Alwaysagirl!Harry makes Marcone beg to get his mouth on her. And when she finally lets him eat her out, she pulls his hair and tells him what she likes, holding him where she wants him, because it makes her feel sexy and powerful.
Bonus points if it leads to more hotness of author's choice, but really I'm just after the kernel of homg sketched above.
I suppressed the urge to growl when Marcone entered my office with Cujo following close behind.
"What do you want?" I asked with the same tone I used to tell people to fuck off and die. It didn't deter Marcone. He gave me an infuriatingly pleased smile instead, as if my bad manners existed solely for his personal entertainment.
He pulled the seat in front of my desk and sat down without asking for permission. "Good morning, Harry. How are you?"
"That's Miss Dresden to you, scumbag. What do you want?" My magic prickled beneath my skin, fueled by my anger. He had the power to enrage me like few people did. The candle on my desk flared to life, startling him for a second. He recovered quickly, but the fact that I'd managed to surprise him at all was a victory in itself. I relaxed back on my chair, not bothering to hide the smirk on my face.
"I want to contract your services," Marcone said in a flat tone.
"Didn't we have this conversation before?" I pretended to think about it. I waited a second or two for dramatic pause, before adding, "Yeah, I distinctly remember telling you that I won't work for you. Ever."
"Miss Dresden," he said patiently.
The formal use of my name caught my attention. Marcone almost never bothered with it. I called him a criminal scumbag; he called me Harry; Hendricks hovered disapprovingly in the background. Don't ask. I didn't get it myself half the time, but it was how we worked.
Him calling me Miss Dresden meant trouble, big trouble, the kind that I wouldn't -- couldn't -- ignore, even to spite him: children, women, Chicago. With my life sucking as much as it did lately, probably all three combined.
"Fine," I grumbled. "What do you need from me?"
"Some of the girls under my protection have gone missing during the last days," he said, looking me in the eyes.
It still fucking irked me that he could do that. It was a reminder that he had tricked me before and would again, if I didn't keep up. "Fine, some of your hookers wised up and decided to give you the middle finger. All the more power to them; I don't see how that is my problem. Don't you have pimps to take care of that for you?"
His lips tightened. Cujo took a threatening step closer and that, more than anything, made me relax. I gave both of them the smarmiest smile I could muster. "Hit a nerve there?"
"Miss Gard was convinced that something supernatural was behind the disappearances," Marcone continued, ignoring my remark. "She went to investigate and hasn't reported back since."
I straightened up, my little power games with Marcone forgotten. Gard and I weren't friends but I kind of liked her, despite her questionable taste in employers. "When was she supposed to report back?"
"Twelve hours ago," Marcone said.
"Hell's bells!" I cursed. Gard was powerful. Anyone with enough juice to keep her subdued for so long was not to be taken lightly.
"I take it you're interested in the job then?" Marcone said, giving me a smug smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Fuck off, Marcone," I said. Sometimes I just couldn't help myself. I'd blame genetics, but... "You know my standard fees: fifty dollars an hour plus travel expenses. Oh, and you'll pay for all collateral property damage, too." I added, feeling mean. That'd teach him to make stupid remarks about his insurance premiums next time.
"Of course, Harry," he said, looking too pleased with himself.
"Don't call me Harry," I snapped. It was the principle of the thing.
"Whatever you say, Harry." His smile broadened.
My fingers ached with the desire to send a weeny, tiny burst of fire in his direction. Nothing too bad, just enough to remind him that I was a wizardess, and Baron or not, he should fucking show me the necessary respect. Then again, I was a grown-up wizardess and such childish displays of temper were beneath me.
Mostly.
"All right, tell me everything you know," I said, focusing back on the problem at hand.
"That'd take far too long, and to be truthful, Harry, I don't trust you that much. You wouldn't be able to handle all that I know." His lips quirked.
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes dealing with Marcone wasn't any better than dealing with a faery. "Very funny," I groused. "Everything you remember about the disappearances would be useful right about now."
"Right, here's a file with the information that Miss Gard gathered before she, too, went missing," he said. On cue, Cujo stepped closer and handed me a thick manila envelop.
I peeked inside. It was filled with handwritten notes and personnel files of the missing girls. I leafed through one, appalled at the depth of the information inside. "You know that it's extremely creepy that you know the names and addresses of each of these girls' boyfriends, right? Aren't there laws against this?"
Marcone shrugged. "There are laws against many things; it never stopped me before."
Mafia kingpin, right. It wasn't as if I didn't know that, and yet it was remarkably sobering to hold proof of it in my hands. "For the record, turning down your job offer was the best thing I've ever done in my life," I told him.
Marcone smiled. "Susan Rodriguez and Thomas Raith," he said, watching me.
"What?" I asked, frowning at the non sequitur.
"The names of your exes," Marcone said. "I know their current addresses, too. You really don't think that I limit my investigations to just my employees, do you?"
My mouth fell open for a moment. Seriously, the galls of... Then my mind caught up with what he had just said. Thomas? For real? I laughed out loud, realizing that for all his stalker-ish behavior Marcone was just as easily misled as anybody else. "Johnny, baby, what you don't know about me can fill a library."
He frowned. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head as he tried to update his mental file on Harriet Dresden, wizardess and eternal pain in Marcone's ass. My reaction had surprised him. He had probably been expecting me to go off the deep end at his little revelation.
I made a mental note to screw with Marcone's head more often. Just thinking about it put me in a good mood.
In case I haven't mentioned this before, fire is my element. A certain penchant for playing with it comes with the territory. I just can't help it, really.
Right, missing girls. Missing Gard. Concentrate on the job at hand, Harry girl, I told to myself.
I turned to Marcone, interrupting his thoughts. "This conversation has gone long enough. The door is over there. I'm pretty sure that you have a bunch of things to do, people to kill, girls to stalk, drugs to sell. Time's a wasting. I'll contact you if I need something. Now, chop, chop, I have a case to investigate."
Marcone stood up, and Cujo moved aside, falling into place behind him.
"Remember that for the duration you're working for me, Miss Dresden," Marcone said. "Do keep me informed."
"Sure thing, darling," I said absently, already busy spreading the files over my worktable, trying to find something in common between the missing girls, other than the obvious, of course.
I sensed the moment Marcone left the office, a slight telltale easing of the wards protecting it. I wasn't completely alone yet, though. I looked up, curious as to why Cujo was lingering behind. It wasn't like him.
"Miss Dresden, a word of advice," Hendricks said, when he caught me looking. "Don't make the boss more curious about you than he already is. It's just not healthy." He nodded at me and stepped outside, closing the door.
The hell? As veiled threats went, it wasn't one of the best I'd received. Seriously, if Cujo thought that being all menacing would make me stop pissing off his mafia overlord, he needed to read Marcone's secret file on me more carefully. My days of trying to be an obedient little girl ended when I set Justin on fire. But that wasn't neither here nor there.
I had missing girls to find. The fact that Gard would owe me for this wasn't too bad either. And if I was truthful with myself, I kind of liked not having to worry about next month's rent. Marcone was a scumbag, but he paid on time.
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Dear OP, sadly I'm unable to write PWP, which is why I just gave you 1.4k worth of words and no one is even thinking about taking off their clothes yet. I will get them there... eventually. I hope you don't mind the wait.
General author note: I want to come out and confess that this is my first attempt at writing in this fandom, and I haven't read all the books. I hope I don't screw canon too much in the process, but feel free to tell me if I do; I'd actually appreciate it. Also, English isn't my mother tongue, so please forgive the unavoidable typos and quirky use of grammar.
