An Enchantment For Any Occasion

by pixelkitty

Summary:

I've put this off long enough. It's only a matter of time before the monsters show up.

or

Harry's fifth date with Lara

I woke to buzzing annoying enough that I couldn’t ignore it and fall back asleep. It took me a few bleary moments before realizing it was my wind-up Mickey Mouse alarm clock, though I didn’t remember setting it the night before. I didn’t remember much of anything from the night before, thanks to the bottle of whiskey I’d found after my second beer. I rarely drank anything stronger than beer, and the faint pounding in my skull reminded me why.

I buried my head under the pillow and reached out, searching for the clock. I’d be able to switch it off by feel, provided I could find it.

Blasting rod, shield bracelet, wallet…

Then I remembered my Mickey Mouse alarm clock had burned in the fire that destroyed my old apartment.

I bolted upright, my heart hammering in panic, eyes darting around the room. It wasn’t until I spotted Bob’s blue skull hovering above me that the noise stopped.

“Bob? What in the hell are you doing?” I demanded, my hands shaking from the burst of adrenaline.

He chuckled. “What does it sound like? Waking you up.”

“Why?”

Bob descended from the ceiling and rolled his flickering eyelights at me. “Because you asked me to.”

“I did?” I ran a hand through my hair, my mind barely able to think through the thick fog. “Why?”

“How should I know? You were muttering incoherently for a while.” He looked me up and down. “You really can’t hold your liquor, you know.” I swiped at Bob with a growl; he dodged nimbly out of the way. “And so short-tempered when you have a hangover.”

I grumbled and flopped back on the pillow, and immediately regretted it. Sharp spikes drilled through my eyes and I hissed at the pain, even though the Mantle dampened it almost immediately.

“Boss?”

I grunted.

“You gonna get up?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I slurred, arm over my face blocking out the light. Then thirty pounds of cat jumped on my chest and meowed loudly. “Oof,” I exhaled at the unexpected weight. Mister, purring loud enough to wake the dead (and me), began rubbing the side of his face against my extended fingers.

I sighed and scratched his back. The purrs grew louder. “All right, I’m up.” I gently shoved him off and got out of bed. Halfway to the kitchen, I stopped abruptly and looked down.

Underwear, check.

Not that I expected to see anyone, but surprise visitors had a tendency to show up when I was least prepared for them. Once I’d been naked in the shower, shampoo dripping from my hair, when a demon broke into my apartment. That’d been a fun night.

I fed Mister, put on coffee, and dumped cereal into a bowl. The kind with rainbow-colored marshmallows. Don’t judge. When my cat was finished, I followed him to the front door to let him outside, cereal in one hand. I closed the door, turned towards the kitchen, then stopped. Looked back at the door with suspicion.

“Um, Bob?”

He appeared in the hallway. “Yeah, boss?”

“What happened to the door?”

Bob moved closer for inspection. “Oak, dark stain, quality work.”

I waved a hand at it. “How did it get here?”

He blinked. “Magic?”

I sighed. “Get out of the way.” When he moved aside, I placed my hand against the wood and immediately recognized the residual tingling of magic, along with the practitioner it belonged to. “Ebenezar,” I said softly. “He replaced the door.”

Bob snorted. “It’s about time. He’s the one who broke it down!”

Couldn’t argue with that. Ebenezar hadn’t apologized exactly, but had offered me the use of oak from his farm. I hadn’t had the chance to take him up on it, and apparently my grandfather had grown tired of waiting.

I ran my fingers over the wood, delighting in the feel of it. The dark, wide planks were held together by decorative wrought iron; the door latch and handle were matching hardware, and a small window protected by wrought iron grillwork allowed me to glimpse the street outside. The magic that trickled over my skin was warm, familiar, and full of love. Despite our recent - and sometimes nasty - fights, the old man still loved me.

He’d woven an enchantment into it, one I knew. When activated, it would turn the entire door into a miniature sun, perfect for vaporizing vampires within its range or blinding creatures sensitive to light. Both could come in handy in the near future. I’d have to see if I could adapt it into something similar for the castle’s entire exterior.

Maybe throw in a few disco lights for ambiance.

Then I snapped my fingers, nearly dropping the bowl.

“Now I remember why I wanted you to wake me up! Come on, we have a lot of work to do!”

*

I took a hasty shower, this time returning to the first floor dressed in gray sweats and woolen socks. They were comfortable, and more importantly, clean. I had a pile of laundry accumulating in the basement that needed to be dealt with before it became sentient and crawled away to live in the sewer.

Chalk was one of my staples as a wizard, allowing a circle to be drawn anywhere a flat surface existed. It was easy to clean up, and there wasn’t a risk of it blowing away like salt. I’d left pieces of chalk scattered everywhere: drawers, cabinets, under the couch, inside spare rolls of toilet paper. What can I say? Chalk is useful, but only if it’s at hand when you really need it.

