Harry and John have, for as long as they can remember, had a telepathic connection between them--more like a conversation than reading all of each other's thoughts, and they can conceal things from each other, which they do especially to protect each other/keep the other's opinion of them from getting bad. They have no idea who they're talking to in their heads. Something close to canon, please?
Dear OP, I'd like to say that I valiantly resisted the urge to write this, but the powers of your prompt were stronger than my resolve...
~!~
I don’t remember when I started hearing his voice. I think it was shortly after I lost my father but I can’t be sure. Everything was a bit blurry - social service, orphanage, foster care… At first I heard just snatches and echoes of thoughts but gradually they resolved into questions and then into quiet words of consolation.
Looking back I see that they were just usual, standard phrases you say to the bereaved: “Everything’s gonna be okay”, “Don’t loose hope”, “Be strong, you’re a big boy”… But the sad thing was no one else bothered to say them to me and I was so pathetically grateful that someone still gave a damn that I didn’t care if it was just a voice in my head.
When I spoke about a friend who sometimes talked to me in my mind my first set of foster parents marched me straight to a shrink who spent half an hour explaining how that was perfectly normal for kids of my age especially after such a traumatic event as loss of a parent. So that was that; I was justified in having my very own imaginary friend and I intended to make the most of it.
Being the stupid selfish kid I never asked anything, only talked and talked about myself – the good times, the bad times, and the weird times that made my parents look at me funny and return me into the system. He always listened and made all the appropriate noises to keep me going. I was happy with it – where else would I find a person patient enough to listen to a six-year-old’s little woes? Eventually I started calling him Johnny even though I was reasonably sure his name was something else entirely.
When I was adopted by Justin DuMorne nothing really changed. I never told him about Johnny but it was mostly out of habit – no matter how many psychologists insist that imaginary friends are perfectly fine and you just need to let your kid grow out of it, grown ups still tended to treat it with suspicion. Again, looking back I think my mentor’s conclusions would have been vastly different from those of vanilla mortals but that doesn’t change the fact that I was glad I kept Johnny secret.
I had the impression that my friend didn’t believe me about magic. I guess these doubts were quite strange for a person living in my head but I always felt that he was humoring me when I started telling him about this new spell I’ve just learned. You know, like when the kid tells his mother that “really, there was a pink unicorn in our backyard”, and she answers “Of course, sweetie, should we leave it some carrots to snack on when it comes back?” . Anyway, he never outright said he didn’t believe me so I was not offended. Too much.
On the other hand Johnny was quite helpful with the tips on how to act around this one girl I’m living with. There is nothing embarrassing in talking these things out inside one’s head, right? And again, who else was I to turn to? DuMorne?
By the way, Justin was the reason of my only quarrel with Johnny. I liked Justin – he gave me a big house, a whole new world of magic and a playmate/girl I had a first crush on; what else could a boy want? But Johnny didn’t like him at all; almost from the beginning he cautioned me against my mentor, telling me I should be careful and ‘had he done anything funny to you?’. I could never be sure what he meant by funny and my stories about magic shield training with tennis balls didn’t seem to placate him in the least.
~!~
When it all went south Johnny was the first to notice. One night a voice in my head suddenly said: “You haven’t talked to me in a week. What is the matter? Did he do something funny to you?” And just like that all the Johnny memories that were mysteriously blocked before rushed back into my brain. My friend was definitely right this time, though I’m sure he didn’t suspect Justin of rearranging my mind. I even had time to thank him for the warning before the binding ritual started in earnest.
~!~
The next time I’ve heard his voice I was on my knees before the raging inferno that was DuMorne estate, frantically gulping air and coughing and still trying to wrap my mind around the deaths of my almost-father and the girl I loved. I heard Johnny as if from very far away… and could mental voices grow hoarse from shouting? Because his was, as if he called my name frantically for hours nonstop.
“Harry,” he kept saying, “Harry, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you all right? Harry!”
“I am…” I was going to say fine, but made a mistake of answering aloud and was gripped by a new coughing fit.
“What happened? Are you hurt? Talk to me!” His voice was authoritative but mostly it was just worried so I answered:
“I’m fine. Justin is dead.” I could have sworn John muttered good riddance under his non-existent breath. “Elaine too.” Stars, how those words hurt my throat, even though I didn’t use my vocal cords to say them!
There were no condolences this time.
“Where are you, Harry?” he asked. “Tell me the address, I’ll come and get you.”
There was nothing in that moment that I wanted more than for him to miraculously appear and take me away from all the horror and pain. The cruelty of it almost made me cry.
“It’s no use,” I muttered, “you are only inside my head. And even if you weren’t,” I continued over his protests, “I’ve broken the Law. There is nothing you can do to help me.” Johnny was busy talking about lawyers and child abuse and permissible self-defense but I saw what he didn’t – two men in gray cloaks coming to me through the smoke and ashes. How come they were quick to appear now when it was a helpless teenager who committed the crime, but they were suspiciously absent when a powerful wizard tried to turn his two apprentices into mindless slaves?
~!~
I was taken before the White Council just as they’ve found me – in torn and charred clothes, covered in soot, blood and tears (although the latter was hidden by a bag over my head). My grasp of Latin was tenuous at best (Justin always favored evocations over grammar) so I knew enough to make out my death sentence but not nearly enough to try and defend myself.
I was light-headed with terror and the only thing that grounded me in the blood-scented darkness of the bag was Johnny’s voice cursing steadily and without repetition. I guess I was even impressed with his vast knowledge of swear-words and imagination for different positions he proposed to put Council members in for trying a minor for crimes he committed to preserve his own life. But more than anything I was glad that in these last moments of my life I was not alone.
I can’t say who was more relieved when my sentence was changed to Doom of Damocles. Johnny breathed out some phase in Italian that mentioned Madre di Dio and was probably part of a prayer. “Never scare me like that again, Harry,” he added and went abruptly silent.
I think I could have justified his behavior as my own projected worry over impending death; and it is known that subconscious retains a lot of knowledge that is not generally accessible for the conscious mind. But on that day I started believing that Johnny was no just a figment of my imagination.
My friend was a real person and I was so grateful for his existence that the reason he could connect with me didn’t matter at all.
~!~
Now that I got at least a part of it off my chest I can finally go to sleep
The first few weeks after Justin’s death were the worst. I was in a strange place, surrounded by strange things and I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. During the day everything was mostly bearable but in the darkness I had no protection against the pain and terror. On most nights I was only lulled to sleep by John’s voice repeating over and over: “Breathe, Harry. You’re safe. Everything’s okay now.”
My dreams were never peaceful. Most of them were full of blazing flames, rage and helplessness. Some of them were shrouded in darkness with the smell of stale blood and despair. And only very rarely I dreamt of hands shielding me and fingers gently stroking my hair.
I never told Ebenezar McCoy about Johnny. I knew he would not for a second think it was something as innocent as an imaginary friend and was afraid that he’d try to persuade me to get rid of this connection. Or worse yet, that he’d do something about it without even asking me first. And the prospect of losing the last remaining constant of my life terrified me much more than even the White Council’s wrath.
Still, I didn’t make the decision to keep this secret blindly. After realizing that John was as real as myself I’ve thought long and hard about the possibilities. At first I imagined that he was some sort of Fae – I guess it appealed to some deep-hidden fairytale-loving part of me. But realistically there was no reason for any magical creature to maintain the link between our minds for so long. If they wanted to make a pact with me (and this was another notion fraught with disturbing memories) it would have been far easier to make a little kid promise them whatever they desired. There is, after all, no concept of legal age in the Nevernever.
That same argument equally applied to warlocks so I was left with the only other option – that Johnny was a plain mortal connected to me by a strange twist of fate. There could be no harm in communicating with him especially while he didn’t know anything about me except my given name. (I ignored the fact that he knew about me almost as much as I did myself because there was no way he could get close enough to me to use that knowledge).
~!~
Johnny didn’t like Eb. There was a couple of months before he first started showing his displeasure with my new mentor but it just snowballed from there.
“Why isn’t he teaching you magic?” he asked once during our late night conversations.
“You know, it’s a strange question coming from you,” I muttered. “You don’t even believe in magic.”
“Of course I believe in magic! It is preferable to thinking that the voice I’ve been hearing in my head for the last decade is only a figment of my imagination and I desperately need a mental specialist.” I snickered quietly. “So why isn’t he teaching you?”
“He said I’ve been taught more than enough over the last years,” I answered after a brief pause. “I need to slow down, find my center and ground myself.”
“Bullshit!” he barked. “He’s punishing you.”
“What?”
“He’s locked you in some hellhole, Missouri, away from anything and anyone remotely familiar and took away the only thing that can still bring you joy.” I wanted to ask him to drop the drama but his words hit too close to home. “What is it if not a punishment?”
“Don’t I deserve it though?” I whispered. “I killed Justin.”
“You killed a man who tried to enslave you.”
“I still killed him.”
“Would it have been better if you let him bind you to his will?” John asked angrily. “What do you think he intended to use you for? I you’ve become his mindless tool there would have been more blood on your hands, blood of the innocents whose only crime was standing in Justin’s way.”
“I could have…” I hesitated for a moment.
“Don’t you dare complete that sentence!” I couldn’t see why he was so enraged. Sometimes I truly felt that dying that day would have been much easier than living with the consequences. “This is exactly what your White Council wants you to believe. You must not defend yourself against our control, you should just roll over and bare your neck. Justin needed to be stopped. Maybe your primary reason for killing him was selfish in your eyes, but in the long run you’ve saved a lot of lives besides your own. Maybe you’ve even saved me that day.”
I tried to smile though there was no way Johnny could see me.
“I feel awful,” I confessed loosing the battle with my emotions and burying my head in the pillow to muffle my sobs.
“Doing the right thing is not always the same as doing the good thing. But I don’t want you to feel that your life was not worth saving, Harry. I never want you to feel guilty for protecting yourself.” My tears burned gathering under the eyelids and escaping into the pillow. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Harry,” he whispered regretfully and went silent. I wanted to say that his lingering presence beside was already helping but I just couldn’t gather the strength.
~!~
“What the hell is he teaching you?!” Apparently, lifting the ban on all things magical didn’t improve John’s attitude towards Eb in the slightest. “Who the fuck invented these Laws of Magic and what were they smoking?”
