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I walked in to find Maggie staring at her closet. “I don’t know what to wear,” she said, turning to me in tears.
I knelt and took her into my arms. “Pick whatever feels right to you. Your mom loves you regardless, Maggie,” I said quietly, kissing her forehead. “I’m going in my usual clothes, if that helps.”
She looked down at her outfit, a pretty turquoise and white floral blouse and jeans, sniffled, then wiped the tears away. “Yeah, okay. I’m ready to go.”
Mouse offered me a paw. “Looks like Mouse is, too.”
We climbed up to the roof, where the gargoyles were currently pretending to be gargoyles, each positioned on their perch overlooking their corner of the castle.
“You remember what I said?” I asked Maggie.
“Be polite. Offer every courtesy. Don’t agree to anything, because words have power and that’s how you got into this damn mess,” she replied promptly.
I choked a little. I hadn’t meant her to hear that last part. “Ready?” I held out my hand, and her fingers wrapped around it tightly.
“Ready.”
I closed my eyes, focusing on the energies surrounding us, where roof met sky, pulling it in slowly as I gathered my will. Then I spoke. “I beseech thee, godmother, hear me and answer. The Leanansidhe, whose beauty makes the stars weep with envy, I prithee come forth and speak with me.” Never hurt to add a little flattery to the request, and one thing I knew about Lea, she loved flattery.
“It has been some time since last we spoke, godson,” a lovely dulcet voice said behind us. The Leanansidhe’s sculpted face and flawless skin was bathed in the morning sun’s glow, her red-gold curls spilling down to her waist highlighted in fire. Feline eyes a bright emerald regarded me with amusement. Today, she wore a cape of deep violet over a long dress the color of starlight, and her feet were bare.
I inclined my head to her, catching Maggie out of the corner of my eye doing the same.
Good girl.
“It has, godmother. You told me you would take me to Susan Rodriguez’s final place of rest, when I desired it. I would ask this of you now, for myself and for the daughter we share.”
Lea’s eyes regarded Maggie for a long moment. While she didn’t quite meet my godmother’s gaze, she didn’t look away, either; merely stood there without flinching or fidgeting. “Be this thine own wish, Margaret Angelica Dresden?”
“Yes, my lady,” she replied.
“Why?” Such a large question in such a small word.
Maggie bit her lip, looked up at me, then back at Lea. “I never got to say goodbye,” she said softly.
Now it was my godmother who inclined her head. “Then come. I will take thee to her.“
“Mouse, too?” Maggie asked, and Mouse wagged his tail hopefully.
“Of course thy Guardian is welcome. Move closer to me, child.” We did, and there was a sudden shift in the air, as if the fabric of the universe bent back on itself, then straightened.
And we were no longer in Chicago.
We were surrounded by a warm summer breeze, the sounds of insects and distant birdsong, in a field of wildflowers, purple and white interspersed with patches of clover and vivid green grass. Before us, in the shade of an enormous, gnarled beech tree was a simple granite headstone. It read, Susan Rodriguez. Faith, hope, courage. But most of all, love. As Lea promised, it was an epitaph I might have written, had I been thinking clearly. Or thinking at all. A picture of Susan was embedded in the stone, the same smiling headshot she used when writing for The Midwestern Arcane.
“What should I tell her?” Maggie asked uncertainly.
I smiled and squeezed her hand gently. “Anything. Everything. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right over there, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” She sat down next to the headstone and Mouse put his head in her lap, tail wagging a few times. When I heard her start to speak, I moved just out of earshot.
“Thank you, godmother. It’s beautiful here.”
Lea’s eyes shone. “Did I not promise thee?”
“You have fulfilled that promise, and more.” I glanced at Maggie. “We shared a soulgaze, not too long ago. She saw Susan’s death through my eyes, felt everything I did.” I blinked a few times to banish my suddenly blurred vision. “And Maggie’s right. She never got to say goodbye.”
My godmother put her hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t gentle, not from Winter’s handmaiden. “Thou wast quite clever, pointing out Martin’s duplicity in order to infuriate Susan. Upon killing him, she transformed into the newest member of the Red Court, providing the curse a new bloodline to follow.” She studied my expression. “I was impressed, child. I never thought thou wouldst trick, then murder, the woman thou professed to love.” Her eyes flicked to Maggie. “The woman thou sharest a child with.”
Too many emotions boiled up, all of them useless. I managed to keep my voice bland, despite the turmoil inside. “Sometimes there are no good choices, godmother. Only ones you can live with.“
Lea blinked. “Genocide seems beneath thee.”
“The Red Court deserved no mercy from me,” I replied. Then I gestured to the land around us. “This isn’t your handiwork.”
She smiled, a slow, seductive, cat-like smile. Nations have gone to war over that smile. “I claimed a favor owed. A dryad tends this grove on my behalf.”
We waited in silence until Maggie finally stood, brushed herself off, and walked over to us. She kept one hand fisted in Mouse’s fur, and as she drew near, I saw her red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks.
“You all right, punkin?”
She nodded, sniffling. “Yeah.” Then she looked up at Lea. “If you’re my dad’s fairy godmother, are you mine, too?”