Grabbing a piece from one of the kitchen drawers, I brought it into the hallway and sketched a circle on the stone floor.

“Boss, what are you doing?” Bob’s blue skull hovered in mid-air, watching.

“Listening.” I sat inside the chalk line, touching a finger to it and exerting a tiny bit of will. The circle snapped shut, blocking the ambient magic around me. Bob hastily swerved away from it.

“Listening to what?”

“The castle. Give me a minute.”

I placed my hands flat on the floor, the stone cold beneath my palms. The wards built into the castle hummed against my skin, a low buzzing almost too faint to feel. Then I closed my eyes and thought of the manitou’s bass drum beating, slow and methodical, pairing it up with the Winter Mantle’s higher-pitched thrumming in the back of my skull.

Tardium, tardius, tardus, I thought, timing each syllable with a beat of that drum, willing the Mantle to slow with it. It wasn’t a spell, just will and sheer stubbornness, using the quasi-Latin as a focus.

Tardium, tardius, tardus, I repeated. Tardium, tardius, tardus.

The Mantle slowed, its urges weaker. I dropped into a deeper meditation than I’d been able to achieve before, using the drumbeat as a guide rather than a hindrance.

Slowly, I let my senses open, directing them through my palms and into the stone below.

Angry hornets swarmed my mouth, stinging any place they could reach. Some managed to crawl their way into my stomach, the crippling agony almost too much to bear.

Enough! I shouted, pushing out with my will in a wave of kinetic force. The hornets vanished as the buzzing recoiled, then waited patiently. This time when I reached out, I was greeted with a hum of acknowledgment and my perspective shifted, showing the entire castle before me.

There was one over-arching ward - a bright silver construct pulsing with power - that held the others in place. It ran from the roof down to the basement and into the castle’s supports. This ward was too big, too powerful to examine in detail, so I could only see broad sketches; enough to know it contained dozens, if not hundreds of smaller spells effortlessly stitched together into a seamless whole.

This was the work of a master. A wizard with centuries of experience. Perhaps even the one who’d created Demonreach. I’d thought the wards in my castle were similar to the prison’s, but this was proof they were either done by Merlin himself, or one of his apprentices.

Staring at the ward was starting to give me a headache, so I narrowed my focus, searching the walls for something smaller I could analyze. There! I used my hands to feel the dimensions of it, judging its relation to me.

“Bob? What ward is in the hallway to my left?” I put no effort into the words, not wanting them to interrupt my exploration.

A sudden light blinded me, the humming increasing in strength as a second harmony joined the first.

“Oh… oh my. That looks like a bomb.”

My concentration slipped, the world tilting sideways. “Bomb? I thought you went through all the wards and knew what everything did.”

“You told me to focus on the outer defenses, boss. Get those up and running, leave the rest until you could examine them. Just setting up the threshold took me weeks of calculations! And the lasers on the roof, don’t even get me started on that.”

I had said that, hadn’t I? And then pushed it aside, trusting the outer defenses to do all the work. “What kind of bomb?”

“A psychic bomb designed to shred mental defenses. It could cause brain damage. And… can you actually see the construct?”

“Not at the moment,” I ground out, “you’re too damn bright.”

The light dimmed though the harmony remained. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Several parts of the spell began to glow red. “There’s a good possibility it’ll kill anyone human.”

I focused on a small piece in the back which resembled a wagon wheel broken in half and touched it carefully. The entire construct lit up in rainbow hues, and I jerked my hand away. “I take it that’s the trigger.”

“Yep.” The spell returned to its neutral blue-green.

“How far does it extend?”

“The entire length of the hallway, except for a small section…” he trailed off, the light and harmony disappearing. Then it was back. “Boss, you need to see this.” This time as he moved away, he did so slowly, allowing me to follow. We stopped in front of a small cube, roughly the size of a baseball, pulsing an eerie black-violet as it slowly rotated. Every so often, a bolt of white lightning wound its way over the surface.

It felt like a tightly-coiled spring, waiting to unleash power. A lot of power.

“Hell’s bells, what is that?”

“I believe it’s a self-destruct button,” Bob replied. “It’s tied into the main ward. And if my calculations are right - of course, my calculations are always right - it has enough power to implode the entire castle. Probably the entire block.”

“What?” I screeched, nearly knocking myself back into my body.

“Harry, you have to remember this castle was built hundreds of years ago. No one was concerned with a handful of dead peasants, and it probably wasn’t built anywhere close to a town.”

Until Marcone moved the damn thing to Chicago.

“Can we shut it off?”

The light darted around the cube, examining it from every angle. “Nope. You do that, the integrity of the main ward fails and then -“

“London Bridge comes falling down,” I finished for him.

“Basically. On the bright side, it requires a very specific sequence to activate -”

“Don’t tell me what it is, Bob. I don’t need to know that.” I had pretty solid mental defenses, but Mab had proven they weren’t impenetrable. Someone could take that knowledge from me, by coercion or force. But my bigger fear was that I would use it. That there would come a situation where I could justify to myself killing a few innocent people was necessary. A small price to pay for the greater good. An acceptable loss.