The last time I’ve heard Johnny cursing was during my trial so I was I bit taken aback by this extreme reaction.
“Why?” I asked tentatively. “They sound perfectly right to me.”
“Oh, and I thought our legal system was fucked up,” he plowed right over my question. “You shall not kill with magic! Is that why they’ve almost executed you?”
“It’s true!” I said forcefully. “I should not have killed him with magic. It’s a power meant for creation, to take a life with it is just… wrong!”
“I thought they tried you for murder,” again, he made no sign that he heard me. “But it was actually only for the weapon you used.”
“What’s your problem, John?” I exploded. “The man is dead by my hand!”
“Yes. But what is better, killing him with magical fire or going into his bedroom and strangling him with a pillow?”
“What kind of question is that?” I sputtered.
“It’s a legitimate question in the eyes of your Council,” Johnny countered. “In fact, they think that while the former is punishable by death the latter is perfectly fine.”
“You’re absurd.”
“Me? I just repeat what you’ve told me, but in simpler words. The Law of Magic states that you should not feel guilty for killing Justin, only for the method you’ve used in doing it.”
I had nothing to answer. Somehow this little truth was lost among all the explanations Ebenezar gave me on the subject.
“If magic was only meant to do good it would have been physically impossible to use it for murder,” John said into the silence, his voice now quiet and contemplative.
“You can’t know that!” More than anything I felt confused by the fact that the arguments that sounded so solid only couple of hours ago were now crumbling to dust. “You don’t know what magic is.”
“But I know logic. And I know a great deal about politics. Do you know what I hear when you recount the Laws of Magic? You shall not gain enough power to overthrow the White Council.”
I… I simply didn’t want to contemplate this. I didn’t want to think that everything I learned was a lie.
“Harry,” John’s voice was gentle and soothing, and I relaxed into it despite the fact that it was he who caused all the previous tension. “You need to understand. I’m not saying you’re wrong to grieve or feel guilty. But you must rely on your own moral compass and not on these dogmas the White Council created to safeguard themselves. You are not a criminal, and I know you are not capable of doing anything truly wrong.”
“How can you know that?” I muttered weakly.
“Because you are the voice in my head.” And that simple yet loaded answer inexplicably made me feel better.
~!~
Over the next year we had a lot of arguments along the same lines. Usually I objected but it was half-hearted at best because in my heart of hearts I agreed with Johnny.
Though Ebenezar McCoy was my official mentor, the voice in my head taught me a lot of more important lessons.
You must not believe in anything blindly.
You must measure everything against you own set of values.
Sometimes you must put yourself first.
Although these rules were useful and I intended to follow them there was one more underlying message I cherished most of all.
No matter what you do you’ll still have me to turn to.
(I ignored the fact that he knew about me almost as much as I did myself because there was no way he could get close enough to me to use that knowledge)
....That so very WRONG. *grins*
No matter what you do you’ll still have me to turn to.
This is fantastic. And how nitzschean is this questioning of everything. This is already Marcone who believes in his own set of values. Would you reveal how old is Marcone in your opinion in this story? I wonder whether he already started his coup d'état in the Outfit. Or would it be spoilery?
There are two types of knowledge you can gain about a person. First is concrete, such as what color their eyes are, what school they went to or when they broke a forearm falling from a bicycle. The second – and much more important at that – is generalized: what they believe in, what they would think on hearing certain news or what they would do in a certain situation. My interactions with Johnny were mostly about this latter category. People tend to omit names and descriptions that are not important to their stories anyway, so we never had much trouble keeping privacy. Funnily enough, you don’t need much in way of solid facts to understand a person.
If I were completely honest with myself, most of the time I consciously avoided asking too factual questions. I knew perfectly well that he was an actual person with a whole life of his own but I selfishly wanted him to remain mine. I stupidly thought that if I didn’t get reminders of his other engagements I would not have to share him with all the nameless, faceless people that waited on the other end of our private connection. I should have known that this avoidance would come to bite me in the ass.
We talked regularly but with my new job and his unknown-but-certainly-there workload it was quite normal if I wasn’t able to chat with Johhny for a day or two. So I’ve noticed that something wasn’t right only after three days of silence. He didn’t reply when I called and what was even stranger, I couldn’t hear anything from his end. Generally I was able to somewhat feel his presence and catch faint echoes of thoughts even when he was busy with something and unable to answer. But this complete absence was unpleasantly new and terrifying.
I tried different explanations but they were all just an attempt to stave off the panic gathering at the edges of my mind. What if I never heard from him again? What if he’s dead? The struggle of keeping these thoughts locked away consumed me so thoroughly that Nick was forced to send me home as, in his words, I was obviously coming down with something.
It was a good thing too, because when I didn’t have cases to distract myself from my worries I’ve finally remembered that I’m a wizard. True, I couldn’t use thaumaturgy without some sort of anchor in material world but with a connection like ours meditation was my best bet at finding out what was going on. I went all out: cleansing rituals, white robes and an elaborate circle to block any outward influence. Finally, with a deep breath of incense filled air I sunk into myself.
The principles of sympathetic magic work everywhere indiscriminately. If I wanted to find Johnny I needed to surround myself with things belonging to him. In my mind those were my memories. I drew all the little tidbits of knowledge I gained from the time I first realized there was a stranger in my head and gathered them around me, straightening them out, hooking them up with each other and creating an image of a hall that would eventually lead me to the person I sought.
It seemed that ages had passed before I felt a first wisp of presence but when I did surprise and relief almost made me lose my concentration. I jerked forward along the thread of our connection, calling out his name in an almost desperate need to hear his voice again.
“Harry?” He responded absently, as if nothing wrong happened in the last week and a half. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
What. The. Fuck?!
“Is it all you’re going to say, you bastard?” I exploded. “I’ve been worried sick, dreading the worst and now all you say is it’s been a while?!”
“I’m sorry,” John’s voice was emphatically indifferent, “I had some things to think about on my own.”
Did someone tamper with Johnny’s mind? It was the only explanation that seemed somewhat plausible to me at that point. The first thing he usually asked when we started talking was whether I was all right; but now he brushes me aside just like that? I learned the theory behind mind-manipulation well enough to know that sudden changes in behavior were the first sign of trouble on that front…
But then there was all that knowledge I gained about Johnny, his thoughts and reactions, and it guided me to a different conclusion.
“Was it something you absolutely couldn’t discuss with me?” I asked tentatively. “Did you want to shield me from something?”
It was as if a wall crumbled before me. Our connection opened fully and was flooded by a strong sense of… disturbance, unrest that went deeper then words or even emotions.
“You’re becoming frighteningly good at reading me, Harry,” John muttered with what I imagined was a shake of his head.
“Well, I’m the voice in your head, after all,” I joked, repeating one of his favorite phrases. I didn’t try to press him; I knew he would start talking only when he deemed it necessary. But mostly I just enjoyed the restored sense of closeness – I only now realized how much I missed it while John had been shutting himself away.
“A girl has taken a bullet meant for me.”
The few short words managed to completely shatter the calm engulfing me. I felt my hair standing on end and my skin breaking out in goosebumps. These words meant that all the horrors I’ve been imagining were much closer to the truth then was good for my peace of mind. And so, my first question was utterly selfish.
“Are you unharmed?”
Johnny laughed. It was a painful, wrenching sound I never wanted to hear again.
“What the hell can happen to me?” he croaked finally. “I always get out of any mess without a scratch! But she… she was just there, on that line between me and a gun. They saw her.” His voice was firming out, loosing that cracking edge it had before. “How could they not, she was right there. They must have known they’d hit her instead of me but they still continued firing.” A pause. “I could not do a damn thing to stop them,” he ground out suddenly, “I’ve looked death in the face but it never mocked me like this before…”
I knew I needed to say something. Johnny helped me through the worst period of my life; I’ve lost count of the times he soothed me after nightmares and persuaded me that I didn’t really do anything wrong. Now it was my turn… but there was no way I was pulling the ‘It’s not your fault’ card without sounding mocking or patronizing.
I entered the hall formed of my Johnny-memories again and took a deep breath.
“I know you’re not feeling guilty,” I said firmly. John would never accept reassurances, only statements of fact. “You are a rational man and reason dictates that you were in no way responsible for making that shot. You are angry. Those people – whoever they were and whatever their purposes – had no right to sacrifice an innocent life, nothing can justify that. So, you are furious.” I touched the memories of protective rage Johnny exuded when talking about White Council and my treatment at their hands to see what was the next step of his reactions. “You want to get back at them. Make them pay for their callousness. Make sure they won’t ever be able to do something like that again.”
I didn’t need to hear confirmation to know I was right. I only hoped my words conveyed not only my knowledge but also my tacit approval.
“John,” I said after a timeless silence, “Is your life still in danger? Do you want me to… help you?” My heart was in my throat, choking the last words.
“No.” His answer rang out as a cast-iron bell, rattling me to the bone. “Don’t you dare think about it! You are so… God, I don’t want to see you shielding me from bullets.”
“I have an actual magic shield for that,” I supplied helpfully.
“Stop it, Harry! I will be all right, and you don’t need all this shit in addition to you own.”
I was going to object. I wanted to say that I was a big boy now and I could hold my own against threats both mundane and supernatural but he beat me to it. “I don’t want to lose you, Harry. I was once sure that I would and I don’t want the repeat experience. So please, let’s not argue about this.”
I gave a mental equivalent of a curt nod.
“Is she alive?” I asked after a while.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to shut me out again?”
Johnny chuckled.
“I know I won’t be able to stop you if you really put your mind to it, so no.”
I suddenly felt tired. Reopening the connection against Johnny’s will took a lot of energy and now, when my worries were mostly soothed and our status quo more or less restored it was time to return to the real world and rest.
“Harry.” His voice caught me just as I was going to withdraw. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“If you are ever in danger, if your life is threatened, you must tell me immediately. I need to be able to help you.”
“So what, I can’t do this rescue thing but you can?” I snapped. “That’s rich!”
“I don’t ever want to feel this helpless again. Promise, Harry.” I really, truly was going to refuse if not for his tone. It was not demanding as I expected, it was sincerely pleading.
“I promise.”
I couldn’t even get angry at Johnny for asking this. I was basically wreathed in understanding: I was a person important to him and therefore someone to be protected at all costs. He was not going to let me help him in whatever put his life at risk but if I were to ask him for help instead he would do almost anything for me. Actually, it was a temptation that was surprisingly hard to fight.