Dear OP, I just wanted to let you know that the updates will be slower in coming (mostly during the weekends). I have currently a work-related project that is eating my life and makes it almost impossible to write during the week :( I hope you don't mind. Sorry!
Screw the OP. I'm loving this. Keep it up. It looks like you've got a great story brewing.
I love "Johnny, baby, what you don't know about me can fill a library." and "Don't make the boss more curious about you than he already is. It's just not healthy." Very IC.
I had six names, six personnel files, countless statements by friends and fellow hookers, and in the end just a big lot of nothing. Zero. Nada. The girls were all nice, well-behaved sex-workers — I had it on good authority that that was the politically correct term, thank you very much. The point was that after six hours running around Chicago and visiting just as many brothels I still didn't know jack shit.
Sandra Miller's place was my last stop. I parked my car outside and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The door was locked, but that was easily solved. I checked that no one was watching and with a burst of magic forced the lock open. The flat was small but well kept (certainly tidier than mine). Her book collection surprised me. History, philosophy and whatnot; not the kind of reading material I would've expected, given her profession. It showed how little I knew.
I collected some long, red hairs from the comb in her bathroom and stored them carefully. I'd tried simpler location spells earlier, but they'd been a waste of time. Whoever had the girls knew how to block basic tracking charms. I needed to bring out the big weapons. I rummaged her laundry basket for some underwear. Don't look so surprise; being a wizardess wasn't all sunshine and roses. Some spells required rather questionable components. The tracking charm I wanted to attempt was a fine example. It'd have worked better with blood, but failing that, used underwear would do. As personal items went, it didn't get any more personal.
I drove home as fast as my car would allow it, my mind busy with the finer aspects of the spell I wanted to create. It was the part of my job I loved the most. I practically ran to my lab, giddy with excitement.
"Bob, wake up! We've got work," I called cheerfully, knocking on the top of his skull.
"Quit that," Bob snapped. An orange light flickered in the empty sockets of his skull. "What is it now?"
I brought Bob up to speed with my plan to track the missing girls.
He whistled in something like admiration. "Harry, my dear girl, you've learned from me. That's quite the clever spell." I preened a bit at the compliment. "How'd you get the blood?" Bob asked.
"I didn't," I confessed, knowing that it was a flaw in my plan. "I just hope these will work as a substitute." I showed him the items I had collected from the girls' houses.
Bob's skull rattled the table. "Harry, you brought me dirty thongs!" He was practically drooling, or would have been, had his skull been able to.
"I didn't bring you anything." I cut his train of thought before he got carried away. "They're for the spell."
"A spell you want me to help you with," he reminded me. "Harry, I couldn't love you more than I do this instant, unless... Are you going to use your dirty underwear to anchor the spell?"
"Of course not!" I squeaked. "Just plain old blood."
"Boring," Bob said. "Wait, you can't use the thongs for the spell!"
"Why not?" I had checked and re-checked. It might not be as good as blood but it should work.
"You'd destroy them," Bob whined.
I rolled my eyes. "You'll survive it."
"At least let me take a good whiff first," he begged, trying to move closer.
I pushed his skull back unceremoniously. "You're such a disgusting pig, Bob."
"You want my help or not?" he asked. Skulls shouldn't have an expression, but he looked almost beseeching.
I narrowed my eyes at him and then sighed in resignation. "I'm going to warm dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes, and all six pieces better be there when I come back."
"Sure thing, boss," he said, remaining remarkably still. It didn't fool me any.
"I don't want to know," I told Bob the moment I came back, forestalling his constant desire to over-share.
"You're such a prude," he complained, but dropped it. To his credit, he did help with the enchantment, pointing out weaknesses in my casting and behaving like you'd think a true Spirit of Intellect ought to.
I finished tracing the last sigils and stepped inside the circle. I nicked my wrist with a small knife, making sure that the blood fell over the clothes and hairs placed over the central sigil. The red drops burned through the lingerie like acid. Black puffs of smoke rose in the air, engulfing me. I breathed it in. The shallow cut on my wrist burned. My vision clouded, and I blinked, trying to clear the fumes from my teary eyes. When I could see again I wasn't in my apartment, but in an old warehouse. Nine metal cages hung from the ceiling; only two were empty. I recognized some of the women from the pictures... and Sigrun, of course. She, too, was naked. The only difference was that while the others were cowering inside their cages, Sigrun was rattling at the bars of hers, trying to break free.
A sudden wave of dizziness shook me, and I lost my balance. When I opened my eyes again I was back in my lab. Someone was calling my name; it took me a moment to realize it was Bob.
"Boss, come on, wake up. You're scaring me." He sounded desperate.
"I'm fine," I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't obey. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach to settle. An invisible cord tugged at my heart, like the pull of a leash. A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist.
"Bob, I won't be able to rescue anyone like this," I finally admitted.
"The spell will lift after you find the place, or at sunrise. Whichever comes first," Bob reminded me.
Right, I only had until sunrise to find that warehouse.
North. North. North.
I couldn't drive like this. Fuck, until the spell ended, I'd barely be able to move. So much for my original plan.
I had one option left; one I didn't like it.
I pulled myself up by sheer will and staggered to the living room. Another wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed the urge to throw up and let myself fall on the couch. I picked up the phone and dialed Marcone's number.
"Harry," Marcone's voice came after the third ring. "Did you find something?"
"Need a car," I croaked. "My place. Now. A driver you trust." I almost asked for Hendricks. I hated the idea of anyone seeing me this vulnerable. At least Cujo would keep his mouth shut after he reported to Marcone.
"On its way," Marcone said. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked in a low voice. Was he worried?
There was a witty comeback there, waiting for me to hurl it at him, but I was too dizzy to engage in our usual banter. "I'm peachy. Just get me that car."
I hung up and waited for Marcone's minion to arrive.
Op is still tickled to pieces by this. With plot! And magic!! And underwear!
And would like to circle back to the first part to say how awesome it is that Susan is still Harry's ex. Fuck yes, thank you for doing that *hand gestures*.
I may have been playing too much Echo Bazaar, but my first thought on reading A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist. was your awesome is increasing.
Blessed was the day I discovered this fandom, exactly one month ago: at the same time I discovered this kinkmeme and a whole lot of good writers. This is a wonderful beginning: funny, plotty, with perfect voices. I do love me a good storyteller who knows what is important in a story. I can't wait for more!
PS As for PWPs, sometimes a story is better off without them... IMHO, they often tend to spoil the structure. Unless it is a PWP pure and simple.
The pounding on my door forced me to open my eyes. I had been fighting the call of the spell for what felt like hours. I dragged myself out of the couch and tottered to the door. The cold evening breeze brushed against my heated skin. Images of metal cages swinging in the air assaulted me once more, and I faltered.
"Watch out," Marcone called, catching me before I could fall. He sounded honest-to-goodness worried, which was further proof that the stupid spell was screwing with my senses.
I blinked at him in confusion. "What're you doing here?" I asked, disentangling myself from him with difficulty.
"You asked for a car."
"The Outfit must be doing bad, if yours is the only car they have." Sarcasm, thy name was Harriet Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.
"Ms. Gard is missing," he said in a clipped tone.
Ah. Of course.
This wasn't Marcone, trying to be annoying and controlling in that stalker-ish way of his, but pissed-off Marcone, wanting to make an example of whoever had dared touch his property. I suppressed the urge to chuckle. Star and stones, when Gard found out she'd probably kill Marcone herself.
"Kudos for wanting to play knight in shining armor." I showed him my teeth. "However, they're using magic." That made it my problem, and he knew it.
"You asked for a driver," he reminded me.