I didn’t want to become that person. Better to avoid the temptation completely.

“But, Harry -“

“No,” I said more forcefully. I opened my mouth to order him to forget it… and stopped.

What if… what if…

Dammit.

I might let my moral compass occasionally slip, but I knew whose didn’t.

“Bob. I order you to never reveal how that spell works, unless Michael Carpenter tells you to.”

I felt his incredulity through the stone. “You sure about that, boss?”

“Absolutely. I’ve had a few lapses in judgment, but I trust his implicitly. I’ll explain what we found, and the risks in using it.”

We both understood it was at best a stopgap measure. I could puzzle out the cube’s design with enough motivation. I could also countermand my order to Bob at any time. I just hoped that if I became desperate enough to do that, I’d remember I told him to keep it from me for a reason.

“Let’s figure out what else is in here.”

*

Two days. It took two days, top to bottom, to go through every ward woven into the castle’s stone. Many were variations on draining away or neutralizing magic. Some were quite destructive, only to be used as a last resort. I found a cleverly designed reverse-gravity spell on the ceiling towards the back of the first floor. One staircase would entirely electrify, sending enough voltage through whatever happened to be on the stairs to fry its brain, if not spontaneously combust it outright.

Even the basement had wards, from spewing forth a fountain of water to one that’d fling a wave of power outward, crushing an opponent into the opposite wall.

The power, though. That bothered me. All were actively running, but I couldn’t find what was powering the spells. While Chicago had a number of ley lines running through the city, I didn’t live near any of them. So I sat on the floor of my lab inside my activated summoning circle, palms flat against the floor, and reached into the earth below me.

I found what I was looking for almost immediately after my senses descended a few feet. A spell resembling a fishhook flashed bright blue, faint vibrations pulsing against my skin. It was an anchor, a thinly woven cable with the strength of diamond disappearing into the distance. When I touched it, I sensed an echo and the familiar feel of a ley line. Someone had tied the castle’s wards directly to a distant ley line, providing it an endless supply of power.

It was subtle work, one only a master with far better control than I had could have accomplished. Thorned Namshiel perhaps? Or Gard. I’d never seen her work magic as a wizard would, but I had seen impressive displays of power through the use of her runes.

I made a thorough inspection of the anchor and cable, checking for imperfections that would allow the power to steadily leak away, or cause it to explode unexpectedly. Finding none, I withdrew back to my body and broke the circle.

“There’s an anchor tying the castle to a ley line,” I told Bob, scuffing my socks across the floor. The Winter Knight I might be, but no one likes cold feet.

“Really? Where?”

“Directly under my summoning circle. There’s some kind of barrier between it and the anchor to prevent an active circle from interrupting the ley line’s connection.”

Bob hovered around the ring of copper, silver and iron braided together. I’d paid a svartalf a small fortune to install it into the floor of my lab, most of it compensation for the Fae having to work with iron. He was very careful to stay just outside the circle. “Sorry, boss,” he said after a minute. “I never bothered to check down here. Since your lab wasn’t part of the original castle, it’s not warded.”

“But this means all of the wards can be used repeatedly, right? Without having to recast them?”

“After they’ve been given time to recharge, sure.” He glanced at me. “Expecting trouble?”

I snorted. “Always. But after the little stunt I pulled with Marcone, It won’t take the blampires too long to figure out I was involved. Now that we’ve dealt with the wards, I think it’s time to bring the gargoyles to life.”

*

I leaned back in the chair, letting the last of my power flow into the gargoyle. I’d moved Leonardo from the hall into one of the back rooms I really hadn’t found a use for yet. It had a desk and chair, probably meant for an office, but I’d converted it into a gargoyle repair shop. While I could lift Leonardo’s nearly two hundred pounds, it made no sense to carry him either back to the roof or down to my lab when I intended to reanimate him; once that was done, he’d be able to use his wings for locomotion.

I found that since giving the gargoyle a name, my thinking changed from “it” to “him” even though the statue had no gender. Names have importance in my world.

“All right, let’s see if this worked.” I lightly touched fingertips to the sides of Leonardo’s face and opened my senses. The new power I’d tapped into coursed through the granite, searching for weak spots where I’d repaired him. There were a few chips I couldn’t patch; Leonardo had hit the floor hard after Will barreled into him, and several small pieces had broken off and ground to dust. But the rest of him seemed intact; even the hairline fractures running through his right wing were healed.

I opened my eyes and patted the gargoyle on the head. “Good as new. Now, let’s see about getting you up and about.” Pulling the notebook closer to read my blocky scribbled notes, I went over the new and improved spell that Bob, Bonea and I had been working on for the past week.