I made one more promise to myself that day: I would never go looking for Johnny. I was selfish enough already endlessly whining to him about my problems, I didn’t need to burden them with solving them too. I was a wizard, after all, I needed stand on my own two feet and deal with them myself!
So I ruthlessly squashed all my curiosity and carefully locked away all my hypotheses about Johnny’s role in real life.
For both our sakes I intended for my friend to remain imaginary.
~!~
That was… complicated. I feel like I need to comment on my reasoning a bit, so feel free to skip the rant if you’re not interested.
I made John’s speech choppy at times. That’s because I imagined him reliving the situation a thousand times already. It broke into snapshots that made perfect sense to him but taken out of the whole picture would become meaningless.
Also I thought that Harry would care more for John’s wellbeing than for the actual situation. It was like, suppose, if your dear friend was standing near a stranger on a bus-stop and a drunk driver hit the stranger instead of your friend. You will of course feel pity for the dead but you’ll definitely worry more for your living friend.
Jeez, look at me ramble!
I’d really like to hear your opinion on plausibility, and if you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.
I think your reasoning makes perfect sense. And Harry did ask if the girl was alive; it's not like he could know all the circumstances surrounding her being in a coma, so when Johnny reassures him that she is, he'd probably assume she's also going to be fine and move on.
I really like this story. I never knew I had such a kink for Protective!Marcone until I started reading it. Of course, it makes me all the more curious what's going to happen when they start moving closer to their Storm Front roles. I can see Harry not noticing that the new mafia boss is named Johnny, especially since he doesn't know his real name, but a wizard named Harry might be a bit harder to overlook.
Looking back on my life I sometimes wonder how one man – and the one I’ve never even met, at that – could influence my life more than all the others combined. Well, maybe in terms of pure influence Justin DuMorne took the first place but if you looked for people who changed my life for the better… He never outright told me how to do things, what to think or how to act, but he always had an answer ready if I had a question and he never refused to hear my ramblings when I was working out a solution to some problem.
So when I announced my plans on working solo and asked Johnny if he had any tips for me he was more than willing to dispense his sage advice, as always.
The first one was fairly obvious: you can sleep in a gutter and eat out of a garbage bin but presentable office is an absolute must. Well, I already knew that people judge the looks first but Johnny further insisted that I limit the demonstration of my agency’s magical side to a minimum.
“You don’t want to be considered a fraud or attract only thrill-seekers and starry-eyed fanatics. When faced with trouble, especially of a supernatural kind, sensible people need the security of thinking that everything’s contained in the boundaries of normality and an expert in an appropriate field can give them a rational explanation.”
“But if they have a poltergeist problem they can’t just keep believing that they are experiencing minor earthquakes localized to their bedroom!”
“Look, Harry, it’s not your job to single-handedly enlighten the general populace about the affairs of the supernatural world and it’s dwellers. Normal people are not persuaded easily. And anyway, in most cases you’ll handle your clients won’t need this knowledge at all. You are going to take their money to solve their problems; the reputation of a man who can deal with any strangeness in a discreet manner will benefit you more that apparent eccentricity.”
So, that was that. At first glance my office looked decidedly mundane, but there was a little crystal pendant handing unobtrusively near a map of Chicagoland, a staff (fake, but looking authentic to an untrained eye) in a corner behind a filing cabinet and some light protection runes carved on the windowsills and around the door frame.
The second point was advertising. At first I wanted to proudly state in the yellow pages that I’m a wizard but that idea’s life was short and ended in disgrace on John’s merciless verbal guillotine.
“Do you really want this to work or is it a late blooming teenage rebellion?” he asked tersely. “Do you know what will reasonable people think if they see you under ‘wizards’?”
“You’re a reasonable man, you tell me!” I replied smartly.
“I would think that it was high time I found the annoying voice in my head and set him straight. Possibly with a birch-rod.”
“Hey, that’s child abuse!” I exclaimed, then thought some more and added: “Actually, I’m not a child so it’s armed assault.”
“You aren’t a child,” Johnny agreed solemnly, “so you need to stop playing games. We’ve talked about it before: you can’t shove magic in people’s faces – they simply won’t take you seriously. Your clients need deniability for their own peace of mind. You only need to hint that any potential weirdness would be taken in stride and that’ll be quite enough, I promise you.”
If I had any doubts that Johnny was a businessman they were quickly and decisively put to rest. It was tough at first but over the course of a single year my little agency flourished. I sometimes got an impression that information about me spread faster through word of mouth – at least half of my clients heard about me from friends, colleagues or neighbors instead of an add. I once read that if you take a random Joe from Alaska and an equally random Ann from Australia and examine their social circles you’ll find that statistically they are connected through no more than seven people that are consecutively acquainted to each other. My guess is that in Chicago this chain shortens drastically because I was soon feeling like everybody knew whom to turn to in case of unexplainable incidents or silly little things that others refused to consider (the sign on my door stated that no trouble is too small - the slogan was solely my invention). I was also in contact with several small time practitioners and sometimes helped the beginners to get a better grip on their gifts.
I was still not telling John all the particulars of my day-to-day life but he was generally aware of my triumphs. Actually, sometimes I felt a bit bad because of my resolution not to lean too heavily him but in the end I convinced myself that I didn’t distract Johnny from his own daily pursuits and that it was quite normal to ask a more experienced friend for advice. To further placate my conscience I decided to help him in return.
What can a young wizard do for his imaginary friend? Obviously, some magic. Of course, I couldn’t do it myself but I instructed him in simple ways of defending against supernatural attacks. I mean, most circles are closed with an exertion of will and Johnny had will in abundance. There were other elementary things like iron nails, horseshoes and hematite but when I moved on to planting violets and binding rowan twigs with red string my friend accused me of having a laugh at his expense. Oh well, I did all I could for the magically illiterate.
~!~
The first time police asked me for help I was truly unexpected. Karrin Murphy – head of the Special Investigations department – needed no deniability and coddling since she’d already encountered her fair share of things that go bump in the night. All she asked for was an explanation on which she could base her strategy. If the criminal was caught (or at least stopped without a chance of harming anyone else) she was satisfied. That’s not to say that she was easily accepting of my tales of trolls killing bums under bridges and pixies stealing jewelry but she was at least willing to give them the benefit of doubt which was much more that normal people could boast.
After my third police consultation – when it became obvious that there was always some nasty or other lurking in the background and the SI was happy with the was I was handling them – I figured I needed some credentials. John was right saying that people tended to reject anything that didn’t fit into their image of normalcy, so if I wanted a job with the police I couldn’t just say I was providing magical assistance.
It’s amazing what courses – mailing or otherwise – one can find if he simply puts him mind to it. In two months flat I was in possession of a certificate that was going to officially cover my ass. It stated that I was an expert in obscure cults and religions which was undoubtedly helpful when dealing with maniacs who fancied themselves warlocks and worshipped bloodthirsty gods that required regular virginal sacrifices. (I freely admit to not attending most of the lessons and cheating on the final test but my knowledge is far more sound than anything a professor can teach in the classroom). Lt. Murphy was impressed with my business savvy and in no time at all I was an official police consultant in occult crime.
All in all, my life was pretty interesting in a good kind of way at least partly due to Johnny’s advice. And – if I wanted to get mushy – I could say that even on the bad days I was warmed by the knowledge that he was always only one thought away.
~!~
I just couldn't resist Marcone checking Harry's most absurd ideas. And to think, I was hoping to get to the Storm Front in this part already...
I can't even say how much I love this. Canon!John wishes, desperately, he got to Harry early enough to osmosis this much common sense -- or willingness to *listen* -- into him, somehow.
In my career as a PI and a wizard I had my share of unpleasant sights – demons are notoriously bad at cleaning up and a lot of Fae don’t bother with human sensibilities either – but two bodies with their chests exploded outwards beat them all in the gruesomeness hands down. Therefore my first and easily justifiable thought was about some bin or bucket where I could part with my breakfast on good terms.
The second thought was must not tell Johnny.
I learned a long time ago that it was not prudent to inform him of my, so to speak, more daring exploits. For the first half-hour he would berate me for foolishness, recklessness and lack of general common sense and then he’d ask me sternly why I told him everything post factum. Somehow he never understood that I simply didn’t have time in the interim – I mean, when you’re running for your life and there’s a slavering monster breathing down your neck you don’t just take a couple of seconds to think ‘hi, Johnny, you won’t believe whom I’ve met today’. My voice of reason was a firm believer in multitasking and though I was willing to admit that he could talk to me and negotiate a deal simultaneously, in my brain the thought ‘OH MY GOD, IT’S GOING TO EAT ME!’ automatically overrode all others.
Two bodies right from the start equals further trouble up ahead so while I was acquainting myself with the insides of a convenient bucket I firmed my mental shield in case that some of my churning thoughts leaked through and alerted my friend to the situation.
~!~
My deduction about multiplication of problems was proven correct not half an hour later. At the end of my talk with Murphy I found myself in a classical situation of ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’. I had no desire to recreate the Dark magic responsible for the crime for fear of my own life but I couldn’t very well tell the Head of SI that I had a criminal record – no matter how unrelated to civil law or how justly deserved. That wouldn’t have looked good in my resume and would reflect badly on Lieutenant herself for hiring a lawbreaker as a police consultant. And I wasn’t even going into what the Council would do to me for disclosing it’s existence to a vanilla mortal. On the other hand I was threatened with charges of obstruction – not a pleasant prospect either…
On exiting the hotel I quickly looked around – despite being almost late to my appointment with Monica No-Last-Name I needed to make an urgent call. Spotting a pay-phone I made a quick pat-down for coins and jogged to it.
“Good day, Warden Morgan,” I forced my voice to sound politely innocent.
“Dresden,” came a gruff reply. I knew that it was all I was going to get in way of greetings.
“I take it you already know about a double homicide last night?”
There was a grunt and a cackle of static that I took as an affirmative.
“Am I guilty?”
“There are no other known warlocks in Chicago.” Now, that sounded promising.
“So if I’m already almost convicted, could you possibly do this righteous speech thing and tell me all about how I’ve done it and how it was obvious that it was me from the get go?”
A silence on the other end was so complete that even static feared to interrupt it. I felt that I’ve stepped too far out of line and prepared to backtrack when Morgan grumbled:
“Don’t get cute with me, Dresden.”