I narrowed my eyes at him. I hated it when he had a point. I should've called Michael, but he probably would've had a fit about the state I was in.
"Fine," I mumbled. Gracious in defeat I wasn't. "We're heading north." The word triggered the spell, and its strength spiked. I was back at the warehouse, a man dressed with black robes stood in the middle of a summoning circle, chanting.
A sharp flash of pain against my face brought me back. Marcone was crouching in front of me, looking almost — concerned? It couldn't be. Hendricks hovered behind him, a sour expression on his face. Somehow they'd managed to carry me from the door to my living room. Empty night, I didn't even remember Hendricks' leaving the car. That wasn't a good sign.
"What the hell was that?" Marcone smoothed the hair out my face. His hand lingered on my forehead, as if checking for a fever.
"Spell. Sigrun and the other girls. Warehouse. North," I told him, still shaken by the vision.
Hendricks' face closed off. He looked like a loaded machine gun with the safety off. "Can you be more specific than that, Ms. Dresden?" he asked.
"Just get me in the car and drive," I told them. "The spell will guide me." We were wasting time.
"You can't fight like this," Marcone pointed out.
Okay. Since when did he care?
"Mr. Obvious, the spell will lift when we find the place." In theory, anyway. He didn't need to know that, though. "Car. Now." I tried to stand up, but another wave of nausea hit me and I lost my balance. Marcone caught me.
Again.
Seriously, could the evening get any more embarrassing?
"Mr. Hendricks," Marcone said. "Help Ms. Dresden to the car."
Before I could so much as protest, Cujo had already lifted me up and was carrying me. I probably looked like one of those silly heroines on the cover of Bob's trashiest novels. You know the ones? With manly-men wearing half-opened shirts and holding fainting girls on their arms? My only consolation was that I was wearing cargo pants and long sleeve shirts and so many layers of baggy clothes that I didn't even look like a girl.
It still pissed me off. "Put me down," I snapped. "I can walk by myself."
Cujo didn't so much as slow down. "Empirical evidence disproves your postulated theory, Ms. Dresden."
I gaped at him at a loss for words. By the time I had a reply ready, Cujo had already reached their Caddy. At least he had the decency to shove me unceremoniously on the back seat. Had he been gallant about it, I'd have probably singed his eyebrows.
Marcone slipped into the car afterwards, handing me my duster. I cradled it protectively. I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten it. In my defense, it wasn't every day that some caveman-cum-bodyguard carried me around like a blushing bride.
That clinched it. No more spell experimentation for yours truly.
I closed my eyes and focused on the throbbing pain of my bleeding wrist. "West," I called, when the pull changed. Cujo followed my directions quietly. For once in his life even Marcone stayed silent, watching me out of worried green eyes. For the most part, I ignored both of them, too busy making sense out of the images flooding my mind.
"Stop!" I cried when the effects of the spell suddenly vanished. I enjoyed the return of my control for a moment, before stepping outside. The cold, humid air of the harbor cleared the last traces of dizziness still clinging to me. My magic sang beneath my skin. I clutched my blasting rod, enjoying the rush of adrenaline coursing through me.
I recognized the distinct shape of the small barred windows I'd seen in my visions. "That's the warehouse," I said, pointing to a dark flat building in front of us.
"Do you know how many people are inside?" Hendricks asked.
"Just one warlock that I could see, and the girls." I turned my Sight on and gasped. The wards protecting the place were powerful. No wonder the Wardens didn't know what was going on in there. "How the fuck is he… ley lines. He is good," I admitted with reluctance.
"Can you take him?" Marcone asked.
I shrugged, slipping into my duster. The extra layer of protection boosted my confidence. "One way to find out," I said, heading for the door.
Marcone yanked me back. "What's your plan?"
You'd think that he'd never worked with me before. "Storm the place? Rescue the girls? Capture the bad guy?" It was as good a plan as any.
"You said he was powerful." Marcone hadn't let go of my wrist. I gave his hand a pointed look until he reluctantly eased his hold.
"That never stopped me before," I reminded him.
"Ms. Gard's life is at stake," Cujo said. At this rate he was going to use up his monthly allotment of words in just one evening.
"I'm perfectly aware of that." I turned to Marcone. "I don't question how you go about running the Outfit. Don't question how I do my job as a wizardess. You're paying me to find your girls and rescue them. That's what I'm doing. Not shut up."
"We're going with you." It was a statement, not a question.
He tried my patience, Marcone did. "I can't baby-sit you if I'm going to be fighting this guy."
He stepped into my personal space. Something sharp dug against my chest, inches below the soft curve of my left breast. I didn't dare look away from his eyes, but I knew that if I did, I'd find a dagger poised to pierce my heart at the slightest provocation. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Harry. Even against warlocks. You'd better remember that."
The knife shouldn't have been able to penetrate my shields, unless Gard had altered it somehow. This was Gentleman John Marcone, of course she had. I curved my lips into something resembling a smile, although I'm pretty sure it fell short of it. "Your funeral, Johnny boy, just don't expect me to shed any tears."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He stepped back, putting the knife away in a swift movement. His smile even looked genuine. Obviously, he'd had more practice faking it. "Lead the way."
I toyed with the idea to blast him unconscious and collect him after I was done with the rescue but decided against it. Cujo's eyes hadn't left me for an second, parsing my every step. Well, if they wanted to risk their lives, who was I to stop them. "Sure. The more, the merrier."
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Note: Sorry for the delay in posting, but RL got in the way and wasn't nice about it.
"My only consolation was that I was wearing cargo pants and long sleeve shirts and so many layers of baggy clothes that I didn't even look like a girl." - ahahaaha! I love your Harry.
In hindsight I was willing to admit — under duress and extreme torture — that Marcone might have been onto something with his plan-thingy. The place was booby-trapped. It wasn't just the wards helping to keep the White Council out; the whole warehouse was built like a prison. The sigils on the walls, the threshold and the windowsills were specially designed to stop wizards from escaping. My throat was dried with apprehension, not that I was willing to admit it. I'd never seen anything like it before. Whoever this warlock was, vanilla hookers weren't his intended prey.
"This is a trap," I told Marcone.
"Really," he commented dryly, and despite the bleakness of the situation I rolled my eyes at him.
"Phones are out," Cujo said, trying uselessly to make his mobile react in any way. I could've told him that it was useless. The place reeked with dark magic. Not even old, landline phones would've stood a chance. "Now what?"
A deafening roar stopped me from replying. I spun around, holding my blasting rod in a tight grip. Out of the shadows a huge construct leaped at us. "Fuego!" The words were pure instinct. The creature's growl turned into a high-pitched scream as fire consumed it.
"Harry, down," Marcone said. I dropped to my knees and folded on myself, clearing out of Marcone and Hendricks' line of fire. I whirled around in time to see yet another construct charging. Three more stepped forward from between the shadows. They were everywhere: oddly-shaped, saber-toothed cats that made grizzly bears look small. Marcone's and Hendricks' bullets hit their mark but didn't kill them. Nonetheless, they slowed them down enough for me to destroy them with fire. I was grateful for Marcone and Hendricks' presence, which probably gives you an idea of how screwed up we truly were.
We were being swarmed. No matter how many I set on fire, more appeared. It was like fighting a hydra.
Hendricks was the first to go down in a stupid move aimed to save Marcone. I was too busy torching one of the biggest cats, when another attacked Marcone while he was reloading his gun. Cujo stepped in front of it, shoving Marcone out of the way. I wanted to help Hendricks, but two more cats were coming our way. Marcone screamed something unintelligible and emptied his clip on the construct. It shrugged off the bullets as if they were annoying flies and dragged Hendricks away.
