![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
While the Mob in America is very male-dominated, in Italy ... things are a lot more equal-opportunity. I can see girl!Marcone deciding to shatter the glass ceiling in the states, just like her 'sisters' in Italy.
Whoever ends up filling this might find these articles interesting:
http://www.newsweek.com/2002/06/16/ladies-of-the-mob.html
http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,1196395,00.html
Whoever ends up filling this might find these articles interesting:
http://www.newsweek.com/2002/06/16/ladies-of-the-mob.html
http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,1196395,00.html
Oh, my...
Where's my husband when needed?!
And here I thought I've had enough of sex in fanfic. That it bores me to death. Thank you for reminding me that when it is well written, it is - well - so well written I can't even write about it coherently...
Where's my husband when needed?!
And here I thought I've had enough of sex in fanfic. That it bores me to death. Thank you for reminding me that when it is well written, it is - well - so well written I can't even write about it coherently...
It was the bagel guy's fault. If he hadn't argued with me about whether or not the shop made plain freaking bagels I would have been half way to my office by nine, as usual. And not just stepping out into the street, my plain bagel with cream cheese thumping against my leg in it's bag.
Look, it's not like I have a prejudice against flavored or fancy bagels. It's just that, as far as I'm concerned, the bagel is there to deliver the cream cheese to me. That's all. Anyway. The point is, the new guy argued with me, like it was beneath him to sell me a plain old bagel and it made me late.
Which is how I stepped out into the middle of an assassination attempt.
I'm a PI. I'm observant, usually. But I was, like I said, running late and hungry, het up and smug over my victory. So I powered out of the shop, the little bell jangling a merry victory tune for me and I didn't notice the two guys come running around the corner until one of them slammed into me.
I made a sound that some, the ignorant, might call a squeak as his elbow caught me in the gut and nearly lost my balance. I grabbed the guy's sleeve on instinct to try and steady myself and he turned on me, his eyes wide and frightened.
Recognition flicked over his face and then he was grabbing me, hauling me forward with a grip that might leave bruises even through the protection of my coat.
"Hey!" I dug my heels in and twisted my arm, grabbing the guys wrist as I did so and twisting his arm up and backwards, like Murphy had shown me. I'm most of six feet tall in flats and all wiry muscle. I don't look strong, but I am. I twisted and a neat little high pitched whine erupted from the guy. "Don't go grabbing at women, jack ass!"
"Ms. Dresden, you gotta run!"
"What?" I let him go, pushing him away from me as I did so. Which is when the other guy came around the corner and opened fire. I saw the gun coming up from his side, slow and still way too fast, and it gave me just enough time to throw out my hand and raise my shield. Bullets spat out at us in controlled groups, multicolored sparks flecking off the shield with each hit.
His gun clicked empty and I dropped the shield, flicking my hand at him and triggering one of my rings. It knocked him on his ass as he ducked down to try and grab what I assumed was a hold out gun. When I say knocked, I mean shot him back ten feet into the middle of the street. Car horns screamed and the squeal of breaks made me wince. A little more force than I'd meant to use.
The guy lay there, totally still in front of a car's bumper maybe two inches from his face. I turned to the two guys who'd been running.
"What the fuck was all that?" Grabby-guy was just staring, mouth a little open, his eyes flicking rapidly between me and the idiot in the street. The other guy had come trotting back and was looking at street guy with a vicious gleam in his eyes.
"Ma'am. Sorry about that. We had a little disagreement with that guy over there."
"You don't say." I smoothed my hands over my hair and realized my bagel was gone. Sirens started up in the distance and rapidly came closer. "Dammit. You gonna collect him or what? I'm leaving." I spotted my little paper bag full of yum. It was under Grabby-guy's boot. Squashed and dirty. And a little bloody. Grabby-guy was bleeding from his thigh. It was bad enough that the side of his slacks was heavy and sticking to his leg, the blood dripping down his shoe.
"Fuck. Where's your car?"
"About four blocks back." Other-guy saw the blood too and frowned. He knelt down and started to wrap his tie over the wound. It was a piss poor bandage, but I'd left my first aid kit in my other pants. "Ma'am. We'll be fine. Executive Priority's just a block that way. I'll get him there. Mr. Marcone doesn't want us getting-"
"Screw Marcone. And don't call me ma'am. Do I look like your mother? Get in my car. I'll dump you there." Grabby-guy was criminal. I mean, he worked for Marcone, so obviously he wasn't on the up and up. Didn't mean I could let him bleed to death because of it.
Look, it's not like I have a prejudice against flavored or fancy bagels. It's just that, as far as I'm concerned, the bagel is there to deliver the cream cheese to me. That's all. Anyway. The point is, the new guy argued with me, like it was beneath him to sell me a plain old bagel and it made me late.
Which is how I stepped out into the middle of an assassination attempt.
I'm a PI. I'm observant, usually. But I was, like I said, running late and hungry, het up and smug over my victory. So I powered out of the shop, the little bell jangling a merry victory tune for me and I didn't notice the two guys come running around the corner until one of them slammed into me.
I made a sound that some, the ignorant, might call a squeak as his elbow caught me in the gut and nearly lost my balance. I grabbed the guy's sleeve on instinct to try and steady myself and he turned on me, his eyes wide and frightened.
Recognition flicked over his face and then he was grabbing me, hauling me forward with a grip that might leave bruises even through the protection of my coat.
"Hey!" I dug my heels in and twisted my arm, grabbing the guys wrist as I did so and twisting his arm up and backwards, like Murphy had shown me. I'm most of six feet tall in flats and all wiry muscle. I don't look strong, but I am. I twisted and a neat little high pitched whine erupted from the guy. "Don't go grabbing at women, jack ass!"
"Ms. Dresden, you gotta run!"
"What?" I let him go, pushing him away from me as I did so. Which is when the other guy came around the corner and opened fire. I saw the gun coming up from his side, slow and still way too fast, and it gave me just enough time to throw out my hand and raise my shield. Bullets spat out at us in controlled groups, multicolored sparks flecking off the shield with each hit.
His gun clicked empty and I dropped the shield, flicking my hand at him and triggering one of my rings. It knocked him on his ass as he ducked down to try and grab what I assumed was a hold out gun. When I say knocked, I mean shot him back ten feet into the middle of the street. Car horns screamed and the squeal of breaks made me wince. A little more force than I'd meant to use.
The guy lay there, totally still in front of a car's bumper maybe two inches from his face. I turned to the two guys who'd been running.
"What the fuck was all that?" Grabby-guy was just staring, mouth a little open, his eyes flicking rapidly between me and the idiot in the street. The other guy had come trotting back and was looking at street guy with a vicious gleam in his eyes.
"Ma'am. Sorry about that. We had a little disagreement with that guy over there."
"You don't say." I smoothed my hands over my hair and realized my bagel was gone. Sirens started up in the distance and rapidly came closer. "Dammit. You gonna collect him or what? I'm leaving." I spotted my little paper bag full of yum. It was under Grabby-guy's boot. Squashed and dirty. And a little bloody. Grabby-guy was bleeding from his thigh. It was bad enough that the side of his slacks was heavy and sticking to his leg, the blood dripping down his shoe.
"Fuck. Where's your car?"
"About four blocks back." Other-guy saw the blood too and frowned. He knelt down and started to wrap his tie over the wound. It was a piss poor bandage, but I'd left my first aid kit in my other pants. "Ma'am. We'll be fine. Executive Priority's just a block that way. I'll get him there. Mr. Marcone doesn't want us getting-"
"Screw Marcone. And don't call me ma'am. Do I look like your mother? Get in my car. I'll dump you there." Grabby-guy was criminal. I mean, he worked for Marcone, so obviously he wasn't on the up and up. Didn't mean I could let him bleed to death because of it.
as far as I'm concerned, the bagel is there to deliver the cream cheese to me
TRUER WORDS HAVE NEVER BEEN SPOKEN
EVER
EVER
TRUER WORDS HAVE NEVER BEEN SPOKEN
EVER
EVER
Already loving this.
I'm ridiculously happy this fic exists.
Anon, I hope you don't mind that this is a sequel to a Harry/Vaddering fill I did here: http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=2447900#t2447900
But it should make sense as a stand alone.