I almost dropped the receiver. The reaction was highly unexpected though not entirely unwelcome.
When I moved out of Eb’s place I was ready for all kinds of hardships – but not at all prepared for a gray specter of vengeance with a sharp sword and an attitude problem. That’s nature’s equilibrium for you – to balance Johnny with his concept of permissible self-defense I got Morgan and his ‘warlocks suck and must die’ motto.
“What am I going to do, John?” I moaned after one of the annoyingly frequent meetings with my current nemesis. “It’s like he’s behind every corner I turn with his menacing aura and a drawn sword. I can’t take a breath without him appearing to accuse me of breaking some Law or other! The only time he’d put away his blade was to deliver a nice right hook.”
“Whatever did you say to provoke him?” I got amusement instead of sympathy, which was fundamentally unfair in my opinion.
“Who says I provoked him?”
“I don’t think men like him would do violence without provocation,” Johnny answered with the same mild amusement.
“Men like him? Do you mean homicidal maniacs?”
“Now, Harry, let’s be rational about this. Your Council will never put a maniac to the task of enforcing their will because it’s impossible to control him. People like your parole officer are of a different kind – they strongly believe in rules and very probably have had some experience that elevated that belief to the level of obsession. From your words I’ve gathered that his attitude towards you isn’t based on your crime in particular; he just generally thinks that anyone who broke the Laws of Magic deserves only death.”
“As fun as this impromptu session of psychoanalysis is it doesn’t tell me how to deal with Morgan,” I grumbled.
“You must make him see you as a human being and not just a warlock.”
“Really? I’m showing it every time we met. I’d go as far as to say that my personality shines through bright and clear.”
“While I find your snark cute I’m afraid it’s just reinforcing his negative impression of you.” I bristled at being called cute.
“So what do you say? Should I shut up and play dead?”
“As much as shutting up would benefit you in certain circumstances I don’t believe you’re capable of doing it regularly. I hope you won’t be offended if I make an observation on your patterns of behavior?”
“Go ahead,” I waved my hand though the gesture meant nothing for a person who couldn’t see me.
“When something scares you, you get angry. When you get angry you taunt your enemy. So tell me, are you afraid of Morgan?”
If I was asked this question by any other person I would have vehemently denied any fear I might have had for the Warden. But it was a conversation inside my head, with a man I confided everything in.
“Of course I’ve afraid, Johnny. My life in literally in his hands.”
“Then you must break this chain of reactions.”
“What do you mean? I shouldn’t get angry?”
“No, that’s actually a good coping mechanism.”
“Then what the hell do you want me to do?!” I yelled in exasperation.
“You need to stop getting scared.” I couldn’t help myself – I laughed incredulously. Johnny patiently waited for my mirth to subside. “Or rather, make him stop scaring you,” he clarified. “You say he comes every time something happens? Then you should beat him to it. Notify him of anything remotely magical that you’re involved in; invite him to any questionable rituals you’re going to conduct. Be open – don’t let him suspect you of anything.”
“Hey, that could be fun,” I muttered with a smirk. “Dear Morgan, today I’ve used magic to light my candles no less than 4 times; hope I’m still within my daily quota.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Harry!” he snapped. “The purpose of this is to confuse his perceptions – not to anger him further. He needs to see it as sincere offer of cooperation, so no overdoing it or he’ll think it’s just a taunt.”
“Do you even understand how long I’ll have to do this for any results to show?” I whined.
“But when he gets used to the pattern he’ll relax his vigil and you’ll have greater freedom.” He was silent for a few seconds and then added. “On the other hand, you can tell me where to find him and I’ll take care of it the old-fashioned way.”
“Oh no! That’s too harsh even for Morgan.”
I laughed it off but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he was perfectly serious. Should it have scared me? I don’t know. What did I think about it? …Better not go there.
In the end I did what I’ve always done – took Johnny’s advice and worked on getting into Morgan’s good graces. The process was much harder and took a lot longer then establishing my investigating agency but it had obviously started to pay off. (This ‘cooperation’ business had an unfortunate side-effect: although I now wasn’t really scared of Morgan I couldn’t hate him either. It’s true what they say about understanding people – you just can’t maintain the proper animosity level. Like Johnny said, my parole officer was a man of rules and principles who strictly believed that only the most worthy of wizards were made Wardens and that White Council could do no wrong. And let’s face it, what is easier to accept: that a young punk with a filthy mouth used forbidden magic to kill his mentor or that a respectable member of wizarding society – a Warden himself – managed to fool everyone for years doing Black Magic right under their noses? The struggle of accepting that I may not be all bad was almost pitiful to watch…)
“So…” I hummed in the receiver, “no thoughts on the spell used to kill them?”
“I’ll be watching you, Dresden.” The line went dead.
That parting shot would have induced a great terror in me only couple of years ago but now it was a bit comforting. If I learned one thing during our years of forced cooperation it was that Morgan was fair. If I used Black magic he would kill me. But if someone used Black magic on me he’d as soon kill them.
Although the question of the spell itself still remained open my steps had a bit of spring to them when I hurried to my office.
~!~
At first I wanted to just breeze through Storm Front but then the evil plot twisted itself. I just couldn’t get out of my head that Marcone would definitely do something about the Morgan situation – so here it is. Hopefully I’ll still manage not to get too deep here and finish with SF in the next part…
P.S. I didn’t make it into a cliffhanger, but we all know what’s next, right? Uhhh, I’m nervous… XD
“So if I’m already almost convicted, could you possibly do this righteous speech thing and tell me all about how I’ve done it and how it was obvious that it was me from the get go?” <-- BEST. TACTIC. EVER.
If only he could solve all his cases this way. 'Twould make his life so much easier.
*gasp* And is the day of reckoning at hand? Are they going to meet? *clutches pillow to self* F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
My good mood lasted for all of two seconds that it took me to turn away from the phone and find myself in a company of two very tall (and I don’t use that definition lightly) and heavyset men waiting a polite – but not very great – distance away. Behind their backs I spied a dark blue Cadillac with tinted windows.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked politely looking around for cops and finding none. I mean, come on, the crime scene is just two steps away – where is everybody when you need some mundane protection?
“Get in the car,” one of the men growled in what he presumed to be a threatening manner. Unfortunately for him I was mostly amused – he couldn’t hold a candle to Morgan on a good day. The second man moved to the Caddy and opened the rear door.
“And why would I want to do that?” I infused my voice with sincere curiosity at the same time readying my force-rings in case I had to demonstrate some magically-powered aikido moves.
“Mr. Dresden,” came a voice from inside the car, “I was hoping to discuss a business proposition with you. Would you like a lift to your office?”
“And you would be?” I made a few tentative steps to the open door and bent down to look inside.
“My name is John Marcone.”
Right. I should have guessed.
It was ironic in a twisted way to meet a person who was a criminal in the eyes of mundane law. On the one hand I could be considered a criminal myself; on the other Gentleman Johnny had done no wrong on my side of the fence. He was also a man of principles that were much more rigid that was common for his line of work and in an abstract kind of way I could almost respect it.
The man himself was an epitome of casualness: sports jacket and jeans, relaxed posture, a welcoming expression and smile-creases in the corners of his eyes. All that didn’t really disguise the sense of power not that much unlike my own – an almost physical manifestation of a strong will.
I reminded myself that if I wasn’t afraid of a big bad Warden, then I shouldn’t get scared of a plain vanilla mortal. Even if he was a mafia kingpin. And had goons. Who most assuredly had an assortment of deadly weapons stashed under their ill-fitting suit jackets… Way to reassure yourself, Harry!
I quickly reminded myself that I wasn’t all that helpless either. In fact, I had an element of surprise on my side – even if Marcone heard rumors about me being a wizard he could hardly take them seriously. My hands itched to demonstrate him why you shouldn’t strong-arm your friendly neighborhood magus into your car, but discretion that Johnny had been painstakingly instilling in me for years prevailed. No need to preemptively antagonize the local crime lord – it wouldn’t bode well for my chances of undisturbed life in the city.
Internal debates resolved I pasted the best business smile on my face and got in the car. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marcone smirked, clearly taking my ready compliance as a sign of intimidation. I clenched my teeth – what little of my fear still remained was quickly transforming into anger. It further solidified while I listened to an offer of a paid vacation for the next couple of weeks. My admittedly limited amount of patience ran out when my ‘fee’ was raised for the third time.
“I don’t need you money!” I exploded, instantly frying the car’s radio. “Or government’s money for that matter. I don’t think you understand what happened, John.” I almost cringed at the inherent wrongness of calling this… stranger by that name and made a note to always address him as Marcone. “Those people were killed using magic. That means that neither police with their laws and regulations nor you and your big guns will be able to handle whoever’s doing it. This is on my side of the fence and I am the only one equipped with power and knowledge to solve it.” Not to mention, I’m the one with my head on the chopping block as a prime suspect for the murders in the eyes of White Council. “Luckily for you I’m already hired so you won’t even have to pay for my services in solving this matter, and trust me, you’ll need professional help with this one.”
During my little speech Marcone listened intently and somewhere at the back of my head I had an uncomfortable feeling of being unscrambled and thoroughly analyzed. He took in everything – my words, my aborted gestures, my expressions… it was quite unsettling.
I was relieved to see that we were just a block away from my office building so Marcone didn’t have time to object.
“Oh, look how time flies!” I exclaimed with exaggerated surprise glancing out of the window. “Seems it’s my stop already. It was a pleasure meeting you, and if you ever need my help don’t hesitate to make an appointment in my office during business hours,” I advised with a hint of reproach. Then without waiting for his driver – a guy so large he seemed to have trouble just folding into a car – to pull up, I sent my will into the engine. To my great satisfaction it coughed pitifully and died.
“Thanks for the ride!” I said cheerfully and got out of.
Judging by the absence of gunshots from behind me either Marcone was too surprised by my brazen attitude or too polite to have a shootout in the middle of the street.
It was only when I passed third floor on my way up that I became aware of a very disturbing fact. Usually I’m very careful about looking other people in the eye – a moment too long and I’m inadvertently thrown into their souls. But during my talk with Marcone I held his gaze for an awfully long time without triggering a soulgaze.