My heart leapt into my throat. The Leanansidhe, thanks to Mab, no longer held any claim over me or my future. I wanted to keep Maggie as far from her as I could.
Considering where we were and who had brought us, the irony wasn’t lost on me.
“I agreed to protect Margaret LeFay Dresden’s child. That protection dost not encompass thee, unless -“ she shot me a sly look “- thy father makes a similar bargain regarding thy care.”
“No,” I said, my mouth answering before my brain could consider the offer. Because it was worth considering. As the Winter Knight, I was entitled to certain promises made by the Queen, but those my godmother offered were both more powerful, and more personal. Provided I had anything left worth bargaining.
Lea threw back her head and laughed, a beautiful peal of bells. “Ah, godson. Should thou changest thy mind, thou needst only speak my name.” Then she looked down at Maggie. “Come, child. Let us leave thy father his privacy.” She offered her hand, and after a quick glance to me to make sure it was okay, Maggie took it. Lea led them away, but not so far that they were lost in the wildflowers.
I walked to the beech tree and sat in front of Susan’s headstone, tracing the line of her face with my fingertips. Then I sighed and leaned forward until my forehead rested against the sun-warmed stone. I started to speak, stopped, and swallowed a few times before trying again.
“I love you,” I said quietly. “I’ll always love you. But… God, Susan, I am still so angry with you. You didn’t tell me about Maggie until it was almost too late. I can’t ever forgive you for that, no matter how much I understand it. You might have been right, but you were also wrong.“
I drew in a long, slow breath. “I found her a great school in Chicago. She’s happy, she’s made friends, and she has Mouse. And guess what?” I let out a small laugh. “Turns out she’s a wizard. I wish you could see her, Susan. She’s so much like you. She’s going to grow into a beautiful, amazing woman. You know she tracked down that photo of you holding her just after she was born? Gave it to me as a Christmas present.”
There was more, so much more I could say. That I wanted to say. But Susan already knew my heart, and she had sacrificed everything to keep our daughter safe. My throat tightened, and I pressed my hand flat to the headstone. “I miss you. We’ll try to come back more often, all right? Until then, watch over Maggie, wherever you might be.”
Then I stood and walked back to my daughter, albeit slowly. It gave me time enough to pack away the emotions that’d spilled out and left blood on my hands. Blood that, like the stains on Lady Macbeth’s hands, would never wash out.
“You ready to go?” I asked Maggie, who nodded. “Godmother, might I call upon thee again to convey us here?” I asked.
Lea smiled and caressed my cheek with one pale, perfect hand. “Of course, child. Let it not be so long when next we speak.” Desire stirred within me, amplified tenfold by the Winter Mantle; say what you want of Lea, but she is still one of the most gorgeous, deadly, terrifying creatures I have ever seen. She knew her effect on me, and made sure I knew how much she enjoyed the game.
Then Maggie and I were alone, back on the roof of my castle, the sensations her touch elicited lingering on my skin. Judging by the sun, we’d been gone several hours.
“Dad?”
I looked down at my daughter, whose hand still clung tightly to mine. “What is it, punkin?”
“I…” she trailed off, struggling for words.
I crouched next to her. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?” She nodded, relief evident on her face. “It feels too big and maybe not enough all at the same time. It never gets easy, Maggie, but I promise you it does get easier. We can go see her whenever you want, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“You know what might help? A sundae. You up for a sundae?”
Maggie’s eyes grew wide, then she nodded.
“Sundaes it is,” I declared. “Hail to the king, baby.” I never tire of that joke, even if I’m the only one who still finds it funny.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I hugged her tight. “Always, punkin.”
*
Maggie arranged a sleep-over with two of her friends from school, Claudia and Naomi. Both lived within a few hours’ drive of Chicago, and their parents seemed almost relieved to get the girls out of their house and into mine, if only for a couple of days.
I’d never been to a sleep-over growing up. It seemed a rite of passage for teens and pre-teens alike, but my childhood hadn’t been close to anything you’d consider normal. The totality of my experience came from movies and TV, but like anything else you see on the screen, reality can be quite different.
And so, the day after we visited Susan’s grave, I had three teenaged girls living in the castle, shrieking and giggling and forcing Bob to project an endless parade of movies on the living room wall. Maggie, ever-conscious of Bob’s “secret” status, told the girls that we lived in a smart house whose computer brain went by the name of Bob. This apparently was a plausible story, and I think Bob actually enjoyed being able to show off and offer snarky commentary as part of his new-found role.
While I was useful as the provider of food, mostly I tried to stay out of their way, but made sure Mouse, Bob and a few members of Za Lord’s army kept an eye on the three. I never knew how exhausting it was just being around three girls this age; their energy seemed unlimited. I wondered how Michael and Charity managed it.
We were on day two when Irwin Pounder knocked on my door.
“Irwin, come in!” I said, delighted to see him. “How have you been?”
He carefully ducked his big frame through the front door. Several inches taller and a good deal wider than I was, he straightened once inside and offered me a smile. “Hey, Harry. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s Maggie’s summer vacation going?”