I knew how I looked as I trod the paths through Undertown. A smug grin kept sliding across my face, my clothes looked like I’d just picked them up off the floor, and my hair looked like I’d styled it in a hurricane. And in case there was any doubt about the fact I’d just rolled out of bed after a good time, my aura was smudged with Vadderung’s power, like lipstick on a shirt collar.
I was in a good mood.
The light from the pentacle on my chest blazed out brightly, and I was reigning in the urge to hum, or whistle. Mortal music drew the Fae, and I’d have enough faerie company for the rest of the evening to want these brief moments for myself.
But I wasn’t alone for long. Just ahead of me I could make out hovering flickers of blue fire guiding three silhouettes through dark and winding passages. One mountain of a man, broad and heavyset, a tall well built woman, and a third I recognised from the way he carried himself, stride measured and confident. They weren’t a trio I fancied sneaking up on, so I put my fingers to my lips and whistled sharply. They paused, and the figures of Gard and Hendricks moved back towards me as the light above them strengthened, casting away the darkness between us, illuminating me in all my dishevelled glory. My grin widened, “Evening,” I waved at them cheerfully. “Nice suit, Marcone.” Only the Baron of Chicago could wander an underground tunnel in a tux and keep it spotless. “You decide to skip the guide?”
Marcone took me in slowly, gaze flickering up and down my form before he inclined his head to me, curt and formal. “Dresden. We decided on another entrance.” It was smart of him really. All of Maeve’s guests had been promised a guide under the Accords from a designated entrance to Undertown. But one point of entry meant all kinds of conflicting powers converging on a single gateway, and there was no obligation for peaceful conduct between them until they passed through it. Those kind of odds weren’t Marcone’s style. So it made sense that the lights flickering around his party weren’t Winter’s, instead they resonated with the same kind of power I’d felt around Vadderung. Gard made a better guide than some flighty faerie anyway (select members of the Za lord’s guard excluded). I opened my mouth to say as much, turning to address her, and then realised Gard was staring at me with something other than professional wariness. She was projecting intense curiosity, with a subtle hint of amusement. Caught unawares, my compliment morphed into a conspiratorial grin, and I just about resisted the urge to wink at her.
Marcone’s head tilted slightly, tracking my unexplained amusement as if it was an item of interest. “You’re in a better mood than usual, Knight Dresden.”
“I’m having a good day. It happens occasionally.” I stepped forward until I was still a civil distance from Gard and Hendricks. They weren’t expecting hostilities from me, but we weren’t yet under truce, so they both looked ready to act. I grinned at them, hands up and palms out in a traditionally peaceful gesture that wasn’t actually very reassuring from someone of my powers. I bobbed my head, as close as I cared to get to a bow. “I offer safe passage to the court of the Winter Lady, Baron. In accordance with your guestright.”
Marcone gave me a smile, but it was a business one, nothing real. “Offer accepted, Knight.”
“Cool.” I slipped between Hendricks and Gard, moved past Marcone and strode into the darkness. There were dangers in Undertown, but none of them stupid enough to mess with me.
A couple of minutes later, Gard caught up with me and matched my stride. “Well,” she said, amusement deep and rich in her voice. “You’ve been busy.”
I beamed at her. If I had the time, I’d have stopped to try and bottle some of the self-satisfaction pouring off me. I didn’t know what potion I could work it into, but it’d be a doozy. Gard gave me a once over of her own, and I knew she was looking for things Marcone didn’t have the eyes to see. When I didn’t volunteer a rendition of Dear Penthouse, she kept going. “It’s been a long time since he’s taken up with a mortal.”
That gave me pause. My internship with Winter had given me certain insights into exchanges of power and favor amongst the high rollers, and I’d sort of assumed...
“So, Marcone never… ?”
That struck a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “Not my place to comment, Dresden.”
“Oh, come on,” I wheedled. “I’ll give you details. Tit for tat?”
Gard considered me for a moment and then turned her head away on the pretence of checking our surroundings. I’m pretty sure she was actually disguising the breadth of the smile on her face. “He hasn’t,” she said. “Now, details.”
“I broke into your boss’s office, straight from Faerie.”
“There’s no open Way from- “
“Yeah, accident.”
Gard’s amusement was audible then, and she had a strong laugh, the werelights danced with it. “Of course it was, Dresden. Go on.”
“So, Vadderung is a hospitable guy. Instead of chucking me out on my ass, he asked if I wanted to go in for a little pillaging. I did, so we took it to the bedroom, and I showed him a good time.” Which glossed over a hell of a lot of what had passed between us, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I was used to putting into words.
As it happens, Gard was a perceptive lady. “A little more than a fuck though, for his power to be so heavy on you.”
I knew full well Vadderung wouldn’t mind me sharing the dirty details. Hell, he’d positively encourage it, but I lowered my voice anyway, because it was more fun to spread this kind of thing with a whisper. “I took my power to him. I drank in his.”
Gard caught her breath. “Dresden. You’ve no patience for a peaceful life.”
I shrugged off her words easily. “I’m not going to get one. Might as well take my fun where I can find it.”
“True enough. But I wouldn’t call antagonising your Queen fun.” Gard knew what it meant, to be beholden to a power, to serve. But as far as I could tell, she believed in her service. The strength that ruled over her was a strength she respected, and that respect had roots in something more substantial than fear. I couldn’t say the same thing, and even as the sworn Knight of Winter’s power, I didn’t have it in me to blindly follow that power out of fear alone.
Anyway, this wasn’t Mab’s shindig. If I’d rolled up to her court with marks of the Aesir all over me, I’d probably have been in for a frosty reception. But Maeve? She’d probably laugh herself silly, maybe request a reenactment with a nearby sidhe lord, if I was in a cooperative mood. It’d get back to Mab eventually, I knew it would, but it wasn’t news to her that my loyalty was something she had bought and bound, not won. I shrugged again. “She’ll get over it.”
Gard shook her head.
By the time we got there, Maeve had apparently already laughed herself silly. I stepped through the doorway ahead of Marcone’s entourage and then plowed to a halt, staring blankly at the throne on the dias against the far wall. Maeve sprawled across her throne, both legs hooked over one of its arms, leaning precariously back against the other. Her short skirt was sliding up around her thighs, which I didn’t find nearly as distracting as I once would. I was more distracted by the fact she was singing. Loud, off-key, drunk off her ass singing. And we were early, the party hadn’t even started yet.
I turned back to Marcone with a blank expression on my face. “Uh. The Winter Lady welcomes you to her court. I think. Just wait here a minute.” I jogged across the empty dancefloor, taking note of the handful of guests who had also chosen to arrive early. They were mostly Maeve’s current favourites, and they were looking a bit merry too, huddling together in little groups, holding onto one another for support, mostly seeming to be involved in intense, meaningful discussion. I was vaguely freaked out, because this was the court of wild debauchery, not fascinating rhetoric.
I reached the dias, bobbed down on one knee for all of a fraction of a second, and then sprang back up to stand at the side of Maeve’s throne, looking down at her smiling upturned face. “What the fuck, my lady?”
Maeve broke off her song, and blinked up at me with a slow smiled. “Harry,” she said, delight thick in her words. “You’ve picked up a patron. Aren’t you a clever Knight?”
“I can tie my own breeches and everything,” I said. I held a hand out over her, senses extended, but whatever influence might be exerting itself was eclipsed by the sharp ozone tang of Winter’s power, calling to the Mantle that bound me. “What the hell does a Faerie Queen have to drink to get wasted? Turbo-Absinthe?”
“A token of appreciation,” she murmured, one hand trailing down to the floor beside her throne before holding a horn out to me. By rights, it should have been empty after being wrong side up on the floor. Instead, it was brimful of golden liquid. “Try a little, Knight.” I accepted the horn from her but didn’t drink. I sniffed it instead, and it felt like I’d been punched in the face by a fist full of honey.
Mead.
Right.
Add that together with the suddenly garrulous court, and there was one obvious conclusion. I had no idea if I was obliged to do anything about it. Mab chose that moment to launch into something resembling a dirty medieval sea shanty. Normally I wouldn’t care if she started caterwauling about people doing unnecessarily explicit things to dolphins, but I kind of needed her compos mentis tonight. “Hey, don’t you have to keep it together til the end of the party? I thought there was some ritual mumbo jumbo for the Dissolution.”
