Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I want to be able to say that I would have thought about my new approach for getting out of marrying Lara Raith months before if I hadn’t been so busy, but to be honest it had occurred to me pretty early on. Actually within a couple of weeks, however I’d thought the solution was a little too simple when it involved Mab.

I mean, simply asking my boss if there was anyone else she would prefer I marry to secure an alliance other than the uncrowned queen of the White Court was too easy to work, right? At least that was what I’d figured when it had first occurred to me to ask. So I’d put it out of my mind while I’d scrambled for anything which could get me out of my unwanted betrothal to Lara Raith.

Okay, maybe not at first because I had been very busy. First taking the time to heal and helping with the aftermath of the battle. Then fixing up Castle Dresden to be habitable for people and pets again had taken up a lot of my attention. Looking for any hint of Justine and growing frustrated at only finding weeks-old cold trails every time I thought I was close sucked away any free time I’d had between being a dad and fighting with the state about getting my PI license reinstated. Apparently having been investigated by the FBI, declared dead, and then alive, before essentially vanishing off the face of the earth for over a year didn’t make the Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation happy about activating my private investigator license even if technically it hadn’t expired yet since the last time I’d renewed it. I was not looking forward to the fuss I’d have to deal with when I did have to renew it next year.

All that and I’d lost countless sleeping hours in the night wracking my brain as to how I’d be able to pull my brother safely out of his carbonite freezer without his demon killing him as soon as I did.

And I’d been... grieving. Hurting. Dealing with the emotional wounds from last summer. I’d been too preoccupied with keeping myself together and hopefully resembling something like a sane parent for Maggie and Bonnie to spend my energy worrying about something that was a year – practically forever – away.

It wasn’t until Christmas had come and gone, and winter’s grip on Chicago had started to loosen, with spring right around the corner that it hit me how quickly time was passing. There would be wedding bells – no, more like hell’s bells – in my future if I didn’t shift focus and do something to stop it.

So I’d buckled down and researched, thankful that I had my handy-dandy magical assistant back so I could ask these sort of difficult questions. Well, most of the time. Butters sometimes came by to pick Bob’s brain about supernatural threats he could be facing in the future and even occasionally borrowed him when under a time crunch. A Spirit of Intellect was handy to have around when trying to find things out about supernatural monsters, trust me.

Not that Bob had turned out to be much of a help. Every conversation we’d had about the Winter Knight’s mantle had turned into a variant of our first discussion on the topic.

Take for example our latest one:

“Boss. Harry. We’ve been over this already, being a Knight of a Fae Court is a lifetime gig,” Bob said, exasperated. The orange lights of his eyes followed me as I paced in front of him in the castle basement. Months later it still smelled of laundry detergent and sweaty gym socks. I also wasn’t used to the shape of the room. It felt like too much space but I figured that wouldn’t last long as I stocked the new shelves up with magical ingredients. I was glad to have a working lab again, and better materials and tools to craft my gear than what I had on Demonreach.

You really don’t appreciate how much easier good tools make your life until you try to make things without them.

I can’t tell you how relieved I felt at getting a proper staff carved out and a new blasting rod.

“We can research and research but every Knight, whether they were of Summer or of Winter, has remained a Knight until they died. Only then did their mantle pass on to someone else. Every single one of them.”

Which I’d already – grimly – known to be true. I shoved the sense memory of blood on my hands back into its box.

Three months of actually looking for a solution. And all I had was zip, zilch, nada. A big load of nothing.

Bob continued, “The only thing that could possibly make a difference, although I don’t know how yet, is that you’re the only one who has also been a wizard. That’s definitely new.”

Bob didn’t know how I’d be able to shed a power which went through the center of my being like a lance without somehow killing myself by pulling it out (it made me feel more like an insect pinned to a collection board). For one, he reminded me mantles were bound to the bearer. It usually defined their powers, at least it did, for most of the immortal beings out there. I was weird in the sense of having claimed the mantle of the Winter Knight while I already had powerful abilities in my own right.

I may use the abilities to my benefit, but my power wasn’t dependent on them.

However, until I figured out how to be free of it, I was stuck being the only wizard Winter Knight of the court of the scary faeries.

Compounding my problem was my own determination that when – not if – I did end up leaving the Winter Court behind it would be with my former apprentice joining in my getaway. So not only did I have to figure out how to be rid of the Winter Knight’s mantle, I also had to figure out how to free Molly of the mantle of the Winter Lady without killing either of us.

And without Molly fighting me on it.

Sometimes I had the sinking feeling she wanted to remain the Winter Lady. That she thought she was doing more good in that role than she had as a mortal wizard apprentice. It worried me but I told myself not to make assumptions. Molly could just be doing what I was, trying to survive her new job without losing herself within it. Even if it meant being the best Winter Lady she could be.

Instead I focused on the step beyond that point. Because if we were able to shed the mantles then it was equally important to make sure that we’d both be able to survive the fallout. I doubted Mab would let either of us go easily.

It made me shudder to think of what I’d suffer through if an angry Mab got a hold of me. I wouldn’t survive her retribution for escaping her. Or if I did I doubt I would be sane.

My main problem was that I simply didn’t know enough about how mantles of power even worked, especially how they were even created in the first place, to figure out how to undo one. The only clue given to me which could possibly point me in the right direction was the knowledge of how mantles became more malleable during Halloween. It was the only time of the year during which immortal beings could die, or add to their power or lose bits of it to another immortal.

Trick or treating for the powerful immortal beings of the world.

A day which was my birthday, of course. Which had also already come and gone. So even if I had a working plan to strip away the mantle this coming October it would still be way too late to avoid getting married to Lara Raith.

I had a little less than two months left when I realized that all I had were stupid options.

Cue me just flat out asking the Queen of Air and Darkness my question.

*-*-*-*

“You said before, that you agreed to the alliance with the White Court because they are strong enough to be a worthy ally,” I said quietly, standing beside Mab.

It was somewhat annoying that the aftermath of last summer’s battle and the continued war against the Fomor meant that most of the Ministry summits took place in my city. I had no excuse to get out of having to show my face and play courtier to Mab when all the shindigs were held in Chicago. Although I would forever gloat over how Marcone couldn’t host them in the castle anymore.

I suspected my presence was meant to be a reminder of how she had triumphed against Ethniu, and how the Winter Court – through me as its representative – had been the one to finally shut the Titan down. I had been… well, I can’t say requested because armed fae lords had all but whisked me away at gun-point. I’d told Mab I had things to do but apparently that wasn’t good enough. The fae had simply been insistent, politely insistent. As in I didn’t actually get shot. Barely. Lucky for them, they’d been willing to wait for a babysitter for Maggie to show up, or I would have been the one getting violent.

The point was, I was at a party where I was mostly playing arm candy. It wasn’t as if I was much use as a bodyguard to Mab (even if it technically was part of the duties of the Winter Knight), considering she could squish me like a bug without even trying, so it really reinforced the idea that I was meant to be some kind of subtle message to the rest of the Accorded members.

“It also fulfills the debt owed to Ms. Raith,” Mab agreed, flickering her inhuman eyes at me.

I didn’t question it but I knew that wasn’t anywhere close to the real reason.

Oh, it contributed.

Mab, by her very nature as a faerie, couldn’t lie. But that didn’t mean she didn’t act with more motivations behind her actions than the obvious or that she couldn’t toe the line right to the edge of lying. If she’d wanted she could have twisted the favor used by Lara into something that didn’t involve dragging me into it. Or she could have thrown some high-ranking faerie lord or lady under the bus to satisfy Lara’s demands if Lara insisted on a marriage to seal the deal. Yet considering how Lara had reacted when Mab had let us know the news, I knew I wasn’t anywhere near her preferred choice.

After that bombshell it had taken a few days to figure it out why I had to be the one to be married off. In my defense, I’d been reeling in disbelief and also rather had my hands full. As a mortal, and therefore not as tightly bound to the obligations of fulfilling debts as the rest of the faerie courts, I would be able to help out whenever Lara asked. She wouldn’t have to burn any favors to Mab to get my assistance.

And somehow locking me into a marriage was Mab’s way of getting a tighter hold on me. My grandfather’s words of warning hadn’t fallen on deaf ears no matter what he thought. Although, to be honest, I couldn’t figure out how that was supposed to happen by forcing me to get married. At the moment all it did was make me angry whenever I was reminded of having no choice in the matter.

But just because I couldn’t see the bear-trap hidden in the underbrush didn’t mean that I wasn’t aware it was out there somewhere.

“But she was hardly your first choice,” I said quietly. Why else had Mab taken so long to come to her decision. She was hardly the sort of being to take the time to dawdle. I definitely had the impression that Lara had used her first favor by requesting her alliance before they’d even shown up together in the back of the Munstermobile. And… well, in the battle of Chicago while the White Court had held their own, they had hardly been the most impressive fighters out there.

It made me wonder if there had been someone else at the peace talks whom Mab would have preferred as an ally instead of Lara.

“What if I could secure that alliance instead?”

Mab turned to face me and her eyes flashed. “Unlikely. He has been resistance to any offers.”

He? I winced internally at the idea of my only other option being a man. Then I frowned, wondering who had the balls to turn down an offer of alliance from Mab.

Actually, a rather smart person with great survival instincts. Winter faeries are known for their treachery. No matter how straightforward of an alliance on offer, I’d be wary if I was being offered one. Especially by a Queen of the Winter Court. Even now, if I had a choice about it I wouldn’t be spending my time among them. I couldn’t fault anyone else for deciding to turn down such an offer.

Mab’s cat-slit eyes lifted and scanned across the room full of the representatives of the signatories of the Accords who were part of war against the Fomor. Those who hadn’t joined in the battle against Ethniu had been pointedly excluded, and ones who had but weren’t yet signatories, like the Forest People in the form of River Shoulders, were given every honor for having fought.

Her gaze lingered in one place long enough for me to follow its path.

My breath caught as I realized it had landed right on Gentleman John Marcone, the Baron of Chicago, kingpin of its criminal underworld. Oh, and Knight of Hell. Can’t forget that sparkling new and terrifying title.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

My eyes widened for a split-second before I forced my expression back under control. It was a really bad idea to show anything like weakness in this company or to a being like Mab. Even if she was the boss. Maybe especially because she was the boss.

John Marcone. Apparently Mab would be perfectly happy – hell more than happy – to see me hitched to Marcone if it meant securing an alliance with him instead of with Lara.

“If you manage that task, my knight, then I’ll release you from the obligation to wed Lara Raith.”

“Right,” I said blankly. I shook my head and shot Mab a wary look. “If you didn’t manage to convince him of the value of an alliance, how in hell am I supposed to?”

“You have the intelligence to come up with several approaches which the Baron would accept. Among them are tactics that he would not welcome from one such as I. For example you could seduce him,” Mab offered, not a hint of amusement in her face at the idea.

Hell’s bells, it can get worse.

Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. Not in a million years. The stars would fall out of the sky first.

I looked away, to hide whatever shock had to be visible in my face. I cleared my throat and managed an evenly toned, “Why him of all people?”

Mab’s eyes shifted away from Marcone and landed back on me like a heavy weight, her power a physical presence I could feel surrounding her. “Because in many ways, in various situations, he has impressed me.”

Well, that completely and utterly spooked the hell out of me.

I stared at Marcone in disbelief. He must have felt the weight of my eyes because he glanced over in my direction his expression cool, calculating and dangerous as always.

I looked away before our gazes could lock.

“There isn’t anybody else?” I asked, trying to sound casual and not absolutely desperate.

“There is no one else,” Mab said calmly, sealing my doom.

Okay, cross that idea off the board.

*-*-*-*

An evening later I was curled on my couch (a huge, ugly and sinfully comfortable used piece of furniture Maggie and I had both fallen in love with which was horribly patterned in green and red) with the burrito blanket around my knees (a castle-warming gift from Butters which looked like a giant flour tortilla Maggie loved using to roll herself into a burrito whenever she saw it) when I found myself distracted from writing out futile plans on how to save Thomas in the journal I held and instead found myself thinking about my mother.

I wasn’t thinking about the usual questions which swirled through me whenever I thought about her, such as what kind of person she’d been, what she’d think of me, what she’d think of what was happening in my life. And more recently, what would she think of Maggie and my decision to raise her.

You know those questions.

No, instead I found myself thinking about her past. About her life in the clutches of the White King. I had absolutely no idea how she’d ended up under Lord Raith’s power. Did she go to him voluntarily? As an ally, at least at first? Or had she had no choice in the matter?

It made me think about the possible relationship I’d have with Lara if I couldn’t find myself a way out of betrothal. I mean, she wanted me dead. She had flat out told me she’d kill me once we saved Thomas. Me being the Winter Knight – and the possibility of annoying Mab – wasn’t enough to stop her. Then there was the fact that even if she changed her mind about my future murder, she couldn’t touch me, literally. Not without giving herself third-degree burns (the reason for my protection made my chest hurt for a long moment before I forced my thoughts in another direction). But it wasn’t a protection I could rely upon. The terms of the alliance with the Winter Court required the marriage be consummated. It was part of Mab’s requirement of ‘a merging of households’.

So if I was forced to marry Lara how long could I expect my protection to last? How long would I have before Mab forced the issue (the thought made me go cold inside in a way which had nothing to do with Winter)? Then it wouldn’t be long until I ended up like my mother. I didn’t know how long I could hold out against a succubus of Lara’s power and a sustained attack without my current protection. A few months? A couple of years?

Nearest I’d been able to work out, my mother had finished growing into her power when she’d ended up in Lord Raith’s hold, so she’d been a helluva lot older than me. She’d been better trained than I was now. She’d had more experience with the supernatural side. She’d already established a reputation – however shady – with the White Council and earned her name among the faerie courts as Margaret LeFay.

She’d been smart, tough and dangerous, yet she’d still ended up trapped among the White Court vampires.

From what I knew of Lara, she would do everything she could to erode my will away. And unlike before, I had the Winter Knight’s mantle which would try to subvert my determination to resist whatever seduction she tried (for a power which seemed to be all about survival it was damned stupid). And while I currently had a hold on the instincts of the Winter Knight, I also had painful proof that my control over it was not absolute.

I had faltered once. I could again. These days, I was worried that I would without the presence of friends who’d fight tooth and nail to save me from myself. My willpower was not enough.

It made me think painful thoughts of my mother’s own will being overthrown by Lord Raith. She’d ended up pregnant with my brother. How desperate had she been? How scared had she been to leave Thomas behind when she had the chance to escape the White King? However willing she may have been at first she sure as hell hadn’t been at the end.

It made me swallow down nausea. It made me hurt to think about it.

She’d left Thomas with them. He’d only been five years old at the time. I couldn’t imagine doing such a thing to Maggie.

If there was one thing I did know about my mother it was that she’d hated the White King.

It said so much that for all the evil she must have seen after leaving my grandfather’s home (she’d known freaking Nicodemus) it had been Lord Raith who’d taken the brunt of her death curse. And she had unleashed her curse knowing she wouldn’t be able to actually kill him. She would only be able to weaken him by making him unable to feed.

I thought about how he had been the one responsible for her death.

A White Court vampire had tormented and killed my mother.

I thought about Thomas’s childhood, growing up in that household. Then how he had barely survived adulthood.

It made me remember a conversation we’d had, where Thomas – who is as devoted to family as I am – said that he hoped Marcone killed Lara. It hadn’t really sunk in at the time. But I found myself thinking about it more and more these days and wishing I’d asked more questions. What had Thomas seen from Lara to make him say that? What couldn’t he forgive? What had Lara become in the intervening years I’d been away from Chicago?

Thinking about being tied to the White Court also made me think about my grandfather. Whose seething hatred for White Court vampires pushed him into completely losing his temper to the point he’d been wild and out of control. Even after I’d told him the truth about Thomas he’d only seen red, willing to kill his grandson. On purpose.

And me, on accident.

It made me wonder in the long hours of the night, what had happened in Eb’s past to drive him to such rage... to such a point of madness.

What had the White Court done to him?

This was the same White Court I was going to be forced to marry into soon unless I defied Mab and probably got myself killed (or tortured to the point of wanting to die), I discovered how to rid myself of the mantle of the Winter Knight and all its obligations, or I married Gentleman Johnny Marcone, criminal mob boss of Chicago, instead.

And I still had no idea how to rid myself of the mantle.

Stars and stones, I had no good options left.

I’d already been down the road of dying to resist Mab. That wasn’t a choice I’d ever consider making again. I wasn’t leaving my kids to grow up without me.

I knew too well the pain of being an orphan. I wasn’t about to inflict such loss on Maggie or Bonnie.

So I thought about it. For hours and hours. Turning it over. Letting it simmer in my mind.

Then I came to a decision. No matter what it took, there was no way in hell I’d let another generation of my family suffer at the hands of the White Court. I wasn’t letting Maggie anywhere near those assholes.

Because if I were to marry Lara Raith and even if we kept it strictly professional with her staying in her mansion while I lived in Castle Dresden it would still paint a target on me and on my mortal daughter. I was fervently thankful that Bonnie’s existence was still a secret from most of the supernatural community so she wouldn’t be in danger, but Maggie would be.

How many White Court vampires were waiting for Lara to stumble in her charade of ‘obeying’ the White King whom she controlled as a puppet? How many were waiting in the wings to challenge and kill her? How many would see attempting to kill or hurt me as a means of striking at her? House Malvora and House Skavis weren’t exactly fond of me after I’d interfered with their last attempted coup.

No White Court vampire who calls human beings kine – cattle – would see anything perverse about striking at me through a child.

And while the smart ones probably wouldn’t do it, especially with the recent history of what I’d done to the Red Court and a Titan, there were bound to be ones too stupid or arrogant enough to believe they’d survive my retribution. Or both since the White Court had no shortage of either. And remembering the White Court’s fondness for cat’s paws, maybe the smartest ones would be more than willing to use the idiots as weapons against me.

Against Maggie.

No. I would do anything to keep that from happening.

Even if I had to marry John Marcone.

Holy crap. I think I was actually going to do it. I was going to ask Marcone to marry me.

...gulp.

Chapter Text

Okay, I may have come to a decision about my future marriage prospects but I had the disturbing realization I had no idea how I’d go about even making Marcone that kind of offer. This wasn’t helped by most of me wanting to gibber in the nearest corner at the idea of voluntarily marrying anyone. It was a feeling made even worse when I thought of a marriage which involved John Marcone in any way, shape or form.

Argh.

I mean I was pretty sure you asked a man to marry you the same way you’d ask a woman. I’m not that ignorant, thank you.

There was just a lot riding on it. Maggie’s safety was riding on it. No matter how uncomfortable it made me I couldn’t get it wrong.

My unease wasn’t helped by knowing my history on that front hadn’t exactly been stellar. The only time I’d ever had the guts to get a ring to ask someone… Susan had turned me down. Even over a decade later the memory still made me ache with could-have-beens and if-onlys.

Oh hell, did I have to get a ring for Marcone?

A chill went down my back making me shiver at the question. And not just because Marcone was a man since marrying another guy had never crossed my mind. It was strictly because Marcone was freaking Marcone. That was enough to scare me.

It would scare anyone who knew him, I swear, it wasn’t just me.

Anyway, I was probably getting ahead of myself.

If I asked him what he thought about marrying me for all I knew Marcone would laugh in my face (well, the corners of his lips would twitch up) or be so insulted he’d have me booted me out of the nearest window. Also I shouldn’t make the assumption he would even accept the offer of forming an alliance with the Winter Court since apparently Mab had tried and failed.

I mean, if Mab hadn’t convinced him my chances of succeeding were astronomically bad.

And then when you considered our history it didn’t improve my already long odds at all. I mean, I had pretty much swindled Castle Dresden (formerly known as Castle Marcone, if only in my head) away from him. Something I knew he was still annoyed about, so I doubted he’d be feeling inclined to do me any favors.

I needed a plan. I needed advice.

*-*-*-*

“Are you sure this is something you want to do?” Michael asked me, watching me with a worried expression. It made the lines around his mouth and the crow’s feet around his blue eyes more pronounced.

I couldn’t blame him for feeling concerned. It wasn’t everyday a friend tells you he was thinking about proposing to Chicago’s infamous kingpin of crime.

Okay, Marcone was only the suspected kingpin of crime. His lawyers were too good to have allowed anything to stick. His record was squeaky clean as far as the general public was concerned. Actually, these days it was better than usual with the rumors of his efforts in defending Chicago circulating among the population. Marcone’s public efforts in providing for Chicagoans in the aftermath of last summer had had his name repeated many times in newspapers with glowing words of praise. Even what he was doing now, which included making resources he had available for those still struggling and his work in the reconstruction of the city gave his image an even brighter polish.

I mean, he even had something of a fan in Butters which I will grumble about forever.

Hell, I’d overheard more than a couple conversations where people talked about how Marcone should run for mayor or governor. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them for thinking he was the best thing since sliced bread considering how Marcone had kept the city working in the weeks after the Battle of Chicago. He’d give people food. He’d brought them water. He’d kept people alive who would have died when aid from the government had failed to arrive in time.

He’d kept barbarism at bay by holding strong the line of civilization.

It even got to me at times and I knew the truth of what he was. He was still a criminal.

Oh, yeah, and also a coin-carrying member of the Order of the Blackened Denarius. Telling Michael about that had gone down like a lead balloon.

“Honestly? No. I don’t. In fact, I think I’d rather cut an arm off, but it’s the best idea I’ve got,” I admitted. Between the cooling gentle breeze, the warming sun and the cold beer I’d been seriously tempted to put my feet up and fall asleep. At least until I’d broached the topic of my crazy idea to my friend. Instead of enjoying a mid-day nap, I was cradling an empty beer bottle in my right hand as I deliberately appreciated the spring green of the Carpenters’ backyard lawn to give Michael time to think.

The main draw-back of living in a small castle with every square inch of the property taken over by its gray stone walls or the small parking lot around the back was the lack of any extra space for a lawn. It wasn’t something that had ever concerned my lone self when I’d lived in my basement apartment but it suddenly seemed a big deal not to have one for my kid and my dog to run around in. Absently, I frowned as I considered the problem. I really needed to do something about it. Sure, the castle was bigger than anyplace I’d ever lived in before, but it was enclosed by walls and it didn’t exactly have a lot of windows. The ones it did have were narrow and didn’t let in a lot of light. And while I could shell out a small fortune to put in bigger windows it kinda defeated the point of having strong, thick stone walls as defenses if I put up glass in their place. Even bullet-proof glass wasn’t that tough.

So during the winter we’d all gone somewhat stir-crazy stuck inside as the snow had piled up. Public parks were a little too public, making me a tempting target for opportunistic assassins. I wasn’t about to put my kid and innocent bystanders in the crosshairs so they were out. Being able to go up to the roof had helped with the cabin fever but only somewhat. The kid needed space to run. And while I knew I was always welcome at the Carpenters, it felt like I should be the one to provide something so basic for Maggie.

I was her dad. It was my responsibility.

“This is a serious matter, Harry.”

“I know, I know,” I muttered. Frankly, I’d rather be worrying about grass.

“Marriage should not be done lightly. You make promises. You make vows,” Michael continued soberly, drawing my attention back to the topic at hand.

I blinked at him, a little surprised that this was Michael’s main concern instead of – you know – who I was thinking about marrying. I rubbed at my face, feeling the scratch of stubble on my left palm as I considered his point.

I said, “Trust me, with my magic I’m well aware of the dangers.”

That was one aspect of the plan which weighed on my mind almost as much as ‘who’ I’d be marrying. Weddings were vows and ritual, once you stripped out the religious stuff. As a wizard, ritual vows were even more tricky than they would have been if I’d been a vanilla mortal. This was actually why on average there weren’t that many married wizards and the ones who did get married took it damned seriously and why those who outlived their spouses almost never married again (I’d heard of exactly two divorced wizards on the Council and they’d been married to each other).

“But if it weren’t Marcone, I’d be making promises to Lara. And while I don’t trust either of them with my life, I trust him with Maggie’s.”

We both looked over to the treehouse where Maggie’s indistinct voice drifted down toward us. Hank and Hope were both up there with her. They were playing a board game. Occasionally an electronic bzzt sounded off which triggered groans and laughter from the trio. It also explained why I wasn’t allowed anywhere near them.

Wizards are walking, talking techno-banes. It wasn’t exactly the best superpower most of the time since it left me out of the tech crazes that everyone else enjoyed. I mean the internet, what was up with that? Or phones that were computers and cameras. Pfft. Clearly some sort of fad. It couldn’t last. We’d be back to rotary phones and having to look everything up in leather-bound encyclopedias in no time.

Allow me my illusions, please.

As Mouse patiently waited for his charge to come down within paw reach, he kept me company by sitting beside me on the porch. He was keeping solemn yet tired eyes locked on Maggie’s location. Earlier he’d worn himself out running around the yard with the kids and he was now fighting sleep. I’d noticed these days that even at the Carpenter home, Mouse rarely relaxed until we were back home.

I wondered if the invisible angels around the property were making him feel like he needed to keep up. Or maybe he was also suffering from the events of last summer. It had been an act of Molly which had kept the Fomor servitors who’d gone after our families from succeeding in their mission to kill them.

The angels had been utterly useless on that front. Maybe Mouse thought he needed to make up for their slack and stay on duty.

A good dog. But one who needed a break.

“Hey relax, boy. I’m keeping an eye on her,” I told my dog. I scratched at the thick dark ruff at his neck. Mouse’s tail wagged away happily before slowing as his eyes drifted closed. When he snored he rumbled like he’d accidentally swallowed a motorcycle engine in his last meal.

I wouldn’t put it past the big lug.

“John Marcone has killed people,” Michael said somberly. “Are you ready to expose Maggie to that?”

“No,” I said flatly, giving Mouse a last scratch before pulling away. My hands ended up in fists. “But with Lara… I think she’s worse.”

“Her vampirism, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, her body count alone is probably a lot higher than Marcone’s, which is saying something. And that’s just the number of people she has to have eaten in all the years of her life. She’s over two hundred years old. It’s got to easily be several hundred people by now. It’s what it would take to feed her and power her up,” I explained grimly. It wasn’t as if I needed more reasons as to why Marcone was a better choice for the simple fact of not being a white court vampire, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the worse case scenario of what would happen if he turned me down and I still ended up forced to get married to Lara. “How many others has she killed on her father’s orders? Or to solidify her throne?”

How many of the unknown number of corpses thrown down in the sunken caves of the Deeps like so much trash had been her kills?

At least Marcone didn’t eat the people he murdered. I was even fairly confident they mostly weren’t innocents either. Every rumor I’d ever heard about people who’d vanished on his orders had been fellow scumbag criminals or those who’d broken his rules. He was still a jerk who peddled misery for money, leaving broken lives in his wake. He was a monster. A remorseless killer. He scared me in ways no one else on the planet managed to do but….

Right now, what mattered to me more was that unlike Lara I could actually trust John Marcone with Maggie. Marcone would never turn her into target. Even if I angered him to the point that he’d try to kill me he would never drag Maggie into our fight. If anything I expected him to go out of his way to keep her out of it. And… something which really mattered to me, if anyone tried to hurt my kid in front of him Marcone would protect her. Hell, he would probably kill whoever made the attempt just for the insult of trying to break his rules about children in front of him. He was the only enemy I had whom I would trust with her life.

Mind you I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I’d only do it if I had no other options, but I could leave my daughter in his hands and return to find her in perfect health and fiercely protected (although I’d owe him so many favors I’d be paying them off for the next ten years). I absolutely had no doubts on that score.

Yeah, it was a weird thing to say about a man I considered an enemy and a ruthless monster, but it was true.

And that was without being married to him, even though I’d threatened him to his face multiple times and knowing he had probably made all kinds of plans to kill me. For crying out loud, he was the one who gave Lara the idea of hiding mines in the walls.

Bastard.

Sitting next to Michael it suddenly struck me that Marcone had also never threatened any of my friends.

And wasn’t like he wasn’t fully aware of Michael’s existence, or Sanya’s, or Butters’s, or the Alphas’.

In all the years I’d been a pain in Marcone’s side how often had he gone after any of my friends and allies? Zero times as far as I knew. He’d never so much as brought up their names to try to get me to do what he wanted (Oh, he did it once with… with… with Murphy… but it was more of a bribe, an offer for him to get her out of trouble with CPD higher-ups, than him threatening her). Instead Marcone had set about manipulating events to get me to do what he wanted, but he’d never tried to use my friends as leverage against me.

Huh. Maybe it was just another sign of the man’s intelligence or his impeccable survival instincts. Going after my friends, even alluding to the possibility, was a quick way to shorten your lifespan.

“And there’s no way you can get out of it?”

“I haven’t given up looking for an out but I also can’t just assume I’ll find an answer in time. I need to have a back-up plan. I can’t afford not to,” I said, grimacing as I admitted, “and he’s the best one.”

Assuming, of course, I could convince the man to join the alliance Mab wanted. Oh, and marry me at the same time.

It hadn’t stopped being a terrifying thought. The only reason I could withstand it at all was that the idea of marrying Lara was a lot worse. Alright, if it were just me, I’d risk it with Lara. I could survive a lot of bad. I’d dealt with pretty damn awful things before. I could withstand whatever she threw at me, hopefully long enough to get out of it with only minimal lasting damage. But I wasn’t the only one on the line anymore.

I wasn’t going to endanger Maggie. At least not more than she was already in danger simply by having the bad luck of having me for a dad.

“This is a pickle,” Michael said drinking more of the beer in his hand. He’d been far more frugal with his swallows than I had been with my beer since he’d only just started his second and I’d just drained down my third bottle.

I was going to have to cut myself off if I planned on driving back home this evening. I’d hate to have to take away my car keys. I was always such a smartass when I demanded I hand them over.

He continued, “I can tell that you are determined to do this. You know I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t choose a path which would bring harm to Maggie. I also can’t help but think that maybe there is purpose to you being so close to Marcone. You could convince him to give up the coin.”

“Ha. Unlikely.”

“You won’t know unless you try. You could be a mitigating force on the influence of Thorned Namshiel,” Michael said quietly.

“Or the other way around,” I pointed out.

Michael snorted. “If Lasciel, a fallen infamously known as the Seducer wasn’t able to convince you to take up the coin, I doubt Namshiel would succeed. It’s not his specialty. He’s always gone down in the Church records as being rather acerbic and impatient. It doesn’t concern me at all.”

I couldn’t help it. A warm glow burst into life in my chest at my friend’s confidence in me. I gave him a grateful look before adding, “And I’ve beaten him before.”

Ah, the memory of smashing Spiny-boy with soulfire made me smirk.

“Exactly, he’s not going to have forgotten that lesson,” Michael grinned back, before asking, “So what exactly do you need my help with?”

I dragged my hand over my face and groaned. “How in the world do I even ask someone to marry me and have them say yes?” I asked plaintively. I peeked through my fingers. “You’re the expert.”

Michael laughed, a low and rolling sound of amusement. “You make it sound as if I’ve asked a bunch of people. I’ve only ever asked one person: Charity.”

I groaned again before dropping my hand away. I slumped in my chair. “I was hoping you had some advice.”

“I was in love with Charity by the time I asked her to marry me so I didn’t doubt my choice. I knew it was right. She’d entered my life for a reason. She was the one.”

“I am not in love with Marcone,” I said dryly. Saying the word sent an unexpected jolt of white pain through me and my mouth tasted of ashes. I reached into the small red cooler filled with ice and drinks which lay at our feet next to a slumbering Mouse. I pulled out a Coke to wash away the taste of loss and ruin. The taste of my favorite carbonated soda helped.

Michael shook his head. “Then all I can recommend is honesty. Tell him the truth. It will be up to him to decide to accept it.”

“Be honest. Okay,” I muttered although frowning at the idea. But thinking it through I had to reluctantly nod in agreement. Nothing good would come out of lying to Marcone about what was driving me.

If he thought I was lying or setting him up for a fall then Marcone wouldn’t take me seriously. He’d say no before I had the chance to explain myself or convince him otherwise.

“Well then, Harry, I hope you get your man,” Michael said, his blue eyes twinkling at me.

I glowered at him.

*-*-*-*

I decided that if I was going to be serious about my plan (really embracing my loss of sanity), then I had to really think through my approach.

If I showed up unannounced and started blowing doors off hinges I’d get myself shot faster than I could say, “Where’s Johnny?” And if I was lucky enough not to get shot, or blown up with mines, there was no way in hell Marcone would agree to an alliance with Winter. He’d be too damned angry over the encroachment on his territory. While the thought of enraging Marcone filled me with unabashed glee, because pissing him off or taking him off guard was guaranteed to bring a smile to my face, I simply couldn’t be that rude to another Accorded member.

Not anymore. Not without getting myself punished by an angry Mab soon after.

Just in offering an alliance, I was representing the Winter Court in an official capacity and not only as its Winter Knight. I was an envoy of Mab’s will. If I insulted Marcone in her name… I shuddered.

So I took my own feelings out of it, including sticking my fear over freaking Marcone into a box and shoving it deep to keep my subconscious company. I ignored the fact I was coming in with what amounted to a marriage proposal and tried to think of my approach in a more objective light.

I had to be ready to convince Marcone of the benefits of working out a more solid alliance with Winter.

And while I could try to approach him in one of the constant Ministry summit-dash-parties which took place while the ongoing war with the Fomor required the various members to constantly coordinate together for their world spanning battle, those weren’t exactly private. Even if I found a quiet moment to take him aside, I suspected we’d have too many eyes on us. I wouldn’t trust that anything we said to each other wouldn’t be overheard, not with the abilities some Accorded members had. Hell, I expected all of them to try to eavesdrop.

If I failed… I didn’t think Mab would be pleased with me for making the Winter Court look bad in such a public place.

Anyway, the next summit was over a week away and I couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. I may end up needing it to persuade Marcone to change his mind.

Damn it, I think I needed to make an appointment.

*-*-*-*

A couple of days later, I was on my way to meet with Marcone when I found myself thinking worried circular thoughts such as: How in the world do you get a mob boss, freeholding lord and knight of hell to marry you, especially when they were the same damned – heh – person?

For the first time ever I found myself regretting how often I spat insults in the man’s face. I still meant them and would happily repeat them – loudly and from various rooftops – but they didn’t exactly cast me in the best light as future spouse material.

Oh damn, thinking of myself as a spouse to anyone just froze me in place which wasn’t exactly safe when driving a tank like the Munstermobile (to the other cars on the road since the Cadillac could run someone over and it wouldn’t even slow down its massive momentum). I forced myself to pay attention to my surroundings as I drove to the address where I could find Marcone.

But my thoughts circled back around. I ended up wondering again: What did Marcone want?

Other than to rule the world like any Dark Lord worth his salt.

Ugh… that was probably unfair. Marcone’s ambitions weren’t that extreme.

I hoped.

As far as I knew he only wanted to rule Chicago. Something he was solidly on his way to achieving without me being any kind of help. And now that he was learning magic from Thorned Namshiel it wasn’t as if my magic was a big bargaining chip.

But I did have one thing which I could throw in the pot: My reputation.

I’d always sort of ignored the way others responded to me. I hadn’t liked that the White Council saw me as dangerous. I didn’t like how the Paranetters were now wary of me. I hadn’t liked how worried my friends had become since I’d taken up the mantle of the Winter Knight (even if I shared in their concern).

But everything I was, with everything I’d done, had caused my reputation to grow by leaps and bounds over the last several years. All I’d fought and survived translated to status in the supernatural world. Status which often correlates to power and influence.

There was a reason so many of the supernatural powerhouses guard their reputations. A damned good example was how Nicodemus was fairing right now with his own name in the toilet. He was no longer protected by the Accords, and since he’d been outed as the backstabbing asshole he was, he was being hunted by anyone and everyone with an ax to grind. Considering how many broken lives he had left in his wake he’s got a lot of payback headed his way.

Nicodemus had built his power base over decades, centuries, and millennia. And in less than a handful of years it was in ruins.

That was how important reputations were among the supernatural set.

It was the same reason Marcone had become that much more fanatically protective of his reputation. And why he’d leveled so many threats about not being disrespected by yours truly. It would actually be a hit to his power base if he didn’t address an insult.

And I… well, my reputation had grown in ways I hadn’t truly considered until it had been brought to my attention. If I ignored the Winter Knight schtick...

I’m the Warden of Demonreach. I’m the Wizard of Chicago.

I’ve killed a loup- garou. I’ve killed faerie queens of Summer and Winter. I’ve wielded hellfire and soulfire. I won the duel against Count Ortega. I’ve used necromancy to reanimate a dinosaur and brought down several of Kemmler’s apprentices. I’ve led the Wild Hunt. I’ve destroyed the Red Court of Vampires down to the last member. I’ve walked on the other side of the veil as a ghost and I’ve come back.

I’ve imprisoned the Last Titan. Bound her to my will.

My reputation painted me as freaking dangerous as a nuclear core in the middle of a meltdown.

Never mind that half the time I survived by the skin of my teeth, through luck, or with the support of my friends and allies. Hell, even Marcone a few times.

The fine details weren’t important. Only the end results mattered.

That was what I had to bargain with. All I really had to offer was myself.

I hoped it was enough.

Chapter Text

I wanted to pull at the blue and green stripped tie at my throat feeling certain it was slowly tightening with every breath I took as I walked from my car towards Marcone’s current inner sanctum, ignoring the echoing tightness of nerves in my gut. I tried to force my hands away before I snarled under my breath and pulled the torture device off, sticking it into the pocket of my suit jacket. I adjusted the leather attaché case slung over my shoulder, then made sure I hadn’t wrinkled the black suit, or somehow stained the black inner shirt before undoing the top button to at least make it seem the lack of tie was a style choice. And not a ‘trying to keep the clothing I’d bought from murdering me’ decision.

Yeah, actually bought and it had cost me more money than the rest of my wardrobe combined had so far. Which, okay, wasn’t much. My closet had plenty of space left in it for new novelty t-shirts and jeans but it was the principle of the thing. One set of clothing should not cost more than everything you had to wear put together. That was just wrong.

Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered to spend so much money on someone I wasn’t actually dating (or wear a damned tie). I sure as hell wouldn’t normally have gone to these lengths for John Marcone and not just because he was a bastard. For all his fancy suits and expensive cars, Marcone never struck me as someone who was particularly impressed with the flashy aspects of being rich. Oh, don’t get me wrong he used it, that was clear from his bespoke suits to his imported Italian shoes to his expensive haircuts, but to Marcone it was simply another means of expressing his power. He used the image he created to exert control over people who were easily awed or intimidated by such trappings.

I, on the other hand, didn’t care one whit about wearing suits to impress people (to look like a professional in court was something different) but I needed to show I was on an even footing or at least as close as I ever got. So expensive new suit and new shoes to also convey I was damned serious.