Slowing my breathing, I dropped into a light meditation, gathering the spell together in my thoughts. Shaped with will and infused with power, I placed a fingertip on Leonardo’s chest and released it with a soft breath. “Animatius vitus, Leonardo.” The spell flowed out through me and into the gargoyle’s core, weaving through itself to create a makeshift heart. It began to beat on its own, and Leonardo blinked at me.

“So, how do you feel?”

He cocked his head, tongue slithering along exposed teeth.

“Right. No vocal chords. Think you can follow me to the roof?” Leonardo nodded, launching himself upwards from the desk, wings flapping to gain altitude. I hastily moved out of the room, not wanting two hundred pounds of granite to smash me flat. Leonardo followed me out, wobbling as he corrected his trajectory and narrowly avoided a nasty collision with the doorframe.

I jogged down the hallway. “It’ll be easier if I let you out the front. Fly up to the roof, then sit and wait for me to arrive.” He shot out into the night as I opened the door just in time. “Bob! Get Bonea and meet me on the roof!” I shouted, taking the stairs two at a time.

The night sky was overcast, low clouds reflecting the city’s lights with a sickly orange glow. Leonardo was right where I told him to be, in the middle of the roof, crouched and waiting. Bob’s blue light was already there, as was Bonea’s shower of green sparks. Both kept below the wall that surrounded the roof so they weren’t easily seen by any neighbors who happened to peer out their windows.

“Looking good, boss,” Bob said, circling around Leonardo, Bonnie following in his wake.

“Your repairs were effective; the harmonics have stabilized,” Bonnie added. “I see no risk of implosion.”

“Wait right here,” I told Leonardo, heading over to the southwest corner. I brought Donatello to life with the same careful gathering of power and will, adding his name into the spell as I’d done for Leonardo. “Sit over there,” I told him, pointing to the first gargoyle. After a moment, Donatello spread his wings and lifted himself off his perch, flying drunkenly and landing with a thud. Leonardo gave him such a disgusted look that I choked down a laugh, turning it gracelessly into a bout of coughing.

I did the same for Raphael and Michelangelo, and soon I had four little gargoyles all in a row.

I staggered over to fall on my ass in front of them. Four spells of that complexity created that quickly had drained most of my energy. A nice nap in front of the fire sounded wonderful, but first I had to give my newly-made creations their orders.

“Harry?” Bob asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I assured him with a wave.

As I studied the four, I frowned. With a glance, I could tell the gargoyles apart as easily as if each was painted a distinctive neon shade, though physically they looked identical (except for the small chips missing from Leonardo). Adding in a name to each of the spells had changed them somehow, made them unique. I wondered what else it’d changed.

Part of the spell I’d crafted included the ability to sense hostile intent, either directed at me, anyone inside the castle, or the castle itself. It was easier than trying to teach the gargoyles an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge on supernatural beings, but I wouldn’t be able to test it out until someone who wanted me dead showed up. I put my money on the undead vampires.

“You four are the first line of defense for the castle. Anyone with hostile intent you have my permission to attack. For all others, observe but do not engage unless I tell you to. Got it?”

The gargoyles looked at each other, then back at me and nodded.

“Fly my pretties, fly!” At my command, all four took off, but only Leonardo’s flight was steady. The others needed a few minutes of practice, flapping and coasting in circles. Donatello and Michelangelo had a near-miss that had me holding my breath, but both changed direction before colliding in mid-air. As their movements smoothed out, light flakes of snow began to fall, and they started swooping through the air, creating dizzying spirals of white and gray.

I lay back on the roof, the snow falling around me, the gargoyles circling above me, and couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Despite being stone, they managed to convey happiness, even joy.

“I can’t believe you named them after turtles,” Bob grumbled, “and mutant ones at that. My suggestions were much better.”

“The important word you’re forgetting is ‘ninja,’ Bob. They’re ninja turtles.”

“But I - yikes!” he exclaimed as Leonardo dove towards him, hastily disappearing through the roof.

I gave Leonardo a thumb’s-up. “Good work. Never let Bob feel superior just because he’s a spirit of intellect.”

“Can I play with them?” Bonnie asked, her green sparks circling over my chest.

“Sure, just for a few minutes.” Let neighbors think aliens are landing on the roof.

Bonnie zoomed off after Donatello with a shriek of laughter, and the gargoyles took turns chasing her over the roof. At one point, I swore they were playing a game of tag.

Maggie would love this. I’d have to show her when she was home for Christmas.

*

Setting the gargoyles to their tasks and sending Bonea to bed, I headed downstairs wearily. But before I went into the living room, I steered myself to the front door where my duster hung on a wall hook. I reached into a pocket and pulled out the Apache tear gifted to me by the manitou that I’d completely forgotten about until now.

I stretched out on the couch and held it up to the fire. The flames were visible through the stone, distorted as they flickered. The faint magical tingling vibrated softly against my skin.

“Bob, what do you make of this?”