Just then, joyous screams and shrieks echoed through the massive living room next to us. Mouse shot out through the doorway, a stuffed toy in his mouth, tongue lolling through a gap in his jaws, and I could swear he had the largest grin I’d ever seen on a dog. He raced upstairs, followed by three girls who nearly barreled into me in their haste to chase him. I just managed to dodge and spin, and they pounded up the stairs.
“I command thee halt, knave!” Maggie yelled in between giggles.
“I’ll get him!” shouted Claudia, waving her “wand” (a drumstick she’d brought for no real reason I could fathom) and yelled, “Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt!” I had to bite down on a laugh at how earnest she was.
And then they disappeared down the lengthy hall, where I could still hear muted sounds of mock-battle coming from the gym.
Irwin grinned at me. “Seems like you have your hands full.”
I smiled ruefully. “For the moment. Maggie’s first sleep-over. Well, first one I’ve supervised, at least.”
“What are they doing?”
I shrugged. “Saving Toby from the Goblin King before the clock strikes midnight? Storming the castle to rescue Buttercup? I actually have no idea.”
The big man’s eyes sparkled as they looked back up to where the girls had gone, and the expression on his face… that I recognized.
“Congratulations,” I told him. “You and Connie will be great parents.” I knew the couple wanted kids, and was truly happy for them.
He paled a bit. “How did you…”
I scoffed. “I am a private investigator, you know.”
“I have more reason to know than most,” he replied, laughing. His booming laugh was a scaled-down version of his father’s. “We found out a few weeks ago, and we are over the moon.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, like I said, congratulations.”
“Thanks. But, uh…” he shifted, looking uncomfortable. “That’s not the reason I stopped by. Well, not the only reason.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh?” When he didn’t reply, I gestured to the living room. “Come on.” He followed me to the grouping of couches I had surrounding the fireplace I claimed as my own, sitting on one while I took the one adjacent to him.
“So, what’s up?”
Irwin looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “It’s about Connie,” he said after a moment, the topic obviously one he was reluctant to discuss. “She’s a White Court vampire, and, well… there’s a lot of risk with her having a child.”
While I didn’t interrupt his halting words, my stomach sank as I guessed at why he was here.
“Connie spoke with Lara Raith; Lara said you might be able to help, when the, uh… the time comes.” When he looked up, his eyes were filled with unshed tears reflecting the firelight. “She said you helped out another woman in the same situation. And I don’t want to lose Connie.” A single tear slipped out and down his cheek. “I couldn’t bear it.”
I inwardly sighed. Harry Dresden, doula to the vampires.
But I understood his fear all too well. I’d seen it amplified on my brother’s face. Women who bear a White Court child have a fifty percent mortality rate, due to the baby’s Hunger feeding exclusively off its mother’s life force for nine long months.
“Of course I’ll do whatever I can,” I said. “I can’t promise anything, but I will try. The other woman was human, so it may not work the same way. And if we’re fortunate, it won’t even be necessary. But I’ll be there. Just keep in mind you won’t be able to use a hospital for the birth. There’s too much equipment I could break and too many people who could get hurt as a result to make that a viable choice.”
His face radiated hope and thanks as he nodded. “I’ll let Connie know. There’s a birthing center in Palatine she was looking into that might work.”
Surprisingly, I knew the location. Karli McPherson, a practitioner with a bit of power, ran the center. She didn’t have enough to qualify for the White Council, but she could manipulate energies in the body to aid in healing much like Elaine had done to me once. Reiki, Elaine called it, “good for bruises, sprains and bumps on the head.” In fact, Elaine taught Karli many of the techniques she currently used the last time she’d been in town.
I squelched the ache of grief as Elaine’s face blazed in my mind’s eye. It was second-nature, and had been for a long, long time. Didn’t mean it hurt any less.
“I would absolutely recommend Mrs. McPherson, if it matters in your decision.”
Irwin grinned. “Of course it matters, Harry.” He stood and offered his hand. I shook it. “I guess I’ll see you in two weeks.” I looked at him blankly for a moment. “Connie’s invited to the wedding. I’m going as her plus one.”
“Oh. Yeah, guess so.”
Irwin narrowed his eyes at the resignation in my voice. “If you don’t want to go through with it, then don’t.”
His matter-of-fact tone made me chuckle. “Sometimes doing what you don’t want to is the best choice you can make. The consequences of not going through with it would be much worse.” I cast a significant glance towards where my daughter was.
“Ah,” Irwin said, understanding. “Well… for what it’s worth, I think it’s a load of horse shit.”
My mind conjured an image of the wedding where every guest - Mab included - was covered in horse shit, and I had to wonder if the Za Lord’s army under Toot’s command could be convinced to dump bags of manure during the ceremony. The idea had me laughing. “You’re right about that.”
Irwin clapped me on the shoulder, nearly sending me sprawling. “Take care, Harry. Bye, girls!” he shouted up the stairs.
“Bye, Mr. Pounder!” they chorused, just loud enough to be heard. Then it was another round of shrieking as Mouse barked excitedly.
Irwin looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Good luck. You have your work cut out for you.”