I’d also left my leather duster in the Munstermobile. Not wanting to seem like I was planning an attack, I’d also left behind my staff, blasting rod and guns.

I hated it. And not just the choking tie which had tried to give it its all on its mission to strangle me (maybe it was evil… that was it, I was burning it at the earliest opportunity). Not having the duster made me feel naked. It made my shoulder blades itch, making me too aware of my vulnerability to a surprise attack. It had taken a couple of minutes of mental exercises to convince my instincts that it was okay to leave my magical gear behind.

If the meeting went dicey the only advantage I had was the power of the Winter Knight (which I couldn’t do anything about removing and the whole reason I was here in the first place), my pentacle necklace with the Ways stone, three silver kinetic force rings, a newly made shield bracelet and an experimental copper ring which stored static electricity on the same principle as the kinetic force rings. Although the electrical ring took a lot longer to build up to a destructive force than the kinetic rings, the one time I’ve used it the blast exploded a tree stump into fiery splinters.

I may or may not be calling it a mjölniring.

Okay, I wasn’t exactly going in unarmed but at least I was making the effort not to appear visibly aggressive.

When I’d called for my appointment with Marcone I had expected to be directed to Executive Priority. It was one of Marcone’s brothels, disguised as a high-end gym and health spa. It had been untouched by the violence and destruction which had wrecked so much of downtown Chicago. I knew he kept an office at the place so I’d thought I’d be told to show up there.

Instead, I found him in one of those portable office trailers (you know, the kind which are rectangular bland boxes which kill your soul a little bit every time you see one) on the site of what had been one of the buildings to get knocked down by Ethniu wielding the Eye of Balor. Scores of mafia tough guys, ex-military and assorted gangsters (the distinction was only clear once you got close enough to see the designs of their tattoos) were wearing hard hats and were hard at work in the construction zone. After nearly a year the last of the debris had finally been cleared away and the recovery work had progressed to the building phase.

I wasn’t any sort of building expert but from what my uneducated eye could see they were in a huge deep hole pouring concrete for new foundations. Even knowing these were Marcone’s guys I was struck with a sense of fierce civic pride at seeing them putting a piece of the city back together.

Chicago had been given a set of black eyes, a broken jaw and arm as well as several busted ribs in the battle with Ethniu and the Fomor, but she wasn’t letting herself be beaten down for long. She was picking herself up, dusting herself off and after months of balancing on the edge of survival was finally beginning to heal. Chicago was determined to come back the stronger.

A tall blond muscular Einherjar with a braided beard guarded the door to the portable office. I thought I recognized him although I couldn’t quite place where I’d seen him before. He gave me a wide smile after I introduced myself.

“Ah, the seidmadr of Chicago, welcome! I will proclaim your arrival!” he bellowed cheerfully.

After a few minutes the blond warrior touched his earpiece, spoke with a surprisingly quiet murmur considering his normal volume had appeared stuck on loud before opening the door and gesturing his permission for me to climb up the short steel staircase to see Marcone.

For a split second, I seriously considered the benefits of running away and taking my chances with Lara, who for all the points against her – up to and including her attempts to kill me and her stated goal to actually finish the job – didn’t scare me near as much as Marcone managed on an average day (she still scared me but she was at a seven while Marcone turned the dial up to eleven).

Oh, dammit. I was here for Maggie.

I straightened by back, set my jaw and walked in.

*-*-*-*

Marcone’s office looked surprisingly bare with a couple of city prints on the wall and only a few metal filing cabinets until I realized all the empty spaces had probably contained computers, screens and other technological doodads which would have died in my presence if they hadn’t been whisked away to safety.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone greeted me from where he sat behind a heavy oak desk. He was wearing one of those high-end, tailored gray suits he liked. Marcone glanced briefly at the Einherjar and dismissed him with a gesture. The hulking warrior gave him a respectful nod before closing the door behind me, leaving him to stand guard outside.

I wondered if this desk also held a weapon which could kill a powerful sorcerer like the one I’d been told about. Hmm, knowing how over-prepared Marcone liked to be and how he seemed to have a plan for every possible contingency, maybe the question I should ask myself was not if there were any but rather how many wizard-killing weapons he had tucked away in the drawers.

Although knowing what he had on a silver chain around his neck, did he even need them?

I pushed those paranoid thoughts away. I probably wouldn’t like the answers.

“Baron Marcone,” I said, keeping my tone blandly polite and my back straight. I kept wanting to hunch my shoulders, certain I was going to bang my head on the low ceiling.

Something flickered behind Marcone’s cool green eyes. He straightened in his brown leather chair and watched me with an increased intensity which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I didn’t let his stare get to me as I walked towards him and sat in the chair before the desk.

I took a breath before I met his gaze, which was of a color that always reminded me of faded dollar bills. I could meet his eyes, having already seen his soul once I wasn’t about to get another glimpse. Soulgazes were a one-time event, thank goodness. Not that I needed the reminder that he possessed the inner core of a ruthless predator. Or that his determination was as certain and steady as the earth. Or that he was fearless through and through down to the bedrock of his self.

It was the memory of what I’d seen in the soulgaze, what I had seen inside of his soul, that fueled my fear of him.

And here I was about to ask him what he thought about the idea of the two of us getting married. To each other.

Hell’s bells.

I fought down the urge to squirm in the chair.

Marcone said, “I take it you are here on official business.” His pale green eyes narrowed. “On behalf of the Winter Court or yourself, Dresden?”

I blinked, taken aback that he made a distinction between me and the Winter Court. As the Winter Knight most people would have assumed the faerie court and I, their knight, to be one and the same. That I had no other loyalties, having thrown in my lot with them. Or would have thought I was so tightly bound that I couldn’t speak without it being Winter related.

Marcone didn’t make any such assumptions.

Did I forget to mention he was also scarily intelligent? There was a reason he’d managed to hold on to his power for so long, to stay in charge against both mortal and supernatural challengers. He thought about possible dangers and developed and prepared countermeasures. It was his forethought which had given Chicago the ghost of a chance of surviving the battle last summer and its aftermath. He was not about to let it slip by him that I was utterly capable of acting independently from the Winter Court.

“Both,” I admitted. “Although, I’m here mostly for myself.” I opened the leather bag and pulled out a manila paper folder stuffed to the gills with sheaths of paper. Marcone watched me set it before him before arching his eyebrows.

I continued, “I have a...” I couldn’t help it, my mouth quirked, “a proposal for you.”

“And here I am without a lawyer,” Marcone said dryly.

“I’m sure they’re on speed-dial,” I said, matching his tone. I shrugged. “That’s for you to keep so you can have it looked over by them.” It was actually a copy of the treaty worked out between Lara and Mab, with a few choice words edited out or changed – white-out and pen – so that it would apply more to Marcone. That was all I could really do, I didn’t exactly have the pull to make major changes without Mab’s agreement. If Marcone had any major disagreements with any of the terms of the alliance he’d have to work it out with her.

Marcone began reading through the papers. Much faster than I had managed when I’d first gotten them. And I didn’t think it had anything to do with having Namshiel in his head. He was probably a lot more used to the legalese. I had needed to take notes to make sure I understood all the points outlined.

After wading through it all, I’d realized that what it boiled down to was a mutual protection pact. With either member of the alliance being able to call upon the resources of their ally at any point. Attacks between the alliance members and their subjects, or those under their protectorate, weren’t allowed and breaches of the treaty would need to be addressed with much more than the usual weregild. Territories of both needed to be respected but also unmolested transport would be allowed through those lands.

And so on and so forth in the same vein.

I knew the moment he got to the bit of about needing to marry the Winter Knight to solidify the deal because Marcone went dangerously still.

He raised his eyes and stared at me for a long moment, looking for what exactly I couldn’t tell. I didn’t look away, keeping my face expressionless. He didn’t say a word before dropping his gaze back to the papers to continue reading.

I didn’t know what the hell that meant. My stomach started building even bigger, tighter and more anxious knots. The Winter Knight mantle started to stir like it thought I needed to fight off an enemy. I had to force myself to keep my breathing steady while thinking out the numbers in the Fibonacci sequence as I waited for Marcone to finish.

After he was done going through the contract, Marcone closed the manila folder. Then he stared at me with an expression that was even more closed off than usual which, for him, was really saying something. After a moment of silence Marcone said flatly, “I hardly feel like getting in the middle of whatever domestic dispute you are having with Ms. Raith.”

Baffled, I blinked at Marcone. Then I remembered. The stupid plan to make it seem like I was having sex with Lara to hide our rescue of Thomas. And after all these months Marcone was bound to have heard about the betrothal plans from someone, probably an informant. If he didn’t have spies embedded in the White Court (and in the courts of as many other Accorded members as he could get away with) I’d eat my new suit.

If I thought about how it looked, then me showing up to offer him an alliance to Winter (with a marriage attached) would make sense if he thought I was cutting Lara out for reasons related to relationship drama. If we’d been together all this time then it was the only thing which made sense.

“There is no domestic dispute with Lara because there’s no relationship between me and Lara,” I protested.

“Your regular lunch dates with Ms. Raith would indicate otherwise.”

I grimaced. Okay, I only went to those for two reasons. One, Mab was making me. And two, they were the perfect time to discuss the fruitless search for Justine and my lack of progress on how to save Thomas. Being out in public, at a cafe or restaurant, with all those witnesses protected me from an angry Lara. The only reason I’d never argued against calling them dates was that they provided a handy cover to the White Court of what we were up to. Not even Lara wanted it known among the other White Court houses that Nemesis had been inside of her personal assistant. It made her look weak. And I didn’t want them to look too closely into my investigations, either.

I didn’t blame Marcone for having gotten the wrong impression of those meetings or what they said about my relationship with Lara.

I admitted, “I don’t have a choice about those.”

“You attend them on orders of your queen?” Marcone asked.

I nodded. It was mostly true after all.

He continued watching me. The fingers of his left hand were tapping away lightly. “If she intends you to marry Ms. Raith, why would I risk her displeasure by interfering?”

“Lara used a debt to Winter in order to request an alliance,” I explained. I avoided Mab’s name too. I didn’t want to bring her attention down on me today. “My boss only cares that the ally is a strong Accorded member. Frankly, she doesn’t care if it’s Lara or if it’s you.”

Even if she did have a preference.

I nodded at the papers. “Those are the terms they’ve worked out between them. I figured it would be a good starting point for you.” I didn’t doubt Marcone would be able to negotiate a better deal on his own behalf.

Marcone leaned back in his chair. “Your queen extended a similar offer of an alliance but I refused it. I hardly need to codify my business with her into a formal alliance. The current status quo more than fulfills my needs. And it doesn’t require a marriage to anyone.”

My knotted stomach sank to the level around my feet. Hell, I wasn’t convincing him.

“However,” he continued, staring at me with a sharper look. “I am curious as to why you’d bring this to me after all these months when the news of your betrothal to Ms. Raith has already been disseminated out in the world. What do you have to gain?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Marcone’s cool green eyes hardened into flint. “Because I can’t help but consider the possibility that this is nothing more than a plot to undermine my holdings. The White Court has been relentless in their attempt to extend their influence into Chicago. Any casual observer would consider your interactions with them to be an indicator of whom you’d support. And even if you weren’t an ally to Ms. Raith I’m hardly about to accept what amounts to a marriage proposal from someone who has repeatedly declared his intention to bring about my downfall.”

I stared at him. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath before letting it out and opened them again to see Marcone watching me with a predator’s stillness. I wondered if he thought I was going to attack him with a spell. I ignored his tension.

I said quietly, “It’s not like that, I’m not here on the behalf of Lara. Or even my boss. I only just learned I had an option other than to marry Lara. I have my own reasons as to why I’m here and why I brought this to you.”

“Considering your past eloquently stated opinions of me, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said sarcastically. The ice in his stare dropped the temperature several degrees until I swore I could feel the air chill. I fought down a reflexive shiver. He continued, “I’m sure you can understand my incomprehension and caution as to why you seem so intent on getting me to accept this alliance.” He rapped the papers with the knuckles of his right hand.

“I don’t want to marry Lara Raith.” I raised my chin, remembering my reasons for being here. It poured steel into my spine. “And it has nothing to do with my feelings about Lara or even about you,” I said fiercely. “I’m only here for one reason.”

Marcone kept watching me.

“My daughter.”

Marcone’s hands tightened for a moment, blanching out the pale scars on his right knuckles, before he deliberately relaxed them leaving his fingers spread on the desktop. It was his only sign that my words had any kind of impact on him. His expression didn’t change but the weight of his attention grew heavier. I knew I’d startled him. He hadn’t expected this particular explanation as to why I was here at all. It weirdly made me feel better. At least Marcone wasn’t always able to see every angle in a situation.

This was the first time I’d confessed to him I had a daughter. Oh, her existence was hardly a secret, nor was the fact she was living with me, but this was the first time I’d ever admitted she was mine to someone I didn’t like and who wasn’t a friend.

I took a deep fortifying breath and continued, “Initially a blending of bloodlines was required for the alliance but not even the Queen of Air and Darkness can demand that of an ally so it was changed to a blending of households. Which means if I marry her I’ll have to let White Court vampires in my home. And I’m not about to let my kid anywhere near those monsters. I’m willing to do anything to prevent it. I’ll marry anyone who won’t endanger her.”

Marcone stared with opaque eyes.

I didn’t know if I was convincing him. I smothered my worry and continued quietly, “Between you and Lara, and trust me I hate saying this, when it comes to my daughter she’s safer with you than with her. Than with them. And that’s what matters to me.” I straightened up as tall as I could get in the chair. Leaning forward I narrowed my eyes at Marcone, saying fiercely, “That’s all that matters to me.”

I let my words sink in for a moment.

“So yeah, I’m here and I’m bringing this to you,” I continued in a calmer voice, tapping the papers in front of him. I added in the most sincere and honest way I knew, “I’m asking you to marry me. Marry me, John.”

For the first time Marcone’s wall of ice cracked. His eyes went wide. His lips parted in shock. And he stared at me looking more thoroughly rattled than I’d ever seen.

For the first time since I’d walked in, he looked away from me and it was kinda fascinating to see Marcone so unguarded. It reminded me that there was a human underneath all that stainless steel armor after all. Um… metaphorically speaking.

But it only lasted a couple of seconds before he regained control of his expression. Although this time Marcone looked more grim when he looked back at me.

“You’ve tried to get out of your impending marriage to Ms. Raith,” Marcone said slowly, like he was finally accepting the fact that I was here because I was running out of options. Not because I had any motives involving me bringing him down.

I nodded. I bit back the urge to quote, ‘Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.’ That I was here was proof enough of my level of desperation. I didn’t need to beg. Although, I would. If he wanted me to, for Maggie, I would.

Marcone’s manicured fingers of his left hand tapped slowly on the papers as he thought.

I’d always been able to read Marcone better than most but even I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. Some sort of risk/benefit analysis? Asking Namshiel for advice?

I strangled my impatience and sat. And waited. And waited for his answer.

Finally, Marcone said, “Considering a significant number of members in my line of business hold rather… conservative views, I don’t find any of the terms of an alliance with Winter sufficient incentive to deal with the fallout which will affect my holdings when the news spreads that I am married to another man.”

I opened my mouth to argue. To try to convince him to say to hell with any assholes who didn’t like it. It was none of their business who he married when the specificity of his words struck me.

“Wait… there could be terms which would make it worth it?” I asked slowly. I frowned, thinking. The terms for the ally to Winter were rather good. I could see why Lara thought it worth it to burn a favor in order to request a binding alliance. I looked at Marcone. “You’re aware that you’d be able to get as many favors out of Winter as you wanted without going into debt? Including the use of the Winter Knight?”

I hadn’t been happy to learn I’d been bundled in the deal but I also wasn’t exactly surprised. I honestly thought this would be something Marcone would like. He’d recently used me as a weapon to strike against Nicodemus so he couldn’t say I wasn’t a valuable resource.

Ugh, thinking of myself in those terms just made my stomach churn.

“You can’t tell me that it doesn’t appeal to you, being able to call on my talents whenever you run into a problem. And you wouldn’t even have to be sneaky about it,” I pointed out. “No pulling strings. You’d just call me up.”

“Yes, it is intriguing,” Marcone admitted. “Your boss even brought it up when she first broached the idea.”

And it hadn’t been enough, apparently. Oh, damn it.

“Then what do you want?” I asked.

“Tell me, Dresden, do you intend to shed the mantle of the Winter Knight?”

“If you mean, am I going to spend the rest of my life tied to the Winter Court? The answer is no way in hell,” I said.

Marcone’s mouth went up the corners. “I’ve suspected as much. Yet this contract clearly states that a binding alliance with the Winter Court is contingent upon marriage to the Winter Knight. I hardly intend to find myself wed to your successor if I agree to finalize the deal and your tenure ends.”

Holy shit. I hadn’t even considered that. At no point in the terms for the alliance was my name actually mentioned. Only the Winter Knight. So if I stopped being the Winter Knight….

I tried to picture what would happen if Marcone said yes and later ended up forced to get married to someone half as awful as the previous Winter Knight had been. My mind boggled. The Winter Knight would be dead before the day was over. Marcone was sneaky and smart. He’d get away with looking like he had nothing to do with the murder even to someone like Mab.

And if the quality of Winter Knights didn’t improve… Mab would have to start getting a hold of prospective Winter Knights in bulk.

I pulled my thoughts away and focused instead on what Marcone was getting at. “I can get that fixed,” I reassured him. It shouldn’t be hard to get my name added as the specific Winter Knight in question.

“Hmm.”

The hair at the back of my neck prickled and my wizardly-sense tingled in warning. “What more do you want?” I asked warily. Of course it wasn’t that easy.

Marcone’s expression was serious. “I want an alliance with you. Something separate from Winter which would continue even after you leave your queen’s employment.”

“You – you want to work out terms of an alliance with me?” I’d thought this could be the direction it would go but I hadn’t thought he would be the one to bring it up. I said, “You know I’m no longer part of the White Council, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware. It’s a definite point in your favor,” Marcone murmured. “I’d prefer a working alliance with the Wizard of Chicago than with a wizard of the White Council.” A flash of contempt showed on Marcone’s face before smoothing out. He clarified, “A lasting partnership.”

“How long lasting?” I frowned.

“Preferably permanent if that’s what you’re offering.”

At once, I was suspicious and on guard. “You know I won’t agree to that.”

“Then I would accept something on a shorter term, say for the next twenty-five years,” Marcone said in a serious tone as he watched my reaction to his opening bid. His opaque pale green eyes didn’t even flicker at the ridiculous number.

I could feel my eyes widen. He considered twenty-five years short-term? Stars, I know he’d said he was learning to think about time differently, but twenty-five years was hardly a blink of the eye, even for wizards whose life-spans reached three and four hundred with ease. What in the hell did Marcone consider long-term if a quarter century was short-term for him, two hundred years?

This was more time than I’d considered putting forth. When I’d figured offering my support to him would be on the table, I’d thought it would amount to throwing whatever weight I had as the Wizard of Chicago behind whatever he wanted to get done as the city’s Baron. Also that I would need to help him out whenever he demanded it such as standing by him in fights against supernatural attacks or in magical political matters. But a partnership for twenty-five years? I thought I could handle it for at most five years. Maybe ten if pushed.

What he was talking about wouldn’t just tie me to Marcone in the eyes of the magical community. I’d be a known associate of his even among vanilla mortals (if I had any friends left among CPD officers then this deal would kill those relationships dead). I’d have to be public with my support for him during all that time. I could divorce Marcone the day after I shed the mantle, but this would still stick. My connection to Marcone would bring even more scrutiny from law enforcement down on my head.

Which was the point, I suspected. He wanted to know how much I was ready to sacrifice. This was Marcone’s price. At least all he’d mentioned so far. I suspected I was going to face more demands. We were only in the opening rounds of negotiating something which would work for the both of us. And I wasn’t exactly standing in a position of strength. Of course Marcone would try to leverage every advantage he could get. I didn’t really expect anything different from him.

Did I like the idea? No. But I didn’t like the whole being forced to get married to someone I wouldn’t pick in a million years either and yet here I was.

But… I couldn’t help but remember the lengths Marcone had gone to protect Chicago during the battle against the Fomor. Or how when I’d confronted him about having a responsibility to the city which went beyond merely claiming the title of Baron of Chicago, he’d actually stepped up. I would have yelled myself hoarse, but if he’d decided to not bother protecting the people I’d brought to him then there was nothing I could have done. The only option I would have had was to stand between them and approaching danger and die in the attempt to play living shield to a couple hundred men, women, and children.

But Marcone did decide to do more. He’d made the choice to shoulder the responsibility of those people’s well-being too. All without gaining any benefit from it. And if the man meant to keep that up, meant to be the Baron of Chicago who continued to protect the city and its people, that was something I had very few qualms about supporting. I mean I had some qualms, it was Marcone after all.

Yet being known as someone who’d have Marcone’s back for the next twenty-five years… only for Maggie would I do it in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, okay,” I said grudgingly. I nodded slowly. “I can do twenty-five.”

Marcone’s eyes widened a little in surprise. He hadn’t expected me to agree.

I felt a flash of regret at the thought that maybe I could have been able to negotiate him down. I shook it off.

“But with limits,” I warned him in deadly serious voice. I locked my gaze on his. “You know there are things I won’t stand for. There are things I won’t support.” He already knew how I felt about his so-called business. If Namshiel’s whispers in his head started leading him down a darker path than that of a criminal which he already walked, I’d be there to stop him. Neither the Winter alliance nor the partnership would protect him from me. Not if the lives of innocents were on the line. Not if he started using the magic he was learning for evil.

Just because I was no longer White Council didn’t mean I didn’t understand the reasoning behind the heavy-handed enforcement of the Laws of Magic. And unlike those kids who ended up as warlocks because they didn’t know any better, Marcone was fully aware of the consequences if he really embraced his Sith side.

I let my eyes flicker to his chest, where underneath his shirt the chain holding the denarius was hidden, before raising my eyes to meet his.

He got it, giving me a slight nod.

“I don’t expect anything different from you,” Marcone agreed calmly. “However, I demand you don’t just accept accusations from others without looking into the matter to verify the truth for yourself.”

I tilted my head questioningly.

“There have been situations in the past where false accusations have been leveled against me,” Marcone explained. “So you better be certain before you act, Dresden. I don’t tolerate betrayal, nor do I forgive it.”

I looked away as I rubbed at my chin. Knowing my history, including how often others had used me or tried to use me as a cat’s paw, the possibility that Marcone’s enemies would try to use me as a weapon against him was all too likely.

“We should probably write these out,” I sighed.

Marcone’s mouth quirked up in amusement before he dug out a yellow legal pad. He wrote out the list in very clear handwriting. He included a lot of elements from the Winter treaty, such as the mutual defense pact, although we did argue over what it meant.

Technically, I’d inherited the guardianship of the Paranet territories of Chicago which they continued defending in my name. The Paranet was still active and after the Battle their numbers were skyrocketing, allowing them to cover a lot of Chicago especially with the Alphas monitoring them. I was considered the big gun they called in if they ran into something they couldn’t handle. Under Marcone’s terms, his guys could call me in too. I grumbled a bit but I agreed to it in the end. No matter what, it was still Chicago I’d be protecting. Even if Marcone was profiting from selling his protection. It was one of his business ventures that had taken off after the events of last summer.

Marcone also wanted to be able to call upon my investigation skills whenever he wanted once I was no longer the Winter Knight. I was grumpy to realize that if he accepted the Winter alliance he could do that whenever he wanted. I managed to get Marcone to accept that twice a year I’d take on a free case on his behalf but everything had to be explained to my satisfaction. For any other cases I’d still better be payed my usual rates.

Marcone had only looked amused when I’d insisted.

Chapter Text

It took the better part of an hour for us to hammer out the details of a partnership which didn’t make my stomach twist too much when thinking about it. It was pretty bare-bones in fine details but solid about what we expected from each other.

Marcone finished writing and looked up at me. “Other than this partnership, what else are you willing to offer?”

I felt my eyebrows go up in incredulity, as I gestured at the notes filling up the legal pad. “That isn’t enough for you?” I grumbled. I frowned before shooting him a look full of suspicion. He wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t have something in mind. “What more do you want?”

“The castle.”

Alarmed, I straightened in the chair. I said firmly, “No, you’re not getting it back.”

“That is yet to be determined.”

“That hell it isn’t. No, it’s mine,” I scowled. “Finders keepers.”

The corners of Marcone’s mouth twitched upwards. He said, “That’s not actually how that’s used.” He leaned forward on the desk, his cool green gaze intent. “Fine, if ownership is not on the table then what I require is access.”

I blinked. “What the hell for? You already took out everything that was in there. Including stuff which had been nailed down.” And screwed into the wall. Or in the walls like the copper water pipes which had been pulled out on his orders.

Have I mentioned that he’d been a sore loser about handing over ownership of Castle Dresden?

“The castle is the single most magically fortified location in the city,” Marcone said flatly. “It is a powerful, ancient spell-resistant bunker which is not easily replicated.”

I got it then. “You want to be able to use it as a shelter.” Which was the reason I wasn’t going to give it up without a knock-down, drag-out fight. Other than the Carpenter home, it was the only place in the city I felt was safe enough for Maggie to live and where I could let down my guard and actually sleep without paranoia about an imminent attack keeping me up and pacing the halls. Without Castle Dresden we’d have to live on Demonreach and the island wasn’t exactly great for Maggie’s commute to school.

It made sense Marcone would want the option of heading to the castle for safety if he faced a magical foe he couldn’t stop, bribe or kill. But if I agreed it would also increased the danger brought to my doorstep. To my kid’s doorstep.

On the other hand, if Marcone got killed while I was still the Winter Knight I suspected Mab would find someone else to marry me off to before I knew it. It could easily end up being someone worse than either Lara or Marcone, too. Ugh.

“On two conditions,” I said, raising my right hand up to show him the count (my middle finger may have gone up first… accidentally). “One, you try to do everything you can to avoid being followed. And two, you warn me when you’re showing up and what’s after you. Even if I’m not home when you show up you still need to let me know what I’m walking into.” It would also give me time to get Maggie over to the Carpenters. Or at the very least let me prepare the defenses and stock up on weapons from the armory. Yes, I had an armory. It was something which filled me with way too much blood-thirsty delight.

The gargoyles which defended the outer walls were pretty damned great, but they were limited to close quarter physical attacks. They weren’t much use on the magical energy front, or if someone decided to throw the equivalent of a magical bomb or used an actual rocket launcher to attack the walls from down the street. Fortunately, the original owner of the castle had taken care of that as well by creating some heavy-duty protection spells which were part of the stonework and therefore not easily overcome. And while I wasn’t looking to test their limits anytime soon, I thought it would take direct bombardment from a tank to knock down a wall.

The castle’s defensive spells made my old basement apartment’s shields look like paper-thin walls you could poke through with a careless finger. I took a moment to be glad I’d worked out how to activate the spells which had come with the castle, as well as reinforcing the protections with my own magics.

“If time permits,” Marcone agreed. “Considering the nature of what would bring me seeking sanctuary that may not always be feasible.”

“Just remember my kid lives there too,” I said grimly, my voice dark with warning.

Marcone nodded, his expression serious. “I won’t forget.”

His acknowledgment made me relax. Because I did trust him to avoid putting Maggie at risk if he could help it. I made a mental note to build a pass-key for Marcone so he could enter Castle Dresden without being fried by the wards.

“Alright. Is that the last of it?” I asked, feeling weary. I rolled my shoulders feeling antsy to get back home. To put on my duster. This was the single longest time I’d spent in Marcone’s presence, especially alone. It may have been my idea but I still wanted it over with already.

It was a minor miracle neither of us had said anything to annoy the other or start a fight this entire time. I kinda wanted to end our meeting on a high note. Also I wanted my answer. He hadn’t said yes, yet.

I cleared my throat, “If that's all, I need an answ–”

“It’s not,” Marcone said coolly, cutting me off.

I sank back into the chair. Of course it wasn’t. I fought off a groan, as I ran a hand through my hair making it even more disheveled. “What more do you want?” I asked reluctantly.

“A great many things,” Marcone said lightly, making me snort. “However, I will settle for your secrets.”

I stared at him, aghast. Marcone looked at me patiently.

“You want my secrets,” I repeated in disbelief.

I – I hadn’t expected that. Of all the things which Marcone could demand of me. My secrets? I was a wizard! Keeping secrets was not only in the job description, it was practically a way of life.

They practically made you sign in blood ‘I will keep all magical secrets to myself’ when they handed you the stole for wizardry. But then I remembered. I wasn’t a wizard of the White Council anymore. I’d been kicked out. Any oaths I’d sworn, any promises I’d made to keep Council secrets… they sure as hell didn’t apply anymore. And they couldn’t convince me keeping their secrets was worth it.

But I had more than White Council information in my head. Sure, some of it was personal. But some of them were secrets which weren’t mine to tell. Including more than a couple which could cost me my life if I shared them with someone else.

What exactly did Marcone want to know? It wasn’t like Namshiel couldn’t fill in a lot of his information gaps. The damned angel’s specialty was magic, with him Marcone had a greater trove of knowledge on magical matters than I did. Or Marcone could always get information from Vadderung, wasn’t that one of the reasons why Marcone had a client contract with him?

Why was Marcone so hell-bent on getting my secrets?

“Consider it as bringing me up to date on various situations you know about, if it will make you feel better,” Marcone said as he sat back in his chair. His expression was calm as he kept watching me.

I narrowed my eyes. “Not a mutual exchange of information?”

Marcone shot me an amused look. “No,” he said. “It is not.”

It reminded me all over again that I was the one asking for help here. I shouldn’t be surprised he was looking to pry every possible advantage out of the circumstances that he could.

I throttled down my temper.

“You know there are things I can’t tell you,” I said. “And I would think you wouldn’t want me to get into the habit of spilling secrets which aren’t mine to share.”

Exactly what – or who – I was talking about hung in the air between us before Marcone gave me a reluctant nod. “A valid point. But considering how often you end up in the center of whatever catastrophe is looming on the horizon, or how often you appear to have access to the best solution, I’d prefer to be read on to what you know than to have to find out at the last moment. Not only do I wish to know of any potential dangers, but also I want to be kept appraised of anything else you discover as you conduct your investigation business in Chicago. No matter how personally discomforting it would be to you. I don’t intend for your secrets to threaten my holdings or bring danger to those under my protection.”

I thought about it. And I couldn’t help but remember the last time someone had demanded I stop keeping her in the dark, and actually bring her in on the things I faced. How she’d wanted no more secrets between us so she could do her job, protect her people and the city.

I swallowed and forced the aching memories back.

“I’m not just going to tell you everything.” Marcone frowned. I continued, plowing through before he could object. “But if you have questions about something I can answer, something which is mine to tell, I’ll let you know.” I straightened my back and shoulders. “But only after this – ” I tapped the manila folder before him, “is done. I’m not going to be sharing anything right now.”

Marcone’s eyes narrowed. “I accept those terms. However there is one question I want answered before I consider agreeing to anything.”

Wait… he hadn’t even made up his mind to say yes yet? Great.

“What exactly?” I asked warily.

Marcone’s stare was like a drill. “Why did you spend all those months on the island when you had to know the Fomor servitors were taking people from Chicago?”

“I – what?” I said, taken aback. That was not the question I was expecting from him. I’d thought he’d want to know the location of the Eye of Balor. Even the Spear of Destiny. I frowned, puzzled. “Why does it matter to you?”

For the first time since I’d sat down before him I saw embers of anger in his expression instead of his usual icy calm. “Considering how many of your own allies were under the impression that you would soon return, and how many of the people you always insist need protection were taken or injured in that span of time, ones who may not have been endangered had you been in the city; yes, I wish to know the answer. What kept you away, hero?” The sarcasm in his low voice was a blade with a razor’s edge which threatened to draw blood.

My stomach sank. I had made it a point not to even think about the real reason why I’d had to stay on Demonreach when I wasn’t safely behind my wards. Too many supernatural beings could pluck thoughts out of your head without you being the wiser. It was easier to just not think about it, putting it out of my mind.

Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“I had a medical condition,” I said finally. It was the closest I could get to the truth.

“What sort of medical condition?”

Instead of answering, I asked, “Why is it so important to you?”

Marcone steepled his hands before him. He studied me over the tips of his fingers. “Because it is highly uncharacteristic of you, Dresden. I thought it a sign of the changes wrought to your personality due to becoming the Winter Knight, but then you proved otherwise on the night of the battle against the Fomor. You haven’t changed. So, it is an anomaly. I’m not fond of those. They are often indicators of unseen problems.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t just tell him.

Marcone’s eyes went flat. “I’d reconsider. Because this is knowledge I insist upon having before I make my decision whether or not to accept a binding alliance with Winter.”

And marriage to me. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

I rubbed at the back of my neck as I looked away from him again. “I need to think about this,” I finally said.

“I will give you three days,” Marcone continued. I could feel him studying me. “But then I want my answer. Or you should accept the fact that you will be married to Ms. Raith, Mr. Dresden.”

I hid a wince. He hardly needed to remind me why I was in his office in the first place.

After several seconds of silence ticked by, Marcone added in toneless voice. “I also have a final concern I wish to address.”

Warily, I looked up and frowned at him. “Oh, what kind?”

Marcone tapped the manila folder with the Winter treaty. His pale green eyes were locked on mine as he said, “Are you aware that the Winter Court requires the marriage be consummated?”

My mouth went dry even as my hands felt sweaty. I had been trying not to think about it, in all honesty.

“Yeark.” I cleared my throat to get rid of the frog which had croaked out that response. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Marcone’s expression was inscrutable again as he stood up and walked around the desk to my side.

I watched him warily. He stopped right at the edge of my personal space. I had to resist the urge to push against the floor with my feet to roll the chair away on its casters.

His gaze was locked in on mine in such a way it felt dangerous to look away. I tried not to feel like the mouse hypnotized by the snake.

We stared at each other for a long moment before he demanded, “Kiss me.”

“Sure, if you say yes,” I said at once, not even thinking on my response. Then I blinked as my brain caught up with my mouth, then my eyes widened in shock. “Wait, I thought you were straight.”

Marcone raised a skeptical eyebrow at me. “When have we ever had such a conversation?” he asked pointedly.

Yes, I had been assuming. And apparently making an ass of myself by it. In my defense, the only person I’d ever seen with him had been a woman so it wasn’t exactly out of nowhere.

Marcone continued watching me, clearly noting I wasn’t making any move towards him. “If you can’t even kiss me, Dresden,” he asked dryly, “how in the world will you be able to handle the wedding ceremony? Or the wedding night?”

I couldn’t help it. My cheeks heated at once.

I looked away from him and focused my attention on a convenient print of an unfamiliar skyline he had on a wall. It took a moment to realize it was a future concept of what Chicago would look like once its skyscrapers had been rebuilt. It looked great.

I scowled at it anyway as I said, “I figured we could work it out and end up with something which we could both deal with.”

Of course, I’d been thinking Marcone wouldn’t like the idea of having sex with a man, much less with me, and would be as willing to do anything to get out of it.

I was starting to get the sinking feeling I’d been really off the mark there too.

“I don’t believe you can, Dresden.” I jerked my gaze back to him to see Marcone frowning at me thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. “And if that is the case, then this endeavor has been nothing more than an intellectual exercise bound to fail.” He turned to head back to his chair.

I blurted out. “No. Wait.”

He turned back to me.

“Nothing’s changed,” I said, not letting myself think too hard on what I was agreeing too. I swallowed down hard. “Okay,” I said again in a firmer tone, trying to make it sound like I knew what the hell I was doing kissing a man.

Marcone came closer, eyeing me carefully like he thought there was a chance I would get violent.

It made me mentally grimace and feel like a total jerk. So I forced myself to relax. Marcone pressed his left hand to my shoulder. His scarred right knuckles briefly touched the underside of my jaw before his surprisingly warm fingers gripped my chin and lifted me to meet him.

I panicked. I pressed my hands to his chest to keep him from moving.

“Mr. Dresden.” Marcone’s voice was quiet. He made to move away but I ended up bunching his clothes under my hands to get a grip to stop him.

“Wait… it’s not you… it’s just...,” I flickered my eyes away as I said, my voice low and pained, “the last person I kissed was… was Murphy.” And it hurt. It hurt. It hurt that this last sense-memory of her was going to be replaced. “Keep… keep that in mind.” I finally dropped my hands away from Marcone as I met his gaze again. His expression softened.

Marcone’s slow acknowledging nod showed he understood the steep cost of what he was demanding.

I closed my eyes not wanting to see the hit coming.

It wasn’t much help. It wasn’t like I could make myself think I was being kissed by someone else. The hand at my jaw was too broad. The scent he wore, some expensive cologne, was too masculine, too distinctive, smelling of leather, cedar and petrichor. It was a scent which I’d smelled on Marcone before, making it obvious even without opening my eyes as to who was about to kiss me.

I tensed up, my hands clenching tight on the arms of the chair, but I didn’t move away.

I don’t know what I expected. I hadn’t spent any time thinking about what it would be like to kiss John Marcone. But I was still taken by surprise at how gently he started the kiss. Nothing more than a brush of warm, soft lips against mine. Although the feel of rasp from his growing stubble against my own was such a new sensation I nearly jerked away before I stopped myself.

Then Marcone pressed closer, tilting my head back even further as his mouth grew slowly more insistent. The flicker of his tongue against the seal of my lips made me realize I should probably start participating at some point. Reluctantly, I parted my lips but instead of invading my mouth with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop Marcone kept the kiss gentle. Teasing.

Grudgingly, and if a loaded gun was held to my head, I would admit it wasn’t terrible.

Minutes ticked by as he kissed me and my tension started ratcheting down when nothing exploded and the world didn’t end.

As if he’d been waiting for me to relax, that was when Marcone kicked the kiss into a higher gear, going from zero to one hundred miles an hour in five seconds flat.

The kiss became hungrier, wetter, slicking my mouth. Marcone’s grip on me became firmer. The flat of his tongue pressed against mine with confidence as if he was absolutely certain of what he was doing.

I was so startled my eyes flew open. That was when I saw Marcone’s expression. His eyes. Half-lidded. Hot and hungry. Watching me. With irises a darker green than I’d ever seen on him. He looked like kissing me was something he’d been wanting to do for a long, long time.

Something about seeing desire on Marcone’s face. About feeling how sincere he was at that moment, sparked a heat in my gut. And my heart began pounding. My breath caught in my throat.

I jerked away, shoving Marcone back. Only then did I feel the stir of the Winter Knight’s mantle. And it hit me, that what I’d been feeling was me. It was all me.

No. No way. It had to be the mantle. I just hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the effect it was having on me. That was all.

For a moment Marcone and I stared at each other as we both panted for breath. His breathing was harsher than mine. His eyes dropped to my mouth for a moment before he looked up to meet my eyes again.

