few twigs from my hair. “By the time I got you back to the city you could’ve bled out, or worse. I’ve seen what happens when the Hunger cannibalizes a body, and you’re already starving yourself.”

He looked away. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is when it threatens your life,” I said, shoving his shoulder. “You’re Harry’s brother, but you’re also mine. I won’t let you die when I can do something about it.”

“Even if it creeps you out?” A hint of a smile played over his lips as he glanced back.

It did creep me out, but I’d done far worse to save Thomas. “I can handle a little bromance. You might want to clean up at the cottage. I need to have a chat with Morgan.”

He raised a brow. “By yourself?”

I smirked at him. “I’m the Warden of Demonreach. He’s not going to do anything I don’t allow him to do.”

“All right,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Could use a change of clothes. Harry’s got some extra stashed.”

“I’ll be up in a few.” I waited until Thomas reached the stone steps leading to the cottage and broken lighthouse, following him with the intellectus when he disappeared from view. Then, with little effort and an image of Morgan in my head, the island spat the Warden up from the ground a few feet from me. The magic-blocking stone circle reappeared around him.

His face was nearly purple with rage. “Dresden! I will have your head for this!”

I crouched down so we were near eye level. “For what? I haven’t violated a Law of Magic, whereas you nearly killed a vampire of the White Court. Lara Raith’s brother, in fact. You’re risking the stability of the Unseelie Accords by attacking one of its primary members, who is now allied - through me - to the Winter Court. Does the White Council even know you’re here?”

Morgan froze mid-struggle and blinked at me a few times. Clearly he hadn’t considered it from that point of view. “Is that what you’re after? A war with the Council?”

I let out a growl of frustration. “No, dammit! We can’t afford a war, not with what’s coming.” He frowned. “Seriously? The Battle of Chicago was merely the adversary’s opening gambit. Sacrificed a few players, sure, but the war is far from over. If we’re busy at each other’s throats, we’ll never see the next threat coming until it’s too late.”

I saw wheels turning in his head. Morgan might have blinders on where I was concerned, but he wasn’t stupid. I had to hope this one time he’d actually listen.

“I swear by my power, I do not know where the Eye of Balor is,” I told him. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t trade it to Lucifer.“

He considered that, then let out a sigh. “All right. Let me go, Dresden.”

I stood, gave him a long, hard look, then gestured with a wave of my hand. No, the gesture wasn’t necessary, but I wanted to make a show of it.

The earth lifted Morgan out of the hole, filling in beneath him until he stood on solid ground. His clothes were covered in dirt, as was his spell-breaking sword. Morgan murmured a few words and the earth clinging to him fell off in a ripple of motion, like a dog shaking water from its coat. He was clean in seconds, blade included.

“That would really come in handy,” I said. It was an impressive use of magic. Morgan’s specialty was earth magic, and he was one of the best at quick and dirty evocation. I never thought he’d have such fine control over more delicate spells without a focus.

A corner of Morgan’s mouth ticked up as he sheathed the sword. “If you’re not here for the Eye, then why are you here?”

Was he really that obtuse? “Do you know what this island is?”

“A prison,” he replied, then his eyes widened. “You think Lucifer can access the system using Dresden, don’t you?”

“I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m the only one who can make sure that doesn’t happen,” I added. “To its guardian, I am the Warden here as much as Harry is. And before you argue with me, if I want to participate in a prisoner exchange, all I have to do is nothing. Let Harry and Lucifer come to an agreement and stay out of the entire situation.”

Morgan’s smirk grated on my already-worn nerves. “Except you can’t. I heard what the Winter Queen said. You need Harry back, or she’ll force you to take his place.”

“Except I can’t,” I agreed. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. This isn’t my timeline. This isn’t my home.” I eyed him. “So, now what?”

He flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his cloak. “I don’t particularly like you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you.”

When he paused, I prompted, “But?”

Morgan glowered. “But I agree that Lucifer having unfettered access to this island is a terrifying idea. I don’t know what exactly is here, but I can hazard a guess. The Last Titan, for example.”

“Among other things,” I said. There was no reason to deny it, not when everyone present at my wedding saw the proof etched in ice. “Six thousand and change, all told. Five - er, six - naagloshii are in the minimum security wing, so you have an idea how powerful the rest of them are.”

“Damn.” He looked slightly impressed. “I’m not helping you get him back.”

I snorted. “Did I ask you to?”

Morgan shook his head, though it wasn’t in answer to my question. “If you violate a Law of Magic while you’re here, I will kill you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” I said.

He gave me a considering look. With the Winter Mantle to boost my magic, I might be able to take him down before he killed me, but I sure as hell didn’t want to be put in that situation. Not unless I was on Demonreach, and Morgan wouldn’t make this mistake a second time.

With a muttered word and a gesture of his hand, a portal shimmered into being. Like mine, it was roughly the size and shape of a door. Nothing was visible from the other side to indicate where it led.

“Where does the Way go?” I asked. It’d be extremely useful to have a Way to and from the island so I didn’t have to rely on the Water Beetle or Lake Michigan’s mercurial moods. I knew of the one in the cottage, but had no idea how to use that part of the Nevernever to get back to Chicago. Of course, it was likely Morgan’s route started in Edinburgh.

He paused in front of the portal to shoot a smirk over his shoulder. “Do you really think I’d tell you?” Then he stepped through, the rip in reality closing a few seconds later. Had I tried to follow him, it would have sliced me in two.

“Ass,” I muttered to myself, then joined my brother.

The highest point of the island was a rocky hill crowned by a partially toppled lighthouse. Next to it was a cottage made from the fallen stone, which had an outside pump for water, a roof that I’d repaired, and a fireplace that never ran out of fuel. Thomas was inside, hair still dripping, wearing a black t-shirt pulled tight across his chest that was so long it hung down to mid-thigh. On it was a yellow smiley face with a gunshot to its temple, blood dripping from the wound.