It was down to Marcone and me. We fought back to back. I heard the moment when he ran out of bullets and knew that it was over. I had already incinerated over a dozen of creatures, and there were still as many more surrounding us. I used my bracelet to raise a shield around us, pouring my power into it. Screw fighting, we just needed to stay alive until I came up with a better idea.
"I'll distract them," Marcone said to me. "Try to escape and bring back reinforcements."
"Stupid plan," I told him between clenched teeth, concentrating on keeping the shield up. "The place is warded tighter than Queen Mab's personal vault. Believe me, I won't be able to walk out. You have better odds. The wards won't keep vanilla mortals in."
The cats stopped attacking the moment we stopped firing. They sat there, watching us out of their empty black eyes. I was uncomfortably reminded of Mister, when he found a half-dead pigeon particularly entertaining and let it twitch uselessly around, instead of just finishing it off.
"Ms. Dresden," a male voice spoke from the shadows, "what a memorable show. Not even Ms. Gard destroyed as many of my creatures as you did. I see I've chosen right." An old man walked past the cats, stopping just a few feet shy of the shield. The stench of dark magic filled my nostrils.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Marcone asked.
The warlock's eyes didn't waver away from me when he answered. "What I want? Right now, I just want to offer you a deal, Ms. Dresden."
"What kind of a deal?" I asked, making sure to keep my shield up.
"Give yourself up, and I'll let your friends live," the warlock said.
"I'll take door number two," I said. In my experience, when someone tells you that if you give up they'll spare your friends, believing them only gets you and your friends killed faster.
"I'll swear on my true name and my magic, if you so wish it," he said. "I'm willing to trade their freedom for yours."
That gave me pause. The offer was tempting. I've dealt often enough with faeries to know how to word vows in a way that make the magic work in my favor.
For the most part anyway.
"Harry, don't be stupid! It's a trap," Marcone said.
"Tell me something I don't know," I whispered to him, before addressing the warlock once more. "What do you want with me?" I asked. Regardless of Marcone's lack of confidence in my plans, I was able to be careful every now and then.
"You'll help me finish the Ritual of Panathenaea," he said.
I racked my brain trying to remember where I'd heard those words before. I didn't talk too often with other magic users about rituals, just with Bob, and Bob only shared information about rituals that involved sex. Wait a minute…
"Isn't that the ritual where you sacrifice seven whores and one virgin in exchange for absolute knowledge?" According to Bob, it had been used to create the first Archive. The ritual had been destroyed. Even Bob himself didn't know enough to recreate it. He just remembered the pervy details, but that was Bob for you.
"Interesting. I didn't think anyone but the Archive herself knew about its existence, and she, as all Archives before her, has gone to great lengths to keep it hidden." The warlock cocked his head slightly, watching me hungrily.
"If it's so secret, how did you find about it then?" A girl could ask. Marcone's fingers dug into my forearm in a silent warning. What could I say? I had a rather long name, but careful wasn't any part of it.
The warlock's lips curled. "That's irrelevant. Will you help me in order to save your friends?"
"We both know you're lying," I pointed out. "You need the hookers for the ritual to work."
The smirk on his face widened, twisting into a cruel sneer. "I said I'd free your friends, not the whores. They're nothing to you. Only the Baron and his two bodyguards will be allowed to walk free."
Ah. So that was his angle. "You still haven't told me what you want with me."
"You said it yourself, little wizardess, seven whores and a virgin. You'll do nicely."
I hated it when men thought that having a dick made them bigger somehow. For the record, I can tower over pretty much every man I've ever met, with a few exceptions. I might not have any curves to speak of, but I'm tall, thank you very much. There was nothing little about me.
I was so pissed off that it took me a moment to actually understand what he was implying. "You need to do your research better, honey. I haven't been a virgin for a long while."
He chuckled. "It's there in your aura for everyone to see, if they know what to look for," he said. "Imagine my surprise when I first saw you, prancing through Chicago: a virgin wizardess leaking power all over the place. I knew then that I had to have you, and I will."
Marcone tensed, ready to jump. It was my turn to tighten my grip on his arm. He couldn't loose his cool now. Besides, I didn't need him jumping to my rescue. I was perfectly capable of defending myself.
"Look, asshole, I'm not a virgin. If someone would know, it'd be me. You need to have your Sight checked."
"If you can tell me — under oath — the name of one man you've had sex with, I'll let you and your friends go. I'll even let you take the whores with you," he said.
The memory of Justin's cold hands, sliding over my inner thighs, came unbidden. I forced myself to stay still, even though every muscle in my body wanted to shudder with revulsion. Justin didn't count, though. He'd burned to ashes before he— I cut off the thought with the ease of practice, pushing it down to the deepest corners of my mind.
"Fine, I can't name any males, but that doesn't make me a virgin, just a lesbian. It's not the same thing." I still had the dark blue strap-on Susan had given me for my birthday to prove it.
"For the purpose of this ritual, it is."
When this was over, Bob and I were going to have words. Why did I have an all-knowing spirit, who could read auras, if he wasn't going to warn me about these things? But first things first. "Just to clarify, will you have to take off my clothes to finish this ritual?" An idea was taking shape in my head. Granted, it was a crazy idea, but I had good reason to believe it'd work. I trusted my gut. More than that, I trusted Bob.
The warlock blinked, as if he couldn't quite follow where I was going with this. That was fine, I was hoping that he wouldn't. "Evidently," he said.
"And I assume that part of the ritual involves you helping me get rid of my hetero-normative pseudo-virginity, right?"
He paused. "Yes."
"Is that after or before you kill the sex-workers?"
"The blood of the virgin opens the Path to Wisdom," he said as if quoting from a book. I could even hear the capital letters. Ivy and I were going to have words, too. She should have at least given me a hint that this was coming.
"Unless you use a knife, there won't be any blood to speak of, asshole."
Marcone tensed even further. "Harry," he hissed, you can't…"
I scraped my fingernails over the soft skin of his inner wrist, silencing him. "I'll do what needs to be done. Just like you would." He quieted, and I knew that he got my message. I wasn't going to sacrifice my life uselessly; he would never do that. "All right," I said to the warlock. "I agree to your terms, but I want to see Hendricks and Sigrun first, alive, or not deal."
He nodded. Two of the constructs moved away and came back minutes later, dragging an unconscious Hendricks and a struggling Sigrun between their huge teeth. They dropped them on the floor. Sigrun lurched into an attack, naked, beautiful, but before she could so much as touch the warlock an invisible wave of magic slapped her down, forcing her to stay on the floor. She struggled like a berserker to not avail.
"Enough!" I snapped, unable to watch any further. "Let's get this show on the road. You let my friends go, and I won't use my magic to burn you down to ashes when you try to rape me." I dropped my shield and stood up, keeping my blasting rod aimed between the two of us. "I want a vow swore upon your true name."
Marcone was probably frothing at the mouth with rage. I didn't need telepathic powers to know that he was calling me all kind of idiots in his mind. I glanced at Sigrun. Strangely enough, she'd stopped struggling and was watching me with curiosity.
"You will cooperate, then?" The warlock looked unsure.
"I will not actively fight you," I corrected the warlock, being careful to enunciate each word. I did have a faery godmother, after all. Words had power.
--------
Note: Sorry for the long delay. Work Project of Doom is over, though. I should be able to update more frequently again.
Oh thank God, I was afraid you had abandoned this. And it is waaay too awesome to be abandoned. Marcone being crazy, Harry not thinking about Justin, the whole setup *hands*.
Dear OP, I'm glad to know that you, and the other readers too, are still enjoying the story :) I was a tiny, tiny, bit afraid people had already forgotten about it.