And I knew, I knew down to my bones that if I showed him the slightest indication I was willing, that I wanted him back, I’d find myself kissed again. Or, hell, bent over his desk before I could protest that I wasn’t that kind of guy. It was there in the smoldering heat in his eyes, in the wetness of his reddened lips and in the way he looked at me like he wanted to kiss me. To taste me on his mouth again.

Like he wanted to strip me down and devour me.

I looked away as I rubbed at my mouth trying to get rid of feeling of Marcone’s kiss before I looked back at him. “I can handle it,” I said, my voice sounding harsh in the silence broken only by our heavy breathing.

Something I could have sworn was regret flashed across Marcone’s face, but it was gone too quickly for me to be certain of what I’d seen. His usual poker-face was back on, wiping every trace of what he’d been feeling away. It was actually scarily impressive how quickly he could get a hold of himself. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I never would have guessed that just a few seconds before he’d been close to being turned on.

Over me.

Holy crap. I needed to get away to think.

“Mr. Dresden… I’m still not convinced,” Marcone said quietly.

I shoved away my worry, my discomfort, and stiffened my spine to meet his eyes again.

“Truthfully, do I want to kiss you? No, I don’t,” I said flatly. “But then I don’t want to kiss Lara either.” Even if I had kissed her a few times. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat. At least Marcone hadn’t tried to mind-whammy me at the same time. Which actually put him ahead of Lara on my willingness to kiss again scale. Erk. “But I’ll do it. I said I can deal with it and I meant it.”

Marcone’s brow was furrowed and to my surprise he looked away again. “I guess my concern is baseless without first getting the answer to my question.” He sighed and looked back at me. “That addresses everything which had come to mind. So I do believe we are finished for the day.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Goodbye, Dresden,” Marcone added pointedly when I didn’t move.

I got out. I managed to keep from running out, too aware of the number of eyes on me from the construction site until I reached the Munstermobile. After pulling on my duster, I sat in the driver’s seat. I closed my eyes and swore under my breath.

Damn it.

I rubbed at my face. Then at my lips again, where I could still feel the phantom press of Marcone’s mouth. Part of me wanted to curl up and grieve over no longer having the certainty of knowing the last person I kissed had been someone I loved. Another part of me grumbled... because that goddamn sneaky sonuvabitch had gotten a kiss out of me. Yet another part of me remembered Marcone’s expression as he was kissing me and it just made me feel awkward. Like I’d accidentally exposed a deeply personal and private secret which I was never meant to learn.

My cheeks were feeling red-hot again… argh.

I forced myself to think, to focus

Marcone still hadn’t said yes to my proposal.

I hadn’t completely failed. He may not have said yes but Marcone hadn’t said no either. More than the kiss, I was actually worried about what he wanted to know. The reason for why I’d been on Demonreach for all that time. How much was I willing to tell Marcone?

Dammit. Dammit, I had another decision to make.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until I was home with the heavy wooden door closed safely behind me that I let myself relax. I waited until I was certain the wards were up before even thinking about what was worrying me. Hell, the mantle’s reaction to the kiss was also weighing on my mind but it wasn’t my priority right now.

Marcone wanted to know about Bonea.

He may not realize what he was asking, but ultimately that was what he wanted to know. The whole reason I’d been on the island was because she’d been in my head, growing too big for it and ready to be born. I had been, for all intents and purposes, pregnant. Spirit pregnant.

For all that Bonnie’s existence was known by my close friends – Mab and who knew how many Denarians – I’d been keeping her a secret as much as I could. The same way I’d safeguarded Bob over the years. I kept her out of public. I kept her behind my wards. I tried to not even think about her when I wasn’t home. I didn’t want so much as a whisper of a rumor of Bonea to get out to any ambitious sorcerer who would see her vast pool of angelic knowledge as a resource to exploit. Or for any word of her to get back to the White Council.

I’d had nightmares about what would happen to Bonea if the White Council learned of her existence. Or even worse, through them, what the Black Council would do. My fear of not only what they could do with her but what they would do to her was… intense. I still wake up some nights with devastating images playing before my mind’s eye.

My spirit daughter was in so many ways much more vulnerable than Bob. And vastly more powerful.

He had said so himself after he’d met her in person… well, skull to skull.

“You know how Spirits of Intellect work, boss. Knowledge is literally power and a part of us. Your kid… not only does she have a copy of what little is in your head –”

“Hey,” I protested mildly.

Bob ignored me, “But she also has the sum of all of Lasciel’s knowledge. Lash was a copy of freaking fallen angel! Do you have any idea how powerful that makes Bonea? Not even a year old and she could wipe the floor with me without even breaking a sweat.” The orange lights which Bob used as eyes looked wide and alarmed in the sockets of his skull.

The sight made me stir uneasily in my seat.

“But you know what’s even more terrifying?” Bob asked, solemn in ways I rarely saw from him.

I shot him a wary look. “What?”

“She inherited your free will.”

Confused, I frowned, “How is that a bad thing? It sounds like a good thing to me.” One of the problems caused by Bob falling into the wrong hands was that he could be used to do harm. By anyone who possessed his skull. He was rather like the genie from Aladdin in that way, he couldn’t not obey. Even if he didn’t want to, he could be used to hurt innocent people.

But unlike that movie’s hero, I’d never figured out how to free Bob from his bindings. Whoever held his skull commanded him.

“I don’t know how you could think it’s good,” Bob snorted in disbelief. “You don’t even like the idea of me running around with no holds barred.”

“Only because you set off orgies,” I grumbled, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Well, yeah… err... that’s not the point. She’ll be worse. She has none of the limitations of an angel, none of the restraints which limit their influence on the material world,” Bob said. “Harry, the best way I can describe her is as a loose bomb. Only one that can determine for herself when and how often she goes off.”

I rubbed at my face. “Bonnie is just a little kid, Bob.”

“Yeah, a little kid, which is even more scary. Because like any child she can be unreasonable, or easily swayed, scared, or even just plain tricked into exploding,” Bob pointed out. “I can’t even image what her first temper tantrum is going to be like. And right now she’s practically a newborn. She’s only going to get more powerful as she grows older, gains even more knowledge and develops control of her abilities. If she’s a large bomb now then at some point she’s going to grow up into a mega-ton nuke.” Bob’s voice grew even more worried. “She’s part angel and has no limiters, so when she goes off… the effects will be felt on more than the spiritual plane, Harry. Think Pompeii or Mount Tambora or the 1556 earthquake in Shaanxi, China. Oh man, if she really tries, maybe even as bad as those Youtube predictions of what will happen when the supervolcano in Yellowstone goes off.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. Then I shook it off and shook my head. “No,” I said firmly. “I’m not putting any bindings on her.”

“She’ll be a mega-ton angelic nuclear bomb, Harry!”

I shot him a cutting glance. “How many wizards on the Council were saying I was just as dangerous when I was a kid? Are still saying it about me?”

The jaw of Bob’s skull clicked shut against his teeth and his glowing eyes dimmed as he looked away from me.

“Even now, how many of them want my power leashed and under control because they consider me a danger to innocent people? Hell, to them?” I continued harshly. “No, I’m not doing that to Bonea. Like you said, she has free will. I’m not going to take it away from her.”

I wasn’t going to cripple my daughter’s ability to make her own choices. Just the thought made me nauseous. Bonea was my child. My job was to protect her. The last thing I was going to do was clip her wings.

Yes, she needed to be watched over carefully. Yes, Bonnie needed guidance. Yes, she had the potential to be dangerous, but that was true for every person who had free will. That was sort of the point. Being able to make decisions came with the potential to make wrong, awful, evil choices as well as extraordinarily selfless, compassionate and good ones.

Bonnie was a child. What she needed most was to be protected and given time to fully grow into her own person who knew her own mind.

She needed to know she was loved, cherished and safe. Just like every child deserved.

I sighed and rubbed at my aching eyes. I’d been awake too many hours. I needed to get some sleep. I appreciated that the Carpenters were giving me a bed to sleep in until the hole in the castle’s roof was fixed. I really should use it. Hopefully, I’d get some shut-eye some time this week.

“Look, Bob, every parent worries about how their kids will turn out. What they’ll become as they grow up. And in that sense I’m in exactly the same boat for Bonnie and Maggie. All I can do is teach the girls my values, what I think is right and wrong, and why. And then hope they’ll agree with me and make it a part of themselves too. Actually, I’m betting on them being better people than I could ever hope to be.”

And happier. Please, please. Let that be the case.

“I hope you’re right, boss,” Bob finally said quietly, eyelights flickering back to me. “Because she could just as easily start listening to the wrong people. And if you thought Evil Bob was bad… Bonea could become a nightmare like no one has ever seen before, and not just in the spirit realm but also to the people on this side of the veil.”

As I remembered my conversation with Bob, I couldn’t help but feel fear settle in my gut like a lump of granite, cold and hard. I swore loudly, thankful that Maggie wasn’t home.

I hadn’t planned on bringing Bonnie to Marcone’s attention. Hell, I didn’t know who I was more worried about, whether it was Marcone or Namshiel.

Bonnie was a child. For all of her knowledge and intelligence she reminded me of a really young kid a lot of time. I mean, she struggled with the concept that items moving due to momentum wasn’t an indicator of life. Lately, I hadn’t been able to get her to accept the fact that fire wasn’t a living creature. I had to wait until she was out of the room before I could snuff out a candle or she got upset.

Like I said, she was very young and there was so much she didn’t understand.

Under Marcone’s rules about children she would be protected, same as Maggie. She was almost two years old, so that had to count for something. Only she was also a Spirit of Intellect. I had no idea where that would make her fall in Marcone’s estimation. Would he see her as a kid first or as an inhuman spiritual entity?

Which would Marcone think of as more important?

If Lasciel had considered Bonnie too valuable to leave in my head and had been willing to fight to rip her out of me to save her, what would my kid mean to Namshiel and Marcone? Especially if either realized how much power he’d gain from having her in his control.

The hell with that! I’d rip him apart if he tried to influence her. Either. Or both if that was what it took.

Goddammit, I wasn’t about to risk Bonnie for Maggie’s sake. I couldn’t do that anymore than I could risk Maggie for Bonnie. They were both my kids. Like my id had so eloquently stated: Protect the offspring. At all costs and against all threats.

But… I couldn’t deny that one helluva important point to consider was how Marcone looked to be in control of his partnership with the Fallen. It was something I didn’t expect him to ever willingly give up. It wasn’t in Marcone’s nature to give up his free will to another. It wasn’t in the steel of his tiger-soul.

It may have been over a decade since I first saw Marcone’s soul, but that determination ran so strongly through him I doubted that it would easily change. So I had to ask myself: In a contest of will power, who did I trust to win? A damned fallen angel or Gentleman John Marcone? A powerful spiritual entity older than humanity itself or a mortal man with steel in his predator soul?

I doubted Marcone had so much as gotten within ten feet of the coin without being fully aware of what he was risking, and the potential corruption of his autonomy which he was exposing himself to by picking it up. So yeah, John Marcone would win. And he wouldn’t be easily tricked or scammed into giving up his freedom.

I paused my pacing and let the certainty of that realization sink in as I breathed.

Okay, so if (yeah, I was aware it was a big if) I could trust that Marcone would remain in charge and make all the decisions, then what I needed to do was get Marcone to see Bonnie as a child first and foremost. Only then would she be safe and off limits, the same way that Maggie was protected. No matter what Namshiel whispered in his ear Marcone wouldn’t budge on that.

Not even if his own life was on the line.

But how did I convince Marcone to see Bonea for the young child she was when she was little more than a spiritual entity in a skull?

I mean, sure, he may have an entity of his own in his head, but that experience didn’t automatically mean he’d be able to see the child in a glowing green ball of light housed in a wooden skull. Humans aren’t wired that way. I mean, give us enough time and we can make friends and develop all kinds of fond feelings for anyone or anything (just look at the predators we let live with us which we call pets), but for decisions based on first impressions… a wooden skull just wouldn’t cut it.

I paced the halls of my castle as I thought.

...unless I could conjure a body for Bonnie to inhabit so Marcone could see the truth of who she was with his own eyes.

With that idea as a foundation a possible plan started coming together. It was based on a couple of projects I had been thinking about but which had kept being pushed back down on the To Do list as more urgent matters had demanded my attention. But if I got started on them now… I thought I had enough time to put everything together to make my plan work.

Although, damn, I also needed to tell both my kids about Marcone. Maybe not all the details since they weren’t exactly kid friendly. But there was no way I was going to drop a stranger in on Maggie without warning.

Okay, okay, I could do this… after all I’d known Marcone for years now. Oh stars, this was going to be weird to explain. Maybe it was better if I just kept it simple. He was someone I worked with, someone I’d known a long time (damn, has it really been nearly two decades?), and someone I wanted them to meet.

That was all.

*-*-*-*

After two days I called Marcone from my office. It was a first floor room I’d claimed for running my private eye business. It also had one of the three landlines in the entire castle.

“Mr. Dresden, I take it you have come to a decision,” Marcone said, as soon as he came on the line.

Even without him in the room I was mentally transported to when I’d seen him last.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing at my mouth. Faint crackles of static started to sound through the phone line. I put a clamp on my emotions, not wanting my magic to kill the call before I was done. “But it’s not something I can just tell you over the phone. I’ll need to show you.”

The skeptical air on his side practically poured out through my end of the phone. “Your medical condition?” he asked, his tone mockingly polite.

I scowled. “You’re the one who’s determined to know my secrets. Come to the castle tomorrow. At noon. Don’t bring any bodyguards.”

“Hmm, not exactly the most courteous invitation I’ve ever had extended to me,” Marcone said, his tone cooler.

The hint wasn’t anywhere close to subtle.

“Yes, I’m inviting you. You’ll be my guest,” I said, rolling my eyes. He couldn’t possibly still think I was setting a trap. Paranoia, thy name was Marcone.

He knew why I was bothering to give in to his demands. My circumstances hadn’t changed. I still had no intention of getting married to Lara. Even with all he was demanding in exchange Marcone was still the better option. However, if he felt better knowing he would be under the protection of guest rights then he had his invitation. “12 o’clock. Wear comfortable shoes. Oh, and skip lunch.”

“I’ll be there,” he said. He hung up before I could get in another word.

I glowered at the phone before dropping the handset of the rotary phone back onto its cradle. Then I opened my door and popped my head out of my office to find Maggie waiting anxiously right outside. She looked up at me with a questioning look in her wide brown eyes, even as she held Bonnie’s skull tightly in her arms.

Bonnie’s current skull was painted like a Mexican sugar skull. Maggie had insisted at least one (she really thought they all should be) needed to be painted white and decorated with flower designs and all sorts of geometric shapes and colors.

I couldn’t disagree with her logic that all skulls needed to be beautiful and painted, especially those for her little sister (Bob had begged not to go through the same process and I’d agreed although one of these days I may do it just to see his reaction when he woke up painted with flowers). I will say it was a freaking hassle to get right since I didn’t consider myself an artist… well of the Art – yes, it counts – but that was magic not paint. But it had been worth it for the way Maggie had beamed at me after it was done.

So two adorable girls and one handsome dog had been waiting for the news.

“Well, guys, he accepted. The picnic barbecue is on.”

“Is this good?” Bonnie asked, her glowing green eyes looking at me.

“Yes, it is,” I said, nodding.

“Why?”

“Because we get to have some fun.”

“Okay!” Bonnie said, green lights swirling all around her skull. It was something she’d started doing in the last couple of months and used any excuse to show off.

Maggie looked like she still wasn’t certain about meeting someone new even after a couple of days for it to sink in but was willing to go along with it. Brave kid. Mouse’s tail wagged and he headbutted Maggie in the side until she giggled.

“Can it also be a tea party?” Maggie asked as she tried to cuddle both Bonnie and Mouse at the same time.

I grabbed Bonnie’s skull before it was accidentally dropped to the floor. It was tough. I’d made more skulls once I had my lab up and running because I’d still owed Bob a debt. And I may have been a bit paranoid about Bonnie not having a safe place to stay during the day. With the extra practice I’d been able to upgrade Bonnie’s digs since I was firmly against the idea that phenomenal cosmic power should go hand in hand with itty bitty living space. So I knew the new skull could take a lot of punishment as it was now made of hardwood and the antler was reinforced with a silver inlay.

But however tough the new skull was, it still made me wince every time I saw Bonnie go bouncing on the stone floor. It always reminded me of how I kept intending to get the hallways carpeted and not just the bedrooms. That was also down on the To Do list. Way down.

“Sure,” I said smiling, holding Bonea loosely in my hand so she could move as she wanted. Her excitement was so high that her skull was vibrating gently against my palm. “A picnic barbecue tea-party. Why not? We can hit the stores, buy food and tea. And a teapot.”

“And tea cups!” added Maggie. She gasped in delight. “Can we go to the thrift stores?”

We both liked the thrift stores. Maggie adored going, thinking of each visit as an adventure where we went hunting for treasure (and depending on the time of day they were also emptier than most conventional stores, which helped). I liked saving money considering I had a lot more rooms to furnish than I’d ever had before. The stores were where we’d found the ugly couch. I always liked to see what goodies had come in since our last visit. I had a room I’d designated the library (the spell books stayed down in the lab) which needed several more bookshelves and more books.

I nodded, “And tea-cups, of course, how could I forget.”

“I know eighty-three recipes for tea cakes,” Bonnie added, turning her skull to gaze up at me. “British and Southern.”

“Let’s narrow it down to a couple so we can make sure we get the ingredients. Why don’t you guys check to see what we have in the kitchen first so we don’t double up.”

Maggie nodded. “Okay, Dad.” She pulled away from Mouse and reached up her hands for Bonnie. I dropped her into her sister’s hands. Together, with Mouse trailing after them, they rushed off to the kitchen. My daughters’ excited voices blended together as they talked about tomorrow and everything they wanted to do.

I followed after them, hiding my worry down deep where hopefully none of the kids could see it.

Chapter Text

I waited for Marcone to show up, keeping an eye on my watch even as I went through my mental checklist to make certain that I hadn’t forgotten anything in the early morning rush of preparation.

It was practically noon on the dot when I realized I’d forgotten the sodas and went to fetch the small cooler I’d prepared the night before with drinks.

Maggie had an affection for fruit flavored sodas, specifically Fanta. I despaired over my kid ever accepting Coke as the only real, true soda worthy of touching a Dresden tongue. Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t the one who was winning that argument. It was her big eyes. I melted like butter before a blowtorch when she looked at me with them.

I didn’t bother getting ice for the drinks since I have nifty ice powers which I had no problem abusing when it came to getting a perfectly chilled Coke. So why bother carrying extra pointless weight?

The sound of the doorbell ringing (a literal brass bell which was incredibly loud for its small size) reached me in the living room where I was double checking I’d grabbed everything for the barbecue. I jogged over to the door, the red cooler in one hand and my carved wooden staff in the other. I juggled both as I opened the door to find Marcone standing on my doorstep.

He was out of his usual suits. Instead, Marcone was wearing dark blue jeans, a red and white flannel shirt over a light gray t-shirt and black leather work boots. Between the Cubs cap on his head and the aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes, John Marcone was barely recognizable. I could pass him on the street and wouldn’t even realize it was him until I looked twice. Assuming I even thought to look twice.

It had been years since I’d seen him in a similar laid-back outfit. It was really disconcerting.

“Well, come in,” I said after a moment, stepping back to let Marcone into the castle’s foyer after I lowered the wards. I raised them again as soon as he entered.

Marcone pulled off the sunglasses, putting them in his shirt pocket as he glanced around taking in the visible changes I’d made to the castle’s first floor before looking back at me. His gaze was as calm as always as he said, “I assume there’s a good reason for this song and dance, Dresden.”

Annoyed, I said, “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to know why I was on the island. You don’t get to complain about how you learn the answer.”

Marcone’s pale green eyes narrowed. “I do, however, get to judge whether or not you are wasting my time. I have important matters which require my attention.”

I took a calming breath, reaching for patience. “I’m not wasting your time, Marcone. Look, I know that I’m asking a lot but I’m just trying to make sure you’ll understand.” Before he could say another word of protest, I juggled the staff again until it rested in my inner elbow and reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the periapt I’d made.

The necklace was little more than a long strip of brown leather, but it held a charm which amounted to a clasp of gleaming silver holding onto a chunk of pale green crystal about the size of my thumb. The hexagonal crystal was carved with sigils which ran up and down the facets until ending in a faceted tip. In the dim light of my foyer it was possible to see the lambent green light within its core.

It was a crystal from Demonreach’s caverns.

I held the bespelled periapt out to Marcone.

“Put this on.”

He eyed it warily for a moment before reaching out to take the necklace from me. He studied it in his broad hands, noting the symbols. He frowned at it and then up at me.

“It’s for your protection,” I explained.

“Protection from what, Dresden?” asked Marcone, even as he raised the necklace over his head.

“You’ll see,” I said noncommittally before I shoved the cooler into his free hands.

I turned to the closed door of my home and raised my staff. “Aparturum,” I called out, pouring my will into opening a doorway out of thin air into the Nevernever. The wide round circle was smoother than usual. I was getting better at those these days.

The existence of the portal made the magic of the castle shiver in alarm. I could feel it, through the connection I’d established with the ancient magic of my home. It felt like the castle was warning me of a breach in its security. I patted the nearest wall in reassurance. Then I realized Marcone was watching me and I fought off an embarrassed urge to hunch my shoulders. This was my castle dammit, if I wanted to pet the wall, I was petting the wall.

“Let’s go,” I said, hoping he hadn’t noticed my embarrassment. I stepped across the portal with a swift stride, only closing it when Marcone stepped through too.

On the other side of the Nevernever, I saw the familiar spirit side of my neighborhood. It was something I’d seen before. The streets and the buildings mostly looked the same as I’d seen all those years ago, except for the lingering structural damage which I suspected came from the emotional pain my neighbors had been dealing with since last summer. Traumatizing events reverberated into the Nevernever. Something like last summer was going to leave a lingering echo which would last for generations.

Other than the damage, the major change was instead of the old boarding house, the castle stood in its place. On this side, its normally gray stone walls glowed incandescently with multicolored coruscating light. Castle Dresden looked like it had been built out of neon with fireworks going off from every inch of it.

It may look pretty but those sparks could blast an intruder to ashes if the magic touched them. The destructive power of the wards was mind-boggling.

I turned my attention away from my home and paid more attention to what was stretching out behind the castle’s lightshow.

When I’d first seen the woods I had been reminded strongly of Fangorn Forest. It had the same dark, hungry and foreboding feel. Like it would kill you in a heartbeat just for breathing funny. I wasn’t that far off the mark. I could wander through safely, but then I was the Warden of Demonreach. If anyone else walked in without permission they’d be killed.

Fangorn 2.0 was the Nevernever part of Demonreach’s defenses. Something I would never have seen or been able to access from Chicago until recently. But then, having the Warden of Demonreach living in a castle filled with the same type of magics as could be found on the tower of the island had created a new Way through the Nevernever. I had staked a claim on both, so now I was also able to reach the island from my own doorstep.

I appreciated having it. It was a helluva lot faster than taking the Water Beetle, let me tell ya.

“Okay, stay close,” I said to Marcone, who was staring at the castle. Before I took a step to cross into dark woods I held out my left hand to Marcone.

He drew close and reached out at once, clasping his warm hand in mine. He shifted his grip until his broad fingers interlocked with my own. My fingertips could feel the faint, raised scars on Marcone’s knuckles. I could also feel familiar callouses, although I’d known them on smaller hands. They were the sort which only came from devoting hours to the gun range and vigorous training with other weapons.

Almost at once the visceral memory of his hand on my chin and the kiss which had followed struck me knocking me mentally off balance. I looked away from Marcone before he could see my expression. The hairs at the back of my neck prickled with my awareness of close he was standing.

Damn it, he was even wearing the same cologne.

“Don’t let go,” I said, stubbornly ignoring my own thudding heartbeat. “The forest doesn’t like strangers. If I lose you I may not be able to find you again in time. And for goodness’ sake, don’t drop the cooler.”

I couldn’t see it but I could practically feel Marcone frowning at me. Instead of looking at him, I tightened my grip on his hand before I stepped into the dark woods.

Silently, he followed after me.

Abruptly, the light show from the castle vanished. A faintly greenish glow that came down through the rustling branches made the woods appear to be in a perpetual state of twilight.

Also, can I just say that it is really weird to have Intellectus on this side of the Nevernever. Because in the same way that I knew every square inch of the island, down to the number of grains of sand on its beaches and every insect in its soil, I knew the woods. I could feel Demonreach’s power thrumming through it. I knew the location of every trap, its dangerous magics, every blood-thirsty creature which was bound to it. I could feel it when the trees creaked and moved. I knew when the woods changed form. This forest was like an ever-shifting maze with only one purpose.

To kill whomever was foolish enough to step inside it.

Like I said, it made me think of Fangorn Forest. I was half-convinced that if I went looking I would find Ents. Or hey, maybe even the Entwives.

The gnarled woods were deep and ancient, covering a span in the Nevernever easily five times the area of Lake Michigan. Fortunately, I didn’t have to walk far to get to its center. The woods knew who was the boss and shifted around to get me to my destination quickly. But that didn’t mean I could let down my guard. There was someone at my side whose presence was being tolerated only because he was with me.

I stepped confidently, knowing where to walk to find the secret paths to avoid the traps and hidden roots looking to trip the unwary. Marcone didn’t have to be told and he followed me with sure steps. Around us the trees groaned and shifted. Branches stretched and reached for Marcone until I glared and they subsided. The woods were not happy about Marcone. I wondered if the protections could sense Thorned Namshiel’s presence. They certainly felt more aggressive than usual.

We walked maybe a few football-field lengths, around five hundred yards, before we abruptly came upon a clearing. At the center stood a tower. It looked exactly like the tower on Demonreach would have looked if it hadn’t been broken. It also glowed with the same neon and fireworks power of the castle.

I glanced over at Marcone and I caught him studying it with a thoughtful expression. I doubted the similarities of the magics had escaped him.

Like I’d said before, he was smart. And observant.

“Aparturum,” I said, holding out my staff. As the spell expanded into a gate back to the mortal world the smell of Michigan’s waters came across the dividing line of realities, ushered along by a steady cooling breeze. The blazing heat of sunlight and bright blue sky overhead really made the faint crepuscular light drifting through the trees even more eerie.

Sometimes I was tempted to call it Mirkwood 2.0. But the forest didn’t have that many giant spiders in it.

I didn’t hesitate and I stepped onto Demonreach with John Marcone at my side.

At once, Marcone recognized the remains of the tower. Not surprising, it was hardly his first visit to the island.

“Why are we here?” Marcone asked stiffly. Considering I was still holding his hand, I could feel the thrum of tension running through him. Abruptly, I remembered how dangerous Marcone could be. Physically I mean. He had the sort of insanely quick reaction time a tennis player would kill for. I’d seen him pull out a knife nearly faster than I could follow with my eyes. And I was currently well within striking range.

The only advantage I had was that both his hands were full. I tightened my hold of his hand. I don’t know if I meant it to be reassuring or to keep a grip on him.

“Hey, you’re here as my guest, remember,” I said. I caught Marcone’s gaze and held it for a moment before I deliberately dropped his right hand and took the cooler from him. He let it go, still eyeing me suspiciously.

“We’re here to talk,” I continued. “Because while we’re on Demonreach Anduriel can’t spy on us. No one else can either. Not even Mab.”

Marcone’s green eyes narrowed then his eyes went distant like he was talking to someone else. I’ll give you three guesses on who it could have been. And the first two don’t count.

“That is… an unexpected advantage,” Marcone said thoughtfully, the tension slowly winding out of him. My own followed suit.

I snorted in wry amusement. “Figured you’d like that.”

I turned and headed for the small house which had been built with stones from the tower. I had filled the space before the house with a folding table covered with a long vinyl tablecloth patterned in the classic checkered red and white. The table was surrounded by four cheap folding chairs. There was another smaller table nearby with a tablecloth covered in red roses that was filled with teacakes, a steel kettle, a jar of honey and a sugar bowl filled with sugar cubes. Also three separate teapots and four stacks of teacups for authenticity’s sake. The table was ready and waiting for the tea party to start.

I set the cooler on the ground and let my staff lean against the picnic table.

“The periapt I gave you is for protection.”

That earned me a faint hmm of acknowledgment. I figured he was checking the truth of my words with Namshiel too.

I’d already had the barbecue coals set up in a round kettle grill. It was just waiting for the fire. Which I might as well start now that all guests had arrived.

“Flickum bicus,” I said, willing a flame to light the coals. As I did I used my all-knowing sense of every inch of Demonreach to scan the island for any intruders, before focusing on Maggie and Bonnie and Mouse. The perpetually worried dad part of me relaxed at knowing they were safe.

Marcone was studying the crystal charm. After he was satisfied by whatever he got from it he looked in my direction. I saw him noting the number of chairs.

“It’s spelled to keep the psychic influence of the island out of your mind,” I explained as I grabbed a chair, sat and gestured at Marcone to join me.

“So this secret of yours, you intend to keep knowledge of it from Nicodemus or Mab?” Marcone asked as he sat down on a chair across from me. The table was so small I could feel his knees knock into mine. I shifted away. Marcone’s eyes flickered.

Then I realized that he was doing it on purpose. He was testing me, or at least testing my reactions to him while under the guise of being one of two grown men trying to fit their legs under a table. I narrowed my eyes and deliberately put my legs back where they’d been. This time the sides of my calf muscles leaned into his own until we were each trapping the other. And I left them there, feeling the burn of his body heat against my legs for a few seconds before I broke and moved them away.

Even through my jeans it felt like he’d seared my skin.

The corners of Marcone’s lips flattened out and his eyes narrowed.

“Unfortunately, they both know the important parts,” I said, after clearing my throat. “But not all of it and I’d rather keep it that way. Look, it’s a long story.” I’d never actually told it in its entirety like this to another person. Even the ones who knew everything, like my friends and Thomas, had gotten it in pieces over the years. Not all at once. I took a deep, fortifying breath and continued, “After our first run in with Nicodemus, before he left town, he threw Lasciel’s coin at me. I was stupid. I touched it.”

“It’s the reason you started using hellfire,” Marcone said, without surprise. He leaned back against the chair and studied me.

I wondered how much Namshiel had filled him in on everything which had happened whenever Nicodemus had come to Chicago. I admit I was curious on the Denarian side of those details. Although, I could make several educated guesses.

“Yeah but I didn’t want it and I had no intention of taking up the coin. So I did the only thing I thought would keep Lasciel out of my head. I buried the coin in concrete within a circle until I couldn’t hear her voice anymore. I thought that was the end of it. But then I started using hellfire. Later I learned that by touching the coin I’d put a copy of the Fallen in my head. A Shadow of Lasciel.”

Marcone’s eyes went a bit distant, conferring with Namshiel again. Even through the baseball cap, I could see a faint purple glow on Marcone’s forehead. I wondered what twisted truths the Fallen was speaking to him.

“For years, Lasciel’s shadow was in my head, trying to trick me. Or simply trying to convince me to take up the coin. Oh, sometimes she helped. She wanted me to know how valuable she could be and how with the coin I could do so much more. And other times we just talked.” I shrugged. “And… the thing is, you can’t spend that much time interacting with someone, getting to know them without influence going both ways.” I sighed. “I started calling her Lash.”

“You renamed her!” The outraged English accented voice which came from Marcone’s mouth made me shoot Marcone an exasperated look. “How dare you!”

“You weren’t invited to this conversation, Spiny-boy. Butt out.”

I hadn’t understood the gravity of what I’d done at the time by renaming her. It was only after seeing how angry Uriel had become at me for trying to give him a nickname that I looked into it. Yeah, the whole ‘-el’ part of an angel’s name is actually kinda important. And I’d stripped it away from Lash.

Marcone murmured something to Namshiel in that language I didn’t understand, and had yet to figure what it even was, before he removed the Cubs cap. Narrowed, purple eyes glared at me from Marcone’s brow.

Although seeing proof of a Fallen within a person always gave me chills, I glared back at the demon, focusing on Marcone’s eyebrows. I mentioned how a soulgaze is a onetime thing, right? I didn’t want to test if it was possible to have one with a damned angel. I didn’t think my brain would survive the experience.

“Continue please, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said, looking interested and less annoyed now that I was talking.

“Lash became a… friend,” I said after taking a breath and deciding to ignore the glowing purple demon eyes. “Do you remember the night in the Deeps? Specifically the psychic force which knocked us down?”

“Clearly. I also recall it didn’t affect you for long.”

“That’s because Lash shielded me. Then she told me we were about to get blasted with a power so great it would have killed all of us. She pleaded with me to call to the coin. Said it would save my life. I refused. Instead, I told her that she could save us. She could make the choice to help me.”

“Impossible,” snarled Namshiel. “That is not the function of the shadow.”

“She wasn’t Lasciel anymore,” I snapped back. I looked into Marcone’s impassive eyes. “She was Lash. That night she took a psychic bullet for me. She died for me.”

“Impossible!” said Namshiel again.

Marcone and I both ignored him. Marcone's pale green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. I could practically see him using the information to put together answers to any questions he may have had. “This is why Nicodemus was unable to control you. Namshiel said after they accomplished their mission against the Archive the plan had been to take you with them. He hadn’t been able to figure out how that part of Nicodemus’ plan had failed.”

I nodded. “Yeah, but that’s not the important thing. When Lash died, she also redirected the impact of the attack. I was left with brain damage.”

Marcone’s eyes went wide before he managed to shutter the reaction away.

“Nothing too bad, at least according to the few scans my doctor was able to get of my head. Just... visible.” I explained, gesturing towards my head with my left hand. “So when I started getting headaches a few months later, I wasn’t exactly surprised. Nor did I think anything of it. I had taken a pretty big hit.” I shrugged as I glanced away briefly. “Someone had died in my mind. There were bound to be aftereffects.”

“Yes, I would image that would be the case,” Marcone murmured softly. Even Namshiel’s purple eyes stopped glaring, looking almost sorrowful.

“But as time went on, the headaches started getting worse and worse. And after a couple of years they weren’t just headaches anymore. They were migraines. Pretty bad ones. I was going to figure out what was going on with them… but I had to rescue Maggie from the Red Court first.” Marcone’s eyes flickered at my admission of what had driven me to utterly destroy that vampire court. “Then I died.”

“You had yourself shot,” corrected Marcone.

I blinked at him in surprise. Had everyone figured out I’d been the one behind my own assassination attempt?

“Really, Dresden?” Marcone raised an eyebrow at my expression. “Once I was made aware of your decision to take up the mantle of the Winter Knight, and since I have some understanding of your personality, it was a moment’s thought to realize you’d intended to prevent yourself from being used as a weapon.”

I frowned. Damn, was I really that predictable? Yeah, I think I was. At least to those who knew me.

It was always weird to realize Marcone was one of those people.

I nodded in acknowledgment of his correction anyway. “Yeah. Okay, I had myself shot. Mab and the island kept me alive after I fell in the lake. After I woke up I was told I had a psychic parasite in my head which was causing the headaches. It was killing me and I didn’t have much time left.”

Now it was Marcone’s turn to frown.

“When Mab let me return to Chicago for a mission, I was also looking for Molly Carpenter since she was the only person who would be able to help me get the parasite out. But –” I waved my right hand in the air to encompass the entire events of that October 31st. “– things happened. I ended up back on the island. Faerie queens died.”

“And Miss Carpenter became the Winter Lady.”

I nodded. “And Mab took her away before I could get her help. So I waited for Molly to come back. At that point the pressure in my head was so intense if I left the island I’d have been dead within the day. Until I got the parasite out the island was keeping me alive.”

Marcone shifted in his seat and his cool green eyes narrowed. “If you had a solution to your medical condition, why were you on the island for over a year?”

“I hadn’t planned on being stuck here for all that time. I kept trying to contact Molly. I kept sending out messengers. At points I even considered leaving the island, but by then my migraines were… really bad. They were knocking me out for hours on end. They were so intense I knew I’d be dead the moment I left the island. So I didn’t. I waited. And waited. Until Mab showed up for your scheme against Nicodemus.”

“How were you able to finally set foot off the island?”

“Mab’s magic,” I said, touching my ear where the piercing had long since healed over. “With it I was finally able to leave. And that was when I learned that Molly never got any of my messages. She had no idea I needed her help.”

Marcone stiffened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. I could practically see the speed of his mind racing and putting the clues together.

“The messages were being intercepted. By the Winter Queen,” he breathed. The anger I’d seen before flared in his eyes again making them practically glow in their own right. His hands clenched tightly on the table’s rounded plastic edge for a moment before he relaxed. He continued coolly, “She was the reason you remained on the island. It was due to her decision you failed to return to Chicago for all that time.”

I nodded grimly. Some part of me would never forgive Mab for stranding me. Even though I was genuinely grateful for her actions in saving Chicago during the Battle. I’d always remember that year I’d been forced to stay on Demonreach. And not just because that winter had been the most miserably alone I’ve been in a long, long time but because I’ll always wonder if I could have saved at least one innocent life if I’d been in Chicago instead.

Now, the light of anger in Marcone’s green eyes practically threw off sparks as he looked at me.

“Through her actions she affected my demesne,” Marcone stated with an impressively measured tone. “You are not exactly selling me on an alliance with Winter.”

Oh, hell. I hadn’t thought about how that little nugget of information would go down.

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth of what you wanted to know. And you know why I brought the alliance pact to you and it has nothing to do with it benefiting the Winter Court.” I ran my fingers through my hair, even as I expanded my awareness of the island to check up on my kids again. They were fine. Picking the plump wild raspberries growing near one of the few creeks running through Demonreach.

I focused back on Marcone. “What matters is that’s not the end of the story. During the whole heist of the underworld scheme I found out something important.”

“Go on,” Marcone said, after taking a breath and making his flash of temper vanish like it was never there at all.

Spooky.

I took a breath too. “The parasite in my head wasn’t a parasite in the way I thought. It was a child, mine and Lash’s. The migraines were labor pains. She was trying to be born.”

“Impossible,” breathed out Namshiel, his purple eyes wide with shock. Marcone just blinked at me.

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” I growled at Namshiel, annoyed at his commentary. What part of butt out was so difficult to understand?

Namshiel glared at me again, but Marcone’s lips twitched in amusement. He said, “So you were for all intents and purposes… pregnant?” I eyed him warily. But Marcone didn’t laugh he just watched me. Almost at once understanding dawned on his face, “Ah, this was your medical condition.”

“He is lying,” Namshiel said insistently. “None of us are capable of–”

I cut him off. “Making spirit babies? Hey, it turns out that’s wrong.” I looked into Marcone’s eyes. “Maybe something you should keep in mind with him in your head.” I widened my eyes innocently and said, “Use protection.”