“He gone?” he asked, pulling a bottle of sports drink from one of the plastic containers. He gulped down nearly half before I could answer.

“Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Now what?”

I gestured in the direction of the lighthouse. “Now we go downstairs and talk to Alfred.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Can’t we just do that up here?”

“Probably, but Bonnie’s down there and I should see how she’s doing.” At least I hoped Bonnie was down there. She hadn’t shown up, but likely that was because she was either in her skull (which should be in the armory) or inside Demonreach’s complex construct of wards and spells.

To get into the sprawling cave system that served as Demonreach’s prison, I activated the staircase hidden inside the lighthouse. The stone didn’t pull apart so much as liquefy and pour into a hole, revealing steps that led down into darkness.

“I’ve never been down there,” Thomas said quietly, eyeing the opening.

And I’m glad for that. Though it hurt, knowing that losing Justine had been the cost. “Not much reason to, except to check on the prisoners. Or to practice parkour,” I added with a snort.

He rolled his eyes. “Not that again.”

Down and down we spiraled, my pentacle amulet’s soft blue glow illuminating the stairs. I didn’t need the light. The intellectus made sure I never misstepped. Thomas, too, technically didn’t need the light, as there was a faint glow from the runes carved into the stone on either side. But it gave me a sense of comfort, my faith in magic lighting the way. The island’s genius loci might have accepted me on the surface, but down here, in its place of power, might be a different story.

At the bottom was a small room, a heavily warded door leading to the Well. When I’d brought Lara down here, I hid what I was doing from her with a shroud of icy fog. I didn’t bother with Thomas. I touched the stones in the correct sequence, each glowing as it released its power into the chamber. The solid slab of granite that served as the door vanished as I completed the sequence, the ambient power dissipating.

“Fuck me,” Thomas said from several feet away. He’d jumped back once I touched the first stone. While he wasn’t a wizard, he knew a few tricks, not to mention he had an immortal psychic parasite attached to his soul. He clearly sensed the build-up of power. “That thing safe?”

I laughed. “Not even a little.” Then I walked through. Thomas hurried to catch up with me.

“What’s next in the creepy lighthouse of fun?” he asked, then stopped to stare as he caught sight of the crystal growths. Combined, their faint green glow was enough to illuminate the entire chamber.

“Welcome to the Well,” I said.

He swallowed. “You know that sense of dread everyone feels except you when they’re on Monster Island? It’s a lot stronger down here.”

“Probably because we’re standing right over the ley line. Come on.”

We walked past the crystal Thomas had been confined in when consigned to Demonreach. Or… at least walked past its location. The crystal itself was gone, or maybe had never been here. Now that I thought about it, every crystal growth contained a being inside. None were empty, waiting for a new occupant, which meant Demonreach created each cell as needed. It seemed an unnecessary expenditure of energy, but then again, how could you plan in advance for a shoggoth?

Yes, there was one incarcerated on Demonreach, at the very end of tunnel six. Smaller than the one Thomas and I took down in a quarry in Iowa using a freaking ton of explosives, but any shoggoth is designed for only one purpose: as a supernatural doomsday device that devours anything in its path. Locking the thing up must’ve been fun for the Warden at the time.

The prisoner I referred to as 1138 was here as well, trapped and dozing in a semi-conscious state. He knew we were here, but I had the certainty he wouldn’t talk to me, and I couldn’t force him to. Apparently even as Warden there were a few things beyond my power, and he was one of them. He wasn’t a void, exactly. Though I could sense his presence, I couldn’t affect him which also meant I couldn’t release him.

Thomas stared at the man for a moment. “Who’s he? He looks human.”

“He is,” I replied, pausing next to him. “Doesn’t have a name, but I think he’s been here since the prison was built.”

“What’s he in for?”

I shrugged. “No idea. He doesn’t have a record, either.” I kept walking until I reached the main junction.

“Damn,” Thomas muttered, head swiveling as he took in the twelve tunnels branching off into the distance. “How far does this go?”

“Each tunnel’s a couple of miles.” I knew exactly how long each was, and which inmates were stored in a particular tunnel, but I wasn’t telling Thomas.

“Damn,” he repeated. “You - Harry - told me what was down here, but I couldn’t comprehend the scope until now. If Lucifer has access to this…” he trailed off, blowing out a breath.

“Exactly. Time to find out how bad this is. Alfred!” I yelled.

“WARDEN,” the genius loci said, appearing behind me. I absolutely did not jump in surprise, although Thomas did. He swore, and I hid a smile.

“Could an outside influence gain access to the prisoners through the Warden?” I asked.

The spirit stared back at me with burning green eyes. “IT IS POSSIBLE.”

Well, crap. “Can Harry’s connection to the island be broken?”

“ONLY DEATH WILL RELEASE THE WARDEN’S OBLIGATION.”

I knew that wasn’t true. Future Harry had done something the island couldn’t forgive, had himself voted off the island and his Warden membership revoked. “You could release him from his obligation.”

“I CANNOT,” Alfred replied.

Maybe the genius loci wasn’t responsible. Maybe that was the purview of the mysterious prisoner we’d just walked past, the one I suspected of building Demonreach in the first place. The intellect that controlled the prison itself, and by extension, Alfred.

“What about blocking his access temporarily?” Thomas asked.

It considered the question. “THAT IS ACCEPTABLE, PROVIDED YOU REMAIN HERE.” It pointed at me.

“Here, as in here here? On the island?” I asked.

“IN THIS UNIVERSE,” it clarified.

“So you know who I am.”

It nodded, once. “YOU ARE THE CAUSE OF THE TWINNED UNIVERSE.”

I swallowed. “Uh, yeah. That was not my idea.” Not that explanations would help at this point. “Restrict access for the Warden Harry Dresden from this universe for the next seven days, or until I return and rescind my order.”

“DONE,” Alfred replied without hesitation.