I very much plan to continue. Thinking of this story is what kept me sane during the Project of Doom. I should have the next part ready in a day or two. *is slow*
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Say please
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 12:52 am (UTC)(link)Bonus points if it leads to more hotness of author's choice, but really I'm just after the kernel of homg sketched above.
For a price 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)"What do you want?" I asked with the same tone I used to tell people to fuck off and die. It didn't deter Marcone. He gave me an infuriatingly pleased smile instead, as if my bad manners existed solely for his personal entertainment.
He pulled the seat in front of my desk and sat down without asking for permission. "Good morning, Harry. How are you?"
"That's Miss Dresden to you, scumbag. What do you want?" My magic prickled beneath my skin, fueled by my anger. He had the power to enrage me like few people did. The candle on my desk flared to life, startling him for a second. He recovered quickly, but the fact that I'd managed to surprise him at all was a victory in itself. I relaxed back on my chair, not bothering to hide the smirk on my face.
"I want to contract your services," Marcone said in a flat tone.
"Didn't we have this conversation before?" I pretended to think about it. I waited a second or two for dramatic pause, before adding, "Yeah, I distinctly remember telling you that I won't work for you. Ever."
"Miss Dresden," he said patiently.
The formal use of my name caught my attention. Marcone almost never bothered with it. I called him a criminal scumbag; he called me Harry; Hendricks hovered disapprovingly in the background. Don't ask. I didn't get it myself half the time, but it was how we worked.
Him calling me Miss Dresden meant trouble, big trouble, the kind that I wouldn't -- couldn't -- ignore, even to spite him: children, women, Chicago. With my life sucking as much as it did lately, probably all three combined.
"Fine," I grumbled. "What do you need from me?"
"Some of the girls under my protection have gone missing during the last days," he said, looking me in the eyes.
It still fucking irked me that he could do that. It was a reminder that he had tricked me before and would again, if I didn't keep up. "Fine, some of your hookers wised up and decided to give you the middle finger. All the more power to them; I don't see how that is my problem. Don't you have pimps to take care of that for you?"
His lips tightened. Cujo took a threatening step closer and that, more than anything, made me relax. I gave both of them the smarmiest smile I could muster. "Hit a nerve there?"
"Miss Gard was convinced that something supernatural was behind the disappearances," Marcone continued, ignoring my remark. "She went to investigate and hasn't reported back since."
I straightened up, my little power games with Marcone forgotten. Gard and I weren't friends but I kind of liked her, despite her questionable taste in employers. "When was she supposed to report back?"
"Twelve hours ago," Marcone said.
"Hell's bells!" I cursed. Gard was powerful. Anyone with enough juice to keep her subdued for so long was not to be taken lightly.
"I take it you're interested in the job then?" Marcone said, giving me a smug smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Fuck off, Marcone," I said. Sometimes I just couldn't help myself. I'd blame genetics, but... "You know my standard fees: fifty dollars an hour plus travel expenses. Oh, and you'll pay for all collateral property damage, too." I added, feeling mean. That'd teach him to make stupid remarks about his insurance premiums next time.
"Of course, Harry," he said, looking too pleased with himself.
"Don't call me Harry," I snapped. It was the principle of the thing.
"Whatever you say, Harry." His smile broadened.
My fingers ached with the desire to send a weeny, tiny burst of fire in his direction. Nothing too bad, just enough to remind him that I was a wizardess, and Baron or not, he should fucking show me the necessary respect. Then again, I was a grown-up wizardess and such childish displays of temper were beneath me.
Mostly.
"All right, tell me everything you know," I said, focusing back on the problem at hand.
"That'd take far too long, and to be truthful, Harry, I don't trust you that much. You wouldn't be able to handle all that I know." His lips quirked.
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes dealing with Marcone wasn't any better than dealing with a faery. "Very funny," I groused. "Everything you remember about the disappearances would be useful right about now."
"Right, here's a file with the information that Miss Gard gathered before she, too, went missing," he said. On cue, Cujo stepped closer and handed me a thick manila envelop.
I peeked inside. It was filled with handwritten notes and personnel files of the missing girls. I leafed through one, appalled at the depth of the information inside. "You know that it's extremely creepy that you know the names and addresses of each of these girls' boyfriends, right? Aren't there laws against this?"
Marcone shrugged. "There are laws against many things; it never stopped me before."
Mafia kingpin, right. It wasn't as if I didn't know that, and yet it was remarkably sobering to hold proof of it in my hands. "For the record, turning down your job offer was the best thing I've ever done in my life," I told him.
Marcone smiled. "Susan Rodriguez and Thomas Raith," he said, watching me.
"What?" I asked, frowning at the non sequitur.
"The names of your exes," Marcone said. "I know their current addresses, too. You really don't think that I limit my investigations to just my employees, do you?"
My mouth fell open for a moment. Seriously, the galls of... Then my mind caught up with what he had just said. Thomas? For real? I laughed out loud, realizing that for all his stalker-ish behavior Marcone was just as easily misled as anybody else. "Johnny, baby, what you don't know about me can fill a library."
He frowned. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head as he tried to update his mental file on Harriet Dresden, wizardess and eternal pain in Marcone's ass. My reaction had surprised him. He had probably been expecting me to go off the deep end at his little revelation.
I made a mental note to screw with Marcone's head more often. Just thinking about it put me in a good mood.
In case I haven't mentioned this before, fire is my element. A certain penchant for playing with it comes with the territory. I just can't help it, really.
Right, missing girls. Missing Gard. Concentrate on the job at hand, Harry girl, I told to myself.
I turned to Marcone, interrupting his thoughts. "This conversation has gone long enough. The door is over there. I'm pretty sure that you have a bunch of things to do, people to kill, girls to stalk, drugs to sell. Time's a wasting. I'll contact you if I need something. Now, chop, chop, I have a case to investigate."
Marcone stood up, and Cujo moved aside, falling into place behind him.
"Remember that for the duration you're working for me, Miss Dresden," Marcone said. "Do keep me informed."
"Sure thing, darling," I said absently, already busy spreading the files over my worktable, trying to find something in common between the missing girls, other than the obvious, of course.
I sensed the moment Marcone left the office, a slight telltale easing of the wards protecting it. I wasn't completely alone yet, though. I looked up, curious as to why Cujo was lingering behind. It wasn't like him.
"Miss Dresden, a word of advice," Hendricks said, when he caught me looking. "Don't make the boss more curious about you than he already is. It's just not healthy." He nodded at me and stepped outside, closing the door.
The hell? As veiled threats went, it wasn't one of the best I'd received. Seriously, if Cujo thought that being all menacing would make me stop pissing off his mafia overlord, he needed to read Marcone's secret file on me more carefully. My days of trying to be an obedient little girl ended when I set Justin on fire. But that wasn't neither here nor there.
I had missing girls to find. The fact that Gard would owe me for this wasn't too bad either. And if I was truthful with myself, I kind of liked not having to worry about next month's rent. Marcone was a scumbag, but he paid on time.
---------------------------------------
Dear OP, sadly I'm unable to write PWP, which is why I just gave you 1.4k worth of words and no one is even thinking about taking off their clothes yet. I will get them there... eventually. I hope you don't mind the wait.
General author note: I want to come out and confess that this is my first attempt at writing in this fandom, and I haven't read all the books. I hope I don't screw canon too much in the process, but feel free to tell me if I do; I'd actually appreciate it. Also, English isn't my mother tongue, so please forgive the unavoidable typos and quirky use of grammar.
op Re: For a price 1/?
Re: op Re: For a price 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-15 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)I hope you don't mind. Sorry!