She broke off mid chorus with a sigh. “So dutiful, Harry. Has my mother set you to watch over me again?”
“Nope,” I said. “Personal investment.” I was kind of keen on the Dissolution, as it meant a bit of added security for Chicago. Granted, the primary gateway to Mab’s court would simply gain an affinity for another mortal city, but Chicago has its fair share of shit without any added Winter shenanigans.
“Then you may relax, Knight. I can shift this gateway with a passing thought.” Maeve swung her legs down off the arm of the chair and reached up, taking a strong grip on the back of my neck. “Now, greet me properly, and then see that my guests drink of this most generous gift.” I ducked down to kiss her, licking the taste of honey from her mouth. “Mmm, I can taste him on you,” she laughed, pulling away. Her hand moved down from my neck to land a swift pat on my ass. “Go, bid all be merry.”
“Merry,” I said. “Gotcha.”
Marcone aside, there weren’t many non-Winter guests yet present for me to make merry with, and I had more than a couple of questions for Gard, so I made my way straight back to them. I’d thought Marcone had his business face on before, but this time when I met his eyes it was like trying to commune with a scummy lake. I got mucky green and nothing else, no hint of what was going on inside his head, except that he seemed intent on giving me his full attention. In silence. Whatever. If it was some bizarre power play, I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I turned to Gard and brandished the horn at her. “Is this what I think it is?” The mead slopped over the sides and ran across my fingers, but when I peeped inside, the horn was still full.
Gard’s eyes widened in evident surprise. “Generous,” she murmured.
“Its the Mead of freaking Suttungr,” I said. “He gives that out on a whim?”
“Who might we be speaking of?” Marcone said, in a level tone. I liked his emphasis on we. Such a small syllable to convey I will not tolerate discussions taking place over my head.
“Your backer,” I explained. “Hey, do you want some? If you don’t, just pretend, I’m chief wassailer for the evening.”
Marcone took it from my outstretched hand and then turned to Gard. “I was not briefed on this,” he said, very quietly.
“No,” she said. “But we’re well within the terms of your contract. This is a very recent development, and it poses no threat to you.”
“Nevertheless.”
“I... haven’t been briefed either,” Gard admitted, “but if I were to hazard a guess, then I’d say it was a token of appreciation.”
“For?” Marcone prompted calmly. Gard took a slow breath, threw a layered look at Hendricks that I totally failed to decode, and then said, “Dresden’s favor.”
I laughed. I hadn’t been expecting favor, Gard had been a bit less genteel about the whole thing earlier. Maybe she was playing into John’s Gentleman act.
“I fail to see the comedy in this situation, Dresden.”
“Oh, come on. I reserve the right to laugh if I fuck a guy and he responds by getting my employer high on mythical mead. At the very least, this is going to be a decent party.” I looked down at the horn in Marcone’s hand, and was surprised to see how tightly he was holding it. His knuckles were turning white.
“I wasn’t aware you’d maintained your acquaintance with Donar Vadderung,” he said, voice totally devoid of any emotion.
“No, you weren’t.” I said. “So?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead he mimed a sip from the horn, tipping it back convincingly, before returning it to me. “Enjoy your evening, Knight.”
I got the guests all wassailed up. And then I got the enchanted mortal band (de rigeur for any of Maeve’s parties) all wassailed up too, because Maeve hadn’t told me not to. Entertaining the Fae was more than any mortal musician could hope to achieve without sacrificing life or sanity, unless of course, you had a little divine inspiration to shield you from the effects of the evening. Sure, it was meant for poetry, not music, but Maeve had illustrated earlier that there was enough resonance between the two for the mead to be a godsend. Hah. I didn’t know the appropriate forms of any prayers to Odin, but I mumbled a quiet thank you as I tipped the horn to the mouth of every player.
But it should make sense as a stand alone.
I knew how I looked as I trod the paths through Undertown. A smug grin kept sliding across my face, my clothes looked like I’d just picked them up off the floor, and my hair looked like I’d styled it in a hurricane. And in case there was any doubt about the fact I’d just rolled out of bed after a good time, my aura was smudged with Vadderung’s power, like lipstick on a shirt collar.
I was in a good mood.
The light from the pentacle on my chest blazed out brightly, and I was reigning in the urge to hum, or whistle. Mortal music drew the Fae, and I’d have enough faerie company for the rest of the evening to want these brief moments for myself.
But I wasn’t alone for long. Just ahead of me I could make out hovering flickers of blue fire guiding three silhouettes through dark and winding passages. One mountain of a man, broad and heavyset, a tall well built woman, and a third I recognised from the way he carried himself, stride measured and confident. They weren’t a trio I fancied sneaking up on, so I put my fingers to my lips and whistled sharply. They paused, and the figures of Gard and Hendricks moved back towards me as the light above them strengthened, casting away the darkness between us, illuminating me in all my dishevelled glory. My grin widened, “Evening,” I waved at them cheerfully. “Nice suit, Marcone.” Only the Baron of Chicago could wander an underground tunnel in a tux and keep it spotless. “You decide to skip the guide?”
Marcone took me in slowly, gaze flickering up and down my form before he inclined his head to me, curt and formal. “Dresden. We decided on another entrance.” It was smart of him really. All of Maeve’s guests had been promised a guide under the Accords from a designated entrance to Undertown. But one point of entry meant all kinds of conflicting powers converging on a single gateway, and there was no obligation for peaceful conduct between them until they passed through it. Those kind of odds weren’t Marcone’s style. So it made sense that the lights flickering around his party weren’t Winter’s, instead they resonated with the same kind of power I’d felt around Vadderung. Gard made a better guide than some flighty faerie anyway (select members of the Za lord’s guard excluded). I opened my mouth to say as much, turning to address her, and then realised Gard was staring at me with something other than professional wariness. She was projecting intense curiosity, with a subtle hint of amusement. Caught unawares, my compliment morphed into a conspiratorial grin, and I just about resisted the urge to wink at her.
Marcone’s head tilted slightly, tracking my unexplained amusement as if it was an item of interest. “You’re in a better mood than usual, Knight Dresden.”
“I’m having a good day. It happens occasionally.” I stepped forward until I was still a civil distance from Gard and Hendricks. They weren’t expecting hostilities from me, but we weren’t yet under truce, so they both looked ready to act. I grinned at them, hands up and palms out in a traditionally peaceful gesture that wasn’t actually very reassuring from someone of my powers. I bobbed my head, as close as I cared to get to a bow. “I offer safe passage to the court of the Winter Lady, Baron. In accordance with your guestright.”
Marcone gave me a smile, but it was a business one, nothing real. “Offer accepted, Knight.”
“Cool.” I slipped between Hendricks and Gard, moved past Marcone and strode into the darkness. There were dangers in Undertown, but none of them stupid enough to mess with me.
A couple of minutes later, Gard caught up with me and matched my stride. “Well,” she said, amusement deep and rich in her voice. “You’ve been busy.”
I beamed at her. If I had the time, I’d have stopped to try and bottle some of the self-satisfaction pouring off me. I didn’t know what potion I could work it into, but it’d be a doozy. Gard gave me a once over of her own, and I knew she was looking for things Marcone didn’t have the eyes to see. When I didn’t volunteer a rendition of Dear Penthouse, she kept going. “It’s been a long time since he’s taken up with a mortal.”
That gave me pause. My internship with Winter had given me certain insights into exchanges of power and favor amongst the high rollers, and I’d sort of assumed...
“So, Marcone never… ?”
That struck a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “Not my place to comment, Dresden.”
“Oh, come on,” I wheedled. “I’ll give you details. Tit for tat?”
Gard considered me for a moment and then turned her head away on the pretence of checking our surroundings. I’m pretty sure she was actually disguising the breadth of the smile on her face. “He hasn’t,” she said. “Now, details.”
“I broke into your boss’s office, straight from Faerie.”
“There’s no open Way from- “
“Yeah, accident.”