*
At this point, you might be wondering what happened with Cowl’s remains.
The answer, it turns out, is nothing.
The week between Michael’s death and his funeral was time I could barely recall. With Maggie, Mouse and Clementine staying with Charity and her family, I had no real reason to keep myself together. Oh, sure, my brother stuck around, but he didn’t need me to take care of him. In fact, it was mostly the other way around.
What few images I can recall are me on the roof, staring into the distance.
Thomas offered me food, told me when I should sleep and shower, though I have no real memories of him doing so.
All of which meant I was in no shape for research or lab work of any kind. I left the glass vial of black stone on my workbench in the subbasement, told Bob and Bonnie to see what they could figure out, and hadn’t been back until now.
“So you’re telling me there is nothing extraordinary about this stone,” I said, holding the vial up to candlelight.
“I’m telling you we can’t determine anything other than its composition if you don’t open it,” Bob replied with a sniff.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I rummaged through a bin, pulled out a bamboo cutting board and set it on my workbench. Then I opened the vial and carefully tapped out a small pile of its contents. It was only a few seconds later that I felt traces of magic, faint and familiar.
“Oh,” Bob said, eyelights focused on Cowl’s remains. He blinked a few times, and Bonnie’s skull moved closer for a better look.
“What?”
“It’s moving,” Bonnie offered.
“What?” I jerked my hand away, then bent down to examine it.
“Not the stone. The magic,” Bob said, chuckling.
I closed my eyes, concentrated a moment, then opened my Sight. The magic was indeed moving, a slow, sinuous thread of it coiling around and through the stone. Its colors shifted from green to violet to black and back again.
“Hell’s bells, the spell is still active. It should have fallen apart by now.” I studied it for a few more seconds before shutting the Sight away.
“Whatever this is, it’s been reinforced several times,” Bob replied. “Probably explains its resilience.”
Bonnie’s green shimmer of sparks lifted from her skull and swirled around the stone. “But it is fraying in places,” she said at last. “I believe this spell was first wrought several hundred years ago.”
“Could a golem be made from a human skeleton?” I asked them.
Bob blinked. “Oh, sure, but why would you want to? Bones are easily broken, not to mention flammable. Stone’s much better for that kind of work.”
“What about using a skeleton as a base, then encasing it in another substance? Resin, or even concrete?”
Bob rolled his eyelights. “Again, what would be the point?”
I sighed and scratched my chin. “I don’t know. It probably doesn’t even matter any more. The Golem of Prague indeed,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“What did you say?” Bob asked.
“The Golem of Prague,” I repeated. “Something Thomas said. But the White Council destroyed it.”
Bob began to chortle. “Is that the official story? No, the White Council didn’t destroy it. The White Council never found it. In certain circles it’s quite the topic of debate, wondering if the golem even existed.”
I blinked at him. “What? Something was definitely killing people in Prague.”
“Well, yes, but not necessarily a golem. Some think it was a warlock gone mad, and the golem story was created to cover the whole thing up.” His eyelights brightened. “I’ll need some time to study the spell. Or spells, I should say. It’s definitely necromancy of some sort, but parts of it are similar to the golem animation spell you used on the gargoyles. This is going to be fun.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. Fun. Is it safe to leave it out like this?”
“Oh, sure. It’s attached to the obsidian fragments, and the spear you used on him broke apart the spell’s overall cohesiveness, leaving only remnants behind. It’s not like it’s going to get up and walk out, and besides, your lab is warded, right?” Bob turned to face me. “So’s the castle. Nothing to fear.”
“Underdog is here,” I muttered. “Famous last words.” Then… a bolt of panic struck. The knife. Where was the knife? I couldn’t remember what I’d done with it after shoving it back into my duster’s pocket. Was it still upstairs? With Maggie?
“You all right, Harry? You’re hyperventilating.”
“What happened to the knife?” I managed to ask.
Bob frowned. “I assume it’s back on the island. You asked Thomas to take it there.”
“I… did?”
He peered at me in concern. “You don’t remember?”
“I, uh… wasn’t myself, I guess. You’re sure that’s what I said?”
“‘Take this back to Demonreach,’” Bob said, mimicking my voice with uncanny accuracy. “‘Toss it onto the island from the Water Beetle and tell Alfred that the Warden of Demonreach asks him to secure it in the armory.’ After that,” he continued in his normal voice, “Thomas left for a few hours, so I assume that’s what he did.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Oh.”
Bob’s eyelights dimmed, his concentration drawn elsewhere. Then he said, “You’ve got a phone call, boss.”
“Now? Dammit.” I grumbled as I climbed the stairs and extinguished the candles. Once topside, I could hear the shrill ringing, and hurried to close, ward, and conceal the trap door under a pile of colorful rugs. Then I ran upstairs into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “Dresden.”
“Mr. Dresden? Ms. Raith would like you to meet her tonight to discuss a business proposal,” said a young woman, not a voice I recognized but clearly one of Lara’s numerous secretaries.
“And she can’t be bothered to call me herself?” I snapped, anger getting the better of me.