“Just like that?” It stared at me and did not respond. “This seems too easy. Doesn’t this seem too easy?” I directed my question to Thomas, who shrugged.

“Maybe for you. I’m the one who had a tree lodged through his intestines.”

“Good point.” I looked back at Alfred. “Are the artifacts secure?”

“THEY ARE IN THE ARMORY.” I assumed that meant yes. And I was absolutely not going to ask what artifacts Harry had down here. What I didn’t know, I couldn’t lie about.

“Where’s Bonnie?”

“THE LITTLE SPIRIT HAS EXHAUSTED ITSELF AND IS CURRENTLY SLEEPING,” came the reply.

I glared at it. “You’ve been taking care of her, right?” Alfred looked at me and didn’t answer. I let out a frustrated breath. “What instructions did Harry leave regarding Bonea?”

“MAKE SURE IT RECEIVES THE APPROPRIATE AMOUNT OF REST. PREVENT IT FROM SPEAKING TO ANY OF THE PRISONERS. PREVENT ANY PRISONERS FROM SPEAKING TO IT.” Then it paused a moment. “TELL IT ONE BEDTIME STORY EACH DAY.”

My eyebrows nearly climbed into my hairline. I couldn’t believe that the genius loci had enough of an imagination to make something up. “Bedtime story?”

Alfred produced a worn paperback book in its hand. “FROM BOOKS THE WARDEN BROUGHT FOR THAT PURPOSE.”

I took it from him. Charlotte’s Web, an age-appropriate (so to speak) story of friendship and coming to terms with death. It had been a favorite of mine, as had the cartoon based on the book. I had a hazy memory of watching it with my father in a hotel room, and had seen it several times since. Harry had probably brought Where The Red Fern Grows, too. While stories weren’t a substitute for personal interaction, I supposed they were better than nothing.

A powerful genius loci raising an infant spirit of intellect surrounded by nightmarish monsters while telling it bedtime stories. Mister Rogers’ Terrifying Neighborhood. Because nothing could go wrong in that scenario.

I sure hope Harry knows what he’s doing.

Chapter Text

I handed the book back to Demonreach, where it vanished into its robe.

I hadn’t the heart to wake Bonnie. Not like I knew what Harry Prime wanted me to tell her anyway, since I hadn’t been able to finish the dream. Vision. Whatever.

“Alfred, would you tell Bonnie I stopped by? And let her know that the Harry from her universe was taken by Lucifer, but this Harry is making her a promise to get him back.” Talking about myself in the third person always made me feel a little Bond villain-esque.

The spirit stared at me. “LUCIFER IS A POWERFUL ENTITY,” it intoned. “DO YOU WISH ONE OF THE ARTIFACTS?”

I started to refuse, then snapped my mouth shut as I thought about it. Absolutely not the Eye. I’d seen what a Titan could do with it, and bringing it to a potential showdown with Lucifer was just asking to kickstart another apocalyptic scenario in a city of his choice. Unlike Ethniu, who had no concept of mortal power structures, politics, or symbols, Lucifer would know exactly what - and who - to go after for maximum effect.

But the Eye wasn’t the only artifact stored in the armory.

Would the knife be useful in this situation? It was a holy relic, and with Lucifer on the opposite end of the scale, it was worth considering. But was it worth the risk of letting it fall into Lucifer’s hands? Maybe he could use it, maybe not. Maybe he’d be able to destroy it.

“What are you thinking?” Thomas asked.

“The knife,” I said, weighing the idea in my mind.

Thomas gave me the side eye. “I want Harry back, but trying to kill Lucifer is suicidal.”

I idly twisted the top of my borrowed staff, finding Harry Prime had modified it the same way I had modified his original one. “The spear can pierce anything holy or demonic, and Lucifer’s likely a bit of both. Not sure I’d go so far as to say it could kill him, or slice off an arm, but stab him in the chest and he’s going to have a really bad day.” I shrugged, securing the cap. “At least until he heals the wound.”

Was Lucifer immortal? Nicodemus wasn’t. I’d nearly strangled him to death years ago. But Anduriel was, or nearly so. If his mortal body died, he’d merely wait in his coin for the right opportunity. So where did Lucifer wait if his physical self died? Thrown back into Hell until summoned once more? If I was already in Hell, all that might do is buy me time.

Thomas looked at me dubiously. “You sure you want to get that close to him?”

“Not particularly, but I’d rather have it just in case,” I replied, making my decision. “Alfred, bring me the knife.” Either it had anticipated my request, or it had the ability to materialize objects; neither was much of a surprise. The spirit withdrew the spade-shaped blade from its robe and offered it to me. As soon as I touched it, I felt a dull throb of power course through my hand. I slipped it into my duster’s pocket, and the genius loci disappeared.

“Hate it when he does that,” Thomas muttered. A trilling tone had him frowning, pulling a phone from his jeans to stare at it warily. “You have cell service down here?”

I shrugged. “Apparently.” I was actually impressed, though trying not to show it. There were no cell towers for more than twenty miles, not to mention how far underground we were. Maybe it was just that kind of call, driven by magic and will rather than technology.

He flipped it open. Likely a disposable, because why risk your expensive phone to a wizard’s mercurial moods when there was a cheaper alternative?

“Yeah?” Thomas listened a moment, his eyes flicking to me. “It’s for you.” He pressed a button and held it out, but I didn’t reach for it.

“Dresden.”

“It’s Kincaid,” said a tinny, disembodied voice through the speaker that only vaguely resembled his actual voice.

“We good?” I hadn’t yet told Thomas of the audience with Hel.

“We’re good. Where are you?”

I waited for a burst of static to die down. “Island,” I replied.

He grunted. “Call me when you’re back.” A series of beeps indicated he’d hung up. Thomas snapped the phone shut and shoved it back in his jeans.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“An audience with Hel, Norse goddess of the dead. Her realm is adjacent to Hell, and we might be able to use it to sneak in. Provided she is amenable to the intrusion, given the right incentive,” I said.