But Marcone’s amusement had faded. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he listened to whatever Namshiel was telling him.

Okay, story time was over.

I whistled, sharply. Through my all-knowing state I knew Mouse heard the signal because his ears perked up. He started nudging the girls back towards the house.

Chapter Text

Absently, I tracked the path my daughters and my dog took as they walked through the island’s trees to where Marcone and I waited.

“If your story is true Namshiel is convinced you would not have survived the experience,” Marcone said, frowning slightly. “Mortals do not often survive the birth of Spirits of Intellect.” He focused on me. “Apparently, your head should have burst open.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” I asked. That earned me a skeptically raised eyebrow.

I coughed. “Ahem. Well, I survived because I was really freaking lucky. Mab’s little magic trick had failed and my head was about to split open.” I grimaced. “At least, it certainly felt like it.” Thinking about the experience was little more than a memory of smeared blurry pain and a time crawl, but it still made me shiver in fear at how close we’d both came to dying that day. Me and Bonea. At that point she’d been too big and too tired, trying her best not to kill me, and too worn out from winter magic to pull herself free. “But Molly showed up in the nick of time.”

I turned a little in my seat, and Marcone followed my gaze. Together we watched Mouse come into view out of the trees, followed by Maggie wearing a blue t-shirt, blue jeans and black sneakers. Right after Maggie, walking on legs which were much steadier than only a day ago and holding a red plastic bucket (the sort of toy ones used by kids when they played with sand) full of the raspberries they’d been picking was Bonea. Her lips and cheeks were stained red-purple with raspberry juice, pulp and seeds.

It had taken more effort – in the form of will and concentration – than I had expected, but surprisingly not too much energy to conjure forth a body formed from ectoplasm from the Nevernever which Bonnie could inhabit. She no longer looked like the pre-teen I’d first seen with my subconscious self. Maybe it was the effect of having spent time with her and seeing her innocence and incomprehension of pretty basic things, but my mental estimation of her age had dropped. It had affected the conjuration of her body so now she looked about seven or eight, or a really, really tall six year old. She had the same features as before such as Lash’s brilliant crystalline blue-green eyes. My hair color and my jaw. The features of women who’d been important to me (I’d almost changed her chin to something which would hurt less but… in the end I couldn’t) Seeing her next to Maggie, it was obvious that they were sisters.

The purple cat-ear headband on Bonnie’s head was her sister’s contribution to her outfit as well as a pink and purple stripped t-shirt, jeans and white sneakers.

“I survived and my second daughter was born. Unfortunately, Nicodemus and Lasciel know about her existence,” I continued, grimacing. “Or at least they knew she’d been in my head. I’ve been hiding her. I asked my contacts in the spirit world to pass on rumors that she didn’t survive her birth so no Denarian will come looking for her.” I let that sink in. “Now I’m sure Namshiel is saying all kinds of crap about how valuable she is. But I’m telling you I’m not letting her fall into the hands of the White Court or White Council or anyone or anything who’d try to use her,” I glared at Marcone, or to be specific, at the purple eyes on his brow which were looking rather wildly wide-eyed in Bonnie’s direction.

I find it bizarre to be able to describe a pair of glowing purple eyes as looking flabbergasted since I’d thought you needed a face for that expression but Namshiel was pulling it off.

I hissed at the Fallen, keeping my voice low so my kids wouldn’t overhear as they grew closer. “And that’s not up for negotiation.”

“Understandably,” Marcone agreed quietly, glancing at me and then turning to look at my daughters and Mouse. He murmured something indistinguishable and Namshiel’s eyes closed, vanishing from Marcone’s brow. Then Marcone put on his Cubs cap.

It was pretty obvious when Maggie noticed Marcone was sitting at the picnic table. She froze mid-step clutching for Mouse. I also saw the moment Maggie realized that most of Marcone’s attention was focused on Bonnie. My breath caught in my throat as her spine stiffened and her eyes narrowed and she took step away from Mouse.

My beautiful mortal daughter, who was afraid of meeting strangers due to the trauma she’d survived at the hands of the Red Court of vampires. Who could barely tolerate entering stores to go shopping. She put herself between Marcone’s eyeline and Bonnie with her jaw raised stubbornly, determination written bold across her face and fire flashing in her dark eyes.

The sight gave me a disorienting feeling of déjá vu.

Maggie looked like a tiny ferocious wolverine (both the animal and maybe even the clawed mutant). Ready to fight in defense of her little sister. No matter how big her opponent.

I couldn’t have been more astonished or proud.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marcone glance over at me. “I certainly see the family resemblance.”

“Maggie. Bonnie. This is John Marcone,” I said after I managed to gather my wits about me. Although unable to keep the proud smile off my face as I gestured from Marcone to my kids. “Marcone, these are my daughters: Margaret Dresden and Bonea Dresden.”

Marcone got to his feet. He actually gave them a polite, if stiff, bow. “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Marcone said gravely, before sitting back down.

Mouse walked towards Marcone, sat down and lifted a paw. “And last but not least, this is Mouse,” I added.

As Marcone shook Mouse’s offered paw, Maggie’s expression softened and she shot him an uncertain look. It took her moment as her huge dark eyes studied Marcone, who remained relaxed and calm (a bit too deliberately to be anything but a means of helping Maggie feel safe), for her to come to a conclusion about him.

“I’m pleased to meet you too, Mr. Marcone,” Maggie finally said quietly. She relaxed enough to stop blocking her sister, choosing instead to stand by her side. One of her small hands buried itself in Mouse’s fur. The other clasped Bonnie’s shoulder.

Bonnie walked forward enough to put her bucket down on the table before frowning up at Marcone. For a second, I wondered if she could sense Namshiel’s presence. Oh stars, I hoped not. I wasn’t ready to explain the Fallen to Maggie. But Bonnie just turned to me with a sudden bright white smile which mirrored Lash’s gorgeous vibrant smile so much it took me off-guard.

Stars, she was adorable, even covered in leftover raspberries.

“I like taste,” Bonnie declared. She smacked her lips. “And raspberries.”

“I can see that,” I said, as I dug a travel packet of wet wipes from my coat pocket. I’d learned the hard way those things are worth their weight in gold when you’re a parent. I wiped the mess off Bonnie’s face as she wrinkled her face and tolerated me cleaning her up.

“She ate so many I thought she’d throw up,” Maggie confessed, coming up to my side after making a wide detour around Marcone. I dropped a kiss on her forehead before returning to my task of getting every bit of sticky mess off Bonnie.

“I ate one hundred and eight raspberries,” Bonnie said, once I was finally satisfied.

“That’s way more than I could eat in one sitting,” I admitted, genuinely impressed. And baffled at how she’d eaten so many. Bonnie beamed proudly. “Punkin, why don’t you and Bonnie-lass take your berries inside the house. While you’re there could you also bring out the barbecue stuff? I’m going to cook us burgers in a moment.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Marcone watched me watching the girls. He waited until they were out of earshot before saying quietly, “Your daughter Maggie… I hope I didn’t distress her further.”

I shot a him a startled glance. “You can tell?”

“That she has dealt with trauma no child should ever know? Yes,” Marcone said somberly, his eyes closed briefly before he opened them to look at me again. “Unfortunately, I have seen it too often.”

I wondered how many he’d killed in retribution for those children’s pain, to punish them for breaking his rules, before deciding I didn’t actually care all that much. I didn’t feel a twinge of regret for the lost lives... no pity for those who would harm children. In certain ways, being a parent had made me more ruthless than even the Winter Knight’s mantle managed.

I said quietly, “She still has nightmares. It helps she has me. Mouse. Bonnie. The Carpenters. A heavily fortified castle to sleep in.” My hint wasn’t subtle but I was ready to hammer the point home on how I was never giving up the castle again.

“I have reports which speak of House Malvora and House Skavis sharing an interest, and a hunger, for traumatized individuals,” Marcone said, a flash of concern crossing his face. His glanced towards the house where my kids had entered. “It is another reason to keep her away from the White Court.”

Since they were fear eaters and despair eaters Maggie would be an irresistible feast.

“Yes,” I agreed fervently, my hands clenched in fists.

Before I could take the opening to remind Marcone he still hadn’t given me an answer to my proposal, Bonnie walked by holding a dirt clod the size of my fist. It wasn’t exactly small. A few seconds later Maggie stopped by to drop off the tray of raw burger patties and uncooked hot dogs before she chased after Bonnie. Mouse strolled by, pausing to give the meat a longing sniff. He shot me a mournful look and then took off after the girls.

Marcone said, looking in the directions of my kids, “She’s about to take a bite of that.”

Alarmed, I yelped, “Bonnie! Stop! You can’t eat that!”

Bonnie froze with her mouth wide right above a clod of dirt. Maggie started giggling. Mouse was just grinning and wagging his tail.

Bonnie’s face scrunched up as she looked puzzled. She called back, “But you said food grows in soil.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can eat dirt. It’s not good for you!” I said.

“It won’t hurt me, Dad. My body is made up of ectoplasm,” Bonnie pointed out.

“Very reasonable,” Marcone said, his voice sounding choked. Although his expression was poker-faced, an amused gleam in his pale green eyes gave him away.

“Stop helping,” I hissed at him. I told Bonnie. “You need to leave space for hamburgers!”

Bonnie’s bewildered expression looked like she didn’t understand the difference between dirt and a burger but was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt since I was her dad. Which, okay, made sense since she had never eaten a burger before. She’d only had two days practice at having a body.

She sighed and let the clod drop to the ground. Then Bonnie proceeded to lick the remaining dirt off her fingers.

“Oh, gross,” I groaned in disgust. I threw my hands up in exasperation. The sound of Marcone’s low chuckles rolled across the field.

“Eeeew!” Maggie shrieked before her giggles became so intense she had to sit on the grassy ground.

I also had a bubble of my own amusement caught in my chest. Bonnie was ridiculous.

I found myself wondering if Maggie had done anything similar when she’d been a toddler. A stab of grief over all the years I’d missed hit me. But this pain was muted and fading the longer I was able to be her dad. So I easily shoved it away.

I caught Marcone rubbing at his lips with his right fingertips as if was trying to erase his lingering smile. He eyes locked onto mine and his amusement faded. He nodded at me.

“Bonea is a child,” Marcone murmured.

The relief which struck me made me desperately glad I was sitting down. This was the first time Marcone had actually said it. And he wouldn’t have said the words if he didn’t mean them. “Yeah… she’ll be two next year,” I said. Exasperated, I added, “And still in the sticking everything in her mouth stage.”

We both turned to look at the girls and Mouse who now seemed to be digging into the dirt looking for what I couldn’t guess. Unless they were searching for bugs and worms.

“I think I better get the burgers started before the kid eats something else. Do you want something to drink? I have soda, water and beer.”

Marcone nodded at me, his expression back to being unreadable. “Water is fine, Dresden.”

I unwound my legs from where they’d somehow become tangled with his. Huh, when had that happened?

I got up, prepared to feed the ravening horde.

*-*-*-*

I finished off my fourth burger with Bonnie matching me bite for bite, making me wonder where she was putting it all and if I’d accidentally given her a bottomless pit instead of a stomach. Maggie, having a reasonable appetite, had finished off one burger and one mustard-drowned hot dog. She was watching Marcone (who’d only had one hamburger and therefore lost the eating contest as far as I was concerned) with all the nervousness of someone coming to the decision to tiptoe through a minefield.

“Mr. Marcone, if you like… you don’t have to… but would you like to come to our tea party?” Maggie asked softly. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead her focus was on Bonnie as she held onto her sister’s hand.

Marcone stilled. His expression softened. He cleared his throat and said, “I would be delighted, Miss Dresden. However, I’m afraid I will not be able to linger for long.” Marcone side-eyed me. “Your father did not inform me of your party and I have another appointment I cannot miss.”

I glared at Marcone for the way he was blatantly throwing me under the bus, but he shot me a look which practically said: ‘It’s true so you’ve no one to blame but yourself’. I grumbled. Okay, maybe he had a point. I hadn’t given him any warning to clear his schedule.

Before Maggie could express any disappointment, Marcone continued. “I can spare the time for one cup of tea, Miss Dresden.”

Maggie nodded gravely, but also relaxed at not being rejected outright. She got up and went to the tea table and started bringing the stuff over to the picnic table. I helped with the teacup towers before a porcelain disaster struck. I also put the full kettle, a campfire rated number, onto the grill to get the water boiling.

“Maggie said that I was to the play the role of the Cheshire Cat,” Bonnie explained to Marcone, pointing at her fake cat ears. “For the tea party.”

“From Alice in Wonderland? The book or the movie?” Marcone asked politely. He had his hands before him on the table. The sense of stillness to him wasn’t the sort which always made me think he was preparing to react quickly to danger but instead it gave me the impression he was making every effort he knew of to appear as harmless as possible.

Marcone wasn’t very good at it. He didn’t seem to know if he should smile or not. It was kind of funny to see Marcone trying not to appear dangerous. And I’d admit, if only to myself, it was… charming.

Maggie seemed to appreciate it in her quiet way. Bonnie, with the obliviousness of the very young, didn’t seem to have noticed.

I took a moment to marvel that seeing Marcone interacting with my kids didn’t make my irrational sense of parental protectiveness flare up. Of course, it could be I was feeling so secure because neither Marcone nor Namshiel could do much in the middle of my sanctum. On Demonreach I held the magical high ground. But I didn’t think that was the sole reason.

It was just… Marcone. Everything I’d been saying about trusting him with Maggie wasn’t just empty words. And knowing that he saw Bonnie in the same light as my mortal daughter, that she was a vulnerable child who needed to be protected too, well… now I could say that I also trusted him with Bonnie.

I couldn’t begin to image Lara sitting in his stead at the picnic table. No. No way. I couldn’t even consider the idea of her being on Demonreach at the same time as my girls without anger and fear for them stirring in my gut.

It really made me feel on a level that had nothing to do with rational thought that my choice to come to Marcone with the Winter Court alliance was the right one, even with a Denarian living in his head, even with all the demands of Winter. If I managed to convince Marcone to marry me then both of my children would come through unscathed.

“The movie,” Maggie explained shyly, as she brought over the sugar bowl. It had been a lonely Halloween dish, black and covered in white skeletons, which she had unearthed in our hunt for tea party stuff. She glanced at Marcone out of the corner of her eye. “Dad is reading us the book but we just started it. We saw the movie last time Hope came over to babysit. She brought a laptop since Dad was out.” She pulled out a sugar cube and handed it to Mouse who slurped it up.

“I take it you’re Alice?” Marcone asked gently.

Maggie nodded.

“Mouse is the Dormouse,” Bonnie said. “Because he’s a Mouse.”

Marcone nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Mouse wagged away with his tail. He’d actually won the unofficial eating contest considering he’d devoured more burgers and hot dogs than all of us combined. His jaw dropped and he gave us all a doggie grin.

“Dad said he doesn’t do hats so he is the March Hare,” Maggie said, as she brought over the plate of Southern tea cakes. She handed a cookie to Bonnie who bit into it. Instantly she made a noise of delight and then crammed the entire thing into her mouth.

“Oh, I think you mean the March Hare-ry,” I interjected.

“Really, Dresden?” Marcone said, shooting me wry glance.

“Hey, I’m officially allowed to make dad jokes now,” I said, smirking smugly.

“What was your excuse before?” Marcone murmured.

“Keeping up my high smartass rating is hard work.”

“Um,” Maggie stared at Marcone, studying his cap as she chewed nervously on her bottom lip. “I guess you can be the Mad Hatter?”

I grinned. “Or the White Rabbit, who needs to rush away. Since if he’s late the queen will say off with his head.”

Marcone shot me a narrow-eyed look but then nodded slightly in acknowledgment of my suspicion of who he was meeting next.

“The Mad Hatter is fine,” he said.

“Hmm,” Bonnie agreed with cheeks puffing out from the number of Southern tea cakes she’d shoved in her mouth. Her face was already smeared with crumbs and more were being lost through her teeth as she tried to talk. I rescued the plate of cookies before she grabbed more.

“Whoa, there Bonnie-lass. How about you work on what you have in your mouth first, then you can have another.”

I’m not sure what she said as I mostly got a spray of cream-colored cookie crumbs fountaining from her lips in answer.

Well, at least this picnic was going to feed the ants, I thought as I cleaned off my shirt.

I handed Bonnie an open bottle of water. She ended up spilling nearly half of it down her shirt before she figured out that you’re supposed to only tilt the bottle back a bit, not lift it upside down over your mouth.

Paper towels are also one of the amazing, handy things all parents give fervent thanks for.

The tea kettle started whistling and I went to get it so the tea could steep.

It was really good getting to see both of my girls playing at tea-party by taking over making the cups, while I drank a decaffeinated black tea with too much sugar – my fault for letting Bonnie make my cup. My enjoyment of the sight wasn’t diminished by John Marcone interacting with them. If anything it was really amusing to see Gentleman Johnny Marcone holding a delicate white tea cup patterned with red roses while listening to the words of a pair of little girls as seriously as if they were faerie queens. Although he was more wary with my daughters than I’d seen even when he was interacting with actual dangerous faeries. It was like he thought Maggie or Bonnie would eat him or something, which was… interesting.

Okay, with Bonea there was a slight chance it could happen.

As I clocked my observations I reveled in my relief, in my success and in the sense of physical lightness it brought. My plan had gone off without a hitch. Yeah, I’d been worried, have you seen my life? Things rarely went completely according to plan. Or if they did, then it usually ended with me picking up a whole lot of injuries. It was really strange to have a plan work without having one or five broken bones to show for it. It said way too much about the state of my life that I found the thought more unnerving than reassuring, until I shook it off.

Another thing which was a pleasant surprise was how well Maggie was tolerating being introduced to someone new. Even when she’d first met Thomas she had needed to walk away to get some space to recover. But she hadn’t done that with Marcone yet. No doubt it was the benefit of having Mouse stuck to her side like he was glued there. Or maybe it was simply the presence of her little sister. I don’t think Maggie would leave her behind, no matter how scared or anxious she was feeling.

I frowned at the thought and looked Maggie over more carefully. But she didn’t look like she wanted to run and was trying the best she could to hide it. She did keep going quiet and studying Marcone out of the corner of her eye as she drank her tea but she didn’t look tense or scared. Mouse, my best indicator of my eldest daughter’s feelings, was calm, panting and leaning against Maggie’s side with literal puppy-dog eyes aimed at her and Bonnie as he pleaded for cookies.

Because he was clearly starving. That big faker, I thought fondly.

I continued watching everyone before I cleared my throat.

“Aaahhh, very merry unbirthday to me,” I started singing. I didn’t have the best voice but it was worth it for the way Bonnie looked up at me with a smile while Maggie stifled a grin behind her hand.

I looked at Marcone, raising my eyebrows. He shot me a baffled look.

“You have to say: To who?” Maggie helpfully whispered at Marcone.

“Ah, thank you, Miss Dresden,” Marcone said politely. The icy look he gave me let me know exactly how he felt about it but he still said, “To who?”

“To me!” I laughed.

*-*-*-*

I’d just finished dismissing the gate to the Nevernever that Marcone and I had taken to return to the castle’s foyer (I occasionally pause in mid-step in disbelief at knowing I had a foyer) when I caught him watching me. I raised my eyebrows at him in a silent question.

“You have two children to protect,” Marcone said, his expression weird. Complicated. It made me completely turn to face him, wary. “Whatever you may think about the lack of risk I pose to their safety you can barely tolerate being in my presence, Dresden. How could you allow them anywhere near me?”

“Because everything I said before is still true, Marcone. My boss is making me marry someone,” I said, resting my staff against the wall so I wouldn’t be holding a weapon during this discussion. Not that I thought it would worry him but… it didn’t look good. “It was either you or Lara. And I’ve chosen you.”

Marcone jerked a little as if he’d been electrocuted. I realized I’d never actually articulated myself that way before. However lacking in options for spouse I was between Lara or Marcone, it had still been my decision to pick Marcone. That wasn’t something Mab had forced on me like the betrothal to Lara.

“You know the truth of why I was on Demonreach. You know about everything – everyone – I’m trying to protect. Your question has been answered.” I continued. I remembered how he’d looked at me after the kiss and my voice gentled despite myself. “Now I want my question answered. It’s up to you to tell me no or yes, Marcone. But if you say yes, know that you’ll be helping me protect them from the White Court.” I paused and added quietly, “Please, help me protect my kids.”

On this topic I had no pride, it was a worthless emotion compared to my need to keep my family safe. Protect the offspring was like a beat, a metronome, in my chest, steady and unrelenting.

“Help me keep them safe and out of the hands of monsters, Marcone. Marry me.”

Marcone’s expression shuttered and his pale green eyes became unreadable.

The silence between us made my heartbeat thump away like a drum in my ears.

“Why… why do you always come to me with such requests?” Marcone finally whispered, in a voice threaded with faint incredulity. The inscrutable mask he wore dissolved slowly until I could see the disbelief in Marcone’s face. It was in his entire body, shown in his hands which were slack as they hung at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “You know what I am. You’ve seen my soul. Why do you always come to me as if you are certain I would be willing to play the hero?”

My throat was dry. I swallowed to wet it. “Because every time I’ve asked… you haven’t let me down.”

Marcone rocked back on his heels like my words had been a blow which had sucker-punched him. He looked away from me.

I reached out and clasped his right hand in both of mine. He let me. And I spoke the words for the third time. Hoping the power of threes would help me out and spin luck in my favor. Letting it be the question I’d been avoiding. “Will you marry me, John?”

Marcone’s cool green eyes closed for a moment as if pained and he gave a slight shake of his head.

My stomach started to sink. For a single long second I thought I’d failed.

Marcone’s green eyes opened. He stared up at me with an open expression as if every mental and emotional shield he carried had been jostled out of place by my question and now he was struggling to return them to where they were meant to be. I could see that below his bewilderment, below his disbelief there lay that hunger I’d glimpsed before. His eyes were fixed on me with the focus of a starving man being offered food.

“Yes.”

It was my turn to stare at him in astonishment. He said – had he? He had. – Marcone had said yes. To marrying me.

For a wild moment, I felt like the dog who’d caught the car. Holy shit, what now?

But Marcone didn’t give me the time to sink into my burgeoning panic.

“I’ll marry you,” Marcone said. He looked away from my wide eyes then he pulled away from me. I let him go. “However, Dresden,” he said after another moment of silence. “I want you to consider this: Consent given under duress is not true consent. And you are asking me to enter a marriage with you not out of desire, a need for companionship, greed or some other selfish motive, but to safeguard your family. Not even for your own well-being but out of fear for the safety of your children.” He shook his head slowly. “Because you’ve been deprived of your right to refuse. To say no. Even if it doesn’t disturb you. It disturbs me.”

I didn’t interrupt to correct him. He was wrong. It did disturb me – hell, it made me angry, sparking a white-hot flame inside me – but it just wasn’t enough to stop me.

Marcone’s gaze returned to me. “And I’ve been unable to move your queen on the requirement that the marriage needs to be consummated.” His expression went complicated again then it slid back under his control becoming unreadable – I could practically hear the clicks. “She requires it.”

My breath went out in a rush at the astonishing revelation that he had been trying.

I was bewildered. Marcone wanted me. I knew it. I’d felt it in the kiss. I’d seen it in his face. Why was he bothering?

A dawning sense of understanding sent a jolt of shock through me. It was like getting struck by lightening all over again.

It was because Marcone wanted me to want him back. Of my own free will.

And I actually found the idea more worrying than… well, simply closing my eyes and thinking of England. I didn’t know if it was something I could do. I couldn’t just make myself have feelings for him.

Marcone continued, his tone colorless, showing little expression except for the flinty look of determination in his pale green eyes. “No matter what you think of me, I’m not the sort of man who takes to bed unwilling partners. For all my sins, I haven’t done so in the past. I hardly intend to cross that line with you.”

I swallowed. For a long moment I was tempted to just lie, maybe rely on the Winter Knight’s mantle to convince Marcone that I wanted him with the same desire, the same depth of emotion I’d seen in him. But that would have been a lousy thing to do to someone and not just because I’d already decided lying to Marcone was a bad idea.

I knew what it felt like to discover that a lover’s autonomy had been violated and learn they had never intended to be in your bed in the first place. That they would have never been there if they had been able to make the choice for themselves, if they hadn’t been influenced by an outside force. I knew those dregs of misery. I had stood in them. That I hadn’t drowned in them had been due to Luccio’s grace, forgiveness, internal strength and certainty that she had felt a spark of attraction for me even if she would never have pursued it.

I was asking Marcone to marry me (and everything that required) with both eyes open to the fact I didn’t want him back. While knowing that if I had the freedom to refuse Mab’s orders I would never have come to him with my proposal in the first place. That if it was up to me I wouldn’t even be talking to him right now.

Dammit. I felt like an asshole. Like the world’s biggest, thoughtless and most insensitive bastard. If the shoe had been on the other foot with someone coming to me in the same situation I would have hated it. I don’t think I could have the fortitude to agree to marry them. I wouldn’t have been able to stand the ugliness. And the questions of what sort of man I would be if I just went along with it.

Except in this case I was the one doing the asking.

“If the wedding day comes and I judge that it is a line I will cross...” Marcone’s expression was grim as he looked up at me. “I will say no.”

We locked eyes. I could see the depth of his resolve. It went down into the bedrock.

On this, I wouldn’t be able to get Marcone to change his mind.

It was times like these when I remembered that for all of Marcone’s villainous tendencies, for all the horrible things he did without hesitation or regret, the man had a startling streak of decency running through him, like a thin seam of brilliant gold in coal.

It always caught me flat-footed when I saw it.

“That’s fair,” I agreed after a moment. I wouldn’t blame him. However, I started thinking there was an age-old solution to the problem. Even Mab, as far removed from soft human emotions as she could be, had seen the value of it. “Okay. We have more than a month until the wedding day,” I continued. I cleared my throat, hoping I didn’t sound as awkward as I felt as I said, “Let’s go on dates.”

Marcone blinked up at me.

I had a wildly amusing realization that it had probably been a long while since someone had asked him out.

I offered, “Another Ministry summit is coming up. You can be my plus-one.”

Marcone snorted. It was a sound of pure disbelief but then the corners of Marcone’s mouth twitched up. The depth of my relief at the sight threatened to knock me off my feet.

Marcone asked dryly, “After all this time I would’ve thought you were aware that I’m the host for the meetings of the Ministry in Chicago.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll be your plus-one.”

Marcone hummed. “It’s a political event. I’d hardly call it a romantic setting.”

True. But maybe that was why the thought didn’t freak me out.

“Gotta start somewhere,” I said.

“We will also have many eyes watching our every move,” Marcone pointed out. He shot me a skeptical look. “Do you think you can remain polite for the entire evening?”

“I can manage it.”

Marcone’s expression didn’t look reassured.

I mentally grumbled over this universal lack of confidence in my ability to be diplomatic.

Marcone tilted his head, thinking it through. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see if it works.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up,” I said.

Marcone eyed me. “That’s hardly necessary. The gathering begins at 6 o’clock at the usual location. If you wish to spend more time together we can have dinner after it ends.”

I nodded. “Okay, yeah that sounds like a plan.” And I noted the way he was also giving me an out if I didn’t want to spend more time with him.

Marcone stepped back and turned away. “Goodbye, Dresden.”

I dropped the wards, opened the door to my home and watched Marcone walk out. His body language shifted from it’s usual commanding posture into something more relaxed, casual, blending with the clothes he wore to make him just another pedestrian.

After closing the door and raising the wards again, I let myself stand there for a moment letting the reality of everything sink in. Then I shook it off, and opened a gate to the Nevernever again.

My girls were waiting for me to rejoin them at the tea party, then we were going to enjoy the gorgeous summer day at the beach.

Chapter Text

I didn’t hear from Marcone until a couple of days later, in the morning after I’d finished dropping Maggie and Mouse off at her summer school classes. What can I say, the kid enjoyed school and had asked to go. Clearly not something she got from me because I would have hated every second of having to go to school in the summer. It made me desperately proud and gave me a new understanding of all those parents who stuck those braggart ‘My Child is on the Honor Roll’ stickers on their cars.

I couldn’t wait until I got some of those. I was gonna plaster the Munstermobile with all of them.

I’d returned home to find a courier loitering outside the door of Castle Dresden. He perked up as he saw me pull into the drive which led to the back parking lot.

“Are you Harry Dresden?” he called out.

“That’s me,” I said warily, preparing to activate my shield bracelet.

Fortunately, it wasn’t some trick an assassin was using to get close; it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. All the courier wanted was for me to sign confirmation of a packet delivery before he raced off to his next one. I signed, got my packet, parked the car and entered Castle Dresden. I had it open as soon as I had my wards up. Inside was a legal envelope which I opened, shaking out a sheathe of papers. I barely got through the first pages when it sunk in what I had in my hands.

It was solid, signed proof of Marcone taking the beginning steps to honor his agreement to marry me. It was an application for a marriage license from the Cook County Clerk’s Office with Marcone’s information filled in. A yellow sticky note on it told me to fill in my portion.

I stared at it.

I don’t know when I ended up sitting on the floor but it had been long enough for my butt to get cold from the stone floor as I ended up flipping through the rest of the papers, skimming everything which Marcone’s lawyers had outlined.

The second chunk of papers was actually a prenup. By filling it out I would be agreeing I didn’t have a right to touch any of Marcone’s businesses, bank accounts or properties. I couldn’t ask for so much as a red-hot cent from the man during the marriage or upon a divorce. Which was just fine by me. It was blood money. The thought of spending any of it made my stomach twist in disgust in the same way as it had all those years ago when Marcone had offered me pay me anything I wanted to work for him. I didn’t want his money then and I didn’t want his money now.

Anyway, it wasn’t like I needed his cash. Even without touching the diamonds, I actually had a pretty full bank account. It turned out the Winter Knight got a yearly stipend which went into a high six digits and since I hadn’t touched my bank account in the last two years I’d actually become a millionaire. At least until a good chunk of that money went into the castle.

I was no longer a millionaire. That was how much it cost to fix Castle Dresden. I tried not to think about it because it made me cringe. Home ownership – castle ownership – was not for those faint of heart or light of wallet, let me tell you.

Marcone had also sent a more official looking set of papers outlining the terms of our partnership. It had been signed, showing his agreement to everything we’d worked out. The start for the twenty-five year time frame began the day after the wedding.

I noted there wasn’t anything from him on the alliance with Winter. I guess Marcone hadn’t finished negotiating with Mab yet.

I got myself off the floor and went to find a more comfortable spot so that I could read over the papers carefully before I signed. I read through it twice, getting coffee half-way through because all the legalese was making me fall asleep. Once I was certain there weren’t any surprises or that I wasn’t being tricked into something awful like handing over my soul, or worse Castle Dresden, I signed at the spots carefully marked for my signature and initials. I kept the copies and packaged everything to mail back to Marcone and his lawyers.

Only then did the reality of my future crash down on me like a tidal wave.

Hell’s bells, this was actually happening. These were the first steps that would end with me married. To John Marcone.

Oh crap, oh crap…I just then realized I’d completely forgotten to let Molly know I wanted to change an important factor about the wedding planning: The other person who was going to show up to exchange vows.

I winced.

I mean, I may not be much involved with the planning, but the few brushes with it I’d had (mostly Molly practically tearing out her hair in frustration about venues) gave me the impression that wedding planning was a lot like preparing to go to war. It involved juggling a lot of different things from making sure equipment, food and support staff ended up in the right location, in the right numbers at the right time, all while making sure everyone showed up dressed appropriately for the occasion and ready to rumble.

That the wedding now involved Marcone instead of Lara was going to change… every single thing about it.

Oh man, oh man, I hoped she wouldn’t kill me.

*-*-*-*

Having explained everything to my friend, I came to a stop to let her process the information while also giving myself the time to drink down some of my hot coffee before it cooled.

Molly’s expression had been unreadable when I started but it had grown pensive as I talked and explained… well, everything since Mab had given me an answer to the question of who else was on the block for an alliance with Winter. She said soberly, “John Marcone…you know I would never have picked him for you, Harry, but considering the options he’s actually the best choice.”

My mug hung in mid-air as I stared at her in surprise. Never in a million years would I have expected her to say that. “Um, you think so?” I asked as I put my coffee down on the table.

“I know you don’t like to admit it but you work really well together. You both want to protect Chicago,” Molly said, nodding slowly with a thoughtful expression on her face. She tucked a long white-blonde lock of hair behind her left ear and shifted in the chair of the cafe where she’d agreed to meet me. Her half-empty hazelnut mocha latte in a white ceramic mug marked with the cafe’s logo sat before her on the table. She was wearing an ice-blue pant-suit and blazer with a purple blouse. The outfit combined with her jewelry made her look like a prestigious lawyer or power broker taking a break from a packed schedule of meetings.

Probably not that far off the mark, I realized a split second later.

I hadn’t yet told her she had dark smudges of chocolate at the corners of her mouth. I was enjoying the sight. There was something so reassuringly human in it.

“I’ve borne witness to all he’s done for Chicago in the aftermath of the battle against the Titan,” Molly said, an otherworldly timbre in her voice making it ring with subtle power. Hints of Winter gently hummed in the air around her. I tried not to shift uneasily. “Except for you, he’s done more for the people – for those who’d been hurt and desperate – than anyone else.” Molly’s blue eyes grew somber and her mouth pursed unhappily. “I don’t know how many more people would have died from looting, from starving, from the cold or from… assholes.”

...from those simply taking advantage of the situation because there were always evil bastards looking to strong-arm the weak. Or to take from those who already had so little to their name. But even those jerks knew better than to piss off Gentleman Johnny Marcone.

“Marcone kept the city together. He kept Chicago civil. He kept people alive. I respect him.” Then Molly scowled. “He’s done more than Lara has.” The low hiss in her voice at every mention of Lara’s name was the sound of an angry snake about to strike. “And he hasn’t tried to kill you either which earns him a lot of points in my book. So yeah, I think he’s a much better choice of spouse than she is.”

“I don’t want to marry him either but for Maggie’s sake –”

“He’s the best option.” Molly’s smile was small and a little wobbly around the edges but also sincere. Not in the sense she was happy about the situation but in support of my decision.

Some tense part of me, relaxed. I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been until that moment about how Molly would react to the news. She’d been upset when Mab had first declared my betrothal to Lara. I didn’t want to hurt my friend in the same way by telling her there was someone else I had decided for myself I was going to marry.

“But –” Molly continued, looking concerned. Her brow furrowed and she studied me carefully. “– how are you feeling about this? Marcone has never been your favorite person.”

Understatement of the century.

“Yeah, he isn’t anywhere near the top of the list,” I agreed. Then I admitted, “Actually, Marcone hasn’t been too bad about it. He’s not asking for anything insane.” Actually, you could argue I was the one asking for the insane. I’d been thinking a lot about the last conversation I’d had with Marcone. And while I wasn’t happy with the idea he could turn around and say no after agreeing to marry me (I fully intended to call him a runaway bride if it happened), he’d made a damned good point. Too good of a point for me to argue against it.

I understood it. It made me respect Marcone all the more to know he had another line he refused to cross, other than his known rule about children and innocent bystanders.

I rubbed at the back of my head feeling heat crawl up into my cheeks. “Um, I’ve asked him out. On a date.”

Molly’s eyebrows shot up. “What! Really? You have?” she asked, disbelief written all across her face. “Jeez, why?”

“He’s uncomfortable with the whole thing.” Her eyebrows gathered in confusion. I explained, “The whole: ‘I’m not exactly choosing to be married in the first place’ thing.” I shrugged. “I thought that maybe dating would help.” My cheeks burned and I lifted my coffee to gulp down a swallow.

Understanding crossed Molly’s face. “Ah, that makes sense. I wouldn’t be comfortable about it either,” she said. Then she frowned as she tilted her head. “You seem worried about it, though.”

I grimaced. Usually, I tried to keep it in mind that Molly was sensitive to the emotions of others. But sometimes I simply forgot. “Well… yeah.” I hunched my shoulders and muttered into my coffee. “I haven’t dated a guy before.”

Molly’s blue eyes twinkled so merrily I was strongly reminded of Michael. “I’d offer advice but all I’ve got is make-up tips, advice on how to walk in high heels and how to best show off your boobs.”

“I don’t have those,” I said, looking at her warily. She, in turn, began eyeing my chest critically and I had to resist the urge to cross my arms in front of me as a shield.

“No, but you’ve been working out,” Molly said. “You have pecs. It’s almost as good. Ooh, you could wear a shirt with a boob window.”

I could only guess at the level of appalled my face had to be showing by the intensity of her snickers. It took a few minutes for her laughter to calm down into a grin.

It was really good to see her laugh. Even if it was at my expense.

Molly frowned slightly and glanced me over from head to toe with a thoughtful expression. It made me straighten in my seat in worry. She tapped her chin as she asked, “Do you need help with clothes?”

“No!” I yelped.

“Are you sure?” Molly said, skeptically.

My current black shirt had a classical old bearded wizard in brilliant blue robes and a pointed hat looking serious and epic with green lightning running off him. He held up his staff glowing white with power as he summoned forth… a giant pizza.

Look, it spoke to my soul. I couldn’t I resist buying it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. I was a grown man, dammit. I didn’t need my friends to dress me.

“If you say so,” Molly said reluctantly, clearly not convinced.

I grumbled into my coffee. She tried to hide her smile behind her mug but it was too wide.

“When is this date with Marcone happening?”

“I’m his plus-one for the next Ministry party.”

“Hmm, I’m supposed to represent Winter this time,” Molly said. Her blue eyes narrowed. “Full warning, I’m telling him I’ll make his life hell if he doesn’t treat you right.”

I snorted at the idea of needing a defender but I also couldn’t help but grin at knowing she was in my corner. “Thanks, Molls.”

Her smile was warm and incandescent. It faded away before she added hesitantly, “You know, when you called me up I thought it was to talk about something different.”

Baffled, I raised my eyebrows at her.

Molly chewed on her lower lip. “Harry. The anniversary of the Battle of Chicago is coming up.”

I looked away and deliberately controlled my breathing. I hadn’t been thinking about it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been well aware that a year to the day of the Battle would soon be upon us. A year since so many people had died. Since Murph –

Still I felt blindsided by Molly’s reminder. Soon it would be a year since someone I’d been in love with had died before my eyes while I’d been helpless to save her.

“Ah,” I said quietly. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“After Murphy –”

“Don’t. Please, don’t,” I said, cutting her off. I breathed for a moment until I thought I could talk with an even voice. “I’m fine.”

Molly reached out and put her cool hand down on top of my own, the bracelets around her wrists singing musically. “Harry, you don’t have to talk about her but the rest… I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you for the offer, Molls.” I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not with anyone. They didn’t understand the impact the entire horrible night had had on me… and not… not just… Murph. That had gutted me, left a hole inside me I didn’t dare touch. And when it had happened, I’d already been hurting from the trauma of all the horrible things I’d seen just getting to the Bean. And then afterward, I’d suffered even more and not just from physical injuries.