~!~
whew, I had fun writing this. Hope I didn’t disappoint those who’d waited for the fateful first meeting XD I’m still not going to rewrite Storm Front, just a couple of scenes with Morgan (whom I love, btw).
So many details I want to pick out and admire. Like how Harry's still wary of Marcone, but acknowledges his respect for him. And how this makes him more explanatory and less antagonistic. And how he cooks the car engine, just because he can. So much love.
And what a way to handle the soulgaze (that wasn't)! It's surprising that someone normally so careful about eye contact wouldn't even notice until afterwards, but perhaps it's a subconscious connection? I like where this is going.
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timeasmymeasure
Telepathy
Date: 2011-03-06 11:06 pm (UTC)My (not so) Imaginary Friend (1/?)
Date: 2011-03-21 12:10 am (UTC)I don’t remember when I started hearing his voice. I think it was shortly after I lost my father but I can’t be sure. Everything was a bit blurry - social service, orphanage, foster care… At first I heard just snatches and echoes of thoughts but gradually they resolved into questions and then into quiet words of consolation.
Looking back I see that they were just usual, standard phrases you say to the bereaved: “Everything’s gonna be okay”, “Don’t loose hope”, “Be strong, you’re a big boy”… But the sad thing was no one else bothered to say them to me and I was so pathetically grateful that someone still gave a damn that I didn’t care if it was just a voice in my head.
When I spoke about a friend who sometimes talked to me in my mind my first set of foster parents marched me straight to a shrink who spent half an hour explaining how that was perfectly normal for kids of my age especially after such a traumatic event as loss of a parent. So that was that; I was justified in having my very own imaginary friend and I intended to make the most of it.
Being the stupid selfish kid I never asked anything, only talked and talked about myself – the good times, the bad times, and the weird times that made my parents look at me funny and return me into the system. He always listened and made all the appropriate noises to keep me going. I was happy with it – where else would I find a person patient enough to listen to a six-year-old’s little woes? Eventually I started calling him Johnny even though I was reasonably sure his name was something else entirely.
When I was adopted by Justin DuMorne nothing really changed. I never told him about Johnny but it was mostly out of habit – no matter how many psychologists insist that imaginary friends are perfectly fine and you just need to let your kid grow out of it, grown ups still tended to treat it with suspicion. Again, looking back I think my mentor’s conclusions would have been vastly different from those of vanilla mortals but that doesn’t change the fact that I was glad I kept Johnny secret.
I had the impression that my friend didn’t believe me about magic. I guess these doubts were quite strange for a person living in my head but I always felt that he was humoring me when I started telling him about this new spell I’ve just learned. You know, like when the kid tells his mother that “really, there was a pink unicorn in our backyard”, and she answers “Of course, sweetie, should we leave it some carrots to snack on when it comes back?” . Anyway, he never outright said he didn’t believe me so I was not offended. Too much.
On the other hand Johnny was quite helpful with the tips on how to act around this one girl I’m living with. There is nothing embarrassing in talking these things out inside one’s head, right? And again, who else was I to turn to? DuMorne?
By the way, Justin was the reason of my only quarrel with Johnny. I liked Justin – he gave me a big house, a whole new world of magic and a playmate/girl I had a first crush on; what else could a boy want? But Johnny didn’t like him at all; almost from the beginning he cautioned me against my mentor, telling me I should be careful and ‘had he done anything funny to you?’. I could never be sure what he meant by funny and my stories about magic shield training with tennis balls didn’t seem to placate him in the least.
When it all went south Johnny was the first to notice. One night a voice in my head suddenly said: “You haven’t talked to me in a week. What is the matter? Did he do something funny to you?” And just like that all the Johnny memories that were mysteriously blocked before rushed back into my brain. My friend was definitely right this time, though I’m sure he didn’t suspect Justin of rearranging my mind. I even had time to thank him for the warning before the binding ritual started in earnest.
The next time I’ve heard his voice I was on my knees before the raging inferno that was DuMorne estate, frantically gulping air and coughing and still trying to wrap my mind around the deaths of my almost-father and the girl I loved. I heard Johnny as if from very far away… and could mental voices grow hoarse from shouting? Because his was, as if he called my name frantically for hours nonstop.
“Harry,” he kept saying, “Harry, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you all right? Harry!”
“I am…” I was going to say fine, but made a mistake of answering aloud and was gripped by a new coughing fit.
“What happened? Are you hurt? Talk to me!” His voice was authoritative but mostly it was just worried so I answered:
“I’m fine. Justin is dead.” I could have sworn John muttered good riddance under his non-existent breath. “Elaine too.” Stars, how those words hurt my throat, even though I didn’t use my vocal cords to say them!
There were no condolences this time.
“Where are you, Harry?” he asked. “Tell me the address, I’ll come and get you.”
There was nothing in that moment that I wanted more than for him to miraculously appear and take me away from all the horror and pain. The cruelty of it almost made me cry.
“It’s no use,” I muttered, “you are only inside my head. And even if you weren’t,” I continued over his protests, “I’ve broken the Law. There is nothing you can do to help me.” Johnny was busy talking about lawyers and child abuse and permissible self-defense but I saw what he didn’t – two men in gray cloaks coming to me through the smoke and ashes. How come they were quick to appear now when it was a helpless teenager who committed the crime, but they were suspiciously absent when a powerful wizard tried to turn his two apprentices into mindless slaves?
I was taken before the White Council just as they’ve found me – in torn and charred clothes, covered in soot, blood and tears (although the latter was hidden by a bag over my head). My grasp of Latin was tenuous at best (Justin always favored evocations over grammar) so I knew enough to make out my death sentence but not nearly enough to try and defend myself.
I was light-headed with terror and the only thing that grounded me in the blood-scented darkness of the bag was Johnny’s voice cursing steadily and without repetition. I guess I was even impressed with his vast knowledge of swear-words and imagination for different positions he proposed to put Council members in for trying a minor for crimes he committed to preserve his own life. But more than anything I was glad that in these last moments of my life I was not alone.
I can’t say who was more relieved when my sentence was changed to Doom of Damocles. Johnny breathed out some phase in Italian that mentioned Madre di Dio and was probably part of a prayer. “Never scare me like that again, Harry,” he added and went abruptly silent.
I think I could have justified his behavior as my own projected worry over impending death; and it is known that subconscious retains a lot of knowledge that is not generally accessible for the conscious mind. But on that day I started believing that Johnny was no just a figment of my imagination.
My friend was a real person and I was so grateful for his existence that the reason he could connect with me didn’t matter at all.
Now that I got at least a part of it off my chest I can finally go to sleep
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (1/?)
Date: 2011-03-21 01:30 am (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (1/?)
Date: 2011-03-21 02:15 am (UTC)--OP
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (1/?)
Date: 2011-03-22 03:59 pm (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (1/?)
Date: 2011-03-24 05:05 am (UTC)But seriously, excellent start. F5ing vigorously.
My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 01:32 am (UTC)My dreams were never peaceful. Most of them were full of blazing flames, rage and helplessness. Some of them were shrouded in darkness with the smell of stale blood and despair. And only very rarely I dreamt of hands shielding me and fingers gently stroking my hair.
I never told Ebenezar McCoy about Johnny. I knew he would not for a second think it was something as innocent as an imaginary friend and was afraid that he’d try to persuade me to get rid of this connection. Or worse yet, that he’d do something about it without even asking me first. And the prospect of losing the last remaining constant of my life terrified me much more than even the White Council’s wrath.
Still, I didn’t make the decision to keep this secret blindly. After realizing that John was as real as myself I’ve thought long and hard about the possibilities. At first I imagined that he was some sort of Fae – I guess it appealed to some deep-hidden fairytale-loving part of me. But realistically there was no reason for any magical creature to maintain the link between our minds for so long. If they wanted to make a pact with me (and this was another notion fraught with disturbing memories) it would have been far easier to make a little kid promise them whatever they desired. There is, after all, no concept of legal age in the Nevernever.
That same argument equally applied to warlocks so I was left with the only other option – that Johnny was a plain mortal connected to me by a strange twist of fate. There could be no harm in communicating with him especially while he didn’t know anything about me except my given name. (I ignored the fact that he knew about me almost as much as I did myself because there was no way he could get close enough to me to use that knowledge).
Johnny didn’t like Eb. There was a couple of months before he first started showing his displeasure with my new mentor but it just snowballed from there.
“Why isn’t he teaching you magic?” he asked once during our late night conversations.
“You know, it’s a strange question coming from you,” I muttered. “You don’t even believe in magic.”
“Of course I believe in magic! It is preferable to thinking that the voice I’ve been hearing in my head for the last decade is only a figment of my imagination and I desperately need a mental specialist.” I snickered quietly. “So why isn’t he teaching you?”
“He said I’ve been taught more than enough over the last years,” I answered after a brief pause. “I need to slow down, find my center and ground myself.”
“Bullshit!” he barked. “He’s punishing you.”
“What?”
“He’s locked you in some hellhole, Missouri, away from anything and anyone remotely familiar and took away the only thing that can still bring you joy.” I wanted to ask him to drop the drama but his words hit too close to home. “What is it if not a punishment?”
“Don’t I deserve it though?” I whispered. “I killed Justin.”
“You killed a man who tried to enslave you.”
“I still killed him.”
“Would it have been better if you let him bind you to his will?” John asked angrily. “What do you think he intended to use you for? I you’ve become his mindless tool there would have been more blood on your hands, blood of the innocents whose only crime was standing in Justin’s way.”
“I could have…” I hesitated for a moment.
“Don’t you dare complete that sentence!” I couldn’t see why he was so enraged. Sometimes I truly felt that dying that day would have been much easier than living with the consequences. “This is exactly what your White Council wants you to believe. You must not defend yourself against our control, you should just roll over and bare your neck. Justin needed to be stopped. Maybe your primary reason for killing him was selfish in your eyes, but in the long run you’ve saved a lot of lives besides your own. Maybe you’ve even saved me that day.”
I tried to smile though there was no way Johnny could see me.
“I feel awful,” I confessed loosing the battle with my emotions and burying my head in the pillow to muffle my sobs.
“Doing the right thing is not always the same as doing the good thing. But I don’t want you to feel that your life was not worth saving, Harry. I never want you to feel guilty for protecting yourself.” My tears burned gathering under the eyelids and escaping into the pillow. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Harry,” he whispered regretfully and went silent. I wanted to say that his lingering presence beside was already helping but I just couldn’t gather the strength.