Gard’s amusement was audible then, and she had a strong laugh, the werelights danced with it. “Of course it was, Dresden. Go on.”
“So, Vadderung is a hospitable guy. Instead of chucking me out on my ass, he asked if I wanted to go in for a little pillaging. I did, so we took it to the bedroom, and I showed him a good time.” Which glossed over a hell of a lot of what had passed between us, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I was used to putting into words.
As it happens, Gard was a perceptive lady. “A little more than a fuck though, for his power to be so heavy on you.”
I knew full well Vadderung wouldn’t mind me sharing the dirty details. Hell, he’d positively encourage it, but I lowered my voice anyway, because it was more fun to spread this kind of thing with a whisper. “I took my power to him. I drank in his.”
Gard caught her breath. “Dresden. You’ve no patience for a peaceful life.”
I shrugged off her words easily. “I’m not going to get one. Might as well take my fun where I can find it.”
“True enough. But I wouldn’t call antagonising your Queen fun.” Gard knew what it meant, to be beholden to a power, to serve. But as far as I could tell, she believed in her service. The strength that ruled over her was a strength she respected, and that respect had roots in something more substantial than fear. I couldn’t say the same thing, and even as the sworn Knight of Winter’s power, I didn’t have it in me to blindly follow that power out of fear alone.
Anyway, this wasn’t Mab’s shindig. If I’d rolled up to her court with marks of the Aesir all over me, I’d probably have been in for a frosty reception. But Maeve? She’d probably laugh herself silly, maybe request a reenactment with a nearby sidhe lord, if I was in a cooperative mood. It’d get back to Mab eventually, I knew it would, but it wasn’t news to her that my loyalty was something she had bought and bound, not won. I shrugged again. “She’ll get over it.”
Gard shook her head.
By the time we got there, Maeve had apparently already laughed herself silly. I stepped through the doorway ahead of Marcone’s entourage and then plowed to a halt, staring blankly at the throne on the dias against the far wall. Maeve sprawled across her throne, both legs hooked over one of its arms, leaning precariously back against the other. Her short skirt was sliding up around her thighs, which I didn’t find nearly as distracting as I once would. I was more distracted by the fact she was singing. Loud, off-key, drunk off her ass singing. And we were early, the party hadn’t even started yet.
I turned back to Marcone with a blank expression on my face. “Uh. The Winter Lady welcomes you to her court. I think. Just wait here a minute.” I jogged across the empty dancefloor, taking note of the handful of guests who had also chosen to arrive early. They were mostly Maeve’s current favourites, and they were looking a bit merry too, huddling together in little groups, holding onto one another for support, mostly seeming to be involved in intense, meaningful discussion. I was vaguely freaked out, because this was the court of wild debauchery, not fascinating rhetoric.
I reached the dias, bobbed down on one knee for all of a fraction of a second, and then sprang back up to stand at the side of Maeve’s throne, looking down at her smiling upturned face. “What the fuck, my lady?”
Maeve broke off her song, and blinked up at me with a slow smiled. “Harry,” she said, delight thick in her words. “You’ve picked up a patron. Aren’t you a clever Knight?”
“I can tie my own breeches and everything,” I said. I held a hand out over her, senses extended, but whatever influence might be exerting itself was eclipsed by the sharp ozone tang of Winter’s power, calling to the Mantle that bound me. “What the hell does a Faerie Queen have to drink to get wasted? Turbo-Absinthe?”
“A token of appreciation,” she murmured, one hand trailing down to the floor beside her throne before holding a horn out to me. By rights, it should have been empty after being wrong side up on the floor. Instead, it was brimful of golden liquid. “Try a little, Knight.” I accepted the horn from her but didn’t drink. I sniffed it instead, and it felt like I’d been punched in the face by a fist full of honey.
Mead.
Right.
Add that together with the suddenly garrulous court, and there was one obvious conclusion. I had no idea if I was obliged to do anything about it. Mab chose that moment to launch into something resembling a dirty medieval sea shanty. Normally I wouldn’t care if she started caterwauling about people doing unnecessarily explicit things to dolphins, but I kind of needed her compos mentis tonight. “Hey, don’t you have to keep it together til the end of the party? I thought there was some ritual mumbo jumbo for the Dissolution.”
She broke off mid chorus with a sigh. “So dutiful, Harry. Has my mother set you to watch over me again?”
“Nope,” I said. “Personal investment.” I was kind of keen on the Dissolution, as it meant a bit of added security for Chicago. Granted, the primary gateway to Mab’s court would simply gain an affinity for another mortal city, but Chicago has its fair share of shit without any added Winter shenanigans.
“Then you may relax, Knight. I can shift this gateway with a passing thought.” Maeve swung her legs down off the arm of the chair and reached up, taking a strong grip on the back of my neck. “Now, greet me properly, and then see that my guests drink of this most generous gift.” I ducked down to kiss her, licking the taste of honey from her mouth. “Mmm, I can taste him on you,” she laughed, pulling away. Her hand moved down from my neck to land a swift pat on my ass. “Go, bid all be merry.”
“Merry,” I said. “Gotcha.”
Marcone aside, there weren’t many non-Winter guests yet present for me to make merry with, and I had more than a couple of questions for Gard, so I made my way straight back to them. I’d thought Marcone had his business face on before, but this time when I met his eyes it was like trying to commune with a scummy lake. I got mucky green and nothing else, no hint of what was going on inside his head, except that he seemed intent on giving me his full attention. In silence. Whatever. If it was some bizarre power play, I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I turned to Gard and brandished the horn at her. “Is this what I think it is?” The mead slopped over the sides and ran across my fingers, but when I peeped inside, the horn was still full.
Gard’s eyes widened in evident surprise. “Generous,” she murmured.
“Its the Mead of freaking Suttungr,” I said. “He gives that out on a whim?”
“Who might we be speaking of?” Marcone said, in a level tone. I liked his emphasis on we. Such a small syllable to convey I will not tolerate discussions taking place over my head.
“Your backer,” I explained. “Hey, do you want some? If you don’t, just pretend, I’m chief wassailer for the evening.”
Marcone took it from my outstretched hand and then turned to Gard. “I was not briefed on this,” he said, very quietly.
“No,” she said. “But we’re well within the terms of your contract. This is a very recent development, and it poses no threat to you.”
“Nevertheless.”
“I... haven’t been briefed either,” Gard admitted, “but if I were to hazard a guess, then I’d say it was a token of appreciation.”
“For?” Marcone prompted calmly. Gard took a slow breath, threw a layered look at Hendricks that I totally failed to decode, and then said, “Dresden’s favor.”
I laughed. I hadn’t been expecting favor, Gard had been a bit less genteel about the whole thing earlier. Maybe she was playing into John’s Gentleman act.
“I fail to see the comedy in this situation, Dresden.”
“Oh, come on. I reserve the right to laugh if I fuck a guy and he responds by getting my employer high on mythical mead. At the very least, this is going to be a decent party.” I looked down at the horn in Marcone’s hand, and was surprised to see how tightly he was holding it. His knuckles were turning white.
“I wasn’t aware you’d maintained your acquaintance with Donar Vadderung,” he said, voice totally devoid of any emotion.
“No, you weren’t.” I said. “So?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead he mimed a sip from the horn, tipping it back convincingly, before returning it to me. “Enjoy your evening, Knight.”
I got the guests all wassailed up. And then I got the enchanted mortal band (de rigeur for any of Maeve’s parties) all wassailed up too, because Maeve hadn’t told me not to. Entertaining the Fae was more than any mortal musician could hope to achieve without sacrificing life or sanity, unless of course, you had a little divine inspiration to shield you from the effects of the evening. Sure, it was meant for poetry, not music, but Maeve had illustrated earlier that there was enough resonance between the two for the mead to be a godsend. Hah. I didn’t know the appropriate forms of any prayers to Odin, but I mumbled a quiet thank you as I tipped the horn to the mouth of every player.
By the time the music kicked in I’d returned the horn to Maeve’s eager hands and accepted my first dance partner for the evening. I was dancing with an unfamiliar sidhe lord, stopping every now and then for a cheerful struggle over who was leading and what dance we were actually aiming for.