The mental wounds from carrying a banner were like my burns, still hurting, red and sensitive even now. Before the night of the Battle, I’d never been connected to so many people in my mind. People who’d followed me into battle. I had felt their wounds as if they’d been my own. I’d breathed their last agonized breaths. I’d died as they had died.

Their screams still rolled deep in my chest. Sometimes they spilled out at night.

The battle had left my psyche raw and nerve endings exposed. Every death had left me feeling worse. And all this had been happening while I had also been taking the spillover bruising blows of a Titan’s psionic attacks as Ethniu had gone after the immortals on the field.

It had been too much. I had lost too much.

How did I explain to Molly, who still occasionally looked at me with the glow of hero worship in her eyes (I doubted she realized I noticed), how at one point in the battle I had simply given up? That while she had been fighting for her life – for all of Chicago – I had lost all hope. That I’d been convinced it was impossible to survive Ethniu. That I’d been ready to die without a fight.

It was simple. I couldn’t.

“I’m okay,” I said firmly.

Molly looked like she didn’t believe me but was kind enough to let the topic drop. She looked away from me as she took another sip of her hazelnut mocha. It gave me time to get a hold of myself, so I tucked my emotions into a ball and put them away deep inside where she wouldn’t be able to sense them.

“Have you told Lara you’ve dumped her for Marcone yet?” Molly asked after a moment.

Amused, I snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” I said dryly. “You’re the first one to know he’s said yes. Well, I’m pretty sure that Mab has already figured it out considering how Marcone has been negotiating the Winter part of the alliance with her.” While I hadn’t gotten the details, a little bird – or should I say several winged fairies – had told me that those two had been meeting a lot over the last few days. “Lara doesn’t know yet.”

Molly’s blue eyes gleamed with wicked glee. “Can I be the one to tell her?”

I was taken aback by her expression. Her smile was reminding me more and more of the bull sharks out in Lake Michigan. “If you want. I’d planned on visiting her next to break the news.”

Molly’s predatory smile widened. “I’ll take care of it, Harry.”

I eyed her but then decided that whatever war seemed to be brewing between my former apprentice and Lara Raith was none of my business. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of two supernatural royals deciding to duke it out.

I’d rather go hide in my castle. Maybe pull the covers of my bed over my head while I was at it.

A look of dismay suddenly crossed Molly’s face. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “I’d finally sent out the invitations.” Molly had also been dragging her feet about getting everything started. Same as I had. Heh, like wizard, like former apprentice. Molly’s expression grew determined and the chill of winter rose in the air fighting the lingering summer heat. “Don’t worry, Harry, I can fix it.”

Before I could say a word, Molly stood and strode away from the cafe table. She pulled out a cellphone and in a few seconds was urgently talking to someone on the other side of the line.

“Not only the invitations, we have to change the venue too! And the decorations. I want to get rid of all that stupid white, Auntie Lea. Yes. I know there’s barely any time. That’s why we have to start now.”

Yup, I don’t think I was needed here anymore.

I gulped down the last of my coffee before I caught Molly’s eye. I waved goodbye as I stood up from the chair. She waved back, absently. I walked away quickly before it occurred to her to press-gang me into helping set up my own wedding.

I was going to show up without arguing about it. That would have to be enough.

*-*-*-*

As I stepped out of the Munstermobile, the slight weight of what I had in my blazer pocket felt heavier than I knew it to be. I touched it lightly and then proceeded to ignore it so I wouldn’t chicken out. Instead, I gave myself a quick check over, using the meager reflection from a large display window of a nearby store front.

Molly, apparently not trusting my ability to handle getting dressed on my own, had sent along one of her faerie minions to drop off a selection of shirts, pants and blazers for me to wear, even a couple of tuxedos, suits and pairs of shoes. I would have been hesitant to accept the gift if it hadn’t been for the note: For the successful outcome of Winter’s endeavors. Which I figured had given Molly enough wiggle room not to stick me with the bill of owing her another favor. So from my new wardrobe items, I’d selected a dark gray blazer, a blue silk shirt and dark designer jeans which all fit me so well I was suspicious that they hadn’t been made by mortal means.

I admit it had been something of a relief not to have to worry about what to pick out to wear from my wardrobe. For these Ministry meeting shindigs, I’d always shown up wearing a t-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots because I didn’t care how I looked and honestly neither did Mab which was why I could get away with it (actually I think she enjoyed the idea people would be stupid enough to judge me based on appearances). A date made me a lot more nervous about my clothes than usual. And I wasn’t a fan of going clothes shopping. At my height it was a real pain in the neck to find something off the racks which fit and I liked.

I mean, who liked burning through two hours to find a pair of a pants and maybe a couple of shirts to buy? Ugh, I could’ve been using that time to read a book instead.

I fully planned on grousing to Molly about the clothes when I saw her next. I hadn’t decided yet if it would be before or after I said thank you.

I walked into the building, getting past Marcone’s cold-eyed outer security without any problem. No one took away my blasting rod, rings, or gun because these guys were watching out for Fomor assassins, not for tall wizards. Not that they needed to physically frisk me with the layers of magical shielding and protections woven around the building. Not only did you have to be a member of the Ministry to get inside, you also needed to have been personally vetted by one of the Faerie Queens. Anyone trying to sneak in with a forged invitation to this party would be turned into a statue (in ice or stone depended on which fae court was point on the magical security) before making it more than three strides past the entrance.

Childs found me practically as soon as I was inside the marble-floored lobby, and before I could say a word he was ushering me towards an elevator. The private elevator, not the public one available to the unwashed masses.

“Go to the tenth floor,” Childs said after he swiped in a card reader. It took him five tries to get it to work. I whistled innocently as he eyed me accusingly. As soon as the double-doors opened he waved me in.

He also didn’t follow.

I frowned at him but hit the button for the tenth floor anyway. I stepped out of the elevator to find three Einherjar warriors – a smiling blond, a dour brunet, and an immense redhead with an impressively large gut considering he was nearly as tall as I was – all lounging around looking casual except for the various weapons they were toting. They had the easy-going manner of friends who’d known each other for a long time.

They were familiar too. It took me a second to remember where I’d seen them last. In my defense, they’d been covered in blood and gore from various injuries and being worked on by EMTs while being safeguarded by a wall of CPD officers led by Rawlins.

Even knowing death didn’t knock Einherjar down for long it was really good to see they’d made it.

I introduced myself. After an exchange of mostly friendly greetings I was escorted by the steely-eyed brunet down a hall. I may have eyed the walls suspiciously, then ceilings and floors when paranoia bit down hard, but I didn’t see any sign of hidden mines. But then, would there be? Marcone had a lot of skilled, experienced construction workers on his payroll. There wouldn’t be clumsy patch jobs giving away his hidden traps.

After a moment, I decided that while my worried speculation was probably right on the money, it was unlikely that Marcone would chose now of all times to turn me into wizard-salsa.

We came upon an unmarked door which looked no different than several others we’d already passed. The Einherjar knocked twice, then opened it and waved me in.

Alone, I walked through the doorway, noting that there was no threshold to the place, to find myself in the entrance hall of an apartment. I walked through taking in everything. The apartment was very expensively, if sparsely, furbished in tasteful dark woods and light grays. But it was also impersonal, like an interior designer had been unleashed with an unlimited budget and allowed to do what they wanted after being given the order to keep it minimal.

I found Marcone sitting in a well-lit living room on a gray leather couch, looking at a glowing tablet. It was one of those tech toys which resembled nothing more than a piece of glass framed in a slender piece of black plastic.

They were the worst mirrors I’d ever seen.

Yes, I’m aware there’s more to those things than that. But considering what I do to technology with a computer chip, or anything with ‘smart’ as part of its name, that’s all the use I’d ever gotten out of them.

I took the moment to study Marcone because something about him was niggling at me. There was something… different about him.

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what it was. Now, Marcone was a handsome guy and he kept himself in shape. The only signs of his age were visible in the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the streaks of distinguished silver at the temples of his otherwise dark hair, but this was the first time I’d seen him wearing clothing which looked to be deliberately chosen to flaunt his looks and his body. He was still wearing a gray suit, but this one was lighter colored than his usual charcoal gray and it had thin silver pin-stripes running down it.

The suit was tighter than any suit I’d seen him wear in the past.

Although Marcone was sitting down the cut of his vest showed off the trimness of his waist to the span of his shoulders. His pants rather flatteringly emphasized the length of his legs, hinting at the strength in them. And even the corded steel muscles of his arms and chest were more outlined than I’d ever seen through the tightness of Marcone’s shirt. The silvery tie he wore didn’t detract from it at all.

The dark green material clung.

Huh. I guess I wasn’t the only one making an effort.

A moment later it hit me that I was staring like a creep.

I cleared my throat. “Hey, Marcone,” I said in greeting and warning. I stood at what I hoped was a safe distance away from his tablet.

“You’re here earlier than we discussed,” Marcone said calmly. He glanced over at me. Marcone’s eyes were cool and unreadable. The greenness of his shirt really emphasized the color of his eyes. He scanned me swiftly, from head to toe then he clearly stopped looking for a threat because it became slower… more lingering.

Appreciative.

I tried to fight off a blush but I could feel my cheeks heating.

Marcone looked away to tap gently at something on the bright tablet screen and it went dark. He put the tablet down on the couch and then stood up, turning towards me.

“Is there a reason you’ve shown up so early, Mr. Dresden?”

I took the look to mean it was safe for me to approach, while also noting the distancing ‘Mister’. Ah, probably not the best foot to start off the evening. I’d better explain myself and fast. I considered the small weight which had been burning a hole in my blazer pocket. “Yup, there’s something I want to give you first.”

Marcone’s eyebrows quirked and his head tilted. “And it couldn’t wait an additional twenty minutes?”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who pointed out there’ll be eyes on us. And the news of our engagement is bound to be spreading among the Accorded members by now so….” I shrugged.

I was now close enough to Marcone that I was able to reach out and clasp his right wrist (huh, same cologne, that hadn’t changed). Marcone watched me but he didn’t fight me as I brought his hand up, palm first. I ignored how my stomach swooped at the trust implied – last time hadn’t been a fluke after all – Marcone kept letting me manhandle him. I shoved the realization away to think about later as I reached into my blazer pocket with my free hand to pull out the item I’d worked to create since his visit to the castle.

Then I lowered the engagement ring onto Marcone’s broad palm.

I had made it out of silver, because it was the metal I knew best – could work best – other than copper. It held a single sparkling diamond. The diamond was bracketed by two small green crystals from Demonreach. I don’t have a lot of practice inserting gemstones, so instead they were held inside a block of silver using a brute force method to keep them in place. It wasn’t exactly pretty. If Marcone punched someone while wearing the ring, it would leave a deep imprint, or even tear away flesh if angled just right.

But no matter what the ring looked like there was no denying what I intended it to mean by making it for him.

Marcone stared at the blunt ring where in gleamed in his hand. The diamond looked like held a flame within it. Then he frowned slightly. “Is there magic in this?”

“Yeah. It doubles as a pass-key. It’ll get you through the wards of the castle,” I explained.

Marcone glanced up at me. “Already?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “This is premature, Dresden. The agreed terms of the partnership stated –”

I cut him off, saying, “There’s only one reason I would have tried to keep you out of the castle and you’ve know it now.” I nodded at the ring. “That’ll get you in if you need sanctuary like you asked. Well, that and this to open the door.” I dangled out a key. “I know we have a month until everything is official. But if you need it… use it.”

Marcone stared at me and I let it show on my face how seriously I meant it. He nodded slowly. “Very well, I accept.”

I watched him take the ring and slip it onto his left ring finger. I was distracted by the sight. That was my ring on Marcone’s hand. I had to swallow hard and look away. Hell’s bells, I’d known it was coming. I’d made it after all, but seeing it there was incredibly disconcerting.

I hadn’t expected it to hit me so hard but then… I’d never made anything for someone else to wear on a long-term basis. I’d never crafted jewelry for anyone but myself. Okay, yes, they’d been magical tools, but I could easily have made a bracelet without turning it into a focus or energy reservoir.

Stars, even the ring for Susan had been store bought.

“Dresden.”

I looked back at Marcone who took the offered key. It vanished into a pocket.

“Are you ready?” Marcone asked, as he picked up the suit jacket which had been resting over the arm of the couch.

“Not really, but let’s get it over with,” I said, truthfully.

Marcone didn’t look at me as he buttoned his suit jacket closed. It was also different than usual. Not as long. Tighter.

If he was managing to hide even half the number of weapons on him as I’d known him to carry in the past in that outfit I’d be impressed.

I tore my eyes away before Marcone noticed. Abruptly, I was consciously aware of how close we were standing to each other still. I backed off a couple steps to give him some personal space.

As Marcone checked and adjusted his cufflinks, he continued, “I’ve only just finished negotiating terms with your queen. So presenting a unified front is the best way to project the strength of the alliance with Winter to the other Accorded nations. Especially to those who held expectations that you would be tied to the White Court instead. To accomplish this goal I’m going to have to touch you.”

I swallowed. I managed a calm, “This is a date Marcone. I kinda expected it.”

Marcone’s eyes flickered towards me. “While that may be the case, I do not want you to be caught by surprise or feel threatened. You have a tendency to react… explosively to either. Anyway, it is polite to ask for permission, especially of a date.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you five stars on your gentleman rating,” I promised, making a cross-my-heart motion over my chest.

The corners of Marcone’s lips twitched up. “Hmm… I don’t think it’ll count if it comes by telegram.”

I snorted. And weirdly just like that I felt a lot calmer about what I was about to walk into and at whose side. Banter, it’s good for what ails ya. “What? They don’t have a 1-800 number? Then I guess you’ll miss out.”

“How terrible,” Marcone said dryly. “I guess my reputation will just have to take the hit.”

*-*-*-*

“I trust you will resist the urge to spark off another war while it is known you are my personal guest for the evening,” Marcone said, as we stepped out of the elevator and walked to the ballroom where the summit pre-party was being held.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the three Einherjar bodyguards try to stifle their grins.

“I’ve started one war. One,” I complained, rolling my eyes in exasperation. Why did this keep coming up with people? I hadn’t started a war in years. “It’s not like it’s a habit.”

“No,” Marcone said in calm agreement. “However, there is always the possibility that it’s a hobby.”

I snorted, amused at his comeback. I grinned. “I’ll let you know if I’m feeling bored.”

“Please do,” Marcone said, then as one of the Einherjar opened the double doors he put his hand at the small of my back.

Even expecting it, I nearly jumped out of my skin but I got control of myself in time so all I did was go tense. I frowned as I decided I didn’t like the message we’d be giving to the rest of the Ministry members by having him escort me into the room like this.

Marcone didn’t look at me, giving me a second to get a hold of myself before he pressed lightly on my back. But I twisted like a snake, until his hand slid off me and I caught it in my right hand. I gripped his hand in mine. He’d wanted a partnership. Then he better be ready to show it was one.

Marcone’s eyes flickered to me and I stared down at him in determination.

He nodded slightly and together we went through the doorway and into the view of all the Accorded Nation representatives in the ballroom while holding hands.

Chapter Text

The ballroom was exactly what came to mind when anyone used the word: A large room with a very high ceiling, lit up with chandeliers and with a polished hardwood floor for dancing. This one was set up with a round conference table – an expensive looking kind made out of dark wood – with high-backed chairs at intervals to hold the leaders of the Ministry delegations for when the meeting got underway. Meanwhile every member nation had a smaller table. They were scattered around the room where the delegations sat to discuss whatever they had on their minds with other members or among themselves in preparation for when the meeting went from unofficial to official. The farthest table was long and loaded with food for those wanting snacks and with no patience for the waitstaff circling around the room.

I started scanning the ballroom, looking for reactions to the sight of me walking in hand-in-hand with Baron John Marcone. The Einherjar left us to what I assumed were assigned spots to keep an eye on any developing trouble while covering Marcone’s back.

Molly, with her entourage of Winter faerie minions, didn’t even glance in my direction. She was focused, flipping through various binders piled onto her table as she handed out orders to the fae around her. To my mute horror, I saw my godmother’s shinning copper curls among the bowed heads of members of the Winter Lady’s entourage.

What the hell was Lea doing here? She never showed up to these things.

The Leanansidhe looked up from looking at a binder and smiled at me with all the smugness of a cat seeing a wounded bird. I wanted to gulp and look away but I didn’t dare, instead I arched my eyebrows. Lea’s smile didn’t became any less predatory but her golden cat-slit eyes glowed with approval. She looked back to Molly when she said something to my godmother and only then did I dare move my eyes away from the Winter delegation.

That was when I caught sight of Lara, with a couple of her sisters, sitting on what had become her favorite piece of furniture at these meetings: A couch. A leftover from last year’s peace talks which she’d really taken to. Freydis Gard sat on the floor before Lara, as she watched the room. The look Lara shot me was cold and silver-eyed but otherwise she didn’t react.

Sarissa, the Summer Lady, and Fix, the Summer Knight, both glanced in our direction. Fix looked wide-eyed at me but only for a quick moment. Sarissa raised her flute of champagne and returned to talking to Ivy’s representative. I had yet to stop finding it funny that all of Ivy’s people looked like librarians. Up to and including sweaters with patches at the elbows and eyeglasses kept in place by those loop string things.

The Archive to archives to libraries to librarians. It was funny to me, okay.

The svartalf delegation at their table nodded in acknowledgment, although it was directed more towards Marcone than at me. He nodded politely back.

Then my attention was caught by the ghouls.

The members of the LaChaise clan didn’t look happy but then they never really did unless they were face first in a pile of meat. I’d been hearing rumors they were complaining, accusing the other Ministry members of picking the juiciest Fomor targets (those with the greatest treasure caches or fewest defenses) and in turn giving the ghouls the toughest nuts to crack. They were set up the furthest away from the entrance and yet I could still hear the growls in their voices as they exchanged words. The leader of the clan was in today and Carter LaChaise looked angry.

A couple of ghouls looked in the direction of me and Marcone with ugly scowls on their faces.

Or maybe it was just their faces. Heh.

I could feel my eyes narrowing to dangerous slits and my free hand twitching with the urge to grab my blasting rod from its holster, even as I penned a mental note to keep a stricter eye on ghoul activity in Chicago. My never extinguished hatred of ghouls flared red-hot. But I knew better than to give in to my desire to burn all ghouls down to charcoal skeletons although it would be so, so satisfying. I got a grip on my temper. I didn’t want to stir up the Winter Knight mantle this early in the evening.

Dammit, but I just hated knowing they were around. The ghoul population count always went up by a significant degree whenever Carter LaChaise was in town since he practically brought his entire clan with him. And while I couldn’t prove it the number of missing persons reported to CPD (according to Paranoid Gary) also spiked up. I’d have to send a warning to the Paranet to be on the look out and keep people off the streets for the next few nights.

“Unless you want me to indulge in my hobby,” I murmured to Marcone in warning, tightening my grip on his hand. I tried not to get distracted by the weight of the ring on his finger. “Then you’ll leave me behind when you go talk to them.” I didn’t gesture. Only shooting the ghouls a sharp, humorless smile before returning my gaze to Marcone.

Marcone’s eyes flickered in acknowledgment and he gave me a slight nod. Then he directed us towards the svartalves.

*-*-*-*

Marcone left me by the food when he went to talk to LaChaise which proved all over again that the man knew me.

I happily tucked into the biggest stack of bacon-wrapped lobster tails I could pile onto a small plate, waving away the waitstaff as they offered champagne. I’d noticed before that whenever the Ministry leadership (or maybe just Marcone) was feeling particularly pleased with how the war against the Fomor was going there was a noticeable uptick in expensive sea food hors d’oeuvres.

It made me wonder if Marcone was tempted to embrace the Addams’ family credo for his own: We gladly feast on those who would subdue us.

“So, what ever happened to ‘Eeww’?” asked a low, seductive voice sounding exactly like melting chocolate tasted. It distracted me from where I was eyeing the grilled octopus on bamboo skewers as I chewed on the last of the lobster.

Well, here was someone who would probably claim that fictional family’s credo unironically.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Lara, a smile of amusement gracing her face. Unsurprisingly, she was wearing white today and also the gloves which showed up whenever I was around. Every other part of her was covered. Well, except where her gown was flowing around her with a slit beginning at her upper right thigh, showing off a long, pale leg and ending at a slender foot in a white stiletto with a silver heel.

I blinked and looked again. Oh, that was not regular footwear. That was a weapon hidden as footwear. The heel may not have had a point but it definitely had an edge. Talk about taking the stiletto name of the shoe too literally.

Lara’s eyes were actually crinkled at the corners. As if she actually found the entire situation pretty funny. She continued, “You were vocally against the idea of kissing Baron Marcone but now you’re marrying him? What changed your mind? Or his? Did he offer you some afternoon delight? Or was it the other way around?”

“Well… I found out girls have cooties, so…,” I said, giving her a careless shrug and ignoring her implications. I nodded in greeting, “Hey, Freydis.”

Freydis Gard had a badly hidden pained expression like she was wondering who she had pissed off to be forced to be here. Vadderung, probably, I would have told her if she’d asked. I was pretty sure he’d been the one to assign her to Lara in the first place.

I glanced around the room and I saw Marcone standing before the ghouls’ table, turning to look back at me. His jaw firmed and while he didn’t go so far as to arch his eyebrows in a question, there was still a slight narrowness to his pale green eyes which conveyed the exact same thing. I gave a slight shake of my head, keeping my eyes locked on Marcone’s own before I lowered my gaze back to Lara.

“Freydis,” Lara said. Her red-headed Valkyrie bodyguard shifted her body, hiding her hands before snapping a wooden tile. At once, I could feel the familiar surge of magic in the air around us as the rune tile released its spell. Ah, I knew this particular bit of magic. It was the one which would make our conversation sound like pointless small talk to anyone eavesdropping. And considering the uptick in attention I could feel focusing on us, that was probably everyone in the room.

“You could have given me more warning,” Lara said still smiling, but there was a bite to her voice and her gray eyes were paler than usual.

“Didn’t the Winter Lady talk to you?” I asked, plastering a fake friendly expression on my face. Her expression made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“She came by the house early this morning,” Lara said, her tone sour. From her tone it didn’t sound like it had been a pleasant visit.

By the skin of my teeth I was able to keep my surprise off my face. Why had Molly waited… ah. “Marcone hadn’t finished his negotiations with the Winter Court until recently,” I said carefully, still smiling. Of course, Molly wouldn’t say the Marcone-Winter alliance was going through until the terms had been finalized to Mab’s satisfaction. “So there wasn’t much lead time to warn you. Anyway, you’ve been trying to find a way to get my boss to change her mind about the betrothal for months,” I continued. “You can’t tell me you’re angry to be out of it now.”

“Yes, I’m… delighted by the outcome. However, if I’d known ahead of time I would have had an appropriate explanation in place for when the news reached the rest of my court,” Lara said. “Now they are trying to strong arm my staff to find out what I knew. If I’d known you were going to the Baron. And if I did, why I would have let it happen. I’m going to be facing questions. And repercussions if I don’t have the right answers.” Lara’s smile was still on her face even as she hissed out angrily, “I will retaliate if I need to, Dresden.”

Against me? Or against Marcone? Both of us? No matter what it was I had to nip this in the bud.

Smiling, I nodded. Both in agreement and to keep up the charade for anyone keeping an eye on us. “Or you could spin it another way,” I said, as I reached for the skewered octopus and took a bite, mentally imagining it was kraken. It made the tasty lemony mouthful even more satisfying. Hmm… tastes like chicken.

“What kind of way?” Lara asked warily. And still smiling although her eyes were chilly.

I turned so that my face was away from the room, allowing me to drop the stupid smile from my face before my cheeks started hurting. I picked up more food from the table, skirting around the fried frog legs because I was not that culinarily brave. But, damn, if they didn’t smell good too.

I said, “You can’t tell me everyone in the White Court was looking forward to seeing me married into your family. Not with how much trouble I bring with me. Not with my reputation.”

Lara nodded in a friendly way.

“So tell them you’ve been working on getting me to go to Marcone for all these months. You’ve never invited me to the mansion. You’ve never brought me to any kind of shindig as your date, so you clearly never intended for the marriage to go through at all. Tell them it was your idea to get rid of a ticking timebomb in the middle of your court. That it took time because you were just trying to do it in the most delicate manner you could to not upset my boss or me. After all, I’m dangerous. Look at what I’ve done to the White Council after being a member for a couple of decades. They’ll be recovering for generations. What will I do to the White Court if I’m among you? I mean, I already destroyed the Deeps and back then I was only visiting. It’s better for the White Court to let me be Marcone’s headache to deal with.”

I checked to see how she was taking my words. Lara’s expression was stunned and her red lips were parted as she stared up at me.

“Tell them that was your plan all along. You didn’t dare let them know in case it somehow got back to Marcone before everything was ready. Tell your people you tossed me like a hot potato at him and he was the one who didn’t think and caught me. Whose to say what havoc I will wreak? I anger people all the time. Who knows how many enemies will I bring down on the Baron’s head?” I casually ate more of the pseudo-kraken on a stick (part of my mind couldn’t help but worriedly echo my own words: What enemies indeed). After swallowing, I added, “Now all your people have to do is sit back and wait to see what happens. It’s a win-win for the White Court.”

I fully turned back to Lara with a friendly expression on my face.

“You are getting smarter about all this, aren’t you?” she murmured, looking thoughtful at my words.

I cocked my head to the side. “Who, me? Nope. No way, I’m only a brainless thug whose only skill is smashing things or burning them down. Ask anybody.”

A low amused snort escaped from Freydis.

Lara sighed, the anger in her drained away and her eyes darkened into the usual gray which wasn’t as worrying. She said, “Well, I’m looking forward to one thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked warily.

The last of the coldness finally seeped away from Lara. Mirth, instead of anger, was making her eyes shine and her lips curl up. “That all the unresolved sexual tension and eye-fucking will finally calm down. Seeing you two go at it always makes me so damned hungry.”

I nearly choked on my octopus. I had to cough hard and thump my chest.

“What?” I croaked out once I could finally breathe. “No. There’s no… no that.” I couldn’t even say it. Eye-fucking? What the hell.

The incredulous expressions on both women’s faces were alarming.

“You’re kidding, right? I haven’t even been around you two that long and I can see how often the Baron stares at you. And how you stare right back at him,” said Freydis, giving me a look like I was dropping in her rating system for being an idiot.

Dammit, I liked being a six on the Freydis Scale. Hey, getting that number from a Valkyrie who preferred to sleep with women was like scoring a ten from anyone else.

I scowled, darkly. “I do not.”

That was when Marcone practically materialized next to me like he’d teleported. I tried not to jerk in surprise. The faint sense of rune magic around us popped like a balloon. Marcone shot me a quick, evaluating glance before he pressed his left hand against my back. I fought off an alarmed twitch. He turned to Lara, saying calmly, “Ms. Raith, forgive me for stealing away Mr. Dresden, but the meeting is about to start soon.”

“Of course. But first, Baron Marcone…,” Lara said smiling politely. Her smile shifted into something more seductive and hungry as she took in how Marcone looked in his suit. She wasn’t subtle, as she scanned him from head to toe and back up again. Her paling eyes betrayed her hunger. Lara didn’t go so far as to lick her lips or try to throw her succubus mojo at either of us. Not that she would, considering how it would be seen as an attack while she was under guest right, but I got the impression that she really, really wanted to.

I was reminded of how Thomas had once said that the only other man to turn her down recently – other than yours truly – had been John Marcone.

I frowned at her and shifted so that I had Marcone’s hand back in my grip.

I could see the moment Lara caught sight of the ring on Marcone’s left hand because her expression grew closed for a split second. When she smiled again her expression had none of the heat from before and her face was stiff with some hidden emotion. Not by much. The difference may not even have been noticeable to those who didn’t know her well, but it was there in the tight muscles at the corners of her eyes. Whether it was anger, hurt or something else, I couldn’t tell.

Marcone gave no indication he’d seen it but I’d bet my bottom dollar that he had.

“I wish to extend to you my congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. I do believe you two deserve each other,” Lara continued. Her eyes flickered to me. Her smile grew more genuine and downright wicked, as she said to Marcone, “I know an artisan who can build these gorgeous handcuffs which can survive against super-human strength and are fairly magic resistant. Or would you prefer a gag? Both? I’m asking so I know which wedding gifts you’d enjoy, Baron.”

This time I choked on air.

“I appreciate the thought,” Marcone said calmly, not even a flicker of reaction crossing his face. “But I hardly find such accoutrements necessary, Ms. Raith. And on the question of gifts, I do believe the Winter Lady is the one who has put together a wedding registry if you wish to discuss it with her.”

The delight dimmed from Lara’s face and she shot Marcone a narrow-eyed look.

Marcone’s small smile was utterly lacking in humor.

Almost involuntarily I glanced over to the Winter contingent and noted to my relief my godmother and the stack of wedding planning binders had vanished, leaving Molly to do her Winter Lady thing without being distracted by her appointed role as wedding planner.

As my eyes returned to watching Marcone then Lara and back to Marcone, I was reminded of how both of them had spent several years maneuvering against each other. Clashing and fighting and who-knew-what. Unless one of them was taken down they would continue to be at odds for many years into the future (Lara didn’t even know how potentially long that time may be with Marcone’s coin-buddy extending his life) as they struggled to increase their influence in Chicago and erode at the other’s power base at the same time.

Have I mentioned lately how I really, really hate politics? Or to be more specific, getting caught in the middle of power struggles?

But I also knew whose lot I’d thrown in with.

“I’m sure Molly would love to go over it with you,” I said to Lara, before I let Marcone draw us away toward the conference table.

Now, Marcone never came to these meetings with support staff unlike the other Ministry powers. I figured it was simply because he did the majority of his prep work beforehand. And on the rare occasion he needed anything else he could send one of his people to go grab it for him, and it wasn’t like they had far to go considering it was his building. Therefore because he didn’t need it, he didn’t have that extra smaller table for his minions. Instead, there was a single heavy high-backed wooden chair in place of the table. It was the sort of chair which always gave the impression of only needing to be adorned with gold leaf to be considered a throne.

We headed for it. Molly stepped away from the Summer contingent with a respectful nod to Sarissa and Fix who returned the gesture, before she joined us. Molly made it look casual and smooth, as if she fell into step next to Marcone all the time. Like it was entirely a coincidence that the Winter Lady happened to be heading in the same direction (since the Winter Court was on the right of Marcone’s throne-chair).

“I need to have a word with you, Baron Marcone,” Molly said quietly. The sense of Winter chill in the air coupled with the odd feeling of having cotton balls in my ears led me to think she was muffling the conversation from the rest of the room with a subtle veil.

Marcone’s glance toward her was sharp and assessing. Marcone’s voice was low as he said coolly, “Winter Lady, if you intended to impart some sort of warning regarding how I will suffer retribution if my treatment of your Knight is anything less than honorable, you should be aware your father has already delivered it. Succinctly.”

My jaw dropped.

Molly’s eyes went huge for a split-second before she regained control of her expression. “What?” she whispered in disbelief.

“Your father,” Marcone explained, watching Molly with a neutral expression, “requested to meet with me yesterday. Privately. He delivered an impressively professional threat should I bring harm upon Mr. Dresden during the course of our new… partnership.”

Damn it. I’d told Michael about everything, but if I’d known he’d go to Marcone to threaten the man…. Okay, I still would have brought him up to date, but I sure as hell would have talked him out of going to Marcone. Who, in case Michael had forgotten, had a freaking Fallen angel in his head!

Holy shit. It wasn’t like the angel security detail traveled with Michael wherever he went.

Both Molly and I must have still looked pretty bug-eyed, because the corners of Marcone’s lips twitched up.

“Why did you meet with him in the first place?” I asked. Did Namshiel throw a fit at being so close to a former Knight?

Okay, now I kinda wished I’d seen that.

Marcone’s hint of humor faded away as he looked up into my eyes with a serious expression.

“Because I owe Mr. Carpenter a great debt, Dresden,” Marcone explained solemnly. Molly was staring at him, frowning thoughtfully. “And it is one in which granting a meeting spanning barely over a handful of minutes is hardly enough to begin to redress.”

Oh. I hadn’t realized that Marcone would look at Michael and the permanent damage from the injuries he’d suffered in the mission to rescue Marcone all those years ago and acknowledge he owed him. Owed him a lot. Marcone could have ignored it. I was the one who had brought Michael to the island. It would have been easy… hell, even expected, for Marcone to refuse to acknowledge there was any sort of debt, after all it wasn’t like he’d been the one to ask Michael for help.

I hadn’t expected Marcone to think he owed Michael… anything. Huh, that was something I would need to think about.

“Although, regretfully I did have to turn down his invitation to Sunday dinner,” Marcone continued blandly.

This time Molly made a choking noise.

And me? I marveled at the mental image that conjured.

I bet Namshiel just loved that idea. An invitation to go to the Carpenter home and be outnumbered and surrounded by militant angel bodyguards. Heh. He’d be like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

“He’s a good man,” I said quietly. Not for the first time, I felt that warm swell of bottomless gratitude for whatever lucky set of circumstances had brought Michael – all the Carpenters – into my life. Michael was a rare breed indeed and not just because he was someone who could look at what I was, what I’d become, and not only see the good but also apparently go out and deliver a shovel talk on my behalf. And then have the guts to turn around and invite the very man he’d threatened, Gentleman John Marcone – kingpin of Chicago and someone he knew had a Fallen angel in his head – over to dinner.

“Yes,” agreed Marcone, and then he tilted his head and glanced from me to a new chair in a silent indication of where I should sit. When he’d gestured at his goons it had been a signal to have another one of those high-backed chairs brought out. Although this one was not deposited before the conference table, it had been set exactly between Marcone’s chair and Winter’s chair, at about four feet from the table’s edge. Close enough to show I wasn’t some minion of either, but far enough away that it was also clear I wasn’t an independent Accorded power.

Huh.

However, all I did was arch my eyebrows and stubbornly remain on my feet. Marcone’s pale green eyes glittered with a shade more amusement. Then he nodded to Molly, before dropping my hand and walking off.

Molly stood next to me for a moment, watching Marcone take his seat at the conference table. That set off some signal to the rest of the Accorded nations, who started to move to their chairs.

Molly shook her head slightly. “I can’t believe Dad stole my thunder.”

I grinned down at her. “Well, we know he wields Mjölnir.”

Molly smiled back at our inside joke. She hummed thoughtfully, glancing at Marcone, “Damn. Now, I do kind of want him to show up for dinner one of these days.”

“What the hell for?” I asked, eyeing her in disbelief.

“Because Dad kinda sucks at handing out threats. Mom… on the other hand? She can really scare the hell out of people, sometimes with just a look,” Molly said in satisfaction. “Especially when she’s being protective over family.”

I blinked at her. I opened my mouth to protest my inclusion in the Carpenter Clan but the sharp look Molly shot me made me think better of it. I shut my mouth. Then I glanced over at Marcone and tried to image any set of circumstances that would involve Charity Carpenter being in the same room as Marcone.

“Hasn’t Chicago suffered enough damage?” I asked mournfully, as cold sweat prickled along my back.

Molly snorted, then abandoned me to take up her duties as the youngest Winter Queen.

I sank into my chair and mentally fortified myself to pay attention to the next couple of hours of the war effort against the Fomor.

Chapter Text

I followed Marcone back into his upstairs apartment… well, in the sense that he owned it and it was an apartment. I expected the man lived in it with the same permanence that I’d give a hotel room I paid for the night. It would explain the utter lack of threshold. But considering he owned the building which was layered with magical protections while also being guarded by armed security personnel with more firepower than some human nations, I could see why its lack wasn’t something he was too worried about.

The Ministry summit-parties never lasted too long. About two hours on average, with the longest I’d had to suffer through being around four hours, when some intense arguing had taken place about the benefits of attacking a newly discovered Fomor fortress full of soldiers and treasure, and then who would be the one to do it and reap the rewards. This evening had lasted a merciless three hours since people kept wanting to talk before they made their excuses and left. Marcone’s alliance with the Winter Court and my upcoming marriage to him had been the main topic of interest.

I’d gotten stuck in many, many conversations about it.

Yes, it was true. No, it wasn’t a weird joke I was pulling. Yes, I was aware I was scowling, this is how I glow with happiness, okay. Grrr.

I may have started getting tetchy after an hour of it. Fortunately by then the summit had started breaking up.

The three Einherjar left us at the hall as Marcone opened the door to the apartment.

The delicious smell of cooked meat wafted to my nose and my stomach growled to complain, letting me know I hadn’t fed it nearly enough food this evening and I’d better fix that. Right now, dammit.

“Will you be joining me for dinner, after all?” Marcone asked. At my lack of immediate answer to his question, Marcone turned to arch an eyebrow at me.

A part of me wanted to tell him no. I was tired and I wanted to go home. Even knowing most of the people at the summit, parties ran counter to my homebody instincts and I was mentally exhausted. Another part of me was salivating over the smell of food and had punched me in the taste buds to get my attention.

My stomach growled again. My nose chimed in a vote. My mouth was watering.

Well, I knew when I was outvoted. Anyway, there was supposed to be a point to this evening other than posturing for the supernatural community. I should put in some work on my campaign to convince Marcone not to back out of our betrothal.

Okay, thinking that was still weird even after having spent a good chunk of time talking about it with other people.

“Sure, I’ll stick around,” I said.

Marcone nodded and led the way into the apartment. Someone had stopped by after we’d left and set up several lit tapered candles in silver candle holders scattered throughout the apartment. There were even a few intricate candelabras resting at places where more light would be needed.

The smell of food grew heavier in the air as we got closer to the dining room. Marcone undid the buttons of his suit jacket and shrugged out of it before slinging it over the back of the gray leather couch with his left hand as he passed. The candlelight of the apartment caught on the ring.

Goddammit, it was still distracting to see my ring on Marcone’s finger.

“Leaving candles unattended is a fire hazard,” I pointed out.

“I hardly consider it any more hazardous than having you in the same building, Dresden,” Marcone said at once, which made me snort in appreciation.

I hadn’t burned down anything in years, but I would admit to feeling smug that Marcone still judged me to be… well, a danger to his insurance rates, as he’d long ago put it.

Marcone glanced at me as if he could read my thoughts, and he smiled slightly before he gestured for me to proceed him into the dinning room.

*-*-*-*

Dinner was… difficult.

It was strange to realize I’d felt more comfortable walking into the Ministry summit holding Marcone’s hand, or hell, simply fighting at his side against monsters than I did just sitting across from him at his dinner table and eating his food while trying to stay civil.