“What the hell is he teaching you?!” Apparently, lifting the ban on all things magical didn’t improve John’s attitude towards Eb in the slightest. “Who the fuck invented these Laws of Magic and what were they smoking?”
The last time I’ve heard Johnny cursing was during my trial so I was I bit taken aback by this extreme reaction.
“Why?” I asked tentatively. “They sound perfectly right to me.”
“Oh, and I thought our legal system was fucked up,” he plowed right over my question. “You shall not kill with magic! Is that why they’ve almost executed you?”
“It’s true!” I said forcefully. “I should not have killed him with magic. It’s a power meant for creation, to take a life with it is just… wrong!”
“I thought they tried you for murder,” again, he made no sign that he heard me. “But it was actually only for the weapon you used.”
“What’s your problem, John?” I exploded. “The man is dead by my hand!”
“Yes. But what is better, killing him with magical fire or going into his bedroom and strangling him with a pillow?”
“What kind of question is that?” I sputtered.
“It’s a legitimate question in the eyes of your Council,” Johnny countered. “In fact, they think that while the former is punishable by death the latter is perfectly fine.”
“You’re absurd.”
“Me? I just repeat what you’ve told me, but in simpler words. The Law of Magic states that you should not feel guilty for killing Justin, only for the method you’ve used in doing it.”
I had nothing to answer. Somehow this little truth was lost among all the explanations Ebenezar gave me on the subject.
“If magic was only meant to do good it would have been physically impossible to use it for murder,” John said into the silence, his voice now quiet and contemplative.
“You can’t know that!” More than anything I felt confused by the fact that the arguments that sounded so solid only couple of hours ago were now crumbling to dust. “You don’t know what magic is.”
“But I know logic. And I know a great deal about politics. Do you know what I hear when you recount the Laws of Magic? You shall not gain enough power to overthrow the White Council.”
I… I simply didn’t want to contemplate this. I didn’t want to think that everything I learned was a lie.
“Harry,” John’s voice was gentle and soothing, and I relaxed into it despite the fact that it was he who caused all the previous tension. “You need to understand. I’m not saying you’re wrong to grieve or feel guilty. But you must rely on your own moral compass and not on these dogmas the White Council created to safeguard themselves. You are not a criminal, and I know you are not capable of doing anything truly wrong.”
“How can you know that?” I muttered weakly.
“Because you are the voice in my head.” And that simple yet loaded answer inexplicably made me feel better.
Over the next year we had a lot of arguments along the same lines. Usually I objected but it was half-hearted at best because in my heart of hearts I agreed with Johnny.
Though Ebenezar McCoy was my official mentor, the voice in my head taught me a lot of more important lessons.
You must not believe in anything blindly.
You must measure everything against you own set of values.
Sometimes you must put yourself first.
Although these rules were useful and I intended to follow them there was one more underlying message I cherished most of all.
No matter what you do you’ll still have me to turn to.
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 01:45 am (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 02:18 am (UTC)This is awesome. :edge of seat:
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 04:46 am (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 05:44 am (UTC)....That so very WRONG. *grins*
No matter what you do you’ll still have me to turn to.
*nods*
even if you think he is a scumbag. >.>;;Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 11:07 am (UTC)Would you reveal how old is Marcone in your opinion in this story? I wonder whether he already started his coup d'état in the Outfit. Or would it be spoilery?
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-03-23 12:21 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
From:Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
From:Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (2/?)
Date: 2011-03-23 03:54 pm (UTC)My (not so) Imaginary Friend (3/?)
Date: 2011-03-25 12:39 am (UTC)If I were completely honest with myself, most of the time I consciously avoided asking too factual questions. I knew perfectly well that he was an actual person with a whole life of his own but I selfishly wanted him to remain mine. I stupidly thought that if I didn’t get reminders of his other engagements I would not have to share him with all the nameless, faceless people that waited on the other end of our private connection. I should have known that this avoidance would come to bite me in the ass.
We talked regularly but with my new job and his unknown-but-certainly-there workload it was quite normal if I wasn’t able to chat with Johhny for a day or two. So I’ve noticed that something wasn’t right only after three days of silence. He didn’t reply when I called and what was even stranger, I couldn’t hear anything from his end. Generally I was able to somewhat feel his presence and catch faint echoes of thoughts even when he was busy with something and unable to answer. But this complete absence was unpleasantly new and terrifying.
I tried different explanations but they were all just an attempt to stave off the panic gathering at the edges of my mind. What if I never heard from him again? What if he’s dead? The struggle of keeping these thoughts locked away consumed me so thoroughly that Nick was forced to send me home as, in his words, I was obviously coming down with something.
It was a good thing too, because when I didn’t have cases to distract myself from my worries I’ve finally remembered that I’m a wizard. True, I couldn’t use thaumaturgy without some sort of anchor in material world but with a connection like ours meditation was my best bet at finding out what was going on. I went all out: cleansing rituals, white robes and an elaborate circle to block any outward influence. Finally, with a deep breath of incense filled air I sunk into myself.
The principles of sympathetic magic work everywhere indiscriminately. If I wanted to find Johnny I needed to surround myself with things belonging to him. In my mind those were my memories. I drew all the little tidbits of knowledge I gained from the time I first realized there was a stranger in my head and gathered them around me, straightening them out, hooking them up with each other and creating an image of a hall that would eventually lead me to the person I sought.
It seemed that ages had passed before I felt a first wisp of presence but when I did surprise and relief almost made me lose my concentration. I jerked forward along the thread of our connection, calling out his name in an almost desperate need to hear his voice again.
“Harry?” He responded absently, as if nothing wrong happened in the last week and a half. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
What. The. Fuck?!
“Is it all you’re going to say, you bastard?” I exploded. “I’ve been worried sick, dreading the worst and now all you say is it’s been a while?!”
“I’m sorry,” John’s voice was emphatically indifferent, “I had some things to think about on my own.”
Did someone tamper with Johnny’s mind? It was the only explanation that seemed somewhat plausible to me at that point. The first thing he usually asked when we started talking was whether I was all right; but now he brushes me aside just like that? I learned the theory behind mind-manipulation well enough to know that sudden changes in behavior were the first sign of trouble on that front…
But then there was all that knowledge I gained about Johnny, his thoughts and reactions, and it guided me to a different conclusion.
“Was it something you absolutely couldn’t discuss with me?” I asked tentatively. “Did you want to shield me from something?”
It was as if a wall crumbled before me. Our connection opened fully and was flooded by a strong sense of… disturbance, unrest that went deeper then words or even emotions.
“You’re becoming frighteningly good at reading me, Harry,” John muttered with what I imagined was a shake of his head.
“Well, I’m the voice in your head, after all,” I joked, repeating one of his favorite phrases. I didn’t try to press him; I knew he would start talking only when he deemed it necessary. But mostly I just enjoyed the restored sense of closeness – I only now realized how much I missed it while John had been shutting himself away.
“A girl has taken a bullet meant for me.”
The few short words managed to completely shatter the calm engulfing me. I felt my hair standing on end and my skin breaking out in goosebumps. These words meant that all the horrors I’ve been imagining were much closer to the truth then was good for my peace of mind. And so, my first question was utterly selfish.
“Are you unharmed?”
Johnny laughed. It was a painful, wrenching sound I never wanted to hear again.
“What the hell can happen to me?” he croaked finally. “I always get out of any mess without a scratch! But she… she was just there, on that line between me and a gun. They saw her.” His voice was firming out, loosing that cracking edge it had before. “How could they not, she was right there. They must have known they’d hit her instead of me but they still continued firing.” A pause. “I could not do a damn thing to stop them,” he ground out suddenly, “I’ve looked death in the face but it never mocked me like this before…”
I knew I needed to say something. Johnny helped me through the worst period of my life; I’ve lost count of the times he soothed me after nightmares and persuaded me that I didn’t really do anything wrong. Now it was my turn… but there was no way I was pulling the ‘It’s not your fault’ card without sounding mocking or patronizing.
I entered the hall formed of my Johnny-memories again and took a deep breath.
“I know you’re not feeling guilty,” I said firmly. John would never accept reassurances, only statements of fact. “You are a rational man and reason dictates that you were in no way responsible for making that shot. You are angry. Those people – whoever they were and whatever their purposes – had no right to sacrifice an innocent life, nothing can justify that. So, you are furious.” I touched the memories of protective rage Johnny exuded when talking about White Council and my treatment at their hands to see what was the next step of his reactions. “You want to get back at them. Make them pay for their callousness. Make sure they won’t ever be able to do something like that again.”
I didn’t need to hear confirmation to know I was right. I only hoped my words conveyed not only my knowledge but also my tacit approval.
“John,” I said after a timeless silence, “Is your life still in danger? Do you want me to… help you?” My heart was in my throat, choking the last words.
“No.” His answer rang out as a cast-iron bell, rattling me to the bone. “Don’t you dare think about it! You are so… God, I don’t want to see you shielding me from bullets.”
“I have an actual magic shield for that,” I supplied helpfully.
“Stop it, Harry! I will be all right, and you don’t need all this shit in addition to you own.”
I was going to object. I wanted to say that I was a big boy now and I could hold my own against threats both mundane and supernatural but he beat me to it. “I don’t want to lose you, Harry. I was once sure that I would and I don’t want the repeat experience. So please, let’s not argue about this.”
I gave a mental equivalent of a curt nod.
“Is she alive?” I asked after a while.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to shut me out again?”
Johnny chuckled.
“I know I won’t be able to stop you if you really put your mind to it, so no.”
I suddenly felt tired. Reopening the connection against Johnny’s will took a lot of energy and now, when my worries were mostly soothed and our status quo more or less restored it was time to return to the real world and rest.
“Harry.” His voice caught me just as I was going to withdraw. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“If you are ever in danger, if your life is threatened, you must tell me immediately. I need to be able to help you.”
“So what, I can’t do this rescue thing but you can?” I snapped. “That’s rich!”
“I don’t ever want to feel this helpless again. Promise, Harry.” I really, truly was going to refuse if not for his tone. It was not demanding as I expected, it was sincerely pleading.
“I promise.”