Eventually, he let me strong arm him into a waltz, smiling his amusement and following my lead. “So, how was the Old Wolf?” he asked. “Rumor has it he stirs from his den once more.”
I wracked my brain for the sidhe lord’s name. Considering I’d run my hands across his shoulders and up across his tunic before we’d made it onto the floor, and that one of his hands was currently on my ass, I really should be able to recall it. Something with a V. Valor? Valish? Valance!
“Well, he stirs pretty vigorously in his den,” I confided with a grin. Valance’s amusement bloomed in his eyes, and he asked the question I was expecting. “Would you take another to your bed today, Knight?”
Usually, yes, but I was kind of keen on making sure that this Dissolution thing came off properly, and that all the mortals in the room got home safely. Marcone would probably help with the musicians, but he’d have to do so subtly, image conscious neurotic that he was. It’d be a bad idea just to dump them in his lap. “Look me up another time,” I said. “I’ve got duties.”
“I will,” Valance promised, hand sliding up to the small of my back and then down again, fingers dipping down past the waistband of my trousers. Just as he did so, the Waltz came to a halt and I stepped away to bow my way off the dance floor. No point in getting carried away with myself after all. Maybe it was best to find a dance partner with a stronger work ethic.
I spotted Marcone making small talk with a centaur while heroically ignoring the somewhat perverted ice sculpture that towered over them both. Hendricks and Gard stood a few paces back from him, observing Marcone’s discussion and the immediate environs with steady attentiveness. Disregarding Marcone who had his back to me, I drifted over to the Valkyrie. “Gard,” I grinned, “do you dance?”
“Not on duty,” she said, failing to hide her amusement.
“Pity,” and hey, Hendricks was glowering at me. “What about you, big guy? Know your way around a- “
Marcone spun around and dropped a hand on my wast with deceptive lightness. I could feel the strength of his body close to mine. “I do, Mr Dresden,” he said coldly.
“Uh huh,” I said, looking down at him. I was starting to read that tight lack of expression as anger, and I was having trouble working out what had triggered it. “You don’t look like you want t- “
Marcone pushed me back onto the dancefloor, and he wasn’t exactly gentle about it. And he was leading. “Ok, maybe you do. Compensating for something tonight?” His grip tightened on my hand. “Seriously Marcone. You’ve got maybe another half hour of me finding this amusing, and then you have trouble. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Marcone didn’t answer, just led me through the steps with grim methodicalness. “No fun at all,” I complained. “Have a drink, loosen up.”
“You’re loose enough for the both of us,” he snapped, and I jerked to a halt, bringing us to a standstill in the middle of the dancefloor. I knocked Marcone’s hand off my waist and broke his grip on my hand, and looked down at him coldly.
Small minded, inconsiderate, down right rude son of a bitch. “I knew Gentleman was a crappy title,” I spat, and Marcone’s face went blank again abruptly.
“I misspoke,” he said. It wasn’t an apology.
I leaned in to his personal space. “I was actually having fun for a change, you dick. Maybe you should give it a try. Don’t you see Vadderung, every now and again?” I was taunting him, yeah, and maybe it was juvenile, but he was the one that needed to grow up if he was having a bigoted snit about my sexual proclivities. “He might not want you in his bed, but I bet he’d at least bend you over his desk.”
Words guaranteed to provoke any homophobic mafia dick to violence, even if that dick were John Marcone. And he did coil up, the prelude to a blow, but suddenly Hendricks and Gard were there, Hendricks’ hand subtly present in a death grip on Marcone’s elbow, and Gard jerking me sideways in what turned out to be a dance step.
“Save that discussion for a better venue,” she said.
“He’s being a bitch,” I replied. Gard made a noncommittal noise, which I was choosing to interpret as, yes, he totally is. “Going to tell me why?”
“Now that definitely isn’t my place,” she said, and then waited for a few bars of music. “Try Hendricks.”
Twenty minutes later, when Marcone was distracted by a light show being played out by a few of Winter’s Little People, I did. “So?” I murmured, at Hendricks’ side. He gave me a dumb look. “Oh, come on. Why’s he so pissy?”
Hendricks just grunted at me, but I didn’t give in. I just stood there and eyed him, watching the play of colored lights across his thuggish features. Eventually, he relented and spoke. “Ask him yourself.”
“I tried, and then I kinda wanted to punch him in the face. Come on Hendricks, in the interests of keeping the peace?” Hendricks just shook his head, and I gave it up as a bad job. Fuck it. I could enjoy this party regardless of what Marcone thought of me, and if he didn’t like what he saw, he’d just have to learn to stop looking.
Eventually, the words were said, and the court dissolved. The gateway to the court sealed behind us with thunderous finality as we stepped out into Undertown, and I wondered where it’d take up residence next. It might be nice to see more of Europe, maybe.
I led the mortals out through the underground passages, trusting the non-mortal parties to their faerie guides. I was at the head of a confused, staggering band of mortal musicians who didn’t understand who I was, where they were, or why I insisted everyone hold hands. Marcone was bringing up the rear, so I was pretty confident I wasn’t going to lose anyone. Still, you can never be too careful.
By the time we’d chivvied everyone out into the dawning light of Chicago and bundled them all into potentially mob affiliated taxis, the length of my day was catching up with me and I slumped against the wall yawning. Marcone caught my eye.
“Congrats,” I said sleepily. “Winter’s clear of Chicago.”
“Not entirely, Marcone said, looking me up and down.
I tilted my head back, to rest it against the brickwork, not even bothering to face off with him. “Is that it? Are you pissed because I’m Winter’s?”
“You’re anyone’s that wants you,” he said. I blinked at him, checked that yes, the gateway to Undertown was closed and my vow of safe conduct discharged, and then punched him in the jaw. Marcone reeled back a step, surprise flaring in his eyes as Hendricks apparated out nowhere to steady him. Oddly, Marcone’s pet goon didn’t leap forwards to break my neck, and there were no airborne knives for me to duck. “Not quite true,” I said sweetly, because certain things needed clarifying. “I’m anyone’s I want, plus Mab, because she bound me. For now. I suggest you stay the hell out of my way until you find your manners, Marcone.”
And then I ripped a hole in the air and took a short cut back to Murphy’s place. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind me crashing on her sofa.
Eventually, he let me strong arm him into a waltz, smiling his amusement and following my lead. “So, how was the Old Wolf?” he asked. “Rumor has it he stirs from his den once more.”
I wracked my brain for the sidhe lord’s name. Considering I’d run my hands across his shoulders and up across his tunic before we’d made it onto the floor, and that one of his hands was currently on my ass, I really should be able to recall it. Something with a V. Valor? Valish? Valance!
“Well, he stirs pretty vigorously in his den,” I confided with a grin. Valance’s amusement bloomed in his eyes, and he asked the question I was expecting. “Would you take another to your bed today, Knight?”
Usually, yes, but I was kind of keen on making sure that this Dissolution thing came off properly, and that all the mortals in the room got home safely. Marcone would probably help with the musicians, but he’d have to do so subtly, image conscious neurotic that he was. It’d be a bad idea just to dump them in his lap. “Look me up another time,” I said. “I’ve got duties.”
“I will,” Valance promised, hand sliding up to the small of my back and then down again, fingers dipping down past the waistband of my trousers. Just as he did so, the Waltz came to a halt and I stepped away to bow my way off the dance floor. No point in getting carried away with myself after all. Maybe it was best to find a dance partner with a stronger work ethic.
I spotted Marcone making small talk with a centaur while heroically ignoring the somewhat perverted ice sculpture that towered over them both. Hendricks and Gard stood a few paces back from him, observing Marcone’s discussion and the immediate environs with steady attentiveness. Disregarding Marcone who had his back to me, I drifted over to the Valkyrie. “Gard,” I grinned, “do you dance?”
“Not on duty,” she said, failing to hide her amusement.
“Pity,” and hey, Hendricks was glowering at me. “What about you, big guy? Know your way around a- “
Marcone spun around and dropped a hand on my wast with deceptive lightness. I could feel the strength of his body close to mine. “I do, Mr Dresden,” he said coldly.