Especially when there was no one else around to be a distracting buffer.

It was just… sitting down to eat a meal together. Breaking bread. There was a reason that those actions resonated with us. Why it was one of the oldest ways used to ease tensions. It was a universal point of commonality in humanity. People bonded over food. It was the times of day people talked to each other. It fostered connection. Intimacy.

Stars, the very idea of intimacy with Marcone… yeah, it was tripping me up.

Sure, I was the one to push for this date but the very idea of having a conversation with him – of all people – was tough.

I was floundering.

I mean, what did Marcone and I have to talk about? I was hardly going to ask him: Hey, murder anybody I know recently? How’s the corruption of the city’s soul going? Have you bought any useful politicians lately? The force of evil in your head, how’s that going for you?

Yeah, right.

Neither was I going to ask Marcone how his so-called business was doing. I knew too much as it was and all it did was make me angry. Yes, I hated the fact that Marcone was a criminal. And it drove me absolutely nuts to know nothing I said or did would ever change that, so I had to ignore it. Anyway, I suspected it would really hurt my chances of convincing Marcone to go through with the wedding if I stormed off while spouting threats. And getting him to agree to another date would probably also be dead in the water. So yeah, that was another topic of conversation stamped with a large red NO, with an additional note of ‘Don’t even think about it, dummy.’

I gulped down more of the red wine which had come with the meal while trying to decide if I really wanted another glass. Regretfully, I made myself stick to what was left in it.

Hell, there were just too many conversational landmines. I wasn’t looking to blow-up the evening. At least, not on purpose.

Argh.

Now, I’d had first dates that were a helluva lot more… disastrous. Trust me, you have a demon show up to kill you during your first date with someone you really like. Ending up dragging her into a situation where she risks being murdered too, and it quickly sets a high-bar mark to clear for freaking awful. But this dinner date with Marcone was a new level of uncomfortable. And it wasn’t the whole ‘I’m dating another man for the first time’ angle, which was something I hoped Marcone hadn’t noticed.

Maybe the main problem Marcone and I had was that we knew each other too well. And yet at the same time we also didn’t trust each other well enough to be truly relaxed in each other’s presence.

I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. That was the only thing which kept me in my seat at Marcone’s dinning room table. Marcone’s composure was calm and collected as always but the way his pale green eyes were steely as he watched me sitting across from him betrayed him.

Look, you have to know how to read Marcone’s subtle tells. And when he looked more alert for danger than usual happened to be one of his. He was as uncomfortable as I was.

This evening was going great. If it was meant to be a showcase on how not to do it.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I had to drive back home I’d be asking for more wine right now. Hell, maybe I’d be guzzling down the entire bottle. I had to keep reminding myself this evening wasn’t the worst date with someone I’d ever had. It wasn’t much help.

After finishing my plate, I got to work on seconds when Marcone decided to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence. He put down his fork. He watched me eating for a moment, as if considering some important words. It made me wary and I swallowed down my mouthful of steak.

Then Marcone said slowly, “So the Cubs –”

“Really, Marcone? Sports?” I shot him an incredulous look.

“Well, I could discuss the weather, if you’d prefer,” Marcone said, a shade of amusement in his pale green eyes. He swallowed down a sip of his wine and arched his eyebrows.

I snorted. “There’s only so many ways to describe Chicago summer and that’s as hot, humid, I’m-melting-I’m-melting and oh-god-why-please-make-it-stop. But sure, hit me with the sports talk. Although keep in mind I haven’t had much free time to keep up these days.” Or any free time at all.

“The Cubs after performing extraordinarily well in their first few games this season have returned to their usual level of performance since they won the World Series,” said Marcone, after a moment.

Ooh, Marcone had to bring up the only sore point I had on the subject of baseball. Trust him to find it.

I glowered down at my food.

“I still can’t believe I missed that,” I grumbled. I stabbed at my steak, not even a little disappointed that the meat didn’t make a satisfying thunk sound. The filet mignon was so soft the tines of the fork parted it like a knife. It was too damned good. “What kinda Chicagoan am I? I missed seeing the Cubs winning the World Series!”

“Dresden, you were dead at the time,” Marcone pointed out, dryly.

“I was only mostly dead,” I said, waving my left hand dismissively. “It’s not a good enough excuse for missing getting to see the ‘curse of the billy goat’ finally broken.”

“Considering the average wizard’s lifespan goes into several hundred years, it is entirely likely they will win at least a couple of times in your lifetime.” Marcone paused and seemed to consider his words. “Or at the very least once more. Possibly.”

“Ha,” I said doubtfully, although the curse was well and truly gone now and unlikely to ever be reinstated considering the originator had been one of Ethniu’s victims, I wasn’t sure I trusted the Cubs that much. Okay, yes, I cheered for them. And would happily go to their games (I hoped to take Maggie one day, when being among so many people wouldn’t give her a panic attack), but that didn’t mean I expected them to get to another world series anytime soon, much less win. “Knowing my luck, I’ll miss it even then.”

Marcone’s smile was small but it faded away after a moment. The feel of his pale green eyes on me was heavy. “Well, if you do not want to remain on the topic of sports and your own misfortunes… the conversation you were having with Ms. Raith…,” Marcone stated. “What did you discuss?”

I narrowed my eyes as I realized the entire baseball conversation had been a feint. A way to distract me, getting me to relax enough so Marcone could hit me with the actual question he wanted answered.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “You know, you could have just asked from the get-go if you wanted to know.”

And before Marcone could do more than go blank, I told him everything… well, almost everything. I don’t know what Lara was hoping to gain with her continual insistence that there was something going on – that there had been… tension for a while – between me and Marcone but I was keeping it to myself until I could figure it out.

Marcone listened quietly. When I finished explaining the idea I was hoping Lara would run with, he stared at me with a stony expression which made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I straightened up in my chair. Under his opaque expression, I could see the wheels of thought spinning.

With our history, of course, Marcone would be wondering if anything I’d told Lara was true.

“Before you get paranoid about it,” I said, frowning at him. “I shamelessly stole your ideas. Figured if you’d thought them up it was bound to occur to someone in the White Court too.” I stabbed at the honey glazed carrots on my plate.

Marcone nodded slowly but without relaxing. “I’m more surprised you bothered at all, Mr. Dresden. Nothing in the agreement between us or in the alliance with Winter requires you to be so proactive in defense of my interests before everything is finalized.”

I paused with the forkful halfway up to my mouth and I stared back at him. I put my uneaten forkful down on my plate. My eyes dropped to the ring on his left hand before I locked my eyes with Marcone again. “I thought I had already made it clear what I wanted, Marcone.” I gestured toward his hand. “You’re wearing the proof I’ve decided to stand in your corner. I agreed to a partnership of twenty-five years, remember? Do you need me to shout it from the rooftops?” I asked. I leaned forward and I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I know a great spell to amplify sound. I bet I can get coverage of a pretty good chunk of downtown Chicago.” It would be a moment’s work to retool my joke gift for Butters into something loud enough for it to be heard for a couple of miles in every direction.

“That’s really not necessary, Dresden,” Marcone said calmly. “Although if it will please you, I will hardly stop you.” Marcone’s head tilted to the side. “I’m curious as to exactly what you would say.”

Dammit, it wouldn’t be as much fun if he didn’t hate the idea. I settled back in my seat and picked up my fork again.

“Guess it’ll just have to remain a mystery,” I groused.

The slight smile on Marcone’s lips made me grumble louder.

The mood for the rest of the dinner wasn’t as awkward as it had been for the beginning of it. Although considering the tension had been twanging in the air until I could practically hear it, the slight relaxation wasn’t what I would call comfortable either.

I pushed away my plate feeling pleasantly full and regretfully deciding thirds were out of the question.

“Would you like something to drink?” Marcone offered, as he stood up from the table. He slipped his cufflinks off and rolled back the sleeves of his green button-down shirt until his forearms were bared.

I blinked at the sight a couple of times before I focused on his question.

“No more alcohol,” I said, as I stood up and followed him. “I can’t stick around too long, I’ve got a babysitter who needs to get back home. I’ll take a coffee if you have some.”

Marcone nodded and he vanished silently through another door which I suspected led towards the kitchen. Or whatever passed for a kitchen in this place. I was struck with a powerful wave of curiosity. Was Marcone the kind of man who bothered to cook for himself? Did he even know how?

The idea didn’t fit at all with the mental image I had of him.

That was when I was slapped with the realization of how little I actually knew about Marcone. Yeah, I’d seen his soul. I knew how he worked. I knew the depths of his ruthlessness and what drove him. But that information of ‘who’ Marcone was as a person hardly came with the fine details which filled in the outlines. Which made someone… alive.

How often did I simply stick the label of monster – predator – on him, even knowing there was more to him than that? Even with Mab, someone I’d once dismissed as evil, I’d learned she was far more complicated than such a simple label warranted. For all her darkness and inhumanity, she was a defender. She fought for our reality.

Marcone… was hardly any different. He had proved it in his defense of Chicago. He was human, and in many ways far more complex. He could grow. Change in ways someone as powerful and immortal as a faerie queen simply couldn’t. It was humbling to acknowledge I had my own set of prejudices against the man which I needed to work on if my plan to not end up married to Lara was going to work.

Marcone apparently liked the Cubs. Maybe, I couldn’t be certain. For all I knew he was using the team to make small talk. There was a lot I simply didn’t know. Hell, I’d never asked. Although, considering our usual dynamic he probably would never have bothered to answer.

I should ask.

I wondered what he would be willing to share.

The burr growling of a coffee grinder hard at work made me jump. I followed Marcone into his kitchen. I stalled at the door, hesitant to take another step closer when I saw the sheer number of appliances dotting the countertop.

Okay, a handful wasn’t too many, but it sure looked that way with the way they dominated the space. They were made out of stainless steel and with more buttons than a space rocket. I’d probably break them if I so much as sneezed in their direction. I admit, I enjoyed the idea and would happily do it in a heartbeat – I may never get over the fun of breaking Marcone’s stuff – but I did want a cup of coffee before I left.

The bitter, dark smell of coffee was already beginning to waft through the air.

Marcone finished grinding the coffee beans and was spooning the grounds into a reusable filter for a drip coffee maker. That was when I noticed that in the few seconds he’d been out of sight, Marcone had removed his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt.

The candlelight made the hollows of his collarbones and what little was visible of his chest really stand out. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to check for Namshiel’s silver chain. But I didn’t see it.

I wondered to myself at how much wine I’d had to drink. I would swear it hadn’t been more than the one glass.

I really needed some coffee.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched Marcone prep the coffee machine with water filtered from the fridge. He moved… gracefully. That was the only way to describe it. Like he’d gone through these motions a thousand times and didn’t need to think through what came next. It was just done.

I tried to picture a young John Marcone holding down a job as a barista and my brain threatened to revolt. No. No way, maybe I could believe it if he was undercover in a cafe so he could assassinate his target. Yeah, that made a lot more sense. There was still an aura of danger around him. Like he could just as easily spin to grab a carving knife from the knife block as he could reach for the sugar bowl.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Marcone asked, “How do you take your coffee, Dresden?”

“What, you don’t have a folder on me with a bunch of details about my life, Marcone?” I asked, only half-joking. Then I winced. Because I didn’t actually want to know if it turned out to be the case. Talk about creeping me out.

Marcone’s smile was utterly shark-like – spooking me – for a moment before it softened into something more amused than predatory. “Ah, I’m afraid those little details have escaped the notice of my agents.”

I squinted at him, feeling more than a little worried about the ease with which he referred to having agents. It made it seem like he was running some secret government department which needed undercover agents and who knew what else, instead of a criminal empire suspected to have connections throughout North America. And even further out, I always thought.

“Well, Nick Fury, maybe you should think about getting better agents,” I said. Okay, it was disturbing how well I could see the job fitting him. It was weirdly plausible when I remembered all the shady stuff pinned on the CIA in the past. But Marcone’s contempt for the federal and state governments had grown rather obvious in past Ministry meetings – well, at least to me – especially with their failure to help Chicago’s residents. Their slowness had cost lives.

The hiss of brewing coffee – the ambrosia of the gods – sounded in my ear making the delicious scent even stronger in the air as the first hissing drops of coffee started filling the pot and thoroughly knocked my thoughts in other directions.

I straightened from my slouch. “Sugar,” I finally answered. “I like my coffee sweet. With a splash of creamer if you have it.”

Marcone nodded.

I kept watching him move about his kitchen and pull out unadorned white coffee mugs from their cupboard. Of course, he wouldn’t have anything with personality in his kitchen. Still, I had never in my life seen Marcone being so domestic. Ever. It was blowing my mind.

It was a reminder of what I’d been thinking before. Of how little I knew of him.

I frowned thoughtfully. I said, “You told me once that your parents didn’t leave you much. Certainly no inherited silver you could have used against a loup-garou.”

Marcone stilled and turned enough to look at me, his expression back to being unreadable and his pale green eyes seeming darker in the dimly lit kitchen. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Is this leading somewhere in particular, Mr. Dresden?”

I considered him. Thought about the kind of questions I wanted to ask. About the answers I wanted. Even if he didn’t respond it would tell me something. But it struck me that this could quickly become a sharing session and I didn’t feel like answering anything he could ask me in turn. I’d already agreed he could learn my secrets. But it sure as hell wasn’t going to be right now, dammit. So I side-stepped. “Yeah,” I said, slowly. “I realized how little I actually know about your past. Did you grow up in Chicago?”

Marcone was too controlled to let his body relax in relief or something so obvious, but the smooth way he started moving again was a pretty strong indicator of how uncomfortable he had been at having me bring up his parents.

“Yes. In a rather impoverished neighborhood which ended up garnering the wrong sort of interest for its survival,” Marcone admitted quietly. “Not in the sense of being stricken with violence. But rather, it was a location which proved to be too valuable and drew the attention of those who sought to… profit. It fell into ruin because of powerful people who brought pressure to bear to deprive it of resources. Then it fell prey to violence. And there was no one in power who cared enough to do anything about it. So the people who had lived there for decades were powerless and driven out.”

Fascinated, I cocked my head.

“In the end I learned a valuable lesson,” Marcone said blandly. He could almost fool you into thinking this topic wasn’t touching him at a deeper level if it wasn’t for the tight way his hand was gripping the handle of the coffee carafe as he poured the steaming fluid out into the mugs. “You can work yourself to death to keep what you have but if you don’t have any power than everything can be taken from you in a heartbeat.”

There was so much unsaid history in that statement I was tempted to ask more questions. But something in the way that Marcone glanced at me told me that he wasn’t going to share.

It was stunning that he had said anything at all.

Gentleman John Marcone was notorious for having a past so shrouded in mystery that no one in the CPD had ever been able to find anyone willing to admit that they’d grown up with him. Or that they’d known him at all before he was a lieutenant for the Vargassi family.

“Everyone has power,” I said quietly. “We can make choices. You know that too.”

“Hmm, powerless was a poor choice of words. Maybe, too much faith that a system which was turned against them would eventually work in their behalf. Unaware that it was never made for their benefit in the first place.”

I flinched because those words struck at a sore spot I hadn’t expected. Made me think of how I’d ended up in the foster system and then in the hands of my first magical teacher… made me think of how the White Council had nearly beheaded me for breaking the laws of magic, simply for having defended myself against him. But I also hadn’t made it out of those situations alone either. “That’s rather pessimistic, and not exactly complete is it? People have power when they stand together. When they’re willing to help each other,” I said. I locked my eyes with him. “You know that too. You’ve seen it.”

Marcone opened a hand as if he was giving in to my argument, but I noted he didn’t actually say he agreed.

I continued, “I’m surprised. It’s not like you haven’t used the system for your own benefit.”

“Once I figured out my way in,” Marcone murmured. He dropped a large spoonful of sugar from a ceramic container into one mug, stirring it before adding creamer to both cups. He came around to where I was standing and handed me my soulless plain mug.

I sipped my sweet coffee and eyed Marcone. He slipped by me. That prickling awareness of his body heat shivered through me and I clutched my hot coffee in both hands. I followed after him as he walked to the living room. “I get the impression you could have gone anywhere, done anything, so why did you stay in Chicago?”

“Because I know this city from its gutters to its penthouses, from its worse slums to its most opulent mansions, I know its best face and its worst,” said Marcone simply, as he sat on his couch. I watched him slip off his expensive Italian leather shoes, using his feet to get them off. Marcone flexed his dark socked feet against the wooden floor only once. “And Chicago is home.”

That hit me hard.

“Yeah, it is,” I said hoarsely. I sat on the couch too, leaving space between us. I swallowed down another gulp of my delicious coffee to give myself something to do.

I may not have grown up in Chicago. But it was home to me too. It had sank itself deeply into my bones. Even if I managed to live the full span of my wizardly life (something that often looked unlikely with all the trouble which came my way all the damned time) I couldn’t image living anywhere else.

With my mother’s Ways stone I could have chosen to take Maggie anywhere in the world. I could have used the map and gone somewhere I could hide her while still fulfilling my duties to Mab and being the dad who came home to her. But the thought of leaving Chicago had been unthinkable. The city would have to end up a glowing radioactive crater for me to pick up and go.

Marcone and I exchanged looks of perfect understanding and just like that the silence between us shifted into something a lot more comfortable than it had been during dinner. It was a moment of understanding which went deeper than our past antagonism, or any words of threats we’d lobbed against each other.

One of the few things we agreed on completely, and had agreed on for years, was on the need to protect Chicago.

Which was, of course, why I had to open up my mouth and ruin it. “When are you free to meet again?”

“You want to schedule another evening together?” Marcone asked skeptically.

“Hey, I didn’t set your building on fire, I’d call tonight a success,” I pointed out. “A second date isn’t that crazy of an idea.”

Marcone huffed in brief amusement but his expression turned serious. “Is it even something you truly want, or are you simply going through the motions?” he asked, turning to study me intently. “If your previous dating history is any indication, your preferences seem to run towards women and Raiths.”

I blinked at him.

Oh, shit. Of course, Marcone would have heard the rumors about me and Thomas which had gone around a few years ago. Practically the first ones who’d heard them and then spread them around had been the Chicago Police Department (SI alone had had a field day, hell, a field month and hadn’t stopped teasing me for over a year), and Marcone was suspected of owning entire stations of CPD officers. There was no way he hadn’t heard the gossip of me dating another man at some point.

Stars and stones, it explained why he was willing to give dating me a try even after his declaration on how he felt about the subject of me having no choice in getting married. He thought there was a chance that I could want him back all on my own.

Okay, I decided at once, confessing to Marcone those rumors were nothing but lies wasn’t happening. I had kept up the act as a cover to keep people from digging into my relationship with Thomas and learning we were brothers; it had been the only way I could think up to protect Thomas from the White Council while excusing the fact we stayed in each other’s life.

Letting Marcone in on that particular secret dropped to the rock bottom of my To Do list.

Hell’s bells, I had a perfectly good reason to keep it to myself. With Marcone being so fervent about the whole issue of consent – and how he felt about me asking him to marry me to protect Maggie – how in the world would he react if he learned I’d never so much as kissed another guy before he’d demanded one from me all those days ago.

He would put a stop to everything. Now. He probably wouldn’t even care if he took a hit to his reputation (actually, knowing how he planned ahead Marcone had probably already come up with a way to turn it in his favor). I don’t know if he would give me the chance to talk him out of it.

I couldn’t risk it.

“I’m asking you, aren’t I?” I said, after clearing my throat.

“Hmm,” Marcone said as he took a swallow of his coffee. He narrowed his eyes slightly like he sensed I was hiding something important from him.

I clamped down on my panic, feeling my mouth go dry but forcing myself to not show it on my face. Marcone was scarily good at reading me. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea… or the right idea in this case.

“Okay, I admit, being here with you like this isn’t something I’ve thought about before,” I said truthfully. “But I’m willing. I’m asking. Isn’t that what you care about?”

“Then prove it Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said. He put down his coffee mug on a coaster on the coffee table.

I stared at him wondering what he meant. Marcone arched his eyebrows. Then it clicked and I clutched at my coffee mug like I needed it for protection.

I could feel heat crawling up my cheeks. Suddenly, I was really aware of the spread of my knees as I sat on the couch, the way my blasting rod dug awkwardly into my hip and how close Marcone was sitting to me. Okay, he maybe wasn’t right next to me but he was easily within arm’s reach.

I scowled right back at him. Marcone’s lips quirked up.

Then Marcone shifted. He turned his upper torso so he was mostly facing me even as his right arm went up on the couch’s arm, turned inward enough to let his bare forearm and right hand dangle in a relaxed fashion, while flexing his arm enough for the muscles to be even more visible. His right foot remained flat against the floor even as his leg turned inward and his left leg rose up, cocked against the bottom cushions. His left hand rested on his left knee, curling slightly on it. And he leaned back against the corner where the back of the couch met the arm. The way his eyes were riveted onto me felt like he was trying to get another peek of my soul through sheer force of will.

Hell, between the candle light, Marcone’s bare throat, the undone top buttons of his tight shirt and the expensive suit he was wearing, all that he was missing was a tumbler of whiskey to look exactly like a magazine ad trying to sell me some high-end men’s cologne.

Marcone’s pale green eyed stare was relentless. I didn’t move. Then he tilted up his chin in a clear challenge. And that was when it struck me that he wasn’t going to make a move. At least not the first one.

It would be up to me.

I wanted to sputter. Really? Really? He was making me do it. That jerk. Fine.

I ignored how my own heart rate started galloping away. And how I was hit with a rush of adrenaline. It made me feel like I was about to run head-first into something dangerous… terrifying. That if I wasn’t careful I wouldn’t be coming out of this in one piece.

I lowered my own coffee mug to the wooden coffee table, ignoring the empty coaster set out to protect the varnish.

I stood up. Only once I was on my feet, I realized I’d done it to get psychological advantage by looming over Marcone. Who only just looked amused like he knew exactly what I was doing, dammit.

I leaned over him, my right hand resting on the back of the couch next to him.

Marcone’s head tilted back and the humor drained away until all I saw in his eyes was banked heat.

I froze.

“Close your eyes,” I managed to say after a couple of seconds, my voice lower and rougher than I meant it to be.

Something flashed across Marcone’s face too fast for me to catch what it could be. Yet after a moment his eyelids slowly closed shut, sealing away those dangerous pale green eyes. I was so close to him I could count his dark eyelashes. I could see the minute shift of his corneas under his skin.

I breathed for a moment, taking in his cologne. Also the waxy smell of the candles and of the coffee.

And then I kissed John Marcone.

The rasp of his growing stubble was still startling, but not enough to make me jerk away. And his lips opened up under mine, willingly. Welcoming.

His mouth was hot. Startling hot. The lingering heat and the bitter taste (Huh, he didn’t like sugar in his coffee. Weirdo.) of the coffee he’d been drinking scorched my lips, my mouth. Then Marcone reached up with his right hand to curl gently – nothing more than a press of fingers, no grasp at all – to keep me in place as he slipped me his tongue.

It was as hot as the rest of Marcone’s mouth.

The kiss was so similar to the last time we’d kissed. I was abruptly glad I was holding my weight on my hands or I’d have flailed.

The kiss was less gentle than the last, Marcone infusing it with the same sense of care but also confidence on his end. Like he knew how to kiss. That he had as much expertise in it as he did shooting a gun, or throwing a knife.

And he proved it to me.

The slick firm press of his tongue sliding against my own, the way his lips shifted under mine, sparked off a flame.

When the heat of lust bloomed in my guts, I knew that it had nothing to do with Winter at all. The Winter Knight’s mantle was stirring, but it took a moment. It wasn’t in control. And in that space of time, it was my mouth pressing back against Marcone. It was me choosing to bury my left hand in Marcone’s hair.

My actions were my own. And they were the reason my heart was pounding. It was my own desire turning me on.

Hell’s bells. It was all me.

By the time the mantle showed a real interest, pressing me to get violent, to pull Marcone off the couch so I could bear him down to the floor and… well, I had no more doubts. The mantle’s desires were too dark, in a way I hated. In a way which was about as subtle as a crazed grin on a bloodthirsty berserker’s face. But when its urges were this obvious it made it easier to tell it apart from my own.

I was the one reacting to kissing Marcone. No magical suggestion was influencing me. I hadn’t drunk any potion. No one was in my head. Winter hadn’t taken over yet. The coiling feeling of desire, want and heat in my guts was me… only me.

Me.

I pulled away from Marcone before the Winter Knight’s mantle could exert any influence. Or I could panic. He let me go easily. Not grasping. Not gripping to keep me where he wanted me.

I forced myself to keep my breaths slow and steady as I stood up straight. I took a couple prudent steps back and thought about math.

Marcone’s eyes slowly drifted open again. And something in the way Marcone looked up at me, made me think abruptly of a similar expression I’d often seen on my brother’s face when a startlingly gorgeous woman smiled at him and he was feeling… ravenous. Marcone had the same look of intense hunger which only one thing could satisfy. The same overwhelming swirl of emotions, of desire and need glowed in his eyes.

It proved to be too much. I looked away, feeling my entire face burn as I flushed.

Math. Think about multiplication tables, I told myself firmly.

In the silence after the kiss, I was able to get the mantle to lose interest and go back to sleep.

“So... like I said: When are you free to meet again?” I asked, when I could trust my voice not to waver. I acted like I needed to fix the way my blasting rod sat in its holster instead of watching him.

I don’t think I fooled Marcone for a second.

“In a couple of days, I’ll take you to lunch, Dresden,” he said, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.

I frowned and risked a glance at Marcone. Who’d gotten himself under control again, well mostly. His eyes were hooded. His breathing was deeper than normal. And he was still staring at me… his eyes were too open. Too bare.

I was used to more walls between us.

“You just fed me, I think it’s my turn,” I objected, ignoring the feel of his gaze.

Marcone finally looked away from me and he exhaled slowly. It was always fascinating to see the barriers go up. Although… this time it went slower than usual. Like it was more than what he usually had to control within himself. It was taking greater mental effort.

“It’s vastly easier on my security,” Marcone said quietly, “if I can be the one to make the plans about where we will go.”

Huh, good point.

“I’ll pick you up in two days time at 11:30 a.m. for lunch. I can spare a couple of hours. That’s the only time window in my schedule for several more days,” he continued.

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” I agreed. Then I bid him a hasty goodnight and tried not to break into a run as I got past his front door.

*-*-*-*

I didn’t quite stagger away in shock from Marcone’s building but it was damned close. And I admit that I wanted to find some place quiet to think and breathe, but I wasn’t anywhere close to where I could do that safely. And having a meltdown in public was bound to get back to the wrong people. Like my boss. Ugh.

Stars, since when did I start finding another man attractive? And Marcone of all people? He’s a freaking criminal! A murderer!

A little voice in my head said, ‘Hey, so are you.’

I growled and ignored the voice.

When had this started? Okay, I could almost reconcile being attracted to another man since I run into supernaturally attractive people of both genders all the time (looking back maybe it hadn’t been as confusing as I’d always labeled my reaction). Hell, Thomas had lectured me once on the nature of attraction and how White Court vampires exploited the fluidity of it because most people existed on a spectrum of sexuality which could shift (or in the case of White Court vampire on the hunt, be forced to shift)… but John Marcone?

I think my subconscious was waiting for me to ask myself this question because the memories of how I kept noticing how he looked in his new suit all evening hit me like a ton of falling bricks. Followed nearly at once by the memory of Marcone’s mocking question of whether I was hitting on him when he’d been partially undressed in the locker room the night of the battle.

Oh. I had been staring at him. Noticing his body in such a way that with a woman I would have instantly known what it meant.

Hell’s bells. Okay, so I’d been noticing Marcone for a while. How long had that been going on?

Dammit, I rubbed my hands through my hair as I walked back to my car. I couldn’t think about that out in the open like this. I wasn’t wearing my duster. I was too vulnerable to attack to walk around with my guard down. I needed to get home.

*-*-*-*

Luckily, I got home without running anything or anyone over. After I waved to Amanda as she drove away in one of the Carpenter family cars I went to check in on Maggie.

My daughter was curled up in her bed. It was so big and wide she nearly was lost in it. Mouse could sleep at the foot near my daughter’s feet without breaking the bed frame from his weight. I hadn’t realized they made beds rated for woolly mammoth weight until Maggie had insisted she wanted one.

Right now Maggie was asleep, her head practically hidden in a nest of pillows even as she’d kicked off most of her covers. She was curled up around Bonnie’s skull, clutching her little sister to her chest. Hilariously, everyone in the bed was snoring. Soft snores came from my oldest daughter, high pitched wheezes from Bonnie while Mouse rumbled away. As I walked into the room one doggie eye peeked at me before Mouse’s tail thumped the bed twice before he fell back asleep.

I kissed foreheads and carded my hand through hair or fur as appropriate before I left the room and went to the library.

I sat down before the fire. Mister jumped onto my lap and demanded his tribute in the form of pets and ear scratches while I stared blankly at nothing. I gave the cat who owned me his due as the master of the castle as I thought.

Was this attraction to Marcone just me having some kind of mid-life crisis?

Well, considering I wasn’t even a quarter of a way into a wizard’s usual lifespan, I sure as hell hoped not.

So… apparently I was attracted to John Marcone. And had been for a while, if not years.

Why had no one told me? You’d have thought my subconscious would at least have given me a hint with all the dreams the asshole threw at me. Maybe clued me in between the nightmares. Something.

Then I remembered how incredulous Lara had looked when I had denied having any sort of sexual tension with Marcone.

Oh, hell. I’d been flat out told by a sex vampire that I had a thing for Marcone and I’d dismissed it. I hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t given her observation – and not even her first one on the subject either – another thought.

I groaned.

“I am,” I told Mister, even as he purred in my lap, “an idiot.”

Chapter Text

I wanted to stick my reaction to kissing John Marcone in a box and pretend it had never happened. Or label it a very weird fluke or some odd reaction to my plan to get the man to marry me (I mean, that had to be messing with my mind, right?). But before I could even really embrace the idea, memories rose up from the depths of my mind (I knew who to blame for those: My id who was being a right bastard tonight) of noticing Sanya. How I’d appreciated the sight of the big Russian’s muscles as his skin had glistened with sweat while he’d been working out under the afternoon summer sun.

Oh, stars. I had once described his skin as chocolate. Okay I’d been thinking in terms of color but… that was pretty telling word choice for anyone to use to describe someone else. I mean, who throws the word chocolate around without instantly thinking ‘delicious’ or ‘I want some’?

So I’d apparently been noticing other guys too. Dammit… Marcone wasn’t a fluke, was he?

I brooded, scowling at the air as I realized how long I’d gone without ever realizing this about myself. Although, really, another hundred years without having this revelation would have been great. Or, you know, never. Especially, if it involved getting hot over a damned criminal like Marcone.

I groaned quietly to myself as I remembered my id’s snarky accusations about how I never knew what was going on in my own head. I had thought that it had been a dig about Bonea and how she was growing in my mind. But he’d probably also been thinking about things like this.

I couldn’t even claim this was the first time I’d suppressed my attraction to another person to the point I had refused to admit to myself it existed. At least until Thomas had pointed out the freaking obvious.

…I was noticing a disturbing trend of having sex vampires point out my attraction to others which I should have damned well known about.

I felt really, really dumb.

I don’t like it. I was a wizard, dammit. One of the wise. I should have had this shit figured out a long time ago. That I hadn’t made me feel rudderless. Hell, what else was rattling in my head I didn’t know about? That was a disturbing thought.

But in my defense I was used to feeling an instant pull of attraction which was nearly overwhelmingly when I came face to face with a beautiful woman. With guys... there was none of that immediate firestorm of desire hitting me all at once. No, my attraction to men seemed to be a slower, smoldering fire. One with a flame that would take longer to build in strength but would be no less overwhelming or put off any less heat… at least if it wasn’t smothered down to nothing first.

And that was what I’d been doing all this time. Until I’d gone and kissed Marcone, not just once but twice, making it hard to ignore how I reacted.

Goddammit, but why did I have to go and feel any kind of attraction to him?

I had – I realized with self-disgust – awful taste in men. Or at least in one man specifically.

Why couldn’t I have had this realization over Sanya? I was friends with him. I liked him. The wielder of Esperacchius was a good man with such a depth of warmth it radiated off of him. Even his warped sense of humor cracked me up. Sanya was a hero. Someone who had forgiven me without hesitation for my actions, for hurting him, when the need for revenge had overwhelmed me and put me under the full control of the Winter Knight’s mantle. I sure as hell hadn’t forgiven myself.

Sanya was nothing at all like Marcone.

And I wasn’t facing a future where I would end up married to him because I had no other options.

My stomach went tight. Abruptly, I realized I was as tense as a bowstring about to snap and my breaths were too shallow and too fast. Black spots bloomed across my vision even as everything narrowed. I forced myself to take slow, measured breaths before I passed out. I focused on petting my cat. Trying to disengage my brain from the thought of sex and Marcone.

Okay, okay, there was no reason to panic... maybe this was actually a good thing. Maybe. Maybe. I mean, Marcone wouldn’t be able to use the excuse that I didn’t want him to get out of the wedding.

I stopped breathing for a long minute before I forced myself to gasp for air. Mister didn’t like that, and he jumped away to go find a place to sit that wasn’t having a sexual identity crisis.

I couldn’t blame him.

Oh hell, I couldn’t explain why the idea of the wedding night with Marcone was making me freak out now.

Alright… maybe I could. I mean, before… before tonight, before I realized I was actually into the man, it wouldn’t have meant anything. I had thought I would be as invested in it as I would be in… well, getting my dry cleaning done or the car washed. Having sex with Marcone would have been a chore to get out of the way. It wouldn’t be something to do for fun or pleasure but because it was necessary to keep Maggie as far from the White Court as I could. And hopefully, it would be a night that wouldn’t end up being too embarrassing for either of us. At least not if we were supposed to keep working together for the next twenty-five years like Marcone wanted.

I’d gone to him because when I’d considered the wedding night from a position of pure cold-blooded calculation I hadn’t thought Marcone was prone to do anything too mortifying or inclined to spark my temper. After all it would be damned moronic to piss off the wizard who’d already stated he’d kill you if pushed by then being a heartless bastard and pushing. In all the years I’d known the man I’d never seen Marcone do anything so obviously stupid or pointlessly cruel, at least not with his own hands. If he was being a bastard for a purpose, for his business – he murdered people, don’t forget – that was another matter altogether. Then I wouldn’t put it past him.

So I’d thought I could just get through the wedding night. No problem. Maybe I’d end up having to grit my teeth, but otherwise it would be easy enough to survive.

And… after Marcone’s declaration about how he felt on the issue I had grown less worried about it. I believed Marcone. I practically had his word on it. I knew he wouldn’t force me to do anything.

Abruptly, I realized why I had become oddly comfortable with the idea of the wedding night since that conversation. Why my rising panic had never made a comeback before now. Marcone had returned to me some of the power which Mab had stripped away when she’d told me I was to be wed to Lara and nothing I said would keep it from happening. He may have expressed it in terms of it being his choice but what he did was dependent on me. Or at least on me being a willing participant. So I had regained some of my autonomy (yeah, it sucked that it was something I had to ‘gain’ and my flame of rage at Mab burned).

But now, I was facing the realization that having sex with Marcone wouldn’t be something I could do and then forget. Not when I knew I wanted him. Not when it could be something I’d actually… enjoy.

And that was when I realized the other reason for why I was panicking. Stars, just the thought of enjoying sex with anyone regardless of gender felt like a betrayal. To... to… the woman I loved… to Murph.

The pain which throbbed through me brought me to my feet. My chest hurt as if something large was crushing it. I hungrily gasped for air and the room spun. My knees cut out from under me and I abruptly sat back down on the couch.

She hadn’t even been gone a year.

How dare I be attracted to someone new. How dare I consider willingly touching someone for pleasure who wasn’t her.

Abruptly, my eyes felt hot and wet. My vision blurred the sight of the library. I had to blink desperately to clear it. I breathed shakily and it took special effort to force my thoughts away from that bit of throbbing agony. I curled up and buried my face in my knees as I tried to keep from hyperventilating. I had to take conscious control of every breath.

It took several minutes for me to get a hold of myself.

Then I shook my head. Okay, I wasn’t thinking about this anymore. Nope.

Once I thought I could trust my knees not to buckle, I stood up and grimly walked downstairs. I needed to call the Paranet to warn them about the ghouls like I’d planned on hours ago, then I was going to be down in my lab. I wasn’t going to be able to relax enough to fall asleep anytime soon, so I might as well use my time productively and think on how I would get rid of the Winter Knight’s mantle. Again.

And after that I was going to the room I’d turned into my personal gym and exercising with my weights. Even if I had to put every weight plate on the bar and do reps until even the mantle was exhausted and I stopped thinking.

I was done.

*-*-*-*

Fortunately, my subconscious decided to not be a complete asshole and gave me a break for the night. No memories of the Battle of Chicago made me wake up screaming. Or if he did send me any bad dreams they weren’t any I remembered in the morning when the alarm rang to get me up and shining.

I grudgingly woke up but I absolutely refused to shine. That wasn’t my job. I was a wizard. We were not a breed known for our sunny dispositions.

I was pretty bleary that morning as I watched Maggie eat the scrambled eggs she’d made for our breakfast. Hey, I’d supervised. And helped to pick out the pieces of eggshell when she’d cracked the eggs a bit too enthusiastically.

Bonnie was in her skull, siting on the center of the table so she could turn to watch us both. Without a body she may not be able to eat, but she’d been joining us for every meal since day one.

Hey, family meals are important.

“Dad, are you okay?” Maggie asked hesitantly, looking across the table at me. She was cutting her toast into triangles with a butter knife. Then she was carefully smearing butter on some and jam on others. The stick of butter in its butter dish was speckled with strawberry jam.

I don’t have mirrors in the castle. But I could imagine how ghastly I had to look this morning for my daughter to be worried.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” I said, trying to be more awake and less of a gloomy bastard. Then I considered. I had meant to ask my kids what they thought of Marcone on the day they’d met him, but between one thing and another (including trying to build the biggest sand castle ever on the beach of Demonreach) it had slipped my mind. “Hey, Maggie, what did you think of John Marcone?”

Maggie chewed on her breakfast even as she slipped Mouse a piece of buttered bread.

“He was nice. Kinda scary, but… nice. He didn’t want to frighten me,” she finally admitted. Then she frowned thoughtfully. “I think, I think Bonnie and I scared him, Dad.”

I blinked.

I couldn’t help it. The belly laugh which slipped out of me rang throughout the kitchen. It made Maggie smile and Bonnie turn her skull towards me. Mouse doggie grinned too.

“Yeah,” I agreed, between chuckles. “I don’t think he’s used to being around kids.”

Maggie nodded. “Is he going to visit again?” she asked quietly.