I couldn’t even get angry at Johnny for asking this. I was basically wreathed in understanding: I was a person important to him and therefore someone to be protected at all costs. He was not going to let me help him in whatever put his life at risk but if I were to ask him for help instead he would do almost anything for me. Actually, it was a temptation that was surprisingly hard to fight.
I made one more promise to myself that day: I would never go looking for Johnny. I was selfish enough already endlessly whining to him about my problems, I didn’t need to burden them with solving them too. I was a wizard, after all, I needed stand on my own two feet and deal with them myself!
So I ruthlessly squashed all my curiosity and carefully locked away all my hypotheses about Johnny’s role in real life.
For both our sakes I intended for my friend to remain imaginary.
That was… complicated. I feel like I need to comment on my reasoning a bit, so feel free to skip the rant if you’re not interested.
I made John’s speech choppy at times. That’s because I imagined him reliving the situation a thousand times already. It broke into snapshots that made perfect sense to him but taken out of the whole picture would become meaningless.
Also I thought that Harry would care more for John’s wellbeing than for the actual situation. It was like, suppose, if your dear friend was standing near a stranger on a bus-stop and a drunk driver hit the stranger instead of your friend. You will of course feel pity for the dead but you’ll definitely worry more for your living friend.
Jeez, look at me ramble!
I’d really like to hear your opinion on plausibility, and if you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (3/?)
Date: 2011-03-25 01:10 am (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (3/?)
Date: 2011-03-25 01:31 am (UTC)I really like this story. I never knew I had such a kink for Protective!Marcone until I started reading it. Of course, it makes me all the more curious what's going to happen when they start moving closer to their Storm Front roles. I can see Harry not noticing that the new mafia boss is named Johnny, especially since he doesn't know his real name, but a wizard named Harry might be a bit harder to overlook.
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (3/?)
Date: 2011-03-25 02:28 am (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (3/?)
From:My (not so) Imaginary Friend (4/hopefully no more than 8)
Date: 2011-03-26 08:58 pm (UTC)So when I announced my plans on working solo and asked Johnny if he had any tips for me he was more than willing to dispense his sage advice, as always.
The first one was fairly obvious: you can sleep in a gutter and eat out of a garbage bin but presentable office is an absolute must. Well, I already knew that people judge the looks first but Johnny further insisted that I limit the demonstration of my agency’s magical side to a minimum.
“You don’t want to be considered a fraud or attract only thrill-seekers and starry-eyed fanatics. When faced with trouble, especially of a supernatural kind, sensible people need the security of thinking that everything’s contained in the boundaries of normality and an expert in an appropriate field can give them a rational explanation.”
“But if they have a poltergeist problem they can’t just keep believing that they are experiencing minor earthquakes localized to their bedroom!”
“Look, Harry, it’s not your job to single-handedly enlighten the general populace about the affairs of the supernatural world and it’s dwellers. Normal people are not persuaded easily. And anyway, in most cases you’ll handle your clients won’t need this knowledge at all. You are going to take their money to solve their problems; the reputation of a man who can deal with any strangeness in a discreet manner will benefit you more that apparent eccentricity.”
So, that was that. At first glance my office looked decidedly mundane, but there was a little crystal pendant handing unobtrusively near a map of Chicagoland, a staff (fake, but looking authentic to an untrained eye) in a corner behind a filing cabinet and some light protection runes carved on the windowsills and around the door frame.
The second point was advertising. At first I wanted to proudly state in the yellow pages that I’m a wizard but that idea’s life was short and ended in disgrace on John’s merciless verbal guillotine.
“Do you really want this to work or is it a late blooming teenage rebellion?” he asked tersely. “Do you know what will reasonable people think if they see you under ‘wizards’?”
“You’re a reasonable man, you tell me!” I replied smartly.
“I would think that it was high time I found the annoying voice in my head and set him straight. Possibly with a birch-rod.”
“Hey, that’s child abuse!” I exclaimed, then thought some more and added: “Actually, I’m not a child so it’s armed assault.”
“You aren’t a child,” Johnny agreed solemnly, “so you need to stop playing games. We’ve talked about it before: you can’t shove magic in people’s faces – they simply won’t take you seriously. Your clients need deniability for their own peace of mind. You only need to hint that any potential weirdness would be taken in stride and that’ll be quite enough, I promise you.”
If I had any doubts that Johnny was a businessman they were quickly and decisively put to rest. It was tough at first but over the course of a single year my little agency flourished. I sometimes got an impression that information about me spread faster through word of mouth – at least half of my clients heard about me from friends, colleagues or neighbors instead of an add. I once read that if you take a random Joe from Alaska and an equally random Ann from Australia and examine their social circles you’ll find that statistically they are connected through no more than seven people that are consecutively acquainted to each other. My guess is that in Chicago this chain shortens drastically because I was soon feeling like everybody knew whom to turn to in case of unexplainable incidents or silly little things that others refused to consider (the sign on my door stated that no trouble is too small - the slogan was solely my invention). I was also in contact with several small time practitioners and sometimes helped the beginners to get a better grip on their gifts.
I was still not telling John all the particulars of my day-to-day life but he was generally aware of my triumphs. Actually, sometimes I felt a bit bad because of my resolution not to lean too heavily him but in the end I convinced myself that I didn’t distract Johnny from his own daily pursuits and that it was quite normal to ask a more experienced friend for advice. To further placate my conscience I decided to help him in return.
What can a young wizard do for his imaginary friend? Obviously, some magic. Of course, I couldn’t do it myself but I instructed him in simple ways of defending against supernatural attacks. I mean, most circles are closed with an exertion of will and Johnny had will in abundance. There were other elementary things like iron nails, horseshoes and hematite but when I moved on to planting violets and binding rowan twigs with red string my friend accused me of having a laugh at his expense. Oh well, I did all I could for the magically illiterate.
The first time police asked me for help I was truly unexpected. Karrin Murphy – head of the Special Investigations department – needed no deniability and coddling since she’d already encountered her fair share of things that go bump in the night. All she asked for was an explanation on which she could base her strategy. If the criminal was caught (or at least stopped without a chance of harming anyone else) she was satisfied. That’s not to say that she was easily accepting of my tales of trolls killing bums under bridges and pixies stealing jewelry but she was at least willing to give them the benefit of doubt which was much more that normal people could boast.
After my third police consultation – when it became obvious that there was always some nasty or other lurking in the background and the SI was happy with the was I was handling them – I figured I needed some credentials. John was right saying that people tended to reject anything that didn’t fit into their image of normalcy, so if I wanted a job with the police I couldn’t just say I was providing magical assistance.
It’s amazing what courses – mailing or otherwise – one can find if he simply puts him mind to it. In two months flat I was in possession of a certificate that was going to officially cover my ass. It stated that I was an expert in obscure cults and religions which was undoubtedly helpful when dealing with maniacs who fancied themselves warlocks and worshipped bloodthirsty gods that required regular virginal sacrifices. (I freely admit to not attending most of the lessons and cheating on the final test but my knowledge is far more sound than anything a professor can teach in the classroom). Lt. Murphy was impressed with my business savvy and in no time at all I was an official police consultant in occult crime.
All in all, my life was pretty interesting in a good kind of way at least partly due to Johnny’s advice. And – if I wanted to get mushy – I could say that even on the bad days I was warmed by the knowledge that he was always only one thought away.
I just couldn't resist Marcone checking Harry's most absurd ideas. And to think, I was hoping to get to the Storm Front in this part already...
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (4/hopefully no more than 8)
Date: 2011-03-27 09:57 pm (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (4/hopefully no more than 8)
From:My (not so) Imaginary Friend (5/ummm...9?)
Date: 2011-03-28 10:35 pm (UTC)The second thought was must not tell Johnny.
I learned a long time ago that it was not prudent to inform him of my, so to speak, more daring exploits. For the first half-hour he would berate me for foolishness, recklessness and lack of general common sense and then he’d ask me sternly why I told him everything post factum. Somehow he never understood that I simply didn’t have time in the interim – I mean, when you’re running for your life and there’s a slavering monster breathing down your neck you don’t just take a couple of seconds to think ‘hi, Johnny, you won’t believe whom I’ve met today’. My voice of reason was a firm believer in multitasking and though I was willing to admit that he could talk to me and negotiate a deal simultaneously, in my brain the thought ‘OH MY GOD, IT’S GOING TO EAT ME!’ automatically overrode all others.
Two bodies right from the start equals further trouble up ahead so while I was acquainting myself with the insides of a convenient bucket I firmed my mental shield in case that some of my churning thoughts leaked through and alerted my friend to the situation.
My deduction about multiplication of problems was proven correct not half an hour later. At the end of my talk with Murphy I found myself in a classical situation of ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’. I had no desire to recreate the Dark magic responsible for the crime for fear of my own life but I couldn’t very well tell the Head of SI that I had a criminal record – no matter how unrelated to civil law or how justly deserved. That wouldn’t have looked good in my resume and would reflect badly on Lieutenant herself for hiring a lawbreaker as a police consultant. And I wasn’t even going into what the Council would do to me for disclosing it’s existence to a vanilla mortal. On the other hand I was threatened with charges of obstruction – not a pleasant prospect either…
On exiting the hotel I quickly looked around – despite being almost late to my appointment with Monica No-Last-Name I needed to make an urgent call. Spotting a pay-phone I made a quick pat-down for coins and jogged to it.
“Good day, Warden Morgan,” I forced my voice to sound politely innocent.
“Dresden,” came a gruff reply. I knew that it was all I was going to get in way of greetings.
“I take it you already know about a double homicide last night?”
There was a grunt and a cackle of static that I took as an affirmative.
“Am I guilty?”
“There are no other known warlocks in Chicago.” Now, that sounded promising.
“So if I’m already almost convicted, could you possibly do this righteous speech thing and tell me all about how I’ve done it and how it was obvious that it was me from the get go?”
A silence on the other end was so complete that even static feared to interrupt it. I felt that I’ve stepped too far out of line and prepared to backtrack when Morgan grumbled:
“Don’t get cute with me, Dresden.”
I almost dropped the receiver. The reaction was highly unexpected though not entirely unwelcome.
When I moved out of Eb’s place I was ready for all kinds of hardships – but not at all prepared for a gray specter of vengeance with a sharp sword and an attitude problem. That’s nature’s equilibrium for you – to balance Johnny with his concept of permissible self-defense I got Morgan and his ‘warlocks suck and must die’ motto.