His blue ball of light descended from the ceiling, hovering a few inches from my hand. “It’s a rock.”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously. What about the magic inside?”

Bob came closer. “Magic? What magic? There’s nothing magical about it. It’s just a piece of obsidian.”

“Really?” I closed my eyes, concentrated on a spot between my eyebrows, and opened my Sight. He was right. The stone… looked like stone. I quickly closed the Sight again; staring too long through its lens tended to drive wizards insane. “Huh.” I fashioned a spell, barely a hint of one, and whispered, “Ventas reductas.” A trickle of wind blew across the stone’s surface; it didn’t react at all.

“What’s it supposed to do?” Bob asked.

“I have no idea. A manitou gave it to me.”

He jerked back. “Manitou? I thought they were dead.”

I closed my fingers around the stone. “Apparently not all of them.” I sighed, rubbed my eyes wearily. The magic I’d been expending left me exhausted, and I’d barely slept in the past several days. “Wake me if the gargoyles misbehave.” Never hurt to have someone keeping an eye on them, especially their first night on the job.

“You got it, boss.” Bob zoomed off, leaving me with only the light of the fire for company.

Lulled by the warmth, I fell asleep.

And dreamed.

A man with dark eyes, tanned skin and long black hair braided to his waist stood near the peak of a snow-capped mountain. His bare chest was covered by a breastplate fashioned from dozens of bones woven together with red thread. His only other clothing was a loincloth, his bare feet pounding in rhythm in the snow. In one hand he held a dark wooden spear taller than he was, tipped by an obsidian point, a handful of owl feathers tied to the shaft.

He held the spear aloft, shouting at the sky in a language I didn’t know, both fear and fury etched on his face.

And I could feel them coming.

Outsiders.

Their evil sweeping across the land like a plague, corrupting anything they touched, turning forests into wastelands, humans into piles of bleached bone. And the emptiness, hollow and gaping, terrified me. It terrified the man - the shaman, or wizard perhaps - who shouted again his defiance at the approaching blight.

As he whirled the spear around his head in a circle, he began a chant, varying in pitch and intensity. Power gathered to him, eddies of color in the wind that grew brighter and stronger the faster the spear circled.

The darkness was creeping up the mountain, an inexorable wave of things that defied explanation. Things that were the complete absence of light, things that shrieked in a cacophony of inhuman voices. Things that whispered of the destruction of everything. Things that laughed in exultation and promised agonizing death.

The chant reached a crescendo; the shaman took every scrap the power he’d gathered, forcing it into the obsidian blade. He plunged the spear’s tip into the ground beneath his feet as he screamed, releasing the power just as the Outsiders clamored over the ledge he stood upon.

A shockwave of heat and light, molten rock and ash, incinerated them. All of them.

The explosive eruption caused the mountain to collapse, leaving a crater behind thousands of feet deep and several miles wide. And far below, buried in the earth, a manitou fell into an exhausted sleep.

I jerked awake, the stone dropping from my hand.

Hell’s bells. A manitou’s memory of a time when Outsiders breached the gate. Had the shaman been Starborn?

The power a manitou was capable of… River Shoulders had mentioned the Mount St. Helens eruption, but that paled in comparison to what I’d just witnessed. Which, if my hunch was right, was the eruption of Mt. Mazama over seven thousand years ago. Crater Lake now filled the caldera it left behind.

The shaman’s power had been nothing but a conduit, a plea, a way to awaken the manitou. And while it had destroyed the Outsiders, it hadn’t closed the Outer Gates. Those stood in a place not entirely of our world, bridging our universe with another. Which meant someone else had closed them at the same time.

I’d never be able to replicate what he’d done, even if I wanted to. The goal was to keep the Outsiders from breaching the gate in the first place, not cause widespread destruction while trying to kill them. And I knew how hard they were to kill.

I picked the piece of obsidian up and closed my hand around it.

I would stop them before that distant memory became a reality.

*

“There’s someone at the door,” Bob said, interrupting my breakfast. I set the spoon back down in the bowl and picked up the blasting rod.

“Oh?”

“Rumpled suit, police badge, unfortunate haircut.”

Hell’s bells. “Probably Lieutenant Stallings,” I said with a sigh. “Guess someone really did call to report aliens landing on the roof.” I left my blasting rod where it was, donning my duster before opening the door.

“Lieutenant Stallings, what a surprise. Please, come in. What can I do for you?”

He entered the castle warily, eyes darting in every direction taking in the stone walls, stone floor, and the few tapestries I’d hung up. “Shouldn’t you have a suit of armor in the corner or something?”

“It’s out getting polished. Used it last night during the jousting tournament I held on the roof. Came in second, if you were wondering.”

He shot me a look. “Speaking of the roof, we had several calls of unusual lights seen over your, um, castle.”

“Oh, that? I threw a rave after the tournament.”

Stallings massaged his forehead a moment. “Look, I just need to see your roof, all right?”