Thomas stared at me. “Just so I understand this. We’re going to ask Hel, the goddess, to pass through her realm and sneak into Hell?”

“Yep.”

He blew out a breath. “You’re insane.”

I snorted. “I’m practical. Did you really think we’d go in through the front gate, guns blazing? I don’t have that kind of power, and anyone who does will refuse to get involved.”

“Like Vadderung?”

“Him, Mab, my fairy godmother,” I said with a shrug. “At this point I’d even team up with Nicodemus, if I could trust him to keep his word. Which of course I can’t. I’m afraid it comes down to you, me and Kincaid. Everyone else doesn’t seem to care enough. They’re treating Harry as disposable and me as a suitable replacement.”

Thomas looked at me a moment. “Lara doesn’t,” he said quietly.

I scowled at him. “Are you serious? She said I was, and I quote, ‘An adequate substitute.’ And that she’d do her best to make my time here enjoyable.”

“She was just trying to push your buttons. It’s all a smokescreen. An act. Well, most of it is. She’s…” he paused, searching for a word, finally settling on, “different around Harry. I think at first she saw him as a challenge, another notch on her bedpost, so to speak. But as the months passed, her attitude towards him changed.” He smiled a little. “He made her laugh. He even surprised her, more than once. Never knew he had a romantic streak. He surprised me, too. I thought he’d go down swinging, fight the marriage tooth and nail until the bitter end, try to find any excuse to get out of it. Instead, he actually let himself enjoy her company.”

I hadn’t thought how the dynamics of dating would be different for Harry Prime with a son younger than Maggie, and a brother present - if estranged - in his life.

“What was their last date like?” I asked, not sure I wanted details, but unable to drop the subject.

He frowned, thinking. “The party at Château Raith. Harry was introduced to the White Court as the Winter Knight and my sister’s consort. There was a lot of… well, you know how White Court fêtes can be. I stayed in the shadows long enough to see Lara and Harry disappear through the privacy curtains after one of their dances. I left after that.” Faint lines of pain etched themselves on his face. Likely he was thinking of Justine.

“But nothing else happened?” I asked.

“No, not that I’m aware of.” He looked at me. “Why?”

I shivered involuntarily and tried to keep my voice level as I replied. “Because that’s not how my last date went. Not even close.” I pushed the blurred memories away. “We should get going.”

Thomas didn’t push, and I was grateful for that.

When we emerged from the lighthouse, it was to a twilight landscape. The sun had set, leaving the cloudless sky fading from bright white to indigo. There was still plenty of light to see, though I didn’t need it as we walked back to the dock. The intellectus directed my feet effortlessly; I could’ve done it blindfolded.

It gave me time to think, which I didn’t really need. Time to wonder about Lara and Harry’s relationship. Time to regret mine, and wish things had turned out differently. “Is Lord Raith still alive?”

Thomas snorted. “Unfortunately. Still the acting puppet king for Lara.”

Had that been the difference? Killing Lord Raith to save Thomas left Lara more vulnerable to White Court machinations, where here she still had her father to leverage as a threat. My Lara chose to show unity with her sisters and used me to do it. Perhaps with her father gone, she’d let her guard down too much where I was concerned. And her feelings for me - or at least their potential - scared her into making that unforgivable choice.

But I still didn’t regret saving my brother.

I started the Water Beetle while Thomas untied the boat, then leaped aboard as I backed up and turned us towards the reef. He let me navigate until we were through, trusting my intellectus more than his eyesight in the dim light. Then I gave him the wheel, leaning against the side of the wheelhouse.

The noise of the diesel engine chugging through the waters of Lake Michigan was the only thing breaking the night’s stillness. I wasn’t up for conversation; Thomas didn’t seem interested, either. Instead, my mind drifted back to the last night of Murphy’s life, holding her in my arms on this very boat. Well, an alternate version of this very boat. It made me happy, and sad, and miss her a whole hell of a lot, but I would never let myself forget it. I blocked off my more recent memories of Murph, because they were still too painful to dwell on for any length of time.

Something pinged my wizard’s senses, a shiver running down my spine that set the hair on the back of my neck crawling.

“What is it?” Thomas asked. He’d seen my reaction.

“Not sure.” I craned my head around, stopping as I looked behind us. “Oh, crap.”

He followed my gaze. “Oh, crap.”

A large black cloud was trailing the boat, still at a distance but obviously closing the gap between us. Shifting in the sky like a murmuration of starlings, it seemed to have a life of its own. I couldn’t tell if it was a solid mass of something, a veil of smoke obscuring that something, or smaller individuals flying too close together to tell them apart.

Thomas retrieved a pair of binoculars from a small cabinet. “We’ll never outrun it,” he said, peering through them. We were still over open water, a good twenty minutes from the marina and too far out to even spot the shoreline. “It’s not a flock of birds or swarm of insects. I think it’s all one thing.” He lowered the binoculars and looked at me. “Don’t suppose your spells will work out here?”

I shook my head. “Not unless you want to wait until it’s close enough to touch. Even then, they won’t have a lot of power.”

“Terrific.”

The cloud billowed and roiled, an ink blot staining the darkening night. As I watched it grow ever larger, the amorphous shape took form, building itself into an enormous face that covered half the sky. Two eyes set wider apart than human glowed with violet light. Lightning the same color flickered around the edges and through its mouth where rows and rows of serrated shark teeth smiled at us. A too-wide mouth that could easily swallow the Water Beetle whole. A long, slithering tongue darted out as it grinned.

And while the smoke constantly shifted, erasing and rebuilding other facial details, I knew what this was. Its malice, its ancient hatred, its utter contempt for life… I’d felt it before.

“It’s a Walker,” I told Thomas, fear turning my blood to ice.

His head whipped around. “Like what possessed Justine?”