The secretary was unfazed by my tone. She’d probably heard a lot worse in her time working for the Raiths. “Ms. Raith wanted this meeting arranged as discreetly as possible.” Meaning she wanted nothing concrete to link her back to this call.
I should have said no. I really wanted to tell her exactly what she could do with herself, but this wasn’t Lara I was speaking to. And as usual, my curiosity was piqued. Two weeks before the wedding, what could Lara possibly want? If nothing else, it would give me an excuse to listen to her proposal, and then refuse it. In fact, watching her expression as she realized she no longer had the power to control me would be highly entertaining.
“When and where?”
*
The address led me to a downtown high-rise, and staring at the lobby through the building’s glass doors told me I was in the wrong place. Sure enough, walking towards the corner my wizard senses picked up chaotic swirls of energy, rather than the placid streams I’d expect in this area at this time of night. Continuing around the side led to an alley where the faint thud thud of bass echoed through its deserted corridor.
An incongruous red glow shone near a service entrance, the stairs leading down a good twenty feet or more before spilling out into a small vestibule. From this side, the steel door had no handle or knob, just a keyhole presumably to a deadbolt inside. The music - and I use that term loosely - was much louder here, though still quite muffled. It gave me some idea of how quickly I’d end up deaf once inside. The lurid incandescence was an ‘O’ shape crafted from red neon, hastily hung from a utility pipe running along the stairwell.
Club Zero. The club where the very rich and extraordinarily beautiful could indulge in just about any desire, be it drugs, sex, booze, a combination of the three, or cravings that went much, much darker. The club owned and frequented by the White Court.
Hell’s bells, why here? Why would Lara want to meet me here? The first (and only) time I’d been to Zero, I watched Madeline Raith bring a man to orgasm with a kiss before being beaten and pinned to the table by Thomas because she dared threaten Justine.
As instructed, I rapped on the metal door thrice with my staff. Nothing happened. My already-stretched patience ran out, and I was just heading back up the stairs when I heard a key turn in the lock, sliding the deadbolt free.
When the door opened, the muffled music turned into a jet engine of noise. The only thing I could distinguish was the bass, and that only because it rattled my bones. The man in the doorway was young, handsome, and the black suit he wore tailored in such a way that every muscle he owned (and there were a considerable number) was on display. As was the gun in the shoulder holster under his jacket.
“Dresden?” he asked. Yelled, actually.
“See any other NBA-sized wizards around here?” I shot back.
Muscles gave me a hard stare, letting me know what he thought of my attempt at humor. “This way.”
He led me through a dark, narrow corridor, past several closed doors, until we emerged through a curtain on a stage above the main dance floor. Muscles tapped me on the shoulder, then pointed to a set of metal stairs leading to a catwalk. I nodded in acknowledgement and he ducked through the curtain, leaving me alone. Surprisingly, he’d also left me both staff and blasting rod; I assumed they’d be confiscated as weapons, but Lara must have left instructions not to bother. Last time, entering as Thomas’ guest, the bouncers hadn’t dared try.
From the stage I had a decent vantage point over the entire club. A large, open dance floor took up two-thirds of the main room, a few scattered metal beams supporting the ceiling above. At the far end was a platform attached to the concrete wall, accessible only by retractable ladder. Judging by the equipment and the lights, the person wearing a plethora of LED necklaces and a pair of large yellow headphones was the DJ for tonight.
The other third of the room had couches, tables, and chairs creating spaces for people to lounge, drink, talk, or… I averted my eyes from that particular chaise and turned my attention back to the stairs Muscles indicated, climbing with one hand on the railing for support, the other gripping my staff.
In this incarnation of Zero, the stairs were empty, as was the catwalk leading to the platform I assumed was my destination. The platform contained two couches in a rich, crimson velvet, with a long black table placed beside them. On that table were several candles, giving the space an intimate, warm glow. Seemed like a huge fire hazard in a place like this; narrow halls and few exits would turn it quickly into a death trap.
I walked over for a better look, realizing as I did they weren’t candles. They were pixies, trapped inside glass lanterns. Three of them, sitting dejectedly on the floors of their respective prisons, each glowing like a tiny living flame.
Oh, no. Not in my city.
The upper portion of glass was secured to the base by screws, assuring the trapped pixie wouldn’t be freed accidentally even if tipped over. I sat on the closer couch, brought one into my lap, and twisted the screws with my fingers. My fingers are rather large, the screws small, so it took a bit before I could get them loose enough to remove the glass.
The little pixie flashed brightly twice, then sped off. I freed the other two, who expressed similar thanks, then carefully shattered all three lanterns with a whispered word of power and a slight effort of will. I left the broken glass on the table.
“I heard you were a champion of lost causes,” a sultry voice said, accompanied by a laugh. With the noise, I hadn’t heard her approach. It got me on my feet in a hurry, but it wasn’t Lara I faced.
“Well, well. Harry Dresden, Winter Knight. I thought you’d be…” the woman trailed off, tapping a finger on her chin. Her long nails were painted in a dark polish that glittered with gold.
“Taller?” I offered.
Her throaty laugh caused shivers to race down my spine. “And amusing. She never mentioned that.”