Re: op Re: For a price 1/?
Re: For a price 1/?
I love "Johnny, baby, what you don't know about me can fill a library." and "Don't make the boss more curious about you than he already is. It's just not healthy." Very IC.
Re: For a price 1/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-06 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)Write as much as you like! I know I have no objections to a story I can sink my teeth into.
For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)Sandra Miller's place was my last stop. I parked my car outside and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The door was locked, but that was easily solved. I checked that no one was watching and with a burst of magic forced the lock open. The flat was small but well kept (certainly tidier than mine). Her book collection surprised me. History, philosophy and whatnot; not the kind of reading material I would've expected, given her profession. It showed how little I knew.
I collected some long, red hairs from the comb in her bathroom and stored them carefully. I'd tried simpler location spells earlier, but they'd been a waste of time. Whoever had the girls knew how to block basic tracking charms. I needed to bring out the big weapons. I rummaged her laundry basket for some underwear. Don't look so surprise; being a wizardess wasn't all sunshine and roses. Some spells required rather questionable components. The tracking charm I wanted to attempt was a fine example. It'd have worked better with blood, but failing that, used underwear would do. As personal items went, it didn't get any more personal.
I drove home as fast as my car would allow it, my mind busy with the finer aspects of the spell I wanted to create. It was the part of my job I loved the most. I practically ran to my lab, giddy with excitement.
"Bob, wake up! We've got work," I called cheerfully, knocking on the top of his skull.
"Quit that," Bob snapped. An orange light flickered in the empty sockets of his skull. "What is it now?"
I brought Bob up to speed with my plan to track the missing girls.
He whistled in something like admiration. "Harry, my dear girl, you've learned from me. That's quite the clever spell." I preened a bit at the compliment. "How'd you get the blood?" Bob asked.
"I didn't," I confessed, knowing that it was a flaw in my plan. "I just hope these will work as a substitute." I showed him the items I had collected from the girls' houses.
Bob's skull rattled the table. "Harry, you brought me dirty thongs!" He was practically drooling, or would have been, had his skull been able to.
"I didn't bring you anything." I cut his train of thought before he got carried away. "They're for the spell."
"A spell you want me to help you with," he reminded me. "Harry, I couldn't love you more than I do this instant, unless... Are you going to use your dirty underwear to anchor the spell?"
"Of course not!" I squeaked. "Just plain old blood."
"Boring," Bob said. "Wait, you can't use the thongs for the spell!"
"Why not?" I had checked and re-checked. It might not be as good as blood but it should work.
"You'd destroy them," Bob whined.
I rolled my eyes. "You'll survive it."
"At least let me take a good whiff first," he begged, trying to move closer.
I pushed his skull back unceremoniously. "You're such a disgusting pig, Bob."
"You want my help or not?" he asked. Skulls shouldn't have an expression, but he looked almost beseeching.
I narrowed my eyes at him and then sighed in resignation. "I'm going to warm dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes, and all six pieces better be there when I come back."
"Sure thing, boss," he said, remaining remarkably still. It didn't fool me any.
"I don't want to know," I told Bob the moment I came back, forestalling his constant desire to over-share.
"You're such a prude," he complained, but dropped it. To his credit, he did help with the enchantment, pointing out weaknesses in my casting and behaving like you'd think a true Spirit of Intellect ought to.
I finished tracing the last sigils and stepped inside the circle. I nicked my wrist with a small knife, making sure that the blood fell over the clothes and hairs placed over the central sigil. The red drops burned through the lingerie like acid. Black puffs of smoke rose in the air, engulfing me. I breathed it in. The shallow cut on my wrist burned. My vision clouded, and I blinked, trying to clear the fumes from my teary eyes. When I could see again I wasn't in my apartment, but in an old warehouse. Nine metal cages hung from the ceiling; only two were empty. I recognized some of the women from the pictures... and Sigrun, of course. She, too, was naked. The only difference was that while the others were cowering inside their cages, Sigrun was rattling at the bars of hers, trying to break free.
A sudden wave of dizziness shook me, and I lost my balance. When I opened my eyes again I was back in my lab. Someone was calling my name; it took me a moment to realize it was Bob.
"Boss, come on, wake up. You're scaring me." He sounded desperate.
"I'm fine," I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't obey. I closed my eyes again, waiting for the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach to settle. An invisible cord tugged at my heart, like the pull of a leash. A quiet beat that called, "North, north, north," echoing the pain of my throbbing wrist.
"Bob, I won't be able to rescue anyone like this," I finally admitted.
"The spell will lift after you find the place, or at sunrise. Whichever comes first," Bob reminded me.
Right, I only had until sunrise to find that warehouse.
North. North. North.
I couldn't drive like this. Fuck, until the spell ended, I'd barely be able to move. So much for my original plan.
I had one option left; one I didn't like it.
I pulled myself up by sheer will and staggered to the living room. Another wave of nausea hit me. I swallowed the urge to throw up and let myself fall on the couch. I picked up the phone and dialed Marcone's number.
"Harry," Marcone's voice came after the third ring. "Did you find something?"
"Need a car," I croaked. "My place. Now. A driver you trust." I almost asked for Hendricks. I hated the idea of anyone seeing me this vulnerable. At least Cujo would keep his mouth shut after he reported to Marcone.
"On its way," Marcone said. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked in a low voice. Was he worried?
There was a witty comeback there, waiting for me to hurl it at him, but I was too dizzy to engage in our usual banter. "I'm peachy. Just get me that car."
I hung up and waited for Marcone's minion to arrive.
op Re: For a price 2/?
And would like to circle back to the first part to say how awesome it is that Susan is still Harry's ex. Fuck yes, thank you for doing that *hand gestures*.
Re: op Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 12:21 am (UTC)(link)He, I'm actually happy that you liked that, because the fact that Susan is indeed Harry's ex is going to become important in the next installment :)
Re: For a price 2/?
f5f5f5f5f5f5f5
Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 12:48 am (UTC)(link)Re: For a price 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 03:00 am (UTC)(link)Re: For a price 2/?
This is a wonderful beginning: funny, plotty, with perfect voices.
I do love me a good storyteller who knows what is important in a story. I can't wait for more!
PS As for PWPs, sometimes a story is better off without them... IMHO, they often tend to spoil the structure. Unless it is a PWP pure and simple.
Fill: For a price 3/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-13 04:08 pm (UTC)(link)"Watch out," Marcone called, catching me before I could fall. He sounded honest-to-goodness worried, which was further proof that the stupid spell was screwing with my senses.
I blinked at him in confusion. "What're you doing here?" I asked, disentangling myself from him with difficulty.
"You asked for a car."
"The Outfit must be doing bad, if yours is the only car they have." Sarcasm, thy name was Harriet Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.
"Ms. Gard is missing," he said in a clipped tone.
Ah. Of course.
This wasn't Marcone, trying to be annoying and controlling in that stalker-ish way of his, but pissed-off Marcone, wanting to make an example of whoever had dared touch his property. I suppressed the urge to chuckle. Star and stones, when Gard found out she'd probably kill Marcone herself.
"Kudos for wanting to play knight in shining armor." I showed him my teeth. "However, they're using magic." That made it my problem, and he knew it.
"You asked for a driver," he reminded me.
I narrowed my eyes at him. I hated it when he had a point. I should've called Michael, but he probably would've had a fit about the state I was in.
"Fine," I mumbled. Gracious in defeat I wasn't. "We're heading north." The word triggered the spell, and its strength spiked. I was back at the warehouse, a man dressed with black robes stood in the middle of a summoning circle, chanting.