“What am I going to do, John?” I moaned after one of the annoyingly frequent meetings with my current nemesis. “It’s like he’s behind every corner I turn with his menacing aura and a drawn sword. I can’t take a breath without him appearing to accuse me of breaking some Law or other! The only time he’d put away his blade was to deliver a nice right hook.”
“Whatever did you say to provoke him?” I got amusement instead of sympathy, which was fundamentally unfair in my opinion.
“Who says I provoked him?”
“I don’t think men like him would do violence without provocation,” Johnny answered with the same mild amusement.
“Men like him? Do you mean homicidal maniacs?”
“Now, Harry, let’s be rational about this. Your Council will never put a maniac to the task of enforcing their will because it’s impossible to control him. People like your parole officer are of a different kind – they strongly believe in rules and very probably have had some experience that elevated that belief to the level of obsession. From your words I’ve gathered that his attitude towards you isn’t based on your crime in particular; he just generally thinks that anyone who broke the Laws of Magic deserves only death.”
“As fun as this impromptu session of psychoanalysis is it doesn’t tell me how to deal with Morgan,” I grumbled.
“You must make him see you as a human being and not just a warlock.”
“Really? I’m showing it every time we met. I’d go as far as to say that my personality shines through bright and clear.”
“While I find your snark cute I’m afraid it’s just reinforcing his negative impression of you.” I bristled at being called cute.
“So what do you say? Should I shut up and play dead?”
“As much as shutting up would benefit you in certain circumstances I don’t believe you’re capable of doing it regularly. I hope you won’t be offended if I make an observation on your patterns of behavior?”
“Go ahead,” I waved my hand though the gesture meant nothing for a person who couldn’t see me.
“When something scares you, you get angry. When you get angry you taunt your enemy. So tell me, are you afraid of Morgan?”
If I was asked this question by any other person I would have vehemently denied any fear I might have had for the Warden. But it was a conversation inside my head, with a man I confided everything in.
“Of course I’ve afraid, Johnny. My life in literally in his hands.”
“Then you must break this chain of reactions.”
“What do you mean? I shouldn’t get angry?”
“No, that’s actually a good coping mechanism.”
“Then what the hell do you want me to do?!” I yelled in exasperation.
“You need to stop getting scared.” I couldn’t help myself – I laughed incredulously. Johnny patiently waited for my mirth to subside. “Or rather, make him stop scaring you,” he clarified. “You say he comes every time something happens? Then you should beat him to it. Notify him of anything remotely magical that you’re involved in; invite him to any questionable rituals you’re going to conduct. Be open – don’t let him suspect you of anything.”
“Hey, that could be fun,” I muttered with a smirk. “Dear Morgan, today I’ve used magic to light my candles no less than 4 times; hope I’m still within my daily quota.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Harry!” he snapped. “The purpose of this is to confuse his perceptions – not to anger him further. He needs to see it as sincere offer of cooperation, so no overdoing it or he’ll think it’s just a taunt.”
“Do you even understand how long I’ll have to do this for any results to show?” I whined.
“But when he gets used to the pattern he’ll relax his vigil and you’ll have greater freedom.” He was silent for a few seconds and then added. “On the other hand, you can tell me where to find him and I’ll take care of it the old-fashioned way.”
“Oh no! That’s too harsh even for Morgan.”
I laughed it off but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he was perfectly serious. Should it have scared me? I don’t know. What did I think about it? …Better not go there.
In the end I did what I’ve always done – took Johnny’s advice and worked on getting into Morgan’s good graces. The process was much harder and took a lot longer then establishing my investigating agency but it had obviously started to pay off. (This ‘cooperation’ business had an unfortunate side-effect: although I now wasn’t really scared of Morgan I couldn’t hate him either. It’s true what they say about understanding people – you just can’t maintain the proper animosity level. Like Johnny said, my parole officer was a man of rules and principles who strictly believed that only the most worthy of wizards were made Wardens and that White Council could do no wrong. And let’s face it, what is easier to accept: that a young punk with a filthy mouth used forbidden magic to kill his mentor or that a respectable member of wizarding society – a Warden himself – managed to fool everyone for years doing Black Magic right under their noses? The struggle of accepting that I may not be all bad was almost pitiful to watch…)
“So…” I hummed in the receiver, “no thoughts on the spell used to kill them?”
“I’ll be watching you, Dresden.” The line went dead.
That parting shot would have induced a great terror in me only couple of years ago but now it was a bit comforting. If I learned one thing during our years of forced cooperation it was that Morgan was fair. If I used Black magic he would kill me. But if someone used Black magic on me he’d as soon kill them.
Although the question of the spell itself still remained open my steps had a bit of spring to them when I hurried to my office.
At first I wanted to just breeze through Storm Front but then the evil plot twisted itself. I just couldn’t get out of my head that Marcone would definitely do something about the Morgan situation – so here it is. Hopefully I’ll still manage not to get too deep here and finish with SF in the next part…
P.S. I didn’t make it into a cliffhanger, but we all know what’s next, right? Uhhh, I’m nervous… XD
Questions and comments will be highly appreciated
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (5/ummm...9?)
Date: 2011-03-28 10:52 pm (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (5/ummm...9?)
From:Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (5/ummm...9?)
Date: 2011-03-29 02:34 am (UTC)If only he could solve all his cases this way. 'Twould make his life so much easier.
*gasp* And is the day of reckoning at hand? Are they going to meet? *clutches pillow to self* F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (5/ummm...9?)
From:My (not so) Imaginary Friend (6/9?)
Date: 2011-03-29 11:07 pm (UTC)“Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked politely looking around for cops and finding none. I mean, come on, the crime scene is just two steps away – where is everybody when you need some mundane protection?
“Get in the car,” one of the men growled in what he presumed to be a threatening manner. Unfortunately for him I was mostly amused – he couldn’t hold a candle to Morgan on a good day. The second man moved to the Caddy and opened the rear door.
“And why would I want to do that?” I infused my voice with sincere curiosity at the same time readying my force-rings in case I had to demonstrate some magically-powered aikido moves.
“Mr. Dresden,” came a voice from inside the car, “I was hoping to discuss a business proposition with you. Would you like a lift to your office?”
“And you would be?” I made a few tentative steps to the open door and bent down to look inside.
“My name is John Marcone.”
Right. I should have guessed.
It was ironic in a twisted way to meet a person who was a criminal in the eyes of mundane law. On the one hand I could be considered a criminal myself; on the other Gentleman Johnny had done no wrong on my side of the fence. He was also a man of principles that were much more rigid that was common for his line of work and in an abstract kind of way I could almost respect it.
The man himself was an epitome of casualness: sports jacket and jeans, relaxed posture, a welcoming expression and smile-creases in the corners of his eyes. All that didn’t really disguise the sense of power not that much unlike my own – an almost physical manifestation of a strong will.
I reminded myself that if I wasn’t afraid of a big bad Warden, then I shouldn’t get scared of a plain vanilla mortal. Even if he was a mafia kingpin. And had goons. Who most assuredly had an assortment of deadly weapons stashed under their ill-fitting suit jackets… Way to reassure yourself, Harry!
I quickly reminded myself that I wasn’t all that helpless either. In fact, I had an element of surprise on my side – even if Marcone heard rumors about me being a wizard he could hardly take them seriously. My hands itched to demonstrate him why you shouldn’t strong-arm your friendly neighborhood magus into your car, but discretion that Johnny had been painstakingly instilling in me for years prevailed. No need to preemptively antagonize the local crime lord – it wouldn’t bode well for my chances of undisturbed life in the city.
Internal debates resolved I pasted the best business smile on my face and got in the car. “Pleased to meet you.”
Marcone smirked, clearly taking my ready compliance as a sign of intimidation. I clenched my teeth – what little of my fear still remained was quickly transforming into anger. It further solidified while I listened to an offer of a paid vacation for the next couple of weeks. My admittedly limited amount of patience ran out when my ‘fee’ was raised for the third time.
“I don’t need you money!” I exploded, instantly frying the car’s radio. “Or government’s money for that matter. I don’t think you understand what happened, John.” I almost cringed at the inherent wrongness of calling this… stranger by that name and made a note to always address him as Marcone. “Those people were killed using magic. That means that neither police with their laws and regulations nor you and your big guns will be able to handle whoever’s doing it. This is on my side of the fence and I am the only one equipped with power and knowledge to solve it.” Not to mention, I’m the one with my head on the chopping block as a prime suspect for the murders in the eyes of White Council. “Luckily for you I’m already hired so you won’t even have to pay for my services in solving this matter, and trust me, you’ll need professional help with this one.”
During my little speech Marcone listened intently and somewhere at the back of my head I had an uncomfortable feeling of being unscrambled and thoroughly analyzed. He took in everything – my words, my aborted gestures, my expressions… it was quite unsettling.
I was relieved to see that we were just a block away from my office building so Marcone didn’t have time to object.
“Oh, look how time flies!” I exclaimed with exaggerated surprise glancing out of the window. “Seems it’s my stop already. It was a pleasure meeting you, and if you ever need my help don’t hesitate to make an appointment in my office during business hours,” I advised with a hint of reproach. Then without waiting for his driver – a guy so large he seemed to have trouble just folding into a car – to pull up, I sent my will into the engine. To my great satisfaction it coughed pitifully and died.
“Thanks for the ride!” I said cheerfully and got out of.
Judging by the absence of gunshots from behind me either Marcone was too surprised by my brazen attitude or too polite to have a shootout in the middle of the street.
It was only when I passed third floor on my way up that I became aware of a very disturbing fact. Usually I’m very careful about looking other people in the eye – a moment too long and I’m inadvertently thrown into their souls. But during my talk with Marcone I held his gaze for an awfully long time without triggering a soulgaze.
whew, I had fun writing this. Hope I didn’t disappoint those who’d waited for the fateful first meeting XD
I’m still not going to rewrite Storm Front, just a couple of scenes with Morgan (whom I love, btw).
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (6/9?)
Date: 2011-03-29 11:29 pm (UTC)Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (6/9?)
Date: 2011-03-30 01:50 am (UTC)And what a way to handle the soulgaze (that wasn't)! It's surprising that someone normally so careful about eye contact wouldn't even notice until afterwards, but perhaps it's a subconscious connection? I like where this is going.
Re: My (not so) Imaginary Friend (6/9?)
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