“And you are?”
The woman pretended to be shocked. “Oh, where are my manners? I am Seraphine Raith, a cousin of Lara’s.” Because of course she was. I made the incorrect assumption it had been Lara Raith’s secretary calling, and it never occurred to me to ask for confirmation. Though the woman probably would’ve lied about it.
Unlike other Raiths I’d met, Seraphine’s straight hair was platinum blonde instead of dark, hanging just past her shoulders. She wore a crimson Kimono-style robe embroidered in gold, unbelted and left open to reveal a set of black lace lingerie that enhanced every considerably ample asset and covered very little. Like all White Court vampires, she was stunning, and my lust-addled body responded to her with alacrity.
She moved closer, hips swaying hypnotically with every step.
“Why did you ask me here, Seraphine?” I asked, backing up slowly to keep distance between us. The corner of my eye caught movement, and I blinked a few times to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.
Lara stood on the catwalk, watching us.
Her hair was pinned up, probably expertly done to appear as if she’d done it in haste, perhaps after sex. Tendrils curled, escaping their confines to frame her face. It made her look… innocent. Desirable, of course, but compared to others in the club, she was angelic in her sweetness. A carefully curated look, to be sure, but Lara looked perfectly natural wearing it.
Except for her eyes. Those eyes, normally gray with flecks of blue, tonight carried a silver sheen. Her Hunger, responding to the lust and sexual tension filling the club. Had it been to me in particular, I would have felt its slithering, seductive touch long before now.
Her dress, too, by Zero’s standards was modest. Sleeveless with a high neck, its shimmering twilight ended just above the knee, the shapely curves of her legs set off by a pair of black high heels.
She was gorgeous, Seraphine a pale imitation of Lara’s ethereal beauty.
When she finally met my gaze, I wanted to give up the entirety of what I was to the promise held in her eyes. Was this the addiction I’d been so terrified of? The precursor to mind manipulation, to losing who I was because I no longer cared?
Yes, take her now! Have them both! the Winter Mantle shrieked.
But that and certain other parts of my body didn’t get a vote, and I wasn’t letting Lara, or anyone else, change me.
Seraphine, while I’d been staring at Lara, had already dismissed her and turned her attention back to me. “To see this infamous Winter Knight I have heard so much about. The one who has so little power he couldn’t even resist a few White Court vampires.” Her steps had brought us within arm’s length of each other, and she reached up to caress my cheek.
Her Hunger languidly stretched its claws into me. I felt it, as I never had before, the parasite living inside Seraphine stirring that lust, and my body’s unavoidable physical reaction to it. But along with that reaction came a rising revulsion, and it was far easier to ignore her come-hither when concentrating on keeping my stomach’s contents firmly in place.
I slowly inched my hand upward until it encircled her neck, smiling the entire time. Seraphine’s smile was sultry, predatory, hungry with anticipation. Until I extended my senses into her, tracing the silver thread of her Hunger, then in a single beat of her heart, smashed it into unconsciousness with a razor-sharp effort of will.
Seraphine’s silver sheen faded, dissolving back into hazel, which were actually quite stunning even without the vampire’s allure. Now, though, they filled with fear, and she began to struggle.
“Wh-what did you d-d-do to me?” she shrieked, voice thready. Her hands gripped mine still around her throat, but lacked the strength to pull my fingers free.
“Leveled the playing field,” I replied softly, though the menace was clear. Then I lifted her off her feet by the neck and slammed her into the table. Bones broke, glass crunched, and Seraphine screamed as her back was sliced to ribbons.
I crouched next to her, my hand around her neck now encased in ice that slid down my fingers and over her skin. “Still want to play with the Winter Knight?” I asked softly, then shouted over my shoulder, “Hey, Lara? How attached are you to your cousin?”
She hadn’t moved from the catwalk, arms folded over her chest. Seraphine’s panicked eyes went to her, looking for help, but Lara merely smiled. “Not very. She is of a minor branch, one very much not in favor at the moment. I do not believe anyone would miss her if she failed to return from her unexpected and unsanctioned trip to Chicago.”
At Lara’s reply, realizing no help was coming, Seraphine began to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears, then overflowed down her cheeks. She stopped struggling, letting her hands fall to her sides.
It excited the Mantle. It wanted her to beg, to plead for her life. It wanted me to punish her, return four-fold all the abuse I’d endured at the White Court’s hands. It wanted her to cry. It wanted her to scream. It wanted her to cower in fear.
It wanted her to suffer.
And so help me, it was hard to resist its urges. Far harder than it should have been. One more step down the dark, dangerous path I walked.
I growled through my teeth, “No one touches me without my permission. Ever.” With a gesture of my staff, manacles of ice encircled her wrists and ankles, binding her to the table. A vampire could break the restraints easily, but Seraphine - for the moment - was human, and lacked the strength required.
I didn’t hear Lara move, didn’t know she was that close until her hand settled on my shoulder. “I believe Seraphine understands the slight she gave the Winter Knight will not be tolerated. She will assuredly not repeat her mistake,” Lara said in a quiet voice, her quicksilver eyes locked not on Seraphine, but on me.