A sharp flash of pain against my face brought me back. Marcone was crouching in front of me, looking almost — concerned? It couldn't be. Hendricks hovered behind him, a sour expression on his face. Somehow they'd managed to carry me from the door to my living room. Empty night, I didn't even remember Hendricks' leaving the car. That wasn't a good sign.
"What the hell was that?" Marcone smoothed the hair out my face. His hand lingered on my forehead, as if checking for a fever.
"Spell. Sigrun and the other girls. Warehouse. North," I told him, still shaken by the vision.
Hendricks' face closed off. He looked like a loaded machine gun with the safety off. "Can you be more specific than that, Ms. Dresden?" he asked.
"Just get me in the car and drive," I told them. "The spell will guide me." We were wasting time.
"You can't fight like this," Marcone pointed out.
Okay. Since when did he care?
"Mr. Obvious, the spell will lift when we find the place." In theory, anyway. He didn't need to know that, though. "Car. Now." I tried to stand up, but another wave of nausea hit me and I lost my balance. Marcone caught me.
Again.
Seriously, could the evening get any more embarrassing?
"Mr. Hendricks," Marcone said. "Help Ms. Dresden to the car."
Before I could so much as protest, Cujo had already lifted me up and was carrying me. I probably looked like one of those silly heroines on the cover of Bob's trashiest novels. You know the ones? With manly-men wearing half-opened shirts and holding fainting girls on their arms? My only consolation was that I was wearing cargo pants and long sleeve shirts and so many layers of baggy clothes that I didn't even look like a girl.
It still pissed me off. "Put me down," I snapped. "I can walk by myself."
Cujo didn't so much as slow down. "Empirical evidence disproves your postulated theory, Ms. Dresden."
I gaped at him at a loss for words. By the time I had a reply ready, Cujo had already reached their Caddy. At least he had the decency to shove me unceremoniously on the back seat. Had he been gallant about it, I'd have probably singed his eyebrows.
Marcone slipped into the car afterwards, handing me my duster. I cradled it protectively. I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten it. In my defense, it wasn't every day that some caveman-cum-bodyguard carried me around like a blushing bride.
That clinched it. No more spell experimentation for yours truly.
I closed my eyes and focused on the throbbing pain of my bleeding wrist. "West," I called, when the pull changed. Cujo followed my directions quietly. For once in his life even Marcone stayed silent, watching me out of worried green eyes. For the most part, I ignored both of them, too busy making sense out of the images flooding my mind.
"Stop!" I cried when the effects of the spell suddenly vanished. I enjoyed the return of my control for a moment, before stepping outside. The cold, humid air of the harbor cleared the last traces of dizziness still clinging to me. My magic sang beneath my skin. I clutched my blasting rod, enjoying the rush of adrenaline coursing through me.
I recognized the distinct shape of the small barred windows I'd seen in my visions. "That's the warehouse," I said, pointing to a dark flat building in front of us.
"Do you know how many people are inside?" Hendricks asked.
"Just one warlock that I could see, and the girls." I turned my Sight on and gasped. The wards protecting the place were powerful. No wonder the Wardens didn't know what was going on in there. "How the fuck is he… ley lines. He is good," I admitted with reluctance.
"Can you take him?" Marcone asked.
I shrugged, slipping into my duster. The extra layer of protection boosted my confidence. "One way to find out," I said, heading for the door.
Marcone yanked me back. "What's your plan?"
You'd think that he'd never worked with me before. "Storm the place? Rescue the girls? Capture the bad guy?" It was as good a plan as any.
"You said he was powerful." Marcone hadn't let go of my wrist. I gave his hand a pointed look until he reluctantly eased his hold.
"That never stopped me before," I reminded him.
"Ms. Gard's life is at stake," Cujo said. At this rate he was going to use up his monthly allotment of words in just one evening.
"I'm perfectly aware of that." I turned to Marcone. "I don't question how you go about running the Outfit. Don't question how I do my job as a wizardess. You're paying me to find your girls and rescue them. That's what I'm doing. Not shut up."
"We're going with you." It was a statement, not a question.
He tried my patience, Marcone did. "I can't baby-sit you if I'm going to be fighting this guy."
He stepped into my personal space. Something sharp dug against my chest, inches below the soft curve of my left breast. I didn't dare look away from his eyes, but I knew that if I did, I'd find a dagger poised to pierce my heart at the slightest provocation. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Harry. Even against warlocks. You'd better remember that."
The knife shouldn't have been able to penetrate my shields, unless Gard had altered it somehow. This was Gentleman John Marcone, of course she had. I curved my lips into something resembling a smile, although I'm pretty sure it fell short of it. "Your funeral, Johnny boy, just don't expect me to shed any tears."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He stepped back, putting the knife away in a swift movement. His smile even looked genuine. Obviously, he'd had more practice faking it. "Lead the way."
I toyed with the idea to blast him unconscious and collect him after I was done with the rescue but decided against it. Cujo's eyes hadn't left me for an second, parsing my every step. Well, if they wanted to risk their lives, who was I to stop them. "Sure. The more, the merrier."
-----------------------------
Note: Sorry for the delay in posting, but RL got in the way and wasn't nice about it.
Re: Fill: For a price 3/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-13 04:31 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: For a price 3/8
"My only consolation was that I was wearing cargo pants and long sleeve shirts and so many layers of baggy clothes that I didn't even look like a girl." - ahahaaha! I love your Harry.
Re: Fill: For a price 3/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-16 05:27 pm (UTC)(link)Plan, what plan?
Re: Fill: For a price 3/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-22 01:33 pm (UTC)(link)Fill: For a price 4/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-28 10:35 pm (UTC)(link)"This is a trap," I told Marcone.
"Really," he commented dryly, and despite the bleakness of the situation I rolled my eyes at him.
"Phones are out," Cujo said, trying uselessly to make his mobile react in any way. I could've told him that it was useless. The place reeked with dark magic. Not even old, landline phones would've stood a chance. "Now what?"
A deafening roar stopped me from replying. I spun around, holding my blasting rod in a tight grip. Out of the shadows a huge construct leaped at us. "Fuego!" The words were pure instinct. The creature's growl turned into a high-pitched scream as fire consumed it.
"Harry, down," Marcone said. I dropped to my knees and folded on myself, clearing out of Marcone and Hendricks' line of fire. I whirled around in time to see yet another construct charging. Three more stepped forward from between the shadows. They were everywhere: oddly-shaped, saber-toothed cats that made grizzly bears look small. Marcone's and Hendricks' bullets hit their mark but didn't kill them. Nonetheless, they slowed them down enough for me to destroy them with fire. I was grateful for Marcone and Hendricks' presence, which probably gives you an idea of how screwed up we truly were.
We were being swarmed. No matter how many I set on fire, more appeared. It was like fighting a hydra.
Hendricks was the first to go down in a stupid move aimed to save Marcone. I was too busy torching one of the biggest cats, when another attacked Marcone while he was reloading his gun. Cujo stepped in front of it, shoving Marcone out of the way. I wanted to help Hendricks, but two more cats were coming our way. Marcone screamed something unintelligible and emptied his clip on the construct. It shrugged off the bullets as if they were annoying flies and dragged Hendricks away.
It was down to Marcone and me. We fought back to back. I heard the moment when he ran out of bullets and knew that it was over. I had already incinerated over a dozen of creatures, and there were still as many more surrounding us. I used my bracelet to raise a shield around us, pouring my power into it. Screw fighting, we just needed to stay alive until I came up with a better idea.
"I'll distract them," Marcone said to me. "Try to escape and bring back reinforcements."