I sighed, slipped my feet into my boots. “Okay, but it’s the maid’s day off.” I clomped up the stairs, shooting Bob a glare as he popped out through the wall in front of me. “Not now,” I hissed.

“What was that, Dresden?” Stallings asked.

“Nothing.”

The sky was still overcast. The ground had been too warm for the snow to stick, and the precipitation gradually turned to rain; water puddled in a few spots, though most of the roof had dried out.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Leonardo’s head swivel towards us, and I shook my head. Approximating a shrug, he turned back to stare out over the city.

“There’s nothing here,” Stallings said, walking to the edge and peering over the wall.

“What were you expecting?” I did my best to sound confused.

He sighed heavily after a moment. “I don’t know, Dresden. You are a self-proclaimed wizard, you’ve done things I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes, and there were reports of lights up here.”

I shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

Stallings paced back and forth, but eventually gave up trying to find anything suspicious. “This… this isn’t the only reason I came here. You’ve seen the article in the paper, the one about Charles Walker?”

I nodded. “Thought you looked good in the picture. Very authoritative.”

“What can you tell me about his death?”

“What makes you think I know anything? I thought he was a small-time drug lord. You ask John Marcone? I figure he’s got any number of reasons to have the guy killed.”

Stallings growled in frustration. “Christ, Dresden, I see why Murphy was always pissed at you.”

“What can I say? I’m a people person.” He glared at me, long enough for me to realize I wasn’t helping him by playing dumb. “Okay, look. The thing that killed Charles Walker is a vampire. Not just any vampire, but Drakul himself. Drop the case. File it under unsolved, or blame it on Marcone. You remember what that loup-garou did to the precinct? Drakul’s far more powerful, and he’s not alone.”

“Christ,” he muttered, then met my eyes for a brief moment, which was more than most dared. “You’ll take care of him if I back off?”

“That’s the plan.”

*

Since I’d made the reservations for our date, it was also my job to provide the transportation. So this time, instead of Lara picking me up in her Wraith, I was picking her up in my Munstermobile. Since I didn’t have a driver as she did, that left the driving to me. Not that I minded driving, but the black tuxedo I wore wasn’t all that comfortable to be sitting in for any length of time.

I was waved through the gate by a guard I recognized, one who obviously recognized me, or at least the car I was driving. I knew that I’d be monitored the entire way, by guards that patrolled the grounds, and by cameras Lara had installed once her father was no longer in a position to gainsay them.

Château Raith came into view, illuminated by expertly positioned lights that showed off its exterior while providing little cover for anyone to hide. I pulled up to the front and got out, ringing the doorbell politely as I wondered where Lara’s normal pair of guards were.

Lara opened the door with a sultry smile. Her pale skin was flawless, touched with just enough makeup that you’d believe she wasn’t wearing any at all, other than blood-red lips that matched the color of her nails. Her long black hair was up in a complicated knot, beads of crystal deftly woven into the strands that sparkled in the fading sun. She wore an ankle-length mink coat, leaving exposed only a few inches of an antique gold hem and black heels that added to her height.

“You look breathtaking,” I blurted out and meant it, imagination giving form to the curves hidden beneath that coat.

Her smile grew. “And you are quite handsome this evening,” she replied, eyes roaming over me. It was the look on her face that made my heart pound faster, coy and approving with just the right hint of shyness, eyes downcast behind thick lashes. A look perfected by centuries of practice, I was sure, designed to melt any man’s heart, make him believe he was the only one who’d ever received such a look from her.

Even knowing that didn’t stop my reaction. I wanted to both protect her from the world and ravage her naked body as it lay spread-eagled on the hood of my car.

I did neither.

I offered her my arm. She slipped one hand into the crook of it, letting me escort her the ten steps to the car where I opened the door for her. Once seated, I closed it and walked around the back to the driver’s side.

Dresden, you are in so much trouble.

The Munstermobile had a bench seat, which by necessity was installed as far back as it would go. It also wasn’t adjustable. That meant any passengers sat a good distance away from the dash, and seeing Lara there reminded me of Murphy. She was so short her legs barely reached the floor, and the image made me briefly smile. Lara was a good deal taller, and fit quite comfortably next to me.

The silence was anything but comfortable as we left the Raith manor behind. A few minutes later, we rounded a corner - that corner - and I clenched my jaw. It was here I’d been stopped by four Wardens blocking the road, only to have Yoshimo pry into my sex life. But the anger quickly gave way to grief as I remembered three of those four Wardens - my friends - were dead.

“What is wrong?” Lara asked, her gaze flicking to my face. She’d obviously sensed the conflicting emotions.

“Just an unpleasant memory,” I said, unwilling to divulge the details.

I felt her eyes on me for a minute; it was difficult to not feel the sexual tension she exuded with every breath. “I have to confess, I am curious as to where we are going. You were very circumspect over the phone.”