“Uh huh,” I said, looking down at him. I was starting to read that tight lack of expression as anger, and I was having trouble working out what had triggered it. “You don’t look like you want t- “
Marcone pushed me back onto the dancefloor, and he wasn’t exactly gentle about it. And he was leading. “Ok, maybe you do. Compensating for something tonight?” His grip tightened on my hand. “Seriously Marcone. You’ve got maybe another half hour of me finding this amusing, and then you have trouble. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Marcone didn’t answer, just led me through the steps with grim methodicalness. “No fun at all,” I complained. “Have a drink, loosen up.”
“You’re loose enough for the both of us,” he snapped, and I jerked to a halt, bringing us to a standstill in the middle of the dancefloor. I knocked Marcone’s hand off my waist and broke his grip on my hand, and looked down at him coldly.
Small minded, inconsiderate, down right rude son of a bitch. “I knew Gentleman was a crappy title,” I spat, and Marcone’s face went blank again abruptly.
“I misspoke,” he said. It wasn’t an apology.
I leaned in to his personal space. “I was actually having fun for a change, you dick. Maybe you should give it a try. Don’t you see Vadderung, every now and again?” I was taunting him, yeah, and maybe it was juvenile, but he was the one that needed to grow up if he was having a bigoted snit about my sexual proclivities. “He might not want you in his bed, but I bet he’d at least bend you over his desk.”
Words guaranteed to provoke any homophobic mafia dick to violence, even if that dick were John Marcone. And he did coil up, the prelude to a blow, but suddenly Hendricks and Gard were there, Hendricks’ hand subtly present in a death grip on Marcone’s elbow, and Gard jerking me sideways in what turned out to be a dance step.
“Save that discussion for a better venue,” she said.
“He’s being a bitch,” I replied. Gard made a noncommittal noise, which I was choosing to interpret as, yes, he totally is. “Going to tell me why?”
“Now that definitely isn’t my place,” she said, and then waited for a few bars of music. “Try Hendricks.”
Twenty minutes later, when Marcone was distracted by a light show being played out by a few of Winter’s Little People, I did. “So?” I murmured, at Hendricks’ side. He gave me a dumb look. “Oh, come on. Why’s he so pissy?”
Hendricks just grunted at me, but I didn’t give in. I just stood there and eyed him, watching the play of colored lights across his thuggish features. Eventually, he relented and spoke. “Ask him yourself.”
“I tried, and then I kinda wanted to punch him in the face. Come on Hendricks, in the interests of keeping the peace?” Hendricks just shook his head, and I gave it up as a bad job. Fuck it. I could enjoy this party regardless of what Marcone thought of me, and if he didn’t like what he saw, he’d just have to learn to stop looking.
Eventually, the words were said, and the court dissolved. The gateway to the court sealed behind us with thunderous finality as we stepped out into Undertown, and I wondered where it’d take up residence next. It might be nice to see more of Europe, maybe.
I led the mortals out through the underground passages, trusting the non-mortal parties to their faerie guides. I was at the head of a confused, staggering band of mortal musicians who didn’t understand who I was, where they were, or why I insisted everyone hold hands. Marcone was bringing up the rear, so I was pretty confident I wasn’t going to lose anyone. Still, you can never be too careful.
By the time we’d chivvied everyone out into the dawning light of Chicago and bundled them all into potentially mob affiliated taxis, the length of my day was catching up with me and I slumped against the wall yawning. Marcone caught my eye.
“Congrats,” I said sleepily. “Winter’s clear of Chicago.”
“Not entirely, Marcone said, looking me up and down.
I tilted my head back, to rest it against the brickwork, not even bothering to face off with him. “Is that it? Are you pissed because I’m Winter’s?”
“You’re anyone’s that wants you,” he said. I blinked at him, checked that yes, the gateway to Undertown was closed and my vow of safe conduct discharged, and then punched him in the jaw. Marcone reeled back a step, surprise flaring in his eyes as Hendricks apparated out nowhere to steady him. Oddly, Marcone’s pet goon didn’t leap forwards to break my neck, and there were no airborne knives for me to duck. “Not quite true,” I said sweetly, because certain things needed clarifying. “I’m anyone’s I want, plus Mab, because she bound me. For now. I suggest you stay the hell out of my way until you find your manners, Marcone.”
And then I ripped a hole in the air and took a short cut back to Murphy’s place. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind me crashing on her sofa.
There was a sound like being trapped inside a bell and I could feel magic surge, twist, and run through me, through where Thomas and Kincaid were standing by the door. Even without looking, I could see it hit Gard where she run in, keeping her body in front of Marcone. It hit him too, then stopped, turning back on the doorway before it could reach Hendricks. I started to turn around and fell down before I could manage it. It was still working through me and it hurt.
Someone pulled me to my feet and I blinked at Kincaid. Thomas was still by the doorway, on his hands and knees and just passed him, I could se that Gard had caught Marcone as they fell to their knees and was holding them up.
"Get up, Dresden," Kincaid said. "What was--" and then he stopped and stared at me.
I stared back, searching for signs of what that spell had done. I could feel echoes of a change, but I didn't know what it was. Kincaid still looked the same. "I don't know," I said. "It felt like a shapechanging spell, but it doesn't seem to have done anything."
Kincaid was still staring at me and I had to stop myself from slamming him back and bringing a shield up between us, just to get him to stop staring like that. "What?" I said.
"You're not-- Is this what you looked like?" he said.
"Is what-- what are you--" And then I shut up, because over his shoulder, I could see Thomas getting to his feet and Gard helping Marcone to his. "Where they working on the fountain of youth or something?" I said, then looked down at myself. "Hell's Bells, how old do I look?"
Kincaid hesitated. "Hard to tell since I didn't know what you looked like back then. You're a little shorter than normal, but not much." He was still holding my arm like I might fall down again and I shrugged him off.
"I'd pretty much stopped growing by the time I was fifteen," I said. I held out my hands in front of me and my sleeves slid back. Thinner than I should be and I tried to remember when exactly I'd started filling out. After Eb had taken me in. Maybe even after that? I hadn't noticed at the time. "You don't look any different," I said. It came out more accusative than I'd meant it to.
"No?" Kincaid said, checking himself. "I feel pretty much the same."
"Or Ms Gard," Marcone said. "I'm assuming your starting point is just that much higher."
Right, obviously-- stupid of me not to realise. "We've all been knocked back the same amount of years, not to the same point, so since you and Gard have been round the block a few thousand times... And that's why Thomas looks like some college kid and Marcone looks like the wiseguy thug he probably was back then."
"Fuck," Marcone said, quietly, but with meaning. I wasn't the only one staring at him, because Marcone normally managed a little more control than that. It was weird. "How am I supposed to run the organisation if I look like some punk kid?"
"Not exactly a kid," Thomas said. "You're... hm, maybe mid-twenties? Late twenties?"
"Same difference," Marcone said. He inhaled, slow and deliberate. "Okay, I can work this if I have to, for a while, but we need to get this fixed. Dresden, how long?"
"I'm not one of your pet thugs, Marcone, don't try and order me about," I snapped out.
"My apologies, I thought you'd want this fixed as much as the rest of us." He looked me over and raised an eyebrow. "More."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I caught Thomas looking at me. "What?" I said, crossing my arms and hunching in.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just-- stars, Harry, there's nothing to you, is there? Did you eat at all when you were a teenager?"
"Sorry, we can't all be Tiger Beat dreamboats," I said, "Most people have this whole awkward adolescence thing, we don't just turn from cute kids to--" I stopped, partly because of the way everybody was looking at me, but mostly because I could hear myself speak. "I... didn't mean to say that," I said. "I think I'm just... stars and stones, I'm hungry," I realized.
I'd forgotten that, the way I could eat my way through two family feast pizzas and a box of chicken-wings and feel hungry again before I'd even finished licking the grease off my fingers. People joked about how much I ate now, but they'd never known me when I was growing and it felt like there wasn't enough food in the world to keep up with me. Definitely not enough in the house or-- I looked at my hands and tried to figure out how old exactly I was. Before I went to Eb's, definitely. They didn't have the calluses I'd pick up from working on the farm. I'd picked them up, then lost them when I moved to Chicago. Replaced them with others one, ones I'd picked up training with Michael or stirring pots while Bob called out instructions.