"Stupid plan," I told him between clenched teeth, concentrating on keeping the shield up. "The place is warded tighter than Queen Mab's personal vault. Believe me, I won't be able to walk out. You have better odds. The wards won't keep vanilla mortals in."
The cats stopped attacking the moment we stopped firing. They sat there, watching us out of their empty black eyes. I was uncomfortably reminded of Mister, when he found a half-dead pigeon particularly entertaining and let it twitch uselessly around, instead of just finishing it off.
"Ms. Dresden," a male voice spoke from the shadows, "what a memorable show. Not even Ms. Gard destroyed as many of my creatures as you did. I see I've chosen right." An old man walked past the cats, stopping just a few feet shy of the shield. The stench of dark magic filled my nostrils.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Marcone asked.
The warlock's eyes didn't waver away from me when he answered. "What I want? Right now, I just want to offer you a deal, Ms. Dresden."
"What kind of a deal?" I asked, making sure to keep my shield up.
"Give yourself up, and I'll let your friends live," the warlock said.
"I'll take door number two," I said. In my experience, when someone tells you that if you give up they'll spare your friends, believing them only gets you and your friends killed faster.
"I'll swear on my true name and my magic, if you so wish it," he said. "I'm willing to trade their freedom for yours."
That gave me pause. The offer was tempting. I've dealt often enough with faeries to know how to word vows in a way that make the magic work in my favor.
For the most part anyway.
"Harry, don't be stupid! It's a trap," Marcone said.
"Tell me something I don't know," I whispered to him, before addressing the warlock once more. "What do you want with me?" I asked. Regardless of Marcone's lack of confidence in my plans, I was able to be careful every now and then.
"You'll help me finish the Ritual of Panathenaea," he said.
I racked my brain trying to remember where I'd heard those words before. I didn't talk too often with other magic users about rituals, just with Bob, and Bob only shared information about rituals that involved sex. Wait a minute…
"Isn't that the ritual where you sacrifice seven whores and one virgin in exchange for absolute knowledge?" According to Bob, it had been used to create the first Archive. The ritual had been destroyed. Even Bob himself didn't know enough to recreate it. He just remembered the pervy details, but that was Bob for you.
"Interesting. I didn't think anyone but the Archive herself knew about its existence, and she, as all Archives before her, has gone to great lengths to keep it hidden." The warlock cocked his head slightly, watching me hungrily.
"If it's so secret, how did you find about it then?" A girl could ask. Marcone's fingers dug into my forearm in a silent warning. What could I say? I had a rather long name, but careful wasn't any part of it.
The warlock's lips curled. "That's irrelevant. Will you help me in order to save your friends?"
"We both know you're lying," I pointed out. "You need the hookers for the ritual to work."
The smirk on his face widened, twisting into a cruel sneer. "I said I'd free your friends, not the whores. They're nothing to you. Only the Baron and his two bodyguards will be allowed to walk free."
Ah. So that was his angle. "You still haven't told me what you want with me."
"You said it yourself, little wizardess, seven whores and a virgin. You'll do nicely."
I hated it when men thought that having a dick made them bigger somehow. For the record, I can tower over pretty much every man I've ever met, with a few exceptions. I might not have any curves to speak of, but I'm tall, thank you very much. There was nothing little about me.
I was so pissed off that it took me a moment to actually understand what he was implying. "You need to do your research better, honey. I haven't been a virgin for a long while."
He chuckled. "It's there in your aura for everyone to see, if they know what to look for," he said. "Imagine my surprise when I first saw you, prancing through Chicago: a virgin wizardess leaking power all over the place. I knew then that I had to have you, and I will."
Marcone tensed, ready to jump. It was my turn to tighten my grip on his arm. He couldn't loose his cool now. Besides, I didn't need him jumping to my rescue. I was perfectly capable of defending myself.
"Look, asshole, I'm not a virgin. If someone would know, it'd be me. You need to have your Sight checked."
"If you can tell me — under oath — the name of one man you've had sex with, I'll let you and your friends go. I'll even let you take the whores with you," he said.
The memory of Justin's cold hands, sliding over my inner thighs, came unbidden. I forced myself to stay still, even though every muscle in my body wanted to shudder with revulsion. Justin didn't count, though. He'd burned to ashes before he— I cut off the thought with the ease of practice, pushing it down to the deepest corners of my mind.
"Fine, I can't name any males, but that doesn't make me a virgin, just a lesbian. It's not the same thing." I still had the dark blue strap-on Susan had given me for my birthday to prove it.
"For the purpose of this ritual, it is."
When this was over, Bob and I were going to have words. Why did I have an all-knowing spirit, who could read auras, if he wasn't going to warn me about these things? But first things first. "Just to clarify, will you have to take off my clothes to finish this ritual?" An idea was taking shape in my head. Granted, it was a crazy idea, but I had good reason to believe it'd work. I trusted my gut. More than that, I trusted Bob.
The warlock blinked, as if he couldn't quite follow where I was going with this. That was fine, I was hoping that he wouldn't. "Evidently," he said.
"And I assume that part of the ritual involves you helping me get rid of my hetero-normative pseudo-virginity, right?"
He paused. "Yes."
"Is that after or before you kill the sex-workers?"
"The blood of the virgin opens the Path to Wisdom," he said as if quoting from a book. I could even hear the capital letters. Ivy and I were going to have words, too. She should have at least given me a hint that this was coming.
"Unless you use a knife, there won't be any blood to speak of, asshole."
Marcone tensed even further. "Harry," he hissed, you can't…"
I scraped my fingernails over the soft skin of his inner wrist, silencing him. "I'll do what needs to be done. Just like you would." He quieted, and I knew that he got my message. I wasn't going to sacrifice my life uselessly; he would never do that. "All right," I said to the warlock. "I agree to your terms, but I want to see Hendricks and Sigrun first, alive, or not deal."
He nodded. Two of the constructs moved away and came back minutes later, dragging an unconscious Hendricks and a struggling Sigrun between their huge teeth. They dropped them on the floor. Sigrun lurched into an attack, naked, beautiful, but before she could so much as touch the warlock an invisible wave of magic slapped her down, forcing her to stay on the floor. She struggled like a berserker to not avail.
"Enough!" I snapped, unable to watch any further. "Let's get this show on the road. You let my friends go, and I won't use my magic to burn you down to ashes when you try to rape me." I dropped my shield and stood up, keeping my blasting rod aimed between the two of us. "I want a vow swore upon your true name."
Marcone was probably frothing at the mouth with rage. I didn't need telepathic powers to know that he was calling me all kind of idiots in his mind. I glanced at Sigrun. Strangely enough, she'd stopped struggling and was watching me with curiosity.
"You will cooperate, then?" The warlock looked unsure.
"I will not actively fight you," I corrected the warlock, being careful to enunciate each word. I did have a faery godmother, after all. Words had power.
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Note: Sorry for the long delay. Work Project of Doom is over, though. I should be able to update more frequently again.
Re: Fill: For a price 4/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-28 11:01 pm (UTC)(link)Sigrun will have more of an idea of what Harry is up to, given that she's part of the magical community.
Re: Fill: For a price 4/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-28 11:09 pm (UTC)(link)I MUST MAKE MORE USE OF THIS TERM IN DAILY LIFE
(Also, uh, enjoying the fill?)
Re: Fill: For a price 4/8
Re: Fill: For a price 4/8
Re: Fill: For a price 4/8
(Anonymous) 2011-03-29 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)I very much plan to continue. Thinking of this story is what kept me sane during the Project of Doom. I should have the next part ready in a day or two. *is slow*
Fill: For a price 5/8
(Anonymous) 2011-04-04 09:35 am (UTC)(link)