“Yeah.” There were only three Walkers, and I had no idea which this one was. Not that it mattered.

“Doesn’t it need a body?”

“No, it can hurt us just fine in incorporeal form. When I was sixteen, one beat the crap out of me using nothing but its reflection.” I didn’t have a lot of experience with Walkers, but I’d never seen one do anything quite like this.

Thomas’ voice turned hard. “Can you kill it?”

I let a trickle of power infuse my staff, causing it to burst forth with a sullen green-gold glow as its runes burned. Weak, it was far too weak. “I don’t think anything will actually kill it. I might be able to destroy its physical form and banish it back beyond the Gates, but not surrounded by this much water.”

And then it spoke, in a voice that resembled a British butler more than a creature from outside our universe. “Harry Dresden. It is a delight to see you again. We have unfinished business, you and I.”

I forced a laugh. “You the one I blew up at the gas station? Or the one whose head I exploded? Or the one I ripped out of a mortal’s body and burned to ash?” It slowed, hovering above us to keep pace with the boat’s progress as it considered a reply. “You know what? Doesn’t really matter. Infriga!” I yelled, pointing the staff at one of its eyes. I tried to infuse it more with Fae magic than wizard, but in the end it was still my power, and I was still a wizard. The water surrounding me dampened the effect, so instead of a cone of icy fog enveloping the Walker, it dissipated not ten feet out.

The Walker laughed, a low rumbling that sent my hindbrain screaming.

One of Kincaid’s phosphorus grenades would really come in handy right about now.

“You are still the pathetic little mortal playing at a game he does not have the capacity to comprehend,” it purred. “Shall I enlighten you as to the manner of your destruction? Shall I show you everyone you care for ravaged so thoroughly that not even their souls remain intact?”

I bared my teeth at it. “You think I’m afraid of you?” I had been, but the Winter Mantle, once woken up, didn’t really do fear. Instead, anger seethed inside, anger for Justine’s senseless death, for my brother’s broken heart. Anger that this Outsider - and all its kind - threatened my world and everyone I loved.

It laughed in response.

I had access to one other kind of magic. I tilted my face up, and felt starsong brush my cheeks. “Stay up here,” I murmured to Thomas, then climbed down to the main deck. I needed room for what might prove to be an ill-advised attempt at a spell.

Gathering my will, I focused on an image of a spear woven from starlight, then modified the image. Not a spear, but a harpoon twenty feet long, tipped with row after row of razor-sharp barbs. Something large enough to bring down a whale. Or a Walker whose image blotted out the stars.

“What are you doing, Little Morsel?” It had moved closer, close enough that the electricity weaving through its form caused the hair on my arms to stand on end. The scent of ozone grew thick around me.

I ignored it, strengthening the picture in my mind until it blinded me. That was easy. Not forcing power into the spell as it gathered up strands of starlight and wove them together was the difficult part. It still went against everything I’d been taught, or learned through experimentation, but finally it coalesced into something I could use.

“Astrare!” I shouted, shoving a burst of kinetic force into the spell as I released my will, along with a sliver of soulfire woven through its core. A comet blazing with starlight’s cold fire flew at the Walker. As I expected, I couldn’t maintain the kinetic energy beyond a dozen yards, but it had already done its job.

The harpoon impaled the Walker’s right eye in an explosion of color and light and a roar that was both low enough to feel in my bones and high enough it scraped painfully across my eardrums. When the white spots in my vision faded, I found the Walker’s visage cracked, smoke bleeding from its wounds. The starlight had erupted and spread like a cancer, rapidly devouring its face. Chaotic flickers of lighting swarmed through the starlight, shorting out with small pops.

The Walker continued to howl, an unearthly sound pressing down on me like a heavy blanket, nearly smothering. “You think you have won, Harry Dresden,” it growled, its voice the sound of gravel in a cement mixer, “but you are mistaken.” All that remained of it now was its smile, a disembodied leer eaten away even as it spoke. “I am merely the distraction.”

With one final thundering of fireworks that lit up the sky, the Walker faded from existence.

“It gone?” Thomas asked, peering down at me.

I didn’t have the chance to answer. The Water Beetle shuddered from an underwater impact, then lurched to one side, throwing me from my feet. Water poured over the railing, flooding the deck and nearly pulling me into the lake.

“Harry!”

Tentacles slithered out of the water, looping around the railing for purchase. Another kraken? Octokong? Worse? A massive three-fingered hand with impressive claws joined the tentacles, then another. The Beetle listed as the creature drew itself up and over, falling heavily onto the deck.

It was covered in purplish chitinous plates, a layer of tentacles on top of that, all weaving in synchronous rhythm. On its back were two larger tentacles, the ones that helped pull it aboard. They ended in lamprey-like mouths, circular rows of teeth that snapped at me. Its wedge-shaped head featured two orange glowing globes for eyes, radiating hatred. More eyes studded its body, nestled between overlapping plates. And though it was bipedal, it hunched over itself, looking like a cross between an armadillo and a squid. A squidillo.

“Harry Dresden,” it said, slurring my name. Must be hard to talk when you have tentacles coming out of your mouth. “We have been waiting for you.” Like cornerhounds, the thrashing tentacles pulsed with psychic energy battering my mind, though weaker and easier to shut out.

I pulled myself up using the railing for support and didn’t dare let go. Thomas was struggling to keep the Beetle from capsizing. The boat rocked back and forth, dipping alarmingly close to the lake’s surface.

“What is with you guys and tentacles?” I snatched my blasting rod from the loop inside the duster. It blazed to life with crimson fire and I leveled it at the squidillo, channeling energy and will into a spell. “Fuego!” A blast of fire shot straight into the creature’s face. It took more energy than I expected, and it wasn’t nearly as powerful as it would be on land. But on the deck of the boat, with the Outsider only ten feet away, it was enough to cause it to scream in pain as the tentacles covering its face shriveled and burned.