Thomas said there was nothing to me. I wasn't exactly bulky anyway, but I'd spent a lot of the last ten years running and fighting. I wasn't Mr Universe. On my best day, I wasn't even close to Thomas, but I was tough. I could lift a broadsword, I could run a marathon and live to regret it the next day. More than that, I had muscle-memory, I had hours of Murphy throwing me about on a training mat, teaching me how to fall so I could roll back up fighting, I had Michael teaching me how to stagger my punches and keep my hands up so I wasn't exposed.
Except I didn't have any of that right now. I could remember how to do it all intellectually, but the feeling of knowing it in my bones was gone. All those trained instincts, the responses that grew automatic, but they weren't any more.
I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye and I jumped back. I didn't mean to, I didn't even plan on it, but I was two foot back and I had a shield up so fast, it must have felt like Kincaid had slammed his hand into a brick wall. Everyone was looking at me and I flushed, embarrassed. It was just Kincaid, reaching out to tap my shoulder or something, and bam, my shields had gone up.
"Sorry!" I said, as shocked as the rest of the them.
"A little jumpy, are we Dresden?" Kincaid said, cradling his hand.
"Just..." I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. My magic's..." I shook my head, wondering how to explain. I could feel it, the way it had been back then, all sudden surges and then even more sudden drops, but I still had all my memories, and I knew more paths for it to go down than I had back then. Except it wasn't exactly like that, because even though my head knew the paths, my magic didn't. "Uh, are you okay?"
He flexed his hand. "Nothing broken."
I resisted the urge to apologise again. "I can't do anything right now," I said. "I need to figure out..." I waved vaguely at myself. "Get a better handle on what I've got. I'll call if-- when I come with something."
Driving back home wasn't fun. I knew what to do, but I had to think about it. It was as bad as my first time behind the wheel-- worse, maybe, because I'd learned in rural Missouri and even at 3 a.m., Chicago had a lot more traffic on the road.
But I got home in one piece, opened the door and Mouse knocked me down. I blinked because I wasn't sure if he'd still recognise me. I had to smell different, right? But he sort of whuffled at me, and I dug my hands into his fur, letting myself fall back so I was lying down with approximately two tons of fuu dog in my lap. "Yeah, you still know who I am, don't you?" I said, ruffling his fur. "You're a good dog, aren't you, a good dog." I wasn't normally so sappy with him, but it felt pretty damn good to see him. Mouse didn't look at me strangely, Mouse didn't have hidden meanings. Mouse was Mouse, and apparantly to him, I was still Harry.
Someone pulled me to my feet and I blinked at Kincaid. Thomas was still by the doorway, on his hands and knees and just passed him, I could se that Gard had caught Marcone as they fell to their knees and was holding them up.
"Get up, Dresden," Kincaid said. "What was--" and then he stopped and stared at me.
I stared back, searching for signs of what that spell had done. I could feel echoes of a change, but I didn't know what it was. Kincaid still looked the same. "I don't know," I said. "It felt like a shapechanging spell, but it doesn't seem to have done anything."
Kincaid was still staring at me and I had to stop myself from slamming him back and bringing a shield up between us, just to get him to stop staring like that. "What?" I said.
"You're not-- Is this what you looked like?" he said.
"Is what-- what are you--" And then I shut up, because over his shoulder, I could see Thomas getting to his feet and Gard helping Marcone to his. "Where they working on the fountain of youth or something?" I said, then looked down at myself. "Hell's Bells, how old do I look?"
Kincaid hesitated. "Hard to tell since I didn't know what you looked like back then. You're a little shorter than normal, but not much." He was still holding my arm like I might fall down again and I shrugged him off.
"I'd pretty much stopped growing by the time I was fifteen," I said. I held out my hands in front of me and my sleeves slid back. Thinner than I should be and I tried to remember when exactly I'd started filling out. After Eb had taken me in. Maybe even after that? I hadn't noticed at the time. "You don't look any different," I said. It came out more accusative than I'd meant it to.
"No?" Kincaid said, checking himself. "I feel pretty much the same."
"Or Ms Gard," Marcone said. "I'm assuming your starting point is just that much higher."
Right, obviously-- stupid of me not to realise. "We've all been knocked back the same amount of years, not to the same point, so since you and Gard have been round the block a few thousand times... And that's why Thomas looks like some college kid and Marcone looks like the wiseguy thug he probably was back then."
"Fuck," Marcone said, quietly, but with meaning. I wasn't the only one staring at him, because Marcone normally managed a little more control than that. It was weird. "How am I supposed to run the organisation if I look like some punk kid?"
"Not exactly a kid," Thomas said. "You're... hm, maybe mid-twenties? Late twenties?"
"Same difference," Marcone said. He inhaled, slow and deliberate. "Okay, I can work this if I have to, for a while, but we need to get this fixed. Dresden, how long?"
"I'm not one of your pet thugs, Marcone, don't try and order me about," I snapped out.
"My apologies, I thought you'd want this fixed as much as the rest of us." He looked me over and raised an eyebrow. "More."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I caught Thomas looking at me. "What?" I said, crossing my arms and hunching in.
He shook his head. "Sorry, it's just-- stars, Harry, there's nothing to you, is there? Did you eat at all when you were a teenager?"
"Sorry, we can't all be Tiger Beat dreamboats," I said, "Most people have this whole awkward adolescence thing, we don't just turn from cute kids to--" I stopped, partly because of the way everybody was looking at me, but mostly because I could hear myself speak. "I... didn't mean to say that," I said. "I think I'm just... stars and stones, I'm hungry," I realized.
I'd forgotten that, the way I could eat my way through two family feast pizzas and a box of chicken-wings and feel hungry again before I'd even finished licking the grease off my fingers. People joked about how much I ate now, but they'd never known me when I was growing and it felt like there wasn't enough food in the world to keep up with me. Definitely not enough in the house or-- I looked at my hands and tried to figure out how old exactly I was. Before I went to Eb's, definitely. They didn't have the calluses I'd pick up from working on the farm. I'd picked them up, then lost them when I moved to Chicago. Replaced them with others one, ones I'd picked up training with Michael or stirring pots while Bob called out instructions.
Thomas said there was nothing to me. I wasn't exactly bulky anyway, but I'd spent a lot of the last ten years running and fighting. I wasn't Mr Universe. On my best day, I wasn't even close to Thomas, but I was tough. I could lift a broadsword, I could run a marathon and live to regret it the next day. More than that, I had muscle-memory, I had hours of Murphy throwing me about on a training mat, teaching me how to fall so I could roll back up fighting, I had Michael teaching me how to stagger my punches and keep my hands up so I wasn't exposed.
Except I didn't have any of that right now. I could remember how to do it all intellectually, but the feeling of knowing it in my bones was gone. All those trained instincts, the responses that grew automatic, but they weren't any more.
I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye and I jumped back. I didn't mean to, I didn't even plan on it, but I was two foot back and I had a shield up so fast, it must have felt like Kincaid had slammed his hand into a brick wall. Everyone was looking at me and I flushed, embarrassed. It was just Kincaid, reaching out to tap my shoulder or something, and bam, my shields had gone up.
"Sorry!" I said, as shocked as the rest of the them.
"A little jumpy, are we Dresden?" Kincaid said, cradling his hand.
"Just..." I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. My magic's..." I shook my head, wondering how to explain. I could feel it, the way it had been back then, all sudden surges and then even more sudden drops, but I still had all my memories, and I knew more paths for it to go down than I had back then. Except it wasn't exactly like that, because even though my head knew the paths, my magic didn't. "Uh, are you okay?"
He flexed his hand. "Nothing broken."
I resisted the urge to apologise again. "I can't do anything right now," I said. "I need to figure out..." I waved vaguely at myself. "Get a better handle on what I've got. I'll call if-- when I come with something."
Driving back home wasn't fun. I knew what to do, but I had to think about it. It was as bad as my first time behind the wheel-- worse, maybe, because I'd learned in rural Missouri and even at 3 a.m., Chicago had a lot more traffic on the road.