“I understand, I understand,” Seraphine sobbed, breaking down completely. “I swear it won’t happen again.”
I leaned in close. “Do you? Do you really?” It was a low purr, filled with promises of pain and screaming, and I barely recognized my own voice.
“Yes, yes, of course, I swear on my life.”
“Harry,” Lara said, the warning clear.
But it wasn’t the unspoken threat, or the woman sobbing, or even my own desires that changed my mind. It was picturing Maggie, watching me from a hidden corner. Seeing the fear creep into her eyes as she realized her father was truly a monster.
I released the spell, along with my grip on Seraphine. She remained on the table where I left her, continuing to sob. The skin on her neck was bright red, as if exposed to freezing temperatures for an extended period, except for a large patch of white. My handprint, captured perfectly by frostbite.
It made me ill, staring at those ghostly fingers. My stomach flipped, flipped again, and I staggered to the corner, braced myself against the wall, and was violently sick.
What have I become?
The urges were stronger, darker, harder to resist, and the part of me that wanted to resist was faint and so very far away.
Maybe Thomas was right. I never should have taken the naagloshii off Demonreach, forced my will on it. I knew it was wrong, but…
But.
The word that was supposed to tell me right from wrong. The word that could be used to justify anything.
“Harry.” Lara’s hand on my arm woke me from my thoughts.
“Sorry about the mess,” I mumbled, shaking her off and backing away. Seraphine was gone, though streaks of pale blood and broken glass remained.
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “It is not the first such incident here, nor will it be the last. It is why we pay our staff a considerable salary. I must apologize for my cousin’s behavior. A member of my household alerted me to a phone call placed to your number without my knowledge, which was traced back to Seraphine. I did not know what her intentions were regarding you, so chose to follow rather than alert you of her deception.”
A typical White Court response. Why take action when observation can provide you with valuable political capital? But this was at my expense, and that just infuriated me all over again.
“Next time one of yours pulls a stunt like this, I won’t back off. I warned you what would happen, and I do keep my promises.”
Lara studied me, frowning. “How are you, Harry?”
The question was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. “Don’t act like you care, Lara,” I snarled. I hoped to provoke a reaction, because anger was easier to counter than any other emotion. In that, I failed. She continued to regard me with a pensive expression.
Rising anger warred with rising lust, my body needing her - craving her - so badly I ached, blood throbbing in time to the beat of her heart, rather than my own. Lara’s eyes shimmered silver, paling to near-white, and she licked her lips slowly. Seductively. Teeth pulled at her lower lip as a small sigh escaped.
I was drawn to her, moth to flame, and found myself inches from her mesmerizing body without remembering how I got there. My fingers traced the line along her jaw of their own volition, as rational thought had left the building. Lara may not truly care about me, but it didn’t matter. We were tied together, through bonds of my own making.
That touch gave the Mantle the upper hand, not because of the pleasure it kindled, but because of Lara’s response to it. She arched her back and moaned, low, delicious, a desperately needy sound that excited me, infuriated me, and that was all it took.
I pushed Lara roughly against the wall, then flipped her around so her back was to me.
Mine, mine, mine, drummed the Mantle. Yes, yes, yes!
Clumsy fingers found the hem of her dress, yanking it up over generously curved hips and further still, revealing nothing underneath but pale, perfect skin. Which, being Lara, was no shock at all.
Unbuckling my belt was an exercise in frustration, made all the more so as Lara undulated against me. Finally the belt was undone, the jeans shoved down just enough, and then…
The heat, the friction as I entered her, Lara’s Hunger pumping me full of endorphins as it latched on to the Mantle and fed. It was incredible. Indescribable. Lara’s hands splayed against the wall for support. I grabbed her hips for leverage, hearing Hunger’s need that could never be satiated echo in my mind.
It was a hot, hard, frantic climb. This wasn’t about love, or desire, or passion. This was lust, pure and simple, a need to control and dominate, and every movement of Lara’s, every moan and gasp and shudder, drove me insane. The world narrowed to where our bodies joined, and the resulting ecstasy built rapidly to unsustainable levels.
Lara broke first, crying out and shuddering against me as she climaxed. It satisfied a deep, primal urge inside me, and pushed my body to its inevitable conclusion, to that one perfect moment where time just stops. And like all such ephemeral moments, it passed in a span of heartbeats, leaving me sated, satisfied, and deeply ashamed.
What the hell were you thinking? Well, that was obvious. I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been angry, and aroused, and too busy letting my hormones take over the show.
I pushed myself away from Lara and pulled up my jeans, fumbling awkwardly with zipper and belt.
Lara smoothly tugged her dress back into place, as if she’d done this a thousand times before, then turned around. Her hair was mussed, much of it falling free of the pins that held it in place, yet it only enhanced her allure, framing those bright, bright eyes and luminous skin. Her smile was uncharacteristically sweet and shy.
It was probably just an act for my benefit. And yet…
Dammit. I still cared for her, despite all she’d done. Somewhere, deep down, I couldn’t quite believe the intimate moments we shared, the ones that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with revealing our fragile inner selves, had been entirely false.