I hadn’t yet told my kids about the impending marriage. I would. Maybe when it was closer. Ugh. I fully admit to being a chicken about telling them about it. Look, it was weird and complicated to explain. I could barely explain it to another adult without feeling uncomfortable, the idea of letting my kids in on even a few of the details made me squirm.

But I would… eventually. Would twenty-five years be too long, I wondered.

“Yeah, he may come around more,” I said solemnly. “If it’s okay with you, punkin.”

Maggie nodded easily, not looking at all worried. She was trusting that her dad knew what he was doing with Marcone. I sure as hell wished he’d let me in on the details.

Maggie ate the last of her toast and then ran off to brush her teeth and get her school stuff.

Mouse left the spot where he’d been sitting at my daughter’s feet and came over to lean against my side. I scratched his ears. Then I slipped him some of the eggs because I was also a soft touch when it came to my dog.

“I also wish to go to school,” chirped Bonnie, as soon as Maggie returned.

“You’re too little,” Maggie said, as she opened up her backpack. It was mostly black with pink and white accents and featured a Spider-girl. Maggie had corrected me rather firmly, saying she was a hero called Spider-woman.

“I can make myself bigger,” said Bonnie.

“What she means is that you’re too young,” I said.

“When you’re older,” Maggie reassured her. She turned to me. “Right, Dad?”

I hesitated. “You know Bonnie is special, Maggie. She doesn’t need to go to school.”

Maggie nodded slowly, clearly thinking of what that meant.

I picked up Bonnie’s skull and cradled her in my arms to take her back to the bedroom she shared with her older sister.

Maggie rose on her tiptoes and leaned over to kiss her sister’s skull on the forehead. “Bye, Bonnie. See you later.”

Bonnie sighed, a wistful sound which made my heart hurt to hear. “Goodbye, Maggie. Goodbye, Mouse.”

I tucked Bonnie away in the bed, grabbed my duster, then I took Maggie and Mouse to school.

On the drive back home, I found myself feeling uneasy and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel of the Munstermobile. Without being forced to concentrate on my dad duties I found myself circling back to the previous evening and the uncomfortable revelations I couldn’t ignore anymore.

I needed a soundboard. Someone to talk to.

Making up my mind, at the next light I hauled the tank into a perilous U-turn and headed to the Carpenter house.

I noted that the driveway and front parking of the house was emptier than usual, but there was still someone home so I parked my car. Then I went up to hit the doorbell.

When the door opened to Charity Carpenter eyeing me like I was a cat who’d brought her a dead bird, I was hit with the thought that this was a mistake.

“Michael isn’t here,” she said firmly. “He has a job and won’t be back for hours.”

“Oh, well… I can come back later,” I said and shifted on my feet, ready to make a getaway.

I must have looked pretty pathetic because Charity said in a quieter voice, “You look like you need to talk, Harry. Come in. I can’t promise you the best advice. But I can listen.”

I considered the invitation. I meant to turn her down, but instead I found myself nodding. And I stepped into the Carpenter house to have a heart-to-heart with Charity Carpenter.

Maybe I should have run for it while I had the chance.

Chapter Text

I got a grip on my nervousness at not having Michael around, telling myself to knock it off. Charity hadn’t actively hated me for years.

I silently followed her to the Carpenter kitchen.

The morning sunlight was coming through the wide, east facing windows so that everything was lit up with a warm golden glow. The light spilled over onto their dinning table and illuminated all the scattered evidence which proved this was a home with a loving family. There were photos of smiling children on the walls. Including a new one of Charity and Michael’s grandchild, a wrapped tiny bundle with a barely visible face held by a beaming Daniel and his wife.

Even Maggie had a lingering presence. She was in several photos and her art still hung from its pride of place on the refrigerator door.

It was a good reminder that Charity loved my mortal daughter with a depth equal to that she held for her own children.

Charity gestured at me to sit down at her table.

I did. I stared down at the grain of the walnut wood, absently admiring Michael’s workmanship as a carpenter. I heard the distinct tssh of Charity opening the refrigerator door before she closed it again. Then she walked over to where I was sitting. She had two brown beer bottles in one hand and in the other she carried the Mjölnir shaped bottle cap opener.

Well, I’d always suspected Michael wasn’t the only Carpenter worthy to wield the power of Thor. Actually, considering how her preferred war weapon was a hammer, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn Charity was the perfect choice for Mjölnir. She’d already know how to use it in combat.

She sat across from me, opened one and then the other bottle. As she pushed the open bottle over to me she asked worriedly, “It this about Maggie?”

I shook my head.

“Molly?” Charity asked, her voice tighter with mute fear.

“No,” I said in quick reassurance. “It’s not about her.”

The building tension slowly released from Charity’s muscled shoulders. Her growing age had softened her muscular build but it hadn’t diminished the strength in them. Nor had it rusted any of the iron in her soul. “Good,” she said fiercely. Then she said a milder voice, “Alright… then what is this about?”

I opened my mouth but found myself feeling off balance for a moment. I didn’t know how much Michael had told her about my current situation. Oh stars… I didn’t want to have to explain it to her.

I fervently hoped she already knew.

“Er… you know about the thing with Marcone?” I asked cautiously.

Charity’s blonde eyebrows went up. “If you’re talking about your engagement to him… I was home when you were discussing the plan with Michael.” She gestured at the kitchen’s windows which looked out into the backyard. “The patio isn’t exactly soundproof,” she said dryly. “And Michael filled me in on what I missed.”

I nodded, relieved I wouldn’t have to go into the details. I wasn’t exactly surprised Michael would have talked to Charity about it. Michael wouldn’t have shared my personal business with anyone if I’d asked him to keep it between us, but I hadn’t bothered. So of course, Michael would want to talk it over with his wife, with his life-partner. He would have wanted to get her opinion on the matter. Or just let her know what was going on… because the Carpenters considered me family.

I looked away from Charity’s piercing blue eyes and took a swallow of the beer, trying to not show the stab of envy which went through me. I ignored the feeling until it dwindled into familiar grief at knowing I had come so close to having something similar to what they had built together.

Remembering why I had felt the need to talk to Michael my gut tied itself up in knots.

I focused on the cold beer. It didn’t hold a light to Mac’s best, but then nothing else on this earth did. However it managed to be pretty decent beer. Instead of guzzling it down, like I was tempted to do, I only drank down a couple of swallows of the bitter brew before I set the bottle down on the table. I thought about the entire gnarled knot of emotions lying like a cold lump of pressure in my stomach.

I took a deep breath and then I told Charity everything. How I’d been working to convince Marcone to keep the engagement. How I’d kissed the man… and – to my horror – found myself liking it. A little. How I’d later realized I’d been checking him out all evening. Hell, even longer than that.

“And it’s not even the first time!” I glared at my innocent beer. “Damn it, I wish I could just forget it.”

“Harry,” Charity said, interrupting me before I could tell her my revelation about Sanya. “Did you come here, come to this house, thinking that we’d… encourage that line of thinking? That due to our Catholicism we’d tell you to ignore it?”

I blinked at her, taken aback. “No,” I said, genuinly startled. The idea that any of the Carpenters – for all their faith – would have reacted badly to knowing that their weird friend Harry had a thing for men too had never once crossed my mind. Okay, maybe with anyone I didn’t know so well I would have wondered and worried. But I’d never heard so much as a whisper of bigotry from any Carpenter on the subject (they were big on love thy neighbor). Nor from anyone I would consider a friend.

Although, stars and stones, Butters might never let me live it down considering how I’d once told him I wasn’t gay. At all.

“Good,” Charity breathed. Her blue eyes were dark and somber. “Then I want you to consider this: I know what it is like to live for decades with a secret about myself. To live every day knowing I was hiding it from my loved ones, from those I should have trusted with everything. From the love of my life. I had kept a part of myself apart from them out of fear and shame. And out of the wish that my secret would wither away and vanish.” Charity slowly took a breath and I found myself caught by the ache I could see clouding her eyes. By the hush of an old anguish in her voice. “Whatever you and I have been to each other over the years, I would never wish that misery upon you. I want you to keep that in mind when you talk about ignoring your interest in men.”

I nodded slowly. I wanted to ask Charity when she’d finally told Michael the truth of her magic abilities but I decided it wasn’t any of my business. She would have told me if she wanted me to know.

Anyway, Charity had a point. I had no problem putting aside bad experiences and old hurts. I could tuck them away and never mention them again. Never even think of them, well, most of the time if I didn’t factor in nightmares. But knowing I wasn’t as strictly heterosexual as I’d always believed wasn’t exactly in the same category. It wasn’t something horrible I’d barely survived nor was it something sanity threatening like some things I’d seen with the Sight. It was vastly easier to stifle those experiences than it was to suppress something which was an integral part of your very self.

Anyway, that had never been me. There was a reason you could find me in the phone book under ‘W’ for Wizard, and why I’d been the only White Council member – before they’d kicked me out – who’d made themself so easy to find. Hiding who and what I was had never been my style.

And… there was actually a practical reason as to why you didn’t want to go for the denial route when you’re a wizard. Easiest way to explain it was to consider the reason a lot of the spiritual gurus and religions who focus on spiritual attainment and achieving higher planes of consciousness go big on the whole ‘know yourself’ idea. That knowledge impacted your entire being. Your balance. A wizard who didn’t know themself thoroughly could have it affect their magic. With some intricate spells you really had to know yourself – the good, the bad and the ugly. And considering my weight class, anything less could potentially mess with my grip on my power, and that was dangerous. Not only to myself but also to those around me. To Maggie.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, denial of that type could leave cracks in your psychic defenses that might as well be open doors to supernatural predators. In my case, with everyone out there who wanted me dead, I might as well ring the dinner bell if I was going to go the ostrich route and stick my head in the sand.

I knew, as I sat in the Carpenters’ sunlit kitchen that I would eventually accept my interest in men as a part of who I was. I couldn’t say when (it might be a few decades if the rate I’d been going was any indication) but I would end up there. I would be able to rattle it off like a lot of details about my life. I was Harry Dresden: Dad, wizard, private investigator, owned by a cat, protected by a good dog, liked magic, books, beer, steak, Burger King, women and men, oh, and I owned a castle. It would just be another detail. And not even a major one either compared to my entire crazy life.

It helped when I thought on how I never had to do anything with it. Just in the same way I didn’t go around sleeping with every woman I found attractive. I didn’t have to hit on every man I found… distracting. Or I’d like to think that would have been the case if it hadn’t been for Marcone.

The thought of kissing him again made my traitorous palms grow sweaty and my heart thump.

Yup, and it was still freaking disturbing. For more than one reason.

“Am I betraying her?” I blurted out.

“Who?” Charity asked, puzzled. “Lara Raith?”

“No, not her. Karrin.” Murphy’s name rang through the kitchen. I realized with a lurch of nausea that this was the first time in close to a year I’d actually said her name out loud. Actually spoken her name with my own lips instead of only keeping her in my mind. But then whenever I thought of her… it hurt.

“Oh,” said Charity.

I clutched my beer, barely keeping myself from shattering the glass with the tight grip I had on the brown bottle’s body. I looked back down at the tabletop, not wanting to see pity or sympathy on Charity’s face.

Remembering her always hurt. That hole inside me, that agony I didn’t dare touch, throbbed. The slowly healing burns on my left arm, which I could usually ignore, joined in muted physical counterpoint. Speaking her name gave the grief weight. Gave it more power. I tried to shove it into its usual box but it refused to budge, instead it dug in its claws and held fast. At least for a moment, but I was too stubborn and the grief and pain and feeling of having lost something – someone – precious slowly subsided down to its usual levels of perpetual aching.

Had I really gone so long without speaking her name? Suddenly, that felt like a betrayal too. A worse one. Like I was trying to forget her. Erase her existence when that was the last thing I wanted.

I resolved, then and there, to talk about her more no matter how much it hurt me. The idea of letting Murph be forgotten… no, I couldn’t stand for that happening.

“Why would you think you are betraying her?” Charity asked. Her voice was still quieter than usual, but steely. Like she was going to get an answer out of me come hell or high water.

I appreciated the fact she wasn’t trying to be gentle. I didn’t know if I could handle compassion right now. Not without losing the unsteady grip I currently had on my emotions.

Slowly, I confessed, “With Susan, when she left, I was devastated for a long time. It took years before I so much as asked someone out again. But now I’m already enjoying kissing someone new? Bad enough it’s Marcone, but so soon?” I couldn’t quite keep the self-loathing out of my voice. “It hasn’t been a year.”

“And so you feel like you’re betraying her,” Charity said, understanding in her voice.

“Yes.”

“When it comes to Karrin…,” Charity continued thoughtfully.

I looked up at her warily.

“I had my share of girl talks with her, but relationships weren’t something we discussed much,” she said. “So I can’t help you there.”

I blinked. “Girl talks?” I parroted. I wondered if I’d heard her right as I squinted at my beer. What was in it? And was it causing auditory hallucinations? Girl talk and Murphy didn’t exactly go together in my head. Even less when you factored in Charity.

Charity took a swallow of her beer and set it down with a sharp smile. “Oh yes, we talked about swords, knives and armor. How to get a blade through chainmail to cut a femoral artery. Girl talk.”

My upper thighs suddenly twinged with phantom pain. “Right,” I said seriously. “Of course.”

Charity’s smile faded away after a moment, as she said, “You’re the only one who can answer your question. You knew her best. What would she have thought? Would she have considered what you’re doing a betrayal?”

My breath caught in my throat. And the feeling of pressure on my chest came back. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking away.

“Yes, you do,” Charity said ruthlessly.

And I did. I did know.

I wanted to say the Karrin Murphy I known would have punched me in the face and I would have deserved every blow. And maybe she would have. Once. The Murph I’d known while she’d been a cop had been angry at the world, at her failure to protect the citizens of Chicago. To keep the darkness of the supernatural from haunting their steps. It was strange to look back on those early years we’d known each other and have the startling realization that she had been burning out from the pressures of her job. And hurting from her failed marriages in ways which hadn’t sunk in as I’d been too wrapped up in my own mess of a personal life. That her frustration at not being able to do more had started to get the better of her, at least until the job had kicked her to the curb and she had found other ways to help.

But the woman I’d loved. The woman who’d fought at my side like she was meant to be there. The woman who was calmer and more centered than the cop she’d been, oh, she would have understood.

Heh. She would have made fun of me for getting to be my age without realizing I didn’t only check out women but that was about it. Even my decision to go to Marcone, she would have understood why I was making that choice. She would have punched me in the shoulder because it was Marcone while telling me to keep my eyes open. But hell, she’d worked with him for over a year while I was gone. While not exactly the same situation, she’d also made the choice to be involved with Marcone for the greater good. Murph would never have blamed me for deciding it was the best way to protect Maggie.

She would never have thought I was betraying her. She would have trusted me.

I jerked my thoughts away before I could start down the spiraling path of thinking about how she had trusted me too much. How I’d failed her.

“She would never have blamed me,” I finally admitted to Charity. I huffed a humorless laugh. “It’s me, isn’t it. I’m the one who can’t forgive myself.” I ground the heel of my right palm into my eyes, seeing the bursts of false light from the pressure. “Marcone is damned criminal.” Emphasis on damned if Marcone’s coin-buddy had any say in it. “A killer. What in the hell am I doing finding that man attractive?”

“Yes, he is criminal. A mobster and the savior of Chicago,” said Charity, with implacable certainty.

I dropped my hand from my face and stared at her.

She inclined her head. “I keep up with the news. And with the anniversary looming, that phrase has been thrown around more and more lately.”

I grimaced.

“I asked my daughter about it,” she continued, drinking more of her beer as she eyed me. “She said that one of the major reasons Chicago didn’t fall was because he chose to defend it.”

“He wasn’t the only one, but yeah,” I said, grinding the answer through clenched teeth. From the moment Ethniu had thrown down her challenge, the first to step up to meet it had been Baron Marcone. Everything would have fallen apart if he hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t planned ahead.

I groaned in dismay and frustration, “Why can’t the bad guys just stay… evil? It’s easier to hate them if they don’t go around saving the city.”

Charity shook her head. “Has life ever been so cartoonishly simple? It isn’t a superhero movie.”

And if it were… dammit, I think Marcone would have the role of the antihero. Or at least not the worst villain around.

Too much like real life, I thought.

“What do you think about Marcone?” I asked.

Charity’s mouth pursed in disapproval for a moment. “I can’t tell you what to think. I’m not marrying him,” she said. “You’re the one who has to make up his mind.”

I grumbled but grudgingly nodded. It was something that was going to be on me to think about. I was the one who had to reconcile everything I knew Marcone to be, every horrible thing he’d ever done, would do, with the fact that I was going to make him a part of my life for the next twenty-five years. Attracted to the guy or not, that time-frame hadn’t shifted with my revelations. Neither had it affected my determination to get the man to marry me.

Charity’s expression softened as she said, “Did we ever tell you Marcone paid for most of Michael’s medical bills?”

“No, you guys hadn’t,” I said, blinking at her, “but I’m not exactly surprised.” Especially now that I knew Marcone still considered himself to be indebted to Michael. I frowned. “Most?”

“When I realized why we weren’t getting the bills, I contacted the hospital and had them sent to me. By then there wasn’t much left to pay.”

I nodded. Then I asked warily, “Did you know Michael went to talk to him recently?” I didn’t want to get Michael in trouble, but surely he’d told his wife he had confronted a Knight of the Blackened Denarius, without a holy sword.

Oh, shit. At least, I hoped he’d told her.

Charity’s eyes gleamed. “Who do you think sent him?”

I felt my eyes widen and I stared at her agog.

She snorted. “If the man has gone this long without killing you, he is hardly about to murder my husband for extending a dinner invitation.” She tilted her head to the side before asking, “You are going to bring him over to dinner one of these days, right?”

It may have been a question, but it had the hard tone of an order.

I tried to huddle behind my beer. “Would the angels even let him in?” I asked, desperately reaching for an excuse to say no way.

“If Marcone leaves the coin at home,” Charity said calmly. “It won’t be a problem.”

I reluctantly conceded. “I’ll ask.” Then I shook my head in disbelief. “Why do you want him to visit?”

“You’re family, Harry,” said Charity with a steadfast certainty. “You’re the annoying little brother-in-law I never wanted. And if he’s going to be your family too then I want to get to know him.”

I blinked at her, shaken by the idea.

If – when – I married Marcone he’d be family. Holy crap. I hadn’t even thought of that. I mean, it wouldn’t feel like it. Hell, I wasn’t even thinking of him in terms of being my spouse, just as the person I’d be married to. But legally, for all intents and purposes, he would be my family.

Well… that was something new to freak out about.

I thumped my head against the Carpenter dinning table. “I think I need more beer.”

“No,” Charity said calmly. “You’re driving home. I’m cutting you off at one.”

I groaned in protest at this cruelty. But I nodded and sighed in acceptance of the bartender’s right to choose not to serve me another beer.

“So I’ve been hearing that you have a way to give Bonea an actual body,” Charity continued, a smile audible in her voice.

I mumbled something incoherent.

“When are you going to bring her over so I can give that sweet child a proper hug?” Charity continued, again in that tone which was more a command than anything else.

“Soon,” I muttered, getting to my feet to make my escape.

Charity arched her golden eyebrows at me but allowed me to make a clean getaway.

I stopped at the point where the kitchen blended into the hallway which would lead me out the door and looked back her. I said, “Hey, thanks.”

“Anytime, Harry,” Charity said quietly.

Chapter Text

I’d hit the point of deciding that I was going to ignore my burgeoning attraction to Marcone by the time the lunch date rolled around, mostly for my own peace of mind.

Look, I would grudgingly admit to finding men attractive. Some of them. Maybe. Okay, I would confess I had a fascination with Sanya’s muscles if anyone asked (while hoping no one cared enough to ask), but that was as far as I was willing to go.

On the subject of Marcone… that was an entirely different matter altogether. And it had nothing to do with him being a man. My own sense of right and wrong was offended by the life he led. Marcone’s business was crime and nothing about it was pretty. He was ruthless, fearless and scared the hell out of me on a good day. There was a reason my favorite insult for him was scumbag. But no matter how much I hated that about him there was no denying the truth that he was also the one who said yes to marrying me to protect my kids. He was the same person who would also fight to keep them safe if they were endangered. Who already had if you considered his actions in defense of Chicago.

Hell, whenever I’d thought about the whole shebang I ended up with a headache. Also considering how hard I ground my teeth they’d soon end up as stubs at the rate I was going. So I was tabling the matter for a later date. I was hoping to avoid thinking about the complicated topic until the wedding… okay, I probably wouldn’t push it that far, but most of me wanted to put it off until then.

Argh.

But no matter how I felt about avoiding the subject of my attraction to Marcone, the morning of our planned lunch date was on hand without me having made any movement on the subject (yes, I was aware of how bizarre it was to be insisting on dating the man while actively not wanting to be attracted to him) to my irritation. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, also I was also stuck trying to figure out what in the hell to wear.

I scowled at the clothes filled wardrobe, annoyed by the fact I had no idea where Marcone intended to take us for lunch. If I had a clue I’d know what to pick out, right? Or what to avoid. Or what to wear if I wanted to be deliberately obnoxious.

It didn’t take me long to reach the point of not caring what I’d look like. I made the choice to go for the comfortable clothing route by wearing my usual jeans, black t-shirt (which had a twenty-sided die and the legend of ‘This is How I Roll’) and cowboy boots since it had the advantage of potentially – and hilariously – scandalizing any fancy shindig Marcone took us to when the phone in the library rang.

I reached it at the seventh ring. I hoped it wasn’t a telemarketer. Those guys did not give up easily.

“You’ve reached Castle Dresden,” I said. Then I added in my best low, threatening growl, “Although if this is Alex from Windows R Us again. I’m cursing you and everything you own to end up covered in bees for calling me again.”

The voice that answered me wasn’t a telemarketer.

“Dresden,” said Marcone, a note of amusement in his voice. “While I’m fascinated to know the story behind that statement, I’m afraid my curiosity will simply have to go unassuaged. I’m calling to cancel our appointment for this afternoon.”

For a moment, I was distracted by the sound of Marcone’s voice in my ear before what he’d said actually sunk in.

“What?” I asked, frowning and feeling concerned. Why was I worried? Well, had Marcone ever struck anyone as a flake? Something more had to have happened for him to cancel our lunch together. And with Marcone I expected any event which made him change his plans to be bad. Seriously bad, although for others or himself was the question. “Hey, what’s going on, John?”

Before Marcone could answer I heard a series of abrupt yet low coughing sounds that sounded like gunfire with someone using a suppressor coming through his end of the line. My entire attention focused on what I could hear through the phone. But I wasn’t getting enough details so I started Listening.

Listening was a simple trick of focus, it wasn’t particularly magical. Most people could do it. It just took concentration. Also knowing the trick of learning to tune out those constant sounds we are always subconsciously hearing. Then you can really focus your attention on a single point of origin.

“A rather pressing matter is currently demanding my full attention,” said Marcone with a steady, unaffected voice. Yet in the background I could hear various voices talking urgently. Not that I could make out heads or tails what they were saying since they weren’t speaking English. Considering the number of Einherjar acting as Marcone’s bodyguards I pegged it as Old Norse.

Again, the sounds of suppressed gunfire came through but louder. Then a sudden loud cacophony of rapid shots made me jerk the handset away from my ear in reflex. I put it back at once.

That was return fire. Marcone’s bodyguards were shooting back.

“Dammit, are you under attack, right now?” I demanded.

There was a squeal of rubber tires on asphalt as though a fast moving car had been forced to come to an immediate stop on a hard surface. Then the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. More urgent voices. A man’s low moan of pain filtered through the racket.

“A unfortunate situation has arisen but I assure you, Mr. Dresden, it is hardly worth your concern,” Marcone said, still sounding infuriatingly calm, but this time there was a tension in his voice. I got the impression I wasn’t supposed to have caught on to what was happening.

Well, too damned bad. I knew now.

I heard the metallic sounds of car doors clicking open. Then more gunfire.

Marcone’s voice snarled out, “Get the wounded. Prepare to move.”

“Where are you?” I asked urgently, barely noticing the creak of plastic under my right hand as I tightened my grip on the phone’s handset.

For long moment all sounds coming through the landline cut out but before I could worry that Marcone’s phone had died – or he’d died – the sound came through again.

Bastard had muted me, I realized in annoyance.

Marcone continued, “As soon as I have a free moment I will contact you to reschedule our lunch. Good day, Mr. Dresden.”

“Wait –” But the only response in my ear was the landline’s humming dial tone of a disconnected call.

I swore. I slammed the handset back onto its cradle. I glowered down at the rotary phone. I seethed angrily for a few seconds.

Fine. If Marcone didn’t want my help then I would keep my nose out of it.

John Marcone was dangerous in his own right. He could protect himself. Any foe who didn’t know that going in was going to get a nasty surprise if they cornered him. He could move with shocking speed for a human and he was the single most dangerous being with a knife I’d ever seen. That was without factoring in that Marcone was a freaking Denarian. Thorned Namshiel was bound to have several nasty tricks up his sleeve if anyone got a drop on them.

Except… I had first-hand experience in seeing how a Denarian wasn’t invincible to a bullet. Being a host to a fallen angel was no guarantee of surviving a bad situation. I’d thought later on that Marcone had gotten lucky when facing Ethniu that she had wanted to see him die slowly from a broken neck instead of going for the quicker route of ripping his head off. A broken neck he could recover from as a Denarian. Decapitation, not so much. Yeah, Denarians could take a lot of punishment but they could still be taken down; they could bleed out. They could be taken by surprise. Hell, the only Denarian I’ve known to be the exception to the rule was Nicodemus, but that was because of another artifact he wore, not because of the power of the Fallen.

Stars and stones, I’d seen a single gunman take out several Denarians with head-shots. Later, I’d found out they had been perfectly normal bullets. Kincaid was an extraordinary shooter with a supernatural lineage and an unnatural dead-shot, yeah, that had been the case, but the bullets had been nothing but lead.

It had sounded like Marcone was facing several shooters. Or someone with a freaking machine gun.

A large part of me twitched with guilt and while I tried not to think it I couldn’t help but wonder if this had anything to do with me. The sinking feeling in my gut made me think so. Call it instinct, wizardly insight, or my own paranoid experience, but I didn’t like the timing of Marcone coming under attack. Not when the news of Winter’s alliance, and my engagement to him, had only just broken to the Ministry members. It had probably spread to the rest of the members of the Unseelie Accords not too long afterwards. And then rumors of it were bound to have gotten out to the rest of the supernatural world.

Who knows who’d heard about it by now. To mangle the words of a man much wiser than I: A rumor sometimes doesn’t even need people, it runs ear to ear without ever touching lips.

Maybe someone had heard the rumor and hadn’t liked it one bit.

Which, of course, would make it my responsibility. Marcone would never have accepted the alliance with Winter if I hadn’t asked.

I started pacing, and I made three circuits of the library before I came to decision that there was no way in hell I was going to stay in my castle while Marcone was under fire. I would admit that a part of me – a surprisingly small voice – wanted to leave the man to face whatever he had coming to him, but it quieted pretty fast.

I’d never been able to stand back when I saw someone in danger. That it was Marcone hadn’t changed that about me. Okay, I won’t deny that it had also occurred to me that if the man got killed I’d end up engaged to Lara again, but it wasn’t the only reason I wanted to act. No, what really mattered to me the most, what was pounding in my head, was the knowledge that someone or something was trying to kill a man I knew. Someone who was a part of my life, however much I grumbled about it.

The man who’d said yes to marrying me a little over a week ago… his life was in danger.

And that really pissed me off.

Deep within in me the Winter Knight’s mantle stirred. It snarled angrily and possessively.

Someone was attacking Marcone, who was mine.

… whoa. Okay. That thought had come from the mantle. At least it better have. Talk about unsettling.

I didn’t want to waste the time, but I forced myself to take a few minutes to think calming thoughts about numbers to get the mantle to settle down. It was hardly the best at strategic thinking. I needed to have a clear head.

Once I was mostly certain that the mantle’s bloodthirsty urges had tapered down to something less insane, I ran out of the library and to the armory. I grabbed my blasting rod, staff, a couple of loaded guns and other magical gear.

As I hit the first floor of the castle I suddenly realized that I had no idea where in the world – or in Chicago – Marcone was at that moment. I came to an abrupt stop, swearing.

For a moment, an ugly sense of helplessness hit me.

Oh hell… if I didn’t do something someone else I knew could die.

Could be killed. Violently. Left to bleed out.

When I could have stopped it.

For a moment, it felt like my heart stopped beating. My chest hurt.

I forced myself to breathe and think. If Marcone was under attack he’d go to one of his properties and while he owned more of Chicago than any other single individual, the places he’d go while under attack were limited. For a split-second I wondered why he hadn’t come to Castle Dresden. That was why I’d given him the key and ring. But I forced myself to set the question aside and focus. Marcone would stay away from places with too many people. He’d take himself off the street to minimize witnesses and innocent bystanders who could get caught in the crossfire.

Then an idea struck me like lightning from a clear blue sky.

If Marcone was still wearing the ring then I could track him. I had made it. I could use it to find him.

At once, I raced down to my lab.

*-*-*-*

I pushed down harder on the Munstermobile’s acccelerator, making the engine growl like a prehistoric predator until the pedal was flat against the car floor. I knew the speed I was pushing the Cadillac to wasn’t safe but I was feeling the urgent need to move.

Go faster. Get there before it was too late.

If that wasn’t enough to get me a traffic ticket, then I would have gotten one for the way my attention was divided between watching the road and keeping an eye on the compass arrow that aimed me towards Marcone’s location... well, the ring’s location, but I was assuming Marcone was still attached to it.

As soon as I turned into an area I recognized, I put the compass back into my duster’s pocket and put both hands back on the Munstermobile’s steering wheel. I may not have been back to the place in years, but my memory of where to find Marcone’s estate hadn’t faded.

Hey, you end up fighting hexenwulfen FBI agents and a demonic loup-garou on the same night and the place tends to stick in your mind.

I eyed the high walls as I went down the street. The entire neighborhood was full of estates which made Marcone’s look like cottage on a sliver of land, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t huge to us plebeians (yes, I know I own a castle but I’ll argue I still count). I couldn’t afford to rush in, or jump the wall without first taking the time to study the situation. I couldn’t risk getting shot by Marcone’s own men when I was there to help protect their boss.

What? I do eventually learn to look before I leap.

I studied the walls, the cameras that Marcone had upgraded since I’d last been around, and the tops of the trees on Marcone’s side of the wall. I was growing worried I had gotten the wrong place. I couldn’t hear or see anything abnormal. Not even Listening caught anything. I went so far as extending my wizard senses but I couldn’t pick up any magical energies, other than the usual background energies that you’d find in places where there were people about. There was no gunfire. There was no shouting or screams.

But then wasn’t that the point of Marcone’s estate? It was a place where he could do dirty deeds and no nosy neighbor would be close enough to hear the gunshots.

I frowned. I continued driving until I saw what I’d been looking for: something out of place.

In this case, it was a small fleet of four black SUVs, parked together.

Yes, it was weird, especially in that neighborhood. It wasn’t the kind of area where people left their cars on the street. Anyone who was entering one of those properties needed to get past security gates, security cameras, security guards and security who-knows-what. You get the theme, and it involved lots and lots of security. People don’t go up to those kinds of places on foot.

So they sure as hell didn’t leave their vehicles on the side of the road.

I reversed the Munstermobile to keep it out of sight before I jumped out, holding my staff in my right hand. I shook out my left hand, ignoring the way it made the burns ache, as I prepared to activate my shield. The summer heat was blistering through the heavy leather of the duster as I stalked towards the cars.

I barely made it five steps when the coughs of suppressed gunfire erupted, nearly making me jump.

A dozen black-clad ghouls vaulted over Marcone’s wall. Four of them stopped at the tops of the wall, crouched down to minimize their profiles and brought up submachine guns. They began shooting in controlled short bursts as they swept the area behind them with smooth precision.

Marcone’s men must have right behind them because a ghoul took a direct hit and toppled off the wall.

I brought up a hasty veil, which in the daylight made me look like a heat mirage, but I’d take any advantage I could get.

The way the ghouls moved with the guns in their claw-tipped hands and the way there were dressed in tactical gear was worrying. These monsters weren’t like your typical everyday ghouls I was used to. These were like the military-trained ghouls I’d fought once before and barely survived.

Well, shit. Military ghouls, why did it have to be military ghouls?

I wanted to backpedal to give myself space and time to consider a plan of attack. But that angry part of me that had nothing to do with the Winter Knight, the part of me that could never ever forget what ghouls had done to two kids I’d been training, growled in rage. That explosive temper which had existed with me for as long as I’ve known… it caught fire.

Ghouls. I loathed ghouls.

My lips curled back into a snarl as I stalked forward. Under a closer look, all of the ghouls who’d made it over the wall were hurt. They were bleeding from several gunshots, and injuries that looked to have come from all kinds of bladed weapons. One ghoul in particular looked like he’d been smashed on the side of the head with a war-hammer and was leaking all kinds of fluids from the caved-in section of his skull. As tough as ghouls are, they didn’t look like they could put up much of a fight anymore, having been beaten to the point where they weren’t healing very quickly. My inner predator (which I don’t know if I could blame on the Winter Knight, since humans are a predatory species in their own right) only saw weakness as the ghouls ran to their cars to drive away

I aimed my staff at the nearest SUV, dropped the veil and thundered, “Fozare!”

The blast of force hit with so much kinetic energy that the front of the stationary SUV crumpled like it had suddenly slammed into invisible wall while going at full speed.

I slid backward on the asphalt as physics demanded their due and my force rings were instantly at full power.

At once one of the ghouls on the wall turned to fire in my direction even as the other two snarled and leapt towards me. The one who’d been knocked off the wall jumped back onto it and continued firing onto Marcone’s side.

I’d already had my shield in place, so the bullets bounced off. But I’d gotten a little more creative with my newest shield bracelet, and the bullets went back in the same direction they’d come from. Okay, it wasn’t perfect, the bullets lost a lot of momentum and wouldn’t be hurting anyone too badly, but they stung like hell and would hopefully make anyone who shot at me think twice about shooting me again.

The ghoul who’d shot at me shook his hands but quickly caught on that he wasn’t badly hurt. He took the moment to reload his gun.

Dammit.

The other two were already changing. Their brows thickened. Their jaws protruded. Their shoulders threatened to burst out of their uniforms and their human-shaped fingers shifted into curved claws of predators who ate humans for breakfast. And brunch, lunch, dinner and probably a late-night snack, too.

They were soon racing towards me so quickly they were nothing but blurs. But they weren’t fast enough to match the reaction time of a combat wizard enhanced with the Winter Knight’s mantle.

I snarled out, “Infriga!”

I caught both ghouls in a blast of cold so intense that a layer of fine white frost covered the cars and the street for several yards in every direction. At least until the afternoon summer heat began melting it.

I stalked towards them. Hell, they’d frozen solid barely four feet away from me, which meant if I’d been any slower they would have gotten me. I smashed the heads of the two new ice statues with my staff. The iced flesh shattered under the force of my anger-fueled blows.

Maybe it was it was the spell, or maybe one of the ghouls had finally gotten a good look at their new attacker, but suddenly one of them shouted something I didn’t catch in an alarmed voice and every ghoul dove into the remaining cars while the remaining ones on the wall started shooting at me again.

The first couple bullets struck my duster. I swore, ducked and raised my shield again before a lucky bullet could catch me in the head.

Then the wall ghouls did a crazy jump onto the roof of the last departing SUV while still freaking shooting at me. Assholes.

I had to keep my shield raised and watch in annoyance as the three remaining SUVs raced away.

They had completely vanished when I heard another car coming up behind me. At once I spun on my heel, pointing my staff, only to see Childs holding up his hands through the window of a minivan. It was the sort of car made infamous by soccer moms. Not exactly the ride I was expecting from Marcone’s top killer. I always thought the troubleshooters went around in something more… dramatic. Although, considering my current ride was painted with electric purple flames, I probably had no room to criticize.

“Hey, hey, we’re friendlies,” said the young man. The van came to a stop and I could see several of Marcone’s cold-eyed troubleshooters inside it.

I eyed Childs as he stepped out of the van. “I wouldn’t go that far,” I told him, although I did move the top of the staff so it wasn’t pointing at Marcone’s men. It wasn’t a gun. It couldn’t go off by accident, but it was a weapon. I didn’t want one of those professional killers to think I was about to blast them with magic.

With his unsettling green-gold eyes, Childs looked at the damaged car and then at the two headless ghoul corpses still frozen and standing as the ice held them in place. He sighed, “At least nothing is on fire.”

I swear I had nothing to do with it but that was when the SUV burst into flames.

Childs shot me poleaxed look, then glared like he thought I’d done it on purpose. I could practically see the muscle twitching at his jaw. But he kept a hold of his temper as he gestured at the other men in the car. The other trouble-shooters jumped out. The way they moved as they spread out to check for stragglers was with the same military precision I’d seen during the Battle of Chicago.

For the first time, I wondered how many of Marcone’s men had survived that fight. And if any of the armed men before me had also fought at the Bean.

“If you would please get in the car, Mr. Dresden,” Childs said in clipped tones, his English accent giving them a particularly cutting edge. He knocked my thoughts out of the grim memories of nearly a year ago. “The boss is expecting you.”

I sighed, “Of course he is.” I set the end of my staff on the ground and looked down at Childs with a scowl. “Fine. But I’m taking my car.”

*-*-*-*

Childs had insisted on driving me back. I almost left him behind in annoyance but grudgingly let him take the passenger side seat. Apparently, he needed to be there to verify it was me and allow the Munstermobile to get through the front gate, otherwise I’d be shot. I pointed out the absurdity of any attacker finding another Cadillac hearse with the same paint job, but I was ignored. As I drove, Childs kept watching the road, turning to check behind us like he expected another squad of ghouls to jump us.

It wasn’t until I’d parked the Munstermobile in the large detached garage that the extent of the damage to Marcone’s property was more visible. I followed Childs around to the back of the mansion as I eyed the building. Several windows were shattered, bullet holes had Swiss-cheesed one of the walls and thick smoke hung in the air. While I didn’t see any flames, I suspected something on the grounds was on fire. It wasn’t long before I could hear the active sirens of approaching fire trucks which backed up my theory.

Marcone was standing in profile just before the open double doors at the back of the mansion. The blond Einherjar I’d seen so many days ago at the construction site was standing nearby with a war hammer in his hands.

I hadn’t expected the wave of relief that hit me at the sight of Marcone. I had to lean against my staff for a couple of steps, but forced myself to straighten before anyone could see my reaction.