At that, I smiled. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”

She gasped in mock horror. “Mr. Dresden. I had no idea you were capable of such subterfuge.”

“One of my many hidden talents.”

“I look forward to seeing a few more,” she purred in a low voice.

It took all my willpower not to jerk the car to the side of the road and rip off her mink coat just to see what lay underneath. And then rip that off as well. I swallowed a few times and steadied myself. “The night’s still young.”

Lara laughed, reeling in the come-hither saturating the car’s interior until I could breathe again. “That it is, Mr. Dresden.”

*

I left the Munstermobile in the capable, if slightly awed, hands of the valet as I surrendered the keys. I had to admit, its dark blue and electric purple paint job was not for the faint of heart.

Offering my arm to Lara, I opened the door and escorted her inside the restaurant.

The interior of To The Nines had been pleasant enough during the day. At night, it turned into something straight out of old-style glamour from 1930s Hollywood. Rich velvet crimson drapes provided the backdrop to the dark, warm wood tables and upholstered chairs. Chandeliers offered a low ambient glow as the light reflected through crystal, though a glass-enclosed candle graced the top of each table.

The same man I’d made the reservation with stood at the hostess’ podium. “Ah, Mr. Dresden,” he said, greeting me with a warm smile. He took Lara’s proffered hand and bowed over it. “Madam, would you allow me to take your coat?”

“Of course.” She turned her back to me in clear invitation. I helped her out of the fur and handed it to a woman who materialized out of thin air. But I was unable to take my eyes off Lara’s antique gold dress that clung to her body, showing off every graceful curve to expert effect. It was covered in crystal beadwork, and quite modest compared to other outfits I’d seen her in, with wrist-length sleeves, a high neck, and a hem that just brushed the tops of her black heels. A hidden slit ran up the left side of her dress, stopping at mid-thigh; it was only visible when she turned, flashing a long, flawless length of leg.

I wasn’t the only one staring. A number of diners seated near the entrance were fixated on Lara, and she glowed faintly from the attention, a hint of silver in her eyes.

“Harry, you’re drooling,” she said in an amused, playful tone.

Was I? I ducked my head and quickly checked with a surreptitious wipe of the hand. Lara had been teasing me, and as I caught her eye, she winked.

Trouble, with a capital T.

“Please, Mr. Dresden, right this way.” The hostess waved us forward. Lara followed her, and I followed Lara, noting that as she passed, tables grew silent. Eyes watched her hungrily. More than one man shifted in his seat. More than one woman, too.

A good-looking man in a dark gray suit caught Lara’s eye, waving her over with enthusiasm. In his mid-forties I guessed, though he’d paid a lot of money to appear younger. Not a trace of silver was to be found in his neatly trimmed black hair, the wrinkles smoothed from his tanned face.

“Mr. Strickland, what a pleasure.” Lara extended her hand, and he rose from his chair to kiss the back of it. The two men he was with remained seated.

“Ms. Raith, the pleasure is mine,” he responded, his smile perfect with perfectly white teeth. “May I introduce you to Victor Halford and Rashid Al-Amir, two of my co-conspirators,” he added.

Lara nodded to them both. “Gentlemen. Mr. Strickland -“

“Gary,” he interrupted, flashing that smile again, his hand lingering on hers.

“Gary.” Her smile put his to shame. “Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I have not heard back from your office.”

He clucked his tongue. “Anita was supposed to confirm with you today. I’ll have to have a talk with her.”

I felt a tug in my gut as Lara’s Hunger surrounded her with subtle sexual energy. “I look forward to tomorrow. Please, enjoy your dinner.” She turned gracefully and walked away, leaving the men staring after her with lust-filled eyes. It was hard to suppress the anger and sudden urge to punch all three in the jaw, the way they shamelessly ogled her.

Not that I’d ever done that.

I hid a smug smile as one of the cell phones on the table sparked, a thin haze of smoke leaking from its case. Strickland turned the phone over in dismay; it’d left the table blackened.

Wizard one, jackass zero.

The corner of Lara’s mouth twitched at the scene, then she slid her hand around my arm and pulled me closer. “Gary Strickland. He’s the House Majority Leader,” Lara murmured as we followed the hostess to our table. I held out her chair for her, earning a smile as Lara took her seat. “You are rather charming, Mr. Dresden, when it suits you. Not many men still believe in chivalry.”

I took the seat next to her, the table small enough that our elbows brushed, thanking the hostess as she handed us the menus. “Guess I’m just old-fashioned.”

She laughed, her eyes flicking back to Gary. I followed her gaze, gritting my teeth at his look of possessiveness, and jealously flared up unexpectedly. Lara placed her hand over mine, caressing the burn scars absently. “There are a number of measures currently being debated in the State Legislature I have an interest in. Our meeting tomorrow will hopefully sway him in my favor.” Then she turned her face towards me, the faintest hint of silver in her eyes. “It is merely business. You have no cause to be jealous.”