It fell over the side and disappeared under the water.

“All too easy,” I gloated in my best Darth Vader voice. And like Darth Vader, I was immediately kicked in the teeth.

Multiple tentacles grabbed the railing, pulling one, two, three squidillos onto the deck. The Water Beetle was a big boat, but not that big, and it left me no room to move. They stood between me and the wheelhouse, expelling slithering screams worse than nails on a chalkboard. Their combined psychic attack hit hard, trying to scramble my mind, and it took a few seconds to strengthen my own defenses.

That single blast of fire drained me. I didn’t have enough left to take on all three at once; even if I did, I’d be more likely to set the boat (and us) ablaze than the Outsiders.

“Harry Dresden,” they said in that same slurring voice. “You will die tonight, Starborn.”

That gave me an idea. Starlight. I’d used it on the Khan worm to kill it, and on the Walker. It should work on these Outsiders as well, but I couldn’t spend time to create three separate spells. I needed something that would affect them all at once. A net, I thought desperately. I’d created one before, though for a different purpose.

I held that same image in my mind, feeling starlight weave through the nascent spell, combining with the brutal cold of Arctis Tor, all wrapping around a thread of soulfire. I realized it wasn’t going to finish before the closest squidillo got within eviscerating range. The energy was building too slowly. Panic made me want to grab hold of the strands, force it into shape and shove power into it, but knew it would fizzle out if I tried.

“Hey, Cthulhu Junior!” Thomas yelled from the wheelhouse. These particular Outsiders didn’t seem too bright despite their capacity to speak. All three stopped advancing on me to turn and look at him. Thomas rewarded each with a shotgun blast to the face, reloading so fast his hands blurred. They weren’t Dragon’s breath shells; the lead pellets were barely an annoyance to them, but the distraction bought me the time I needed.

The energy reached a point inside me that it felt like my skin was splitting apart, the glittering strands so closely packed together they formed a solid shell of light in my mind’s eye. “Astrellae,” I murmured, releasing my will.

The spell exploded into a shimmering sphere that completely enclosed the boat. The squidillos froze, staring at it with something that almost approximated fear. I mean, with all the tentacles it was hard to read their expressions, but their suddenly frenzied thrashing seemed to indicate distress.

I willed the sphere around us to shrink. It collapsed rapidly, the Outsiders screaming as the starlight grew closer. One tried to escape by jumping over the side, shrieking as the starlight smoked and sizzled through its tentacles, dissolving them into ash. The rest of its body imploded into bright bursts of light and sank.

The light passed harmlessly through the boat, through me and Thomas, catching the remaining squidillos in a net of cold fire heralded by a triumphant song of creation and destruction that only I could hear. They, like the first, imploded as the starlight carved through their bodies, sending a blast wave of kinetic energy barreling into me.

I fell, but managed to keep my grip on the railing instead of flying over the side. I’d even managed to keep my grip on the blasting rod. My fingers shook too much to tie it back inside my duster, so I shoved it into a pocket.

The Outsiders were gone, vaporized without leaving so much as a pile of ash behind. The deck was covered by several inches of water, slowly draining back into the lake.

“Thomas?” I couldn’t see him from my current position. Had he fallen overboard?

A hand shot up from the wheelhouse. “Here.” He coughed a few times as he sat up. “I hope that’s the last of them. Don’t think the Beetle can take much more abuse.” He climbed to his feet, then cocked his head, listening. “Not sure the engine will make it back to the marina. You okay to take the wheel for a few minutes while I check below?”

I stood up, then nearly fell as my legs trembled. “I’ll manage.” That last spell burned through my reserves, used up most of the Mantle’s power. I’d never manage another, not without a few hours to recharge. Sleep would help, but there wasn’t enough time with Kincaid waiting for us.

I shoved my hair away from my face so it didn’t drip into my eyes, then stumbled around the deck, sopping wet. Not that it mattered, with so much water sloshing over the sides. My duster might be water resistant, but not when I’m drenched from every conceivable angle.

I checked to make sure the knife hadn’t fallen out. Crafted from bronze, there was no chance of it rusting, so I left it in its pocket. Thankfully, my staff had wedged itself in one of the holes that served as drains. Because the spells used to imbue it during its creation made the wood extremely dense, had it tumbled overboard, the staff would have sunk to the bottom of the lake. I retrieved it while waiting for Thomas to climb down the ladder.

“You look like you went ten rounds with Kong,” he said, studying me.

“What? They didn’t touch me,” I said, prodding at my face. Were there cuts and bruises I couldn’t feel? Burns from the backlash of power?

“I mean you look exhausted. A stiff wind could probably knock you on your ass right now,” he said, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “Be right back.”

He went downstairs, I went up. He’d left the throttle open, set for a speed so low we were barely crawling. Thomas was right. The Water Beetle’s engine was no longer a consistent chug-chug, but an uneven, scratchy rhythm. While he owned the boat, I wasn’t sure he had any engineering or electrical skills to repair it. Turned out, he did. After several minutes of muffled banging and curses, the engine settled into a rhythm that was almost normal.

I oriented myself using my sense of the island behind us, turning the wheel in the likely direction of the marina before increasing the throttle. Not to the Beetle’s normal speed, but about half that. It felt sluggish, slow to respond, and I didn’t dare push it any harder. Much to my surprise, the engine didn’t explode, the boat didn’t catch on fire, and we didn’t capsize and drown.

Thomas climbed up not long after. The dim light from the instrument panel revealed he had a smear of grease across his forehead and grime under his nails. He’d also taken time to change, now in a fresh pair of black pants and a white button-down embroidered with small blue roses. He’d rolled the sleeves up almost to his elbows.

“That’ll hold us until we reach the marina,” he said. “But the boat’s going to need repairs before I can take it out again. I’ll call the mechanic in the morning.”