Marcone was staring out toward the grounds, holding a semi-automatic rifle in his hands, even though it’s strap was slung over his shoulder. His hands were smeared with blood, so much so that the cuffs were stained a deep crimson, and his nails were caked with it. Even the ring was so covered in blood that the silver and diamond were dull. He was wearing a Kevlar vest over a charcoal suit that I couldn’t help but notice wasn’t as deliberately cut to be appealing like the last one he’d worn. Which was just as well considering the damage it had taken. There was dirt on Marcone’s suit. There was also a two tears along the calf of the left pant leg, as if it had been clawed up.

Marcone must have heard us because he turned, the gun still in his hands. His money-green eyes were flat and colder than usual.

That was when I saw the splatter of wet blood below Marcone’s throat, staining the tie and the collar of the white-button down shirt. I froze. The edges of my vision went black and for a moment I couldn’t think. Or move.

Was that his blood?

“John,” I strangled out. Before I could control myself, I took several steps towards him with my hand out. I came to a stop when I processed Marcone’s steely expression. It wasn’t exactly what I would call welcoming.

Then I realized what the gore meant. It looked like he’d been caught in the arterial spray of someone standing very close to him. And he must have tried to staunch the wound, explaining why his hands were covered in blood.

Oh. That explained his reaction. Marcone didn’t like having the people under his command injured or killed.

Marcone’s expression was unreadable. Even to me.

“Mr. Dresden, somehow I am not surprised that, after very clearly stating that this matter was none of your concern, you decided to show up,” Marcone said in a voice as dry as a desert in high noon. His pale green eyes were flinty. I didn’t like how he kept his weapon in his hands. Did he think I was a threat? “And since I said your presence was not needed, keep in mind, I don’t consider you an invited guest.”

Oh, shit. There was a lot danger implied in that statement. I raised my chin and tightened my grip on my staff, even as I wondered what had set off Marcone’s paranoia about me this time. “Hey, I stayed outside your walls. It was your goon who brought me in, so technically I was invited. Anyway, you’re my fiancé,” I said, reminding him that I had a lot riding on him staying alive. “I’m not exactly a typical guest.”

The goon in question winced as he took several steps away from us. Childs was quick on the uptake. Or had a very finely tuned set of survival instincts.

Marcone stared at me, as if searching for some answer in my expression. I met his gaze without flinching. It took a few seconds, but he gave me a curt nod of acknowledgment. My tension went down a notch and I relaxed my hold on my staff.

I continued, “I didn’t really do much. Other than freeze a couple of the ghouls and smash one of their getaway vehicles.”

Marcone straightened. “You have prisoners?”

Childs was shaking his head before I could answer. “He took their heads off, boss.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you wanted any of those bastards alive. You didn’t bring me in on the plan,” I pointed out. Then I frowned. “Why do you want prisoners away?” The answer came to me before Marcone could give it. I stared. “Hell… you don’t know who sent the ghouls.”

Marcone’s face may have been immobile but there was flash of anger in his eyes and a tightness in his fingers on the semi-automatic rifle in his hands which made clues drop out of the ether.

“This isn’t the first time they’ve attacked you,” I breathed, stunned.

Marcone glanced at Childs. He didn’t say a word, but the young man caught the implied order anyway and he walked off until he was out of earshot and out of sight. By now the fire engines had arrived and some of the Einherjar seemed to be leading the firefighters to wherever the blaze was burning. It said a lot that those ancient warriors still kept their weapons in sight.

Marcone gestured at me and I followed him into his mansion. As I walked beside him, the iron scent of blood was powerful and nauseating. I had to fight off the memory of the last time I smelled that much blood. I couldn’t think about it right now.

I focused on Marcone. He was limping a little, favoring his left leg. It wouldn’t even have been noticeable if I hadn’t been specifically watching for any sign that he’d been hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, so busy watching Marcone I didn’t do more than glance at the inside of the house. Unsurprisingly, it was decorated a lot in the same style as that apartment where we’d had dinner. So he used the same decorator or that was just how his tastes ran.

“Because it’s none of your business, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said coolly. He finally let go of the rifle, letting it hang from its strap as he gestured at me to follow him. “You are prone to make a situation more volatile whenever you are involved. And while that may be an advantage under certain circumstances, considering the suspects I have in mind I don’t believe your skills are currently required.”

I considered the possibilities, especially the first suspect who had come to my mind.

“LaChaise,” I said flatly.

Marcone’s pale green eyes flickered. He raised an eyebrow.

I snorted. “He’s the mostly likely suspect. You called him a coward in front of every Accorded nation at the peace talks last year. You may have couched it in terms of a question but he wouldn’t have forgotten it.” My eyes narrowed. “And since he’s an Accorded member and part of the Ministry you can’t just launch a counter-attack without proof.”

Marcone nodded. “A sound theory, and one that is hard to prove since ghouls are the most commonly used hit-men among the supernatural nations. They could have been hired by any person with the contacts and money to pay them.” He added in a drier tone, “That is why having a living prisoner would have been beneficial.”

I ignored the dig.

“It could be Tessa. She had a few of those guys with her last time she was in Chicago,” I pointed out. I thought about it some more. “Actually no, I don’t like her for this. If she was going to strike back at you for your scheme against Nicodemus she would do it herself. Or with her band of Denarians. She wouldn’t use ghoul muscle.”

“It could also be the White Court. My agents have garnered reports on how unhappy various members are about my upcoming alliance with Winter.”

I stared at him. Oh man, I hadn’t thought of that. I didn’t think Lara would be striking out against Marcone. Not when she didn’t want to end up hitched to me any more than I wanted to marry her, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be one of the others acting on their own. Lara doesn’t have absolute control over everyone in her court. Could this be some kind of power-play by House Malvora or House Skavis?

I couldn’t refute the possibility, but….

“It wouldn’t be Lara,” I said with quiet certainty. “It isn’t really her style.”

Marcone shot me an assessing look. His eyes remained as hard as granite. “She could be using them to test the extent of my security, Mr. Dresden. Style is not a sound basis to eliminate a suspect without more information.”

I frowned, partially at idea and a lot more due to how often Marcone had been calling me ‘Mr. Dresden’. That was more times in a row than normal. What was going through his head? Did he still harbor thoughts that I was working with Lara to take him down?

“They haven’t been attacking?” I asked as I watched Marcone, hoping to catch a clue as to what he was thinking. “It looked like the ghouls were loaded for bear with the number of guns they were toting.”

“While their attacks have been professionally thorough,” Marcone said flatly, “it is the speed with which they move to attack and then break off that leads me consider that it is a means of testing my security net.”

“They never attack the same place twice. They were testing the fences for weaknesses, systematically. They remember,” I quoted.

“Yes. Although, I intend to remain uneaten by these predators,” Marcone said, his voice hard. His pale green eyes went colder. “Or by whoever hired them.” Then he gestured with his bloodied hand as he opened up a door with his right. “Mr. Dresden, I need you to remain here. I need to change before the police arrive. I do not wish to be dragged in for further questioning today, and blood has a tendency to make law officers arrest first and ask questions later.”

I blinked at him then looked through the doorway and I saw that Marcone had led me to a library. There were a lot of leather-bound books, on shelves that went from the floor to the top of the high ceiling (I was not staring with envy no matter what my face showed). And no windows, I noted. Or anything electronic that my anti-technology field could destroy.

“Okay,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward and a lot like the uninvited guest Marcone had accused me of being. Marcone turned to leave. “Hey, Marcone,” I said, catching him by the elbow for a moment just enough to stop him.

He tensed, but paused.

“Are you alright?” I asked, staring down at him

Marcone gave me a curt nod. “Yes.”

“You got hurt,” I said, looking at his left leg.

“It is inconsequential,” Marcone said. “And will soon heal.”

An advantage of having a fallen angel in your head.

“Good,” I said quietly, and meaning more than I ever thought I would.

Marcone must have heard the truth in my voice because he stared at me for another moment. Finally, the ice in his expression thawed and he slowly relaxed. Then he offered, “I will be back after I finish dealing with law enforcement… and if time permits, maybe we can have that lunch together after all, Dresden.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I’d like that.”

He nodded in return and then left, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

I looked around the library and sighed. Well… crap.

On any other day, I would have loved this chance to stalk through Marcone’s bookshelves to get an idea of the man’s taste in reading material. I was thinking either true crime, business and law books, or – if he was continuing his soulless decorating theme – filler books. You know, the type of books that are just expensive leather-bound versions of classic titles, which some people bought to fill their shelves. Or to make themselves appear to have a cultivated taste in literature, when in reality they’ve never once cracked open the covers. But instead of being nosy – I mean, a detective – my mind was locked on the worrying topic of how Marcone had reacted to seeing me.

I found a dark leather armchair and flopped down on it. Then I winced and shifted my blasting rod in its holster so it wasn’t digging into my side. I leaned my staff against the arm of the chair.

When I let go of the carved wood, I noticed the trembling in my fingers. I stared down at my hands startled by the sight. I clenched my hands into fists and then spread out my fingers, but the tremors were unmistakable.

I wasn’t reacting to the adrenaline rush of confronting the ghouls. Fighting didn’t hit me with the shakes anymore. Adrenaline just didn’t impact me the way it used to when I’d been new at combat magic; I hadn’t been affected by it in years. This was something else. My hands weren’t trembling from the aftermath of battling some punk ghouls with guns.

I swallowed and admitted the truth to myself. It had been the sight of blood at Marcone’s collar that had done it. I had no idea if my reaction was because of how much it reminded me of… of losing Karrin or, dammit, even Susan. Or just that – for a moment – I’d been irrationally convinced Marcone had had his throat clawed open.

I huffed out a totally humorless laugh. If it sounded a touch hysterical, then you may need to get your ears checked.

The feelings of guilt, the certainty I was somehow responsible for the whole damned mess in the first place and – as if those weren’t bad enough – on their heels came a heavy feeling of dread that surged up and threatened to swamp me. I didn’t have any proof that the attack had been due to the Winter alliance, not for certain, but guilt could be downright illogical.

I rubbed at my face with my hands. My stubble lightly scratched my skin. I breathed against the palms of my hands for a moment.

I couldn’t shake off the idea that the attacks could only be the tip of the iceberg. Not knowing who was responsible increased the chances that in the next one the ghouls could succeed. At that, I went cold inside in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with Winter.

I had to remind myself that if a freaking Titan who’d hated Marcone – hated everyone actually – hadn’t managed to kill the man, then it wasn’t likely some ghouls would succeeded, even if they attacked him a dozen times over. The man had too many bodyguards and too many guns protecting him. And he held a trump card by being a Knight of Hell.

It didn’t budge the heavy worried feeling in my gut. Or quiet the inner voice saying ‘they only need to get lucky once.’

Shit.

I huffed a self-deprecating laugh and then groaned. Dammit, if you’d told me even a month ago that I’d soon be very worried about someone trying to kill Gentleman John Marcone I would have laughed my ass off. And thought you’d completely lost it.

I sighed. I forced myself to shove the feelings into a box to ponder later. I had a more pressing topic to think about: Marcone’s paranoia.

While Marcone hadn’t looked as coldly angry when he left me in the library as he had when he’d first seen me I didn’t like his tendency to suspect I was about to stick a knife in his back. I’ve made fun of his paranoia before (and probably would again, honestly), but I was growing concerned over how persistent it was. Especially after our dinner, I thought I’d settled his worries. If Marcone was still harboring suspicions I could be working with Lara, then I didn’t know how I could convince him otherwise.

Then I was stuck with another worrying thought. What if his paranoia was being made stronger by Namshiel?

After all, when Lash had been in my head, practically the first thing she’d done was find the dial to turn up the flame on my anger. She had made the fuse on my temper shorter and shorter. Until practically anything would spark my rage. Now, Marcone wasn’t like me in that respect. He was too controlled to give in to his anger. Even a Fallen angel pushing him to be more furious than usual wouldn’t accomplish much other than to get Marcone to clamp down on his reactions. Marcone was too well known for his calm and self-control to go and ruin his reputation that easily.

But paranoia… Marcone was practically a professional paranoid, maybe not as bad as Paranoid Gary who’d win the titled of ‘Most Paranoid Man in Chicago’ if the city decided to run a contest (assuming Gary bothered to show up and didn’t think it was a trap made to catch him), but Marcone would be a real contender for the throne. After all, you can’t tell me that Marcone managed to get to the top of the Chicago mob scene without being fanatical about watching his back (I winced at the thought that not having Hendricks around was probably making the paranoia worse). And not just because any capo wanting a promotion would be looking for an opening to take Marcone out. He also had cops at every level of law enforcement, from local to state to federal, watching everything he did to try to catch him. I mean, even Murphy… she had mentioned how anyone who managed to catch Gentleman Johnny Marcone would have it made. They’d skyrocket up the ranks. So any cop that Marcone didn’t have in his pocket would be really motivated to gather enough evidence to arrest him. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

So if Namshiel turned up the paranoia in Marcone, would he even notice?

I hadn’t when it had been my temper had flaring hot. Until a friend – someone I’d trusted completely – had confronted me about it.

Did Marcone have anyone in his life anymore who he would trust in the same way?

I rubbed my chin. Clearly, saying I wasn’t trying to take him out wasn’t enough. Words weren’t sinking in, at least not down to the bone. Marcone believed me somewhat or we wouldn’t have gotten this far. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have demanded a partnership as part of his price. But… I’d also spent years telling him that he was on my list of monsters to take down. And one day there wouldn’t be others above him on it. In his shoes, I wouldn’t have forgotten those promises.

I was still trying to think of a solution when my stomach started rumbling, growling and issuing all sort of threats if I didn’t eat something. Soon.

*-*-*-*

Okay, I meant to stay in the library. I really did. But I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. So, hours ago. Not only had I been promised a lunch, which hadn’t materialized, but I’d also just used a lot of energy in my attack against the ghouls.

Wizards go through a lot of calories when we’re working out our magical muscles, trust me.

I had tried to ignore the gnawing in my belly but my stomach ended up wining the battle. Which is how I ended up wandering through parts of Marcone’s mansion, looking for the kitchen.

Marcone’s mansion didn’t have anything close to the sheer ostentatious displays of wealth I’d seen in Château Raith. And other than Marcone’s continual obsession with the color gray, the only thing that caught my eye was a hallway full of artwork. It wasn’t the sort you’d think of when you thought about what rich people collected. And I knew Marcone had a couple of paintings by Monet and even a Van Gogh in his possession.

No, instead of paintings Casa Marcone was decorated with vintage photographs of Chicago. And not just because most of them were in black and white or sepia toned which made me think ‘antique.’ There was even one that had horses pulling carriages on the same street as Ford Model Ts.

Wow.

The photos were mostly of old buildings, most which weren’t around anymore, but there were also photos of parks. The lakeshore. The Chicago skyline throughout the decades. The Chicago Tribune building. Wrigley Field. A black and white photograph of the previous time the Cubs won the World Series hung side by side to high-definition color one of the baseball team’s most recent win.

Knowing what I knew about Marcone and how he felt about the city… it was nothing less than a love letter to Chicago.

Huh.

Well, if I hadn’t already figured out that Marcone was passionate about Chicago, these photos would have made me think it.

Also, they explained something I’d always wondered about. Why Marcone bothered to spend his money on restoring the old buildings he purchased instead of tearing them down and building something new, shinier and taller in its place like a lot of land developers did.

I lingered, looking at the photographs, until my stomach complained again. I found the kitchen soon after. Or at least a kitchen. I had no idea if the place had more than one. The building was certainly large enough that I would believe it if there was another one or two tucked away somewhere.

I didn’t use any of the appliances, in case I set off another fire when it decided to die. But once I found some sliced bread, I raided the fridge and made several sandwiches.

I was chewing down on my second sandwich of various sliced meats (ham, turkey, and roast beef) with cheese, mustard, mayo and lettuce when Marcone found me.

I was leaning on the granite countertop, looking through one of the windows where the firefighters were finishing putting out the fire. What had been burning had either been a very large garden shed or some sort of guest house. Which had to be new, because I didn’t remember seeing it during the whole mess with the loup-garou.

I glanced over my shoulder as the kitchen door opened. Marcone strode in, with no emotion visible on his face.

He looked a lot better. Marcone had managed to get all the blood off his hands. And he’d changed suits, so now he was wearing another charcoal-colored suit, although this one had wide pale-gray pinstripes. It was very 1920s gangster. Unsurprisingly, it really suited – heh – him. I realized after a moment of staring that I’d just scoped him out from head to foot and up again while the man was fully aware of what I was doing.

I may or may not have flushed at realizing of how often I did that.

Marcone reached for his coat pocket and flung something which shone silver in my direction. Even seeing his gesture the cling-clang of metal on granite made me jump. And react without thinking.

But since the only thing I had in my hands was my half-eaten sandwich, I ended up pointing it at Marcone like it could suddenly blast off fireballs.

Marcone’s expressionless mask cracked as the corners of his lips twitched, but only for a second as they soon went flat again.

My cheeks felt hot as I flushed. I set my loaded sandwich onto its plate, shooting it a mournful look before turning my full attention towards Marcone.

“Of course, you refused to remain in place,” Marcone muttered, almost to himself. He leaned forward, his hands spread on the countertop that lay between us. His weight blanched out his fingertips. His pale green eyes narrowed with irritation.

I decided to ignore the comment. And looked down to see what he’d dropped on to the countertop.

Oh. It was the engagement ring.

“Marcone, what the hell?” I asked, frowning. And feeling more than a little worried. My eyebrows climbed even as my guts clenched. Dammit, I hope this didn’t mean what I thought it meant.

“If –” Marcone intoned with a glint of simmering anger in his eyes. “– you wish me to wear that, then you will remove whatever tracking spell you have hidden within it.”

I barely kept in a sigh of relief. Once he had a moment, of course, Marcone would have wondered how I’d known where to find him. I’ve mentioned before that Marcone wasn’t stupid. It would have occurred to him to blame the ring.

“There isn’t any tracking spell,” I said quietly.

Marcone’s pale green eyes narrowed a bit more, his lips thinned and his fingers of his left hand impatiently drummed the countertop.

“I used thaumaturgy,” I continued. “I made the ring, Marcone.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small plastic vial. “And I’m a wizard. We save everything in case it can be used in a spell. Or a potion.” I held up the vial so that the sunlight beaming through the windows caught the green crystal chips inside it. They glowed, rather eerily, I’d be the first to admit. The Demonreach crystals in Marcone’s ring had needed to be cut down to fit, and I’d kept the leftovers. “This is what I used. Without these bits of crystal I can’t track you.”

And while I had plenty of leftover silver from the ingot I’d purchased to make my kinetic force rings, the process of melting it down meant I couldn’t use it the same way to find the silver of the ring. Because fire purified it broke thaumatic bonds. It was an important feature, since you didn’t want to make magical focuses stamped with all kinds of mystical debris.

Marcone stared hard at me. And for a moment his eyes went distant as he talked to Namshiel. He murmured, “I see.”

I scowled. The vial clinked when I put it down next to the ring. I pushed both over to Marcone. “Here. If it’ll make you feel better you can have it,” I said grouchily. “But I’d feel better if I could find you in case of an emergency.”

Marcone reached for the vial and it vanished into his coat pocket. Only then did he put the ring back on his left hand. The opaque wall behind his eyes slowly cleared. He looked… tired.

“I hardly need to you ride to my rescue, Dresden. No matter how much you enjoy the role of knight errant,” Marcone said dryly.

I snorted and said equally dryly, “Then stop ending up in situations where I think you need to be rescued.”

Marcone shot me a faintly exasperated look, which I ignored as I reached for a plate holding the rest of the sandwiches I’d made. I put it in front of him. I also slid over a few clean paper napkins. “I raided the kitchen and made lunch. You can’t tell me you aren’t hungry.”

“Thank you,” Marcone said politely. “I doubt I will be able to remain for our scheduled lunch hour with this matter having taken up so much of my free time as it is.” He had mentioned having a packed schedule. Being attacked probably wasn’t helping his time management.

I took another bite of my sandwich as I watched Marcone eat. The hmm of surprised pleasure as he bit into it made a curl of satisfaction settle into my gut. I waited until he was mostly finished before I asked him the question that would probably end up ruining his appetite.

“Hey, do you still think I’m involved with the attack somehow?”

Marcone’s pale green eyes glanced at me for a moment, studying my expression before looking back towards his sandwich. He asked calmly, “Is that what I was thinking?”

I frowned at him. “I know you did.”

Marcone inclined his head slightly. “Yes, I did,” he agreed, without any apology in his voice.

“Oh? Why in the hell would you even think it was a possibility in the first place, Marcone?” I asked, baffled.

“I had occurred to me that as the Winter Knight, coming to me could have been a task appointed to you by whoever held a favor from the Winter Court,” Marcone said coolly. “I’m aware that Lara Raith has garnered three favors from Winter. While she has used two, there is one which has not been accounted for by my agents.”

I blinked. It was my turn to stare at him.

“And you have experience in bringing down opponents from within the ranks of your target,” he continued, raising an eyebrow, as if I should have remembered my role in Mab’s and his scheme against Nicodemus without him needing to remind me.

I tried not to twitch being told I had had a ‘target’. Dammit, I knew as the Winter Knight I was technically Mab’s hatchet man, but it was another thing altogether to hear my job caged in terms that made me sound like a freaking assassin. Ugh.

“My boss has worked out an alliance with you,” I reminded Marcone. “Hell, I’ve worked out a deal with you too. It has nothing to do with being the Winter Knight.”

“And yet… neither is finalized,” Marcone said coolly. “And won’t be for a few more weeks. It leaves a window of time where you are free to work against me without repercussions. Or making your boss forsworn. Especially if it is on behalf of another.”

“Like Lara.” Hell, everything he said was perfectly logical. It wasn’t like Marcone knew that Lara had already used up all her favors. Although I couldn’t say that she hadn’t picked up more since last year. Stars, if you took into account my history it made too much sense. Dammit. Dammit, how did I argue against that?

Marcone inclined his head. “Like Ms. Raith.” He sighed. “That I don’t give this suspicion the full weight of my attention is due to one simple fact.”

“Oh?”

“You would not bring a child into the middle of whatever move you were making against me,” Marcone stated simply.

“No,” I agreed, leaning forward so he could read the determination on my face. “I wouldn’t. Ever.”

There was a flash in his pale green eyes but it disappeared too quickly for me to figure out what emotion it had been. Once again, the wall between us was raised as Marcone’s eyes hardened into granite.

“At least… not of your own free will,” he murmured grimly, as if the thought had just dawned on him.

Goddammit. I stared at Marcone in frustration.

This. This is what was driving me bonkers. The doubts, the suspicions at the back of his mind. Even knowing what kind of man I was, that I had to answer to the Queen of Air and Darkness and fulfill her orders was feeding Marcone’s paranoia. My own autonomy was in doubt after all, as exemplified by the fact that Mab was making me get married. Hell, I didn’t think Namshiel had to have much of an influence for Marcone’s doubts to send him down those dark mental paths. I mean, I was still suspicious of the Fallen but I couldn’t say for sure that this wasn’t simply… Marcone being Marcone.

Okay. Time to kick those doubts in the ass once and for all.

I glared at the man. Then I took a deep breath, straightening to my full height before I locked my gaze with Marcone’s opaque eyes. One of his eyebrows quirked up a silent question but I ignored it as I intoned, “I, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden –” At the sound of my Name on my lips, Marcone’s eyes widened. “– am not working, plotting, or doing anything through thought, word, or deed to bring you or your people harm. Nor am I working for someone who is. I swear it on my Name. I swear it on my magic. I swear it on my life.”

Marcone’s lips parted slightly as he stared up at me.

Ha! Let the paranoia try to argue against that.

I gentled my tone. “And if anything, I want you alive and kicking, John.” Time to put a cherry on top of that sundae. “And that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I swear on that too.” Yeah, there’s a reason that oath has a set of three ‘truths’ in it, and it has nothing to do with it being poetic. There’s a lot of leftovers of the supernatural side in the mortal world. The roots of it have simply been forgotten by most.

Okay, maybe it was phenomenally stupid to let Marcone – with his burgeoning talent with magic – know my Name. Or let Namshiel hear it from my own lips. But Maggie’s life relied on Marcone being willing to go through the wedding, and for that he needed to trust that I meant what I said. I found my daughter’s life infinitely more precious than my Name. I, sure as hell, had done worse and had sacrificed more to keep her alive.

My goal right now wasn’t about my own well-being. It was about Maggie’s. Anyway, I was mortal. The rules about mortal Names applied to me too. Marcone had a limited window of time to use my Name for anything nefarious before my internal perceptions of who I was shifted so much that it couldn’t be of any use to anyone. Not even the Fallen.

The kitchen was silent for almost a minute as my oath – its power – sunk in. Marcone understood what I’d done without having to be told.

“That –” Marcone’s voice was rough, before he stopped and cleared his throat. He glanced away from me, his right hand came up to smooth out his tie as he continued, “that was hardly necessary, Mr. Dresden.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it was. If you’re going to keep doubting me then even the partnership you want isn’t going to work. Now you have no doubts.”

Marcone breathed out a slow breath. “Well, you certainly have a flare for the dramatic, Dresden. It is rather astonishing to witness,” he finally said, looking back at me.

We locked eyes for another long moment, and I couldn’t help but notice how Marcone was leaning closer to me, and how his gaze then dipped to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. Another thing I noticed was that whatever lingering tension he had, whatever barrier his suspicions about me had been holding in place was simply… gone. The lack was nearly visible. There was a lightness to his green eyes now. Not in color… no, but in brightness. As Marcone was letting himself enjoy the moment.

“I’m a real wizard,” I said, sticking my nose up in the air in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s how you know I earned my bona fides.”

Marcone’s lips twitched. “It explains so, so much.”

I snorted. Then I grabbed another sandwich and slid the plate over to him. “Have another sandwich.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take it to go,” Marcone said, regret shading his voice as he eyed the plate with clear hunger.

“You’re in luck – Dresden’s Diner has a to go option,” I said, as I pulled open the cupboard, trying to remember where I’d seen the wax paper.

I was wrapping a sandwich when there was a knock at the door and Childs peeked in cautiously, like he was scared of whatever horrifying sight could be awaiting him. Baffled, I watched as he glanced at me and then at Marcone. He didn’t quite sigh in relief, but the way he straightened gave him away.

I snorted.

Childs said politely. “Everyone is ready to move whenever you are, Mr. Marcone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Childs,” Marcone said, before turning to me. I handed him the wrapped up sandwich, which he tucked away inside his coat like it was gun. It barely made a ripple in the lines of his suit. You know, if Marcone had managed to enchant the pockets of his suits with a ‘bag of holding’ spell then I wouldn’t even be a little bit surprised. It would explain the freaking endless weapons.

“And Dresden,” Marcone continued, “as you investigate the attack, I would appreciate it if you kept me appraised of your findings.”

I couldn’t suppress my guilty startle.

“Um. Me, investigate? What?” I said, totally caught off guard. Look, I do have a pretty good poker-face, no matter what some of my friends may tell you. Marcone just surprised me.

The amused gleam in Marcone’s eyes was genuine even as he said dryly, “Are you saying you weren’t already planning on launching your own investigation to discover who ordered the ghoul attack?”

So sometime between digging out the mustard, spreading it on a slice of bread and layering a sandwich with cold cuts, I’d made the decision that I would have to find out who was responsible for the attack on my own. Yeah, Marcone wanted me to stay out of it, but he wasn’t a detective. He might have his ‘agents’ – still worrying – but that didn’t mean that those people had my particular combination of investigative skills, and magical knowledge to be able to track down the bad guy. It hadn’t done much to assuage my guilt, but it had made me feel better to do something.

I just hadn’t expected to Marcone to catch on to my plans.

Okay, it was actually becoming disturbing how well the man knew me.

“I make no promises,” I groused.

“Hmm,” said Marcone. Then he turned to Childs. “See that Mr. Dresden leaves the property safely, Mr. Childs. Once he finishes his lunch.”

So I was eating a third sandwich. I need a lot of fuel.

“And also see to his needs,” Marcone added. “Within reason.” The warning look he shot me clearly showed who that was meant for.

“Well, damn. Guess I won’t ask for a Bugatti,” I said, snapping my fingers in a ‘oh-darn’ gesture.

“Yes, boss,” said Childs.

I waited until Marcone had left the kitchen before I smiled at Childs. “I need twenty pizzas from Pizza ‘Spress.” I bit into my sandwich, and chewed as I raised my eyebrows at Childs.

Childs glanced at the sandwich in my hand, then at two leftover on the plate, and looked back at me warily. Like he thought I was pulling his leg or something by ordering more food.

“Twenty pizzas,” I repeated.

“Er… yes, sir,” said Childs. “I’ll order them now.”

I frowned after Childs, but I put down the sudden deferential attitude to his boss’s orders. Instead, I focused on eating the rest of my lunch.

And I thought about what I needed to do to next.

Chapter Text

I ambled out to a section of trees out of the sight of the firefighters who were making sure the remnants of the shed fire were well and truly put out. I was followed by Childs and a tall dark-skinned Einherjar with hazel-brown eyes so pale they shone like polished copper in the sunlight. Childs had press-ganged the ancient warrior into helping him, and they carefully carried a towering stack of pizza boxes in their arms.

Look, if Marcone was gonna give me the use of his men, I was going to make them carry things for me. It’s not like I needed Childs’ more murderous skill sets right now. Or ever… unless more ghouls showed up. I had no problem with Marcone’s top murderer showing off his abilities on those guys.

Anyway, I was carrying my staff in one hand and eating the last sandwich with my other, so I clearly didn’t have a free hand to spare. Carrying stuff is what minions were made for, after all.

“Leave them on the ground,” I said, pointing with the remnant of my sandwich and losing a piece of lettuce leaf as a result. As soon as the white Pizza ‘Spress boxes were safely down, I stuffed the last bite into my cheek and waved the two men away with a careless, dismissive hand.

Childs shot me a suspicious look, but he only said, “Of course, sir.” Then he and the other man walked off. I noted how they stopped far enough away to be out ear-shot, but not so far that either lost sight of me. They kept glancing around, each scanning a different field of view compared to the other.

I frowned at the realization they were guarding me. I mentally grumbled while wondering what other orders Marcone has slipped to his men, but put it out of my mind.

Instead, I used my staff to score a large circle into the lawn with the pizza boxes in the center, feeling more than a little gleeful at ruining the perfect golf course green of Marcone’s lawn. Once I completed the circle I stood inside it and quietly spoke a familiar Name, sending out the mildest flow of will that was the equivalent of polite tap on the shoulder.

Then I waited patiently for the dramatic entrance of my Major General.

A blazing, glowing, violet ball of light with a circumference like a car tire shot out of the top of a large sycamore, speeding towards the ground. The curve of the fall made it seem like a small meteor was hurtling towards me, buzzing with the same dangerous sound as approaching saw blade before, I could see Toot-toot’s distinctive lavender dandelion-fluff for hair and the black-purple armor that Molly had commissioned for the Za Lord’s Guard.

Toot-too made the classic 3-point super-hero landing when he touched down before me, the flare of his black cape settling around him and his spear held upright in his hands. The entire complement of the Guard, about thirty of the largest fairies I’d ever seen in one place, landed behind their leader in the same dramatic pose.

The Za Lord's Guard are very serious about their work. You see, I’m the Za – Pizza, really – Lord, and they’re my personal fairy bodyguards.

Hey, don’t laugh. They’ve actually saved my life on more than one occasion. And Toot-toot had long since earned my respect for the depth of his bravery and loyalty. I was grateful to have them at my back and I paid for their good work with their favorite coin: Pizza. Hence my title.

“At your service, Za Lord,” piped Toot-toot as he straightened and saluted by slamming his fist to his breastplate of his armor so hard it chimed like a bell. Toot-toot was a dewdrop fairy, but one who could barely be called that anymore on account of his ginormous size at thirty inches. Really, it was startling how much bigger he was now than when I’d first met him. Even compared to last year, he’d gained more height.

Toot-toot inhaled deeply. His motion was echoed by all the other pixie members of the Guard. They sighed with simultaneous delight and looked hungrily at the stacks of pizza boxes.

“Ugh, more pizza,” said a disgusted female voice by my left ear.

I nearly had a heart-attack. I turned my head to see a dark-haired fairy hovering silently next to my head. I hadn’t even heard her get close. Lacuna was firmly holding her razor-sharp lance in her hand as she glared me and then at the pizza boxes.

Holy shit. Lacuna was freaking scary. Not for the first time, I was glad she was bound by her own oath as a prisoner not to kill me… err, it’s a long story. Let’s just say that she came really close to taking me out but now works for me.

“I have a few jobs I need done,” I said to Toot-toot.

“Whatever enemies you need slain, my lord, we will destroy them,” Toot-toot declared fiercely.

“Whoa, no. Nothing like that,” I said, waving a hand to calm down the fervent gleam I saw in the eyes of the rest of the Guard.

Ever since the Battle of Chicago, the Guard had grown more and more intense. Having seen some of their favorite pizza joints get hit by the Fomor’s forces had made the Guard – actually all of the Little Folk of Chicago – more militant than before.

It was more than a little terrifying. On the other hand, the wyldfae of Chicago had gotten proactive about letting Toot-toot know of any Fomor incursions into the city. And considering it was easily several hundred thousand fairies who were aligned with the Guard, it meant that was downright impossible for the Fomor to set a foot or tentacle on the shores of Lake Michigan without me soon learning about it.

It was one of the rare changes that had taken place since the Battle that made me sleep easier at night.

“Major General, is there anyone in the Militia who is willing to move to the Guard on a temporary basis?” I asked.

Toot-toot’s face scrunched up. “The Guard is full. I guess I could make more ranks…” he trailed off, doubtfully.

“No, I mean, I need to set up another guard squad,” I said. “A temporary complement of our people to guard someone else.”

Lacuna, faster on the uptake than Toot-toot, said, “He means he wants a Za Lord’s Consort‘s Guard.”

“Ah!” Toot-toot nodded. “Of course, you need to safeguard your betrothed.” Toot-toot’s gaze drifted towards Lacuna. “I understand, Harry. You would want to shield your beloved – the one who makes your days brighter and your nights warmer – from all harm.” He gave a tiny sigh of longing while Lacuna shot him a narrowed-eyed look, before she sniffed derisively and turned away.

Toot-toot just looked even more smitten.

I barely kept from choking. “Err… that’s not – you know, don’t worry about it. What I need are some experienced bodyguards to keep an eye on Baron Marcone. The squad needs to be able to follow him wherever he goes but also need to come get me if he is attacked again. I’d prefer it be made up of your experienced soldiers. They are the best.”

The small chests of the members of the Guard – puffed out so much, several of them went straight up into the air as their wings buzzed, proud grins spread across their faces.

Lacuna shot the floaters a cold look and the pixies who’d fallen out of formation stiffened in place, falling back down to the ground with quiet ‘oofs’ and multicolored puffs of fairy-dust mushrooming into the air.

I kept a straight face through sheer force of will.

“I know I usually leave the decisions of the Guard up to you, Major General,” I said, lowering my voice. “But… I want Lacuna to be the leader of the squad. She has the experience at being in charge.” Also she was smart and wouldn’t be easily caught by Marcone for spying him. Hopefully.

Toot-toot shot Lacuna a stricken look. But my vassal understood his duty no matter how much it personally cost him. His expression firmed up and he nodded at me. “Of course, my lord.” Then his professional demeanor wavered. “My girlfriend is the best one to protect the Baron.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I pulled out a baggie full of celery that I’d liberated from Marcone’s kitchen and held it out to Lacuna.

Lacuna eyed it suspiciously, but grudgingly accepted the payment of celery for the job I wanted her to do. Hey, I pay the Guard. I just had to make special considerations for Lacuna’s aversion to processed food.

“I’d prefer teeth,” she muttered darkly.

“You can keep all the ghoul teeth you want,” I said. Well, that was a sentence I never thought I’d say in my life. “My cons-”– Oh hell no, I wasn’t using that title – “…um, Marcone has been attacked by ghouls and they are going to go after him again.” I told Lacuna. “When they do, I’ll need someone to follow them back to their headquarters. And then get that information back to me.”

Lacuna nodded crisply.

Toot-toot jeered. “As if a ghoul could be a match for a member of the Za Lord’s Guard!” He saluted. “It will be done, my lord!”

“Great,” I said. I pulled out a folded piece of paper. “The other job I need is someone to play mail-man… err, or mail-woman to deliver notes between me and Marcone.”

Although I couldn’t trust that anything I sent through Fairy Mail wouldn’t get intercepted (Mab had already proved that she could and would mess with my messages), I realized I needed a faster way to contact Marcone. I wasn’t always able to find a pay-phone these days, and that meant it took longer to get my voice-mail messages when I was away from home. It wasn’t like I had a cell phone on me, and email is something that happens to other people.

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes decide which members of the Guard would be assigned to play messenger for me.

I handed my note to Caption – that’s captain to the rest of us – Elidee, who was easily ten times bigger than she’d been when we first met.

She took my note, tucked it under her arm, and saluted me by slamming her fist to her chest.

I returned the salute before dismissing the Guard by breaking the entirely symbolic circle and turning away. Behind me the Pizza ‘Spress boxes floated up into the air and vanished shortly after hitting the tree-line.

I walked over to Childs and shot him a determined look. “So, tell me everything you know about the attacks.”

*-*-*-*

I drove over to pick up my daughter from her summer school with a scowl on my face as I thought about the information I’d pried out of Childs.

It wasn’t much. The ghouls had attacked Marcone twice so far. The first attack had been launched in the evening, a day after our first date and when the news of the Winter-Marcone alliance had broken to the rest of the Ministry members. Marcone had been heading out from an office to a “business” meeting when they were ambushed.

Yes, I’m adding air quotes. I didn’t ask for more information on what kind of meeting it was, although I had my suspicions. I’ve mentioned before that thinking about Marcone’s criminal life made me angry. I knew better than to ask for details that would just end up making me fume. Well, not that Childs told me any incriminating details. He had been pretty evasive when answering my questions. Hell, he wouldn’t even tell me where this office was located or where Marcone had been going, although I was full of suspicions that shady warehouses were involved.

The only thing I learned was that the ambush had involved two men – ghouls – on motorcycles. They had caught up to Marcone’s cars and opened fire with automatics. But the cars carrying Marcone and his team had long since been tricked out with armor and bullet-proof glass, so they’d shaken off the bullets with no one the worse for wear. Marcone’s security net had responded damn quickly, shooting back. But the ghouls had only been testing Marcone’s defenses, since the motorcyclists had raced off before any of his trouble-shooters could down them. The men who’d chased after them had been in cars and had lost them.

Ghouls could take a lot of damage without dying. I had no doubt that if they’d been human then Marcone’s security would have killed them at once.

Then this morning as Marcone had been leaving his one of his construction sites, the ghouls had attacked him again. But the second time around, Marcone’s people had been ready, and had driven off the motorcyclists before