I held her eyes for a long moment. “This doesn’t change anything.” Then I walked away, down the stairs and across the stage. But as I reached out to push the curtain aside, I couldn’t resist one final glance towards the platform above. A form stood at the railing, an outline in shadow with mirror-bright eyes staring back at me.
Who the hell are you kidding, Harry?
*
“Ready for your walk?” Mouse sat in the entryway, tail wagging happily as I reached for his leash. Then he froze, head swiveling towards the front door with ears pricked. “Someone out there?” I peeked through the small glass window, spotting a woman crossing the street. It was clear my door was her destination.
I knew that woman, though I hadn’t seen her since last Halloween when I knocked a gunman back with an excessive amount of kinetic force. He hit a couple standing not far away, and all three pitched over the side of the roof. Of a building thirty stories high. I managed to save Giselle Riverton, if just barely, but the two men fell to their deaths.
I still had occasional nightmares of that evening. I’d always have the guilt.
“Mouse, go upstairs with Maggie and the girls, okay? I need a few minutes.” The big dog tilted his head at me, looked at the door when Giselle knocked, then huffed and trotted up the stairs.
Gathering my courage, I opened the door. Giselle blinked, hand raised to knock a second time. She frowned as she looked up at me. “Are you Harry Dresden?”
Clearly she didn’t recognize me from the party. Then it hit me; I’d been wearing Molly’s illusion ring, my face hidden behind Jack Skellington’s. Even if that hadn’t been the case, she’d been in shock, and it was doubtful she remembered much of that night.
My throat was so dry I could barely speak. “Yes.” Giselle was younger than I remembered, vulnerable, almost fragile. There was a pink scar along her forehead, dipping at the last moment to bisect her left eyebrow, another smaller scar on one cheek.
She looked around nervously, as if afraid to be seen talking to me. “I’d like to hire you. I understand you’re a private investigator?”
“Yes,” I repeated, sounding a little more like myself.
“May I come in?”
“Sure.” I backed away from the entry, shutting the door once she was inside. “My office is this way.” It wasn’t truly an office. It was a spare room Will had shoved an old oak desk into, along with several second-hand chairs, a steel filing cabinet (mostly empty, as all my original case files were destroyed when the building my actual office had been in was destroyed), and a bookcase with a few extra paperbacks shelved haphazardly. I only used it on the rare occasions like this one where a client sought me out and I wanted to both appear professional and offer them the privacy their case deserved.
Whatever Ms. Riverton had to say, it would be best if my daughter wasn’t tempted to eavesdrop on our conversation.
I led her down the front hall, past the two bedrooms to a third room and flicked on the light switch. An old-style desk lamp with green shade and brass pull chain, similar to those found in library reading rooms, switched on. I blinked a moment at the poster someone (probably Will) had hung behind my desk. “The truth is out there,” it read in white block letters over a sullen, overcast sky. More than you know, Mulder.
“Please, have a seat.” She did, smoothing down her turquoise and gold ankle-length skirt before setting her purse in her lap. “What can I do for you, Ms… ?”
“Giselle Riverton,” she replied, leaning forward. “I’d like you to find out who murdered my fiancé.”
I couldn’t quite contain my reaction to her words, coughing a few times to cover for it. “That sounds like a matter for the police to handle, Ms. Riverton.”
She worried her lower lip. “The police, after three weeks of investigation, closed the case as an accident. You see, last year we were at a Halloween party at the old Madison Hotel. You know it?”
“Yes, it was sold and renovated into shops and offices.”
Giselle nodded. “My fiancé works - worked - for Vander and McKenna, a law firm on the ninth floor, and his entire firm went to the party. They have a rooftop bar, and while we were up there, a gunman opened fire. Somehow during the chaos he tripped and fell, knocking him, me and Peter off the roof. Peter, he…” she began to sniffle as a few tears shimmered on her lashes. I pushed the box of tissues closer, and she took one to wipe her eyes, then fidgeted with a diamond ring on her left hand.
“We were going to be married the following week,” Giselle said in a softer, wistful tone. “Honeymoon in the Bahamas. And now… now I have nothing.” She looked up, her expression suddenly fierce. “I don’t believe it was an accident, Mr. Dresden. I believe it was murder. And I want you to investigate.” When I hesitated, she reached into her bag. “I have money. I can pay.”
“It’s not that. It’s… complicated.” How do I tell this woman I killed her fiancé, but it really was an accident? Should I tell her at all? I was still trying to formulate a reply when Giselle drew her hand out of her purse and pointed a gun in my face. A revolver, the gun least likely to malfunction in my presence.
“Oh, Mr. Dresden, I don’t think it’s complicated at all. Stand up.” She gestured with the gun as she got to her feet.
I did, readying my shield bracelet in case I couldn’t talk her out of whatever she had planned. “Wait, it’s not what you think -“
The gun went off.
The bullet hit me in the chest with sledgehammer force. In the heart, in fact, close to the scar left by Kincaid. And as I fell backwards, my world reduced to agonizing pain and ringing silence, I only had one thought.
Hell’s bells, not again.