But I got home in one piece, opened the door and Mouse knocked me down. I blinked because I wasn't sure if he'd still recognise me. I had to smell different, right? But he sort of whuffled at me, and I dug my hands into his fur, letting myself fall back so I was lying down with approximately two tons of fuu dog in my lap. "Yeah, you still know who I am, don't you?" I said, ruffling his fur. "You're a good dog, aren't you, a good dog." I wasn't normally so sappy with him, but it felt pretty damn good to see him. Mouse didn't look at me strangely, Mouse didn't have hidden meanings. Mouse was Mouse, and apparantly to him, I was still Harry.
Kincaid and Erlking. Some sort of hunting party?
OP thanks you. "should never have been compiled in the first place..." Hee, hee.
THAT PUNCH
FUCKING AWESOME
FUCKING AWESOME
(baah. reply to the right comment, moron. also, copying didn't work! so take two!)
Okay, with more thinking on. The teamwork with Gard and Hendricks and Marcone is awesome-- I love Gard and Hendricks working with autonomy, and still being totally loyal to their various causes. Harry's familiarity with their interaction is added icing to the cake.
And oh Harry. Confident and sexually confident and confident-in-his-Knighthood Harry is a wonderful thing to behold. And oh Maeve. I love you best, bb. And also, Maeve!parties. A favourite thing, ngl. ALSO the shifting supernatural landscape (literally) and the shifting political supernatural landscape in Chicago, brilliantly echoed to the progression of the role its played as a place (and a place and seat of power) in the series.
And oh JOHN. You graceless asshole. <3 The personal is political, to badly co-opt the phrase, and it's one hell of a bitchslap, no?
In conclusion: \o/\o/\o/ get back in line, I want to ride again.
Okay, with more thinking on. The teamwork with Gard and Hendricks and Marcone is awesome-- I love Gard and Hendricks working with autonomy, and still being totally loyal to their various causes. Harry's familiarity with their interaction is added icing to the cake.
And oh Harry. Confident and sexually confident and confident-in-his-Knighthood Harry is a wonderful thing to behold. And oh Maeve. I love you best, bb. And also, Maeve!parties. A favourite thing, ngl. ALSO the shifting supernatural landscape (literally) and the shifting political supernatural landscape in Chicago, brilliantly echoed to the progression of the role its played as a place (and a place and seat of power) in the series.
And oh JOHN. You graceless asshole. <3 The personal is political, to badly co-opt the phrase, and it's one hell of a bitchslap, no?
In conclusion: \o/\o/\o/ get back in line, I want to ride again.
Edited 2011-02-25 21:51 (UTC)
John is not handling this well at alllllll. I admit to amusing myself by pushing him firmly out of his depth. But, I figure he had a hand in Mab's decision to clear out of Chicago, so the evening's not a total loss!
Thaaaank you, that's a lovely comment :-D
Thaaaank you, that's a lovely comment :-D
A/N - I went to boarding school so I'm kind of ridic excited to be writing this prompt. Harry/Marcone, but it's probably going to take forever to get there. D:
I don't give a rat's butt what the Council told you. I ended up going to the Steinway Academy of Arts & Sciences because I got stuck hanging rear-first from a bathroom window at Family Court, and the only person around to pull me out happened to be the judge on my case.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it unless someone's got video evidence, which I know for a fact they don't.
But we'll get to that later.
Apparently it's easy to get stuck in a sliding window when you're six feet and counting, no matter how many ribs you've got showing.
The sill was cutting into my stomach and my satchel was still hooked to the dial on the steam radiator, half under me; I made a grab for it, missed by an inch. I remember thinking if I'd had a finger or two growing out my navel, the angle would've been just right. I remember immediately taking it back, too, because the way my life had been going, I'd have ended up with that finger, yeah--and a parasite demon fetus attached to it.
All right. Think.
When I locked my legs straight, I could just barely touch pavement. Pushing off the ground and back into the bathroom was out of the question. And with the window's edge a dead weight across my spine, slithering out was equally unlikely.
Any moment now the social worker from CPS was bound to send in the cavalry after me. Heck, she probably wouldn't even bother drafting a guy, just march in herself with my case folder rolled up in one hand like she was going to smack me on the nose with my previous sins. When it came to child development, Ms. Gard was more chalk and ruler than cookies and playtime. Considering how thick that file was, I couldn't say as I blamed her.
All of which meant I was still me: a delinquent, a giant, and stuck.
I tried a few experimental kicks, wincing when my heel struck metal with a boom. Dumpster, probably. They tended to use alleys for that. Among other things.
I shut my eyes tight, thought my way inside. Sometimes I could just manage to grab the end of it, a thin silver cord that was coiled loose in a place I thought of as my chest, my heart, only--sideways.
Sometimes I couldn't find it. Unjam, I thought at the window. Unjam unjam unjam--
"Going somewhere, hoss?"
I froze.
I don't give a rat's butt what the Council told you. I ended up going to the Steinway Academy of Arts & Sciences because I got stuck hanging rear-first from a bathroom window at Family Court, and the only person around to pull me out happened to be the judge on my case.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it unless someone's got video evidence, which I know for a fact they don't.
But we'll get to that later.
Apparently it's easy to get stuck in a sliding window when you're six feet and counting, no matter how many ribs you've got showing.
The sill was cutting into my stomach and my satchel was still hooked to the dial on the steam radiator, half under me; I made a grab for it, missed by an inch. I remember thinking if I'd had a finger or two growing out my navel, the angle would've been just right. I remember immediately taking it back, too, because the way my life had been going, I'd have ended up with that finger, yeah--and a parasite demon fetus attached to it.
All right. Think.
When I locked my legs straight, I could just barely touch pavement. Pushing off the ground and back into the bathroom was out of the question. And with the window's edge a dead weight across my spine, slithering out was equally unlikely.
Any moment now the social worker from CPS was bound to send in the cavalry after me. Heck, she probably wouldn't even bother drafting a guy, just march in herself with my case folder rolled up in one hand like she was going to smack me on the nose with my previous sins. When it came to child development, Ms. Gard was more chalk and ruler than cookies and playtime. Considering how thick that file was, I couldn't say as I blamed her.
All of which meant I was still me: a delinquent, a giant, and stuck.
I tried a few experimental kicks, wincing when my heel struck metal with a boom. Dumpster, probably. They tended to use alleys for that. Among other things.
I shut my eyes tight, thought my way inside. Sometimes I could just manage to grab the end of it, a thin silver cord that was coiled loose in a place I thought of as my chest, my heart, only--sideways.
Sometimes I couldn't find it. Unjam, I thought at the window. Unjam unjam unjam--
"Going somewhere, hoss?"
I froze.
Harry's teenaged insecurities make me wibble.
More, please!
More, please!
It's tax season... and how the heck does Harry file his income tax returns? Cue confusion.
Bonus if Marcone comes help out and has a lot of fun finding loopholes and such.
Bonus if Marcone comes help out and has a lot of fun finding loopholes and such.
LMFAO
of course Harry gets stuck in a window
Thank you so much for writing this! can't wait for the next part :D
of course Harry gets stuck in a window
Thank you so much for writing this! can't wait for the next part :D
I bet Marcone gets a stupid amount of money back on every return.
Some beings decide to cast a spell on/attempt a takeover of Chicago. They need a thaumaturgical link to the city. The Chicago Baron would do nicely for such a ritual.
Harry finds out, saves Marcone, and pyrofuegos the shit out of Marcone's kidnappers.
(Or, basically, any scenario with magic being used against Marcone and Harry getting ridiculously pissed about it.)
Harry finds out, saves Marcone, and pyrofuegos the shit out of Marcone's kidnappers.
(Or, basically, any scenario with magic being used against Marcone and Harry getting ridiculously pissed about it.)
Writer says you're welcome, and I'm glad you liked it!
Page 69 of 177
- «
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- 138
- 139
- 140
- 141
- 142
- 143
- 144
- 145
- 146
- 147
- 148
- 149
- 150
- 151
- 152
- 153
- 154
- 155
- 156
- 157
- 158
- 159
- 160
- 161
- 162
- 163
- 164
- 165
- 166
- 167
- 168
- 169
- 170
- 171
- 172
- 173
- 174
- 175
- 176
- 177
- »
Page 69 of 177