I relinquished the wheel, then slid down the wall until I hit the floor. Just need to rest my eyes for a few minutes, I thought, tipping my head back.

“Harry.” Someone kicked my foot. “Harry.”

I struggled to surface from the dream I’d fallen into. “Mmrgh,” I replied, blinking a few times. The surrounding light stabbing my eyes was too bright to be anything but the marina. Squinting, I took the offered hand and let Thomas pull me up.

The Water Beetle idled at the end of its dock, Thomas keeping it steady with practiced ease. I swapped with him, letting him jump down and secure the lines before shutting off the engine. I did not jump down, feeling every bit my forty years as joints creaked and popped. There wasn’t any pain, thanks to the Winter Mantle, but there was still the exhaustion to contend with.

Thomas lowered the gangplank for me. “Should I take you out for your senior citizen discount?” he asked, smirking.

“You’re older than I am. Shut up,” I grumbled, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. While my hair was mostly dry, my clothes remained wet and uncomfortable, and walking in wet jeans is never fun. If I had more energy, I could have summoned Molly’s hair dryer spell. It did surprisingly well drying clothes, provided you kept pushing power into it.

He laughed, the bastard, slapping me hard enough on the shoulder to cause me to stumble. I had to plant my staff on the dock to stop me from tumbling into the lake. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

He smirked some more. “Of course. But I’m an exceptionally attractive ass. Would you like to see first-hand?” He shifted his hips suggestively. I wanted to punch him.

“I’m too tired for this,” I replied, clomping ahead.

It wasn’t until I’d unlocked the gate and stepped through that I noticed the greeting party waiting for us, strategically placed under one of the parking lot’s lights so there’d be no mistaking who they were.

“Terrific. Because this day hasn’t been enough of a train wreck,” I muttered under my breath, but knew Thomas heard me. He started reaching for a hidden weapon but stopped when I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t. If we’re not already dead, then he’s just here to talk.”

I fixed Marcone with my best glare, pointedly ignoring Gard’s equally excellent glower. I stopped twenty feet from them, a shield spell prepared in my mind. Just because he wanted to talk didn’t mean his flunkies wouldn’t have ideas of their own. “Baron Marcone. If you’re here to rent the boat for an overnight fishing charter, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Had a little trouble out on the lake. Ms. Gard, looking lovely as ever.” Her blonde hair was pulled tight into a bun, blue eyes chips of ice as they studied me. She wasn’t happy to be here.

Marcone was wearing his ubiquitous suit, likely the same suit he’d worn to the wedding. “Mr. Dresden. I understand you’re going after your… doppelgänger.”

While it didn’t surprise me that he knew, it did surprise me that he cared. I forced a grin. “So, what are my odds? Is it too late to place a bet?”

He gave me a thin smile in return. “Better than you might think.”

A green dot from a laser sight appeared just below Marcone’s right ear. I blinked. Blinked again, but it didn’t disappear. It didn’t move, either.

When Kincaid called me, I never expected he’d done it from the marina, or that he’d be waiting here for us. Or that he’d do something like this just to prove a point. I began to laugh, I couldn’t help it. Kincaid would only use a visible laser sight if he wanted it to be visible; his version of a warning shot across the bow.

“Got something on your neck there, Johnny,” I managed to say.

Marcone’s brows drew together in mild annoyance, but a second later, Gard’s eyes widened as she either saw or sensed the threat to her boss’ life. It would have been plenty of time for Kincaid to punch a hole right through Marcone’s skull. And with the caliber Kincaid favored, Marcone would not have survived the shot, even with a Fallen angel sharing his skin.

“Get down!” she yelled, pushing Marcone behind her and out of the gun’s path as she withdrew a stone from her pocket. It was roughly the size of a silver dollar, erupting in blue flame as she shouted a few words and threw it into the air. An explosion erupted around them, knocking Thomas and I back. I hit the ground, hard, and Thomas landed on top of me. Even with the pain of bruised ribs and the weight of my brother compressing my chest, I kept laughing, though it turned into more of a wheeze.

Thomas groaned, pushing himself off me. “You have the nicest friends,” he said, rolling to his feet. He didn’t offer me a hand up this time.

My hands were scraped up from the concrete, but nothing else seemed damaged. I got up, eyeing the spell Gard constructed. It shimmered with heat and light, a blue-white dome of protection enclosing her, Marcone, and the two bodyguards he’d brought. The sheer amount of power was staggering. It was similar to the crystal shield spell I’d made for Maggie and Michael, and I doubted anything short of a nuclear bomb would take it down. Maybe not even that.

I cautiously approached them, raising my voice to shout, “You’ve made your point!” Kincaid didn’t answer, but I hadn’t expected him to. No sense in giving away his location, in case his services were actually needed. “Gard, my associate was just being overly cautious with my safety.”

The flames thinned enough that I could see through the barrier. Gard’s eyes blazed as bright as the shield surrounding her. “Do you swear by your power, wizard?” Behind her, Marcone regarded me thoughtfully. Thorned Namshiel’s glowing set of eyes weren’t so friendly, narrowing before winking out.

I let out a sigh, held up my right hand, palm out. “I swear by my power that no one under your protection will be harmed for the duration of this conversation, plus thirty minutes afterwards.” It’d give us all plenty of time to get in our respective cars and get the hell away from each other.

The Valkyrie stared at me for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers. The dome shattered into glittering trails of light that sparked and died as they fell. “I told you we were too exposed here,” she snapped at Marcone. A gun was suddenly in her hand, pointed at Thomas. “Back off, vampire.”

Thomas flashed his usual smirk as he held up his hands in surrender, taking a few steps away.

Marcone let out a long-suffering sigh. “Gard, your concern is noted. Dresden, there’s no need for theatrics. I’m here to assist you.”

I barked a laugh. “That’ll be the day. You helping me out of the goodness of your own heart. Your timing is rather convenient, arriving just after Outsiders did their best to drown me. How’d you know I’d be here?”