I jerked my hand away. “I’m not jealous,” I snapped, trying to convince myself of the lie. But I missed the warmth of her touch.

Lara watched me a moment longer. She could pick up on strong emotion and knew I was lying, yet she said nothing as she looked down at her menu. I did the same, pretending my face wasn’t flushed with embarrassment.

Jealousy? Really? She’s a vampire.

By the time we ordered, the emotion had faded, and I tried to relax. We hadn’t had a lot of time for the “getting to know you” kind of talk on our other dates, thanks to the zombies, vampires, Fae and gunfire. But here, we had no such distractions. At first, I dreaded the awkwardness, but Lara expertly steered the conversation into tales of her visits to Hollywood during the golden age of the ‘30s and ‘40s, obviously inspired by the restaurant’s decor.

In turn, I told her of a few of my early cases. Chasing after a hecatean hag in the zoo, tracking down a black magic practitioner at a private school, changelings being left in place of children, a troll under a bridge.

We had a surprisingly enjoyable time, nary a monster to be seen (other than the one I was sitting next to, who was at least pleasing to look at). Before I knew it, our food was gone and we were being ushered towards the lounge and to a small, intimate booth. There were several musicians, but it was the singer that stole the show, her whiskey-tinged voice pulling at my gut.

She reminded me of Jessica Rabbit, both in looks and voice, and perhaps that was the idea. Where Lara’s curves were perfectly proportioned, the singer’s were exaggerated, a larger chest and wider hips to go with a smaller waist accentuated by the strapless black evening gown she wore. Brown hair with golden highlights curled thick over her shoulders.

The strength of the emotions she conveyed during her first number was enough to bring tears to my eyes. I blinked them away and shot a glance at Lara; her own eyes were sheened with silver, her lips slightly parted as she stared at the woman. As Hunger stared out through Lara’s eyes, lusting after who it saw.

She managed to bring herself back under control after the first two songs, which greatly reduced the sexual tension in the room. Or at least in me. I’d nearly had to excuse myself in search of self-gratification just to lessen the Mantle’s incessant pounding in my blood.

Studying my flushed face, Lara signaled the server and ordered us each a drink; a Moscow Mule for me, a Bellini for her. Instead of gulping down the alcohol as I wanted to do, I forced myself to sip slowly from the straw placed in the copper mug. It’d been chilled, and beads of sweat dribbled over my fingers as it warmed.

“I am sorry, Harry. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable,” she whispered in my ear. It had the opposite effect, but I fought temptation down with another swallow or two (or maybe five) of my drink.

I gave her a faint smile. “You are what you are, Lara.”

Her lips twisted attractively. “Yes, well. It is a breach of etiquette to forget what I am in such a public setting, especially while on a date.” She patted my thigh.

I smiled through gritted teeth and downed another mouthful of vodka.

*

We stayed for an hour. Though I declined a second drink, Lara indulged in two martinis, each time making a show of working the olives off their bamboo skewer. I tried hard not to think of where else I wanted those lips to be, what else I wanted that tongue to be doing. Despite my body’s reaction to her, I still managed to enjoy both the music and the company.

It’d been a long time since I’d been on anything approximating a normal date, and it kept a faint smile on my lips as I drove us back to Raith Manor.

“Does your radio work?” Lara asked, gesturing to it.

I shrugged. “I haven’t tried it. With me in the car, it’s a crapshoot as to whether it will or won’t.”

Undeterred, she switched it on; because of the car’s age, it only had the AM band. Lara used the tuner to search for something besides static. To my surprise, she managed to find a station playing vintage classics. Some songs were instrumentals, others with vocals. And then in the biggest surprise of the night, Lara began to sing along softly in a lovely contralto.

A vampire, centuries old, dreaming a little dream of me.

Sometimes, even a monster can surprise you.

Lara turned off the radio as we pulled up to the gated entry leading to her home. The guard recognized the car and passenger immediately, waving us through as it opened. I followed the driveway through a forest of old-world trees, giving the impression we were moving backwards in time. The manor, too, appeared as something out of a fairy tale, a Medieval castle with fake turrets and multiple wings. In that, it looked like more of a castle than my actual castle did.

I pulled up to the front door and shut off the engine, then got out to open Lara’s door and offered her a hand. When she took it, the sexual tension between us pulled taut, sharpened to a razor’s edge. I found it difficult to breathe. All I could see was her. All I wanted… was her. But I’d dealt with this before, and pushed aside the images the Mantle shoved in my face.

She tugged my head down to kiss me chastely on the cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Harry Dresden.”

Then she stepped back just out of reach, eyes a luminous silver in the moonlight gazing up at me. She did nothing to coerce me; no flicker of her come-hither tugged at my gut, no promises made by a wicked smile, no casual glimpses of the curves hidden under her coat.

Lara Raith merely stood there, waiting patiently. Letting me choose freely.

And I chose.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 16 of The Dresden Addendum