If he was surprised by the news of the Outsiders’ attack, he didn’t show it. “Do you take me for an idiot? I know the risk Dresden poses while he remains a guest of Lucifer’s. I know your first course of action would be to counter that risk, neutralize it if possible, and the only means by which to do so is out on that island.” Marcone didn’t become Baron of Chicago by being stupid.

“Okay, fine,” I conceded. “You got me. What do you want?”

“As I said, I can assist you in your endeavor to retrieve Harry Dresden.”

I frowned at him. “Why do you even care? Wouldn’t your life be a lot simpler with him dead and buried?”

“He is the adversary I know. The one I can predict, and within reason, the one I can manipulate if needed.” I opened my mouth to strenuously object, but he held up a hand to forestall my argument. “The fact of the matter is Chicago’s supernatural community fears him in a way they do not fear me. He functions as a deterrent in my city, and I will not have it devolve into chaos once more. It is in my best interest to help you bring him back.”

Every once in a while, Marcone surprises me. He was a thug beneath his businessman’s illusion, and more than money, more than power, he desired control. Of course, money and power helped him keep that control, rule over the criminal element of Chicago with absolute authority.

So, apparently, did Harry Dresden.

I eyed Gard. “You offering the use of your Valkyrie?” Predictably, she glared daggers at me while I grinned back. Hell’s bells, with her we might have a chance of pulling this off.

Another thin-lipped smile appeared. “No. I am offering you information.”

Now he had my attention. “What kind of information?”

“A map of Hell detailed enough that you should be able to retrieve Dresden without detection.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How’d you get it?”

“Do you really believe I’d tell you? More to the point,” he said, seeing me bristle, “does it really matter?”

I gave him a hard stare, while he managed to look faintly amused. It didn’t matter where his information came from, provided it was accurate. I’d have no way of knowing, which meant I had to trust him. To a point, at least, and hope Kincaid could confirm enough to know I wasn’t being set up.

“And in return?” I asked.

“No strings attached, Dresden,” Marcone said, gesturing to Gard. “I stand to gain as much as you do.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, but I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “That is not my concern.”

Gard offered me a small rectangular object she’d pulled from her jacket. “What is it?” I made no move to take it from her.

“Jump drive,” she said. I knew they were used to store information, and that we’d need a computer to access it. I also knew that me touching it was a bad idea. Me being in the same vicinity was a bad idea, so I backed up a bit.

Thomas snatched it from her fingers. “I’ll take that. Can’t risk Harry scrambling the data before we have a chance to look at it.” He’d moved so fast that Gard flinched, though she recovered quickly and scowled at him.

Marcone’s eyes flicked over my face. “I’d caution you to be careful, but this is you we’re talking about. I can’t imagine you’re all that different from the Dresden I’ve dealt with for the past ten years.” With that he turned away, the two bodyguards trailing him while Gard led the entourage. Rather, the bodyguards were nothing more than Marcone’s meat shields, standing between him and a bullet in the back.

I couldn’t resist a parting jab. “Ask Spinyboy about Amoracchius sometime.”

Marcone’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t bother to reply.

We watched them pile into a black SUV with darkly tinted windows. I didn’t relax until the SUV drove off, turning out of the parking lot and disappearing into the night.

“You think he had anything to do with the Outsiders?” Thomas asked, frowning after them.

I shook my head. “He’d never work with them. And if he was sincere about wanting Harry Prime back, he wouldn’t risk my life knowing I’m likely the only one who will succeed.”

A dark form moved in the shadows towards us. For an instant, even without my Sight, the enormous, deformed shape stuffed inside that body appeared, overlayed on Kincaid like a hologram. When I blinked, it was gone. “That what passes for amusement among your crowd?” I asked him.

He chuckled, emerging into the light. He carried a rifle slung over his back, the slight lumps under his long coat indicating additional hidden weapons. “Gard’s good, but not that good. I had him.”

“Provided Thorned Namshiel didn’t teleport Marcone away,” I said, snorting as his eyes widened.

“No shit. Marcone can do that?” he asked.

“I’ve seen it in person. Took off Mavra’s head that way.” And used Amoracchius to do it.

“Huh.” He gave Thomas a thorough once-over head to toe. “The vampire coming with?”

Thomas smirked, folding arms across his chest. “I’d expect dinner after that look.”

Kincaid stared at him with dead eyes, devoid of emotion. “You killed Karrin.”

I got in his face as Thomas flinched, jabbing a finger into Kincaid’s chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It was an accident, and someone else pulled the strings to make it happen. Murph wasn’t returning from that fight.”

He was tall, but I was taller, and he had to look up to meet my eyes. I didn’t let him. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

“I am.” I don’t know what he read from my expression, but apparently it was enough to satisfy him.

He turned on his heel, walking towards a black pickup. “Come on, then.”

We followed Kincaid to Lincoln Park. I left my car at the marina and let Thomas drive, as the Munstermobile was too obvious and too well-known. After the Outsiders’ attempt, I thought a little more caution was warranted, even if it meant I had to put up with my brother’s driving. At least it was a Hummer and not one of his tiny sports cars.

“What did the Outsiders want?” Thomas asked, taking a corner faster than I would have liked.

“Not sure, really. Vadderung went to a lot of trouble to create this universe, and everything I’ve learned over the past few years indicates I’m important in the battle to come. What did Chronos call me? The fulcrum around which the fate of the universe pivots?” At that, Thomas gave a disbelieving snort. “Hey, didn’t say I agreed with him. But if the Outsiders think the same thing, they’d want Harry dead long before that happens. And right now with him gone, I’m the designated Starborn substitute.”

I let out a breath that was totally not because Thomas nearly rear-ended a minivan. “The boat was a target of opportunity. Wizard powers are weak at best over open water, so they thought I’d be an easy kill.”

Thomas chuckled. “Didn’t work out so well for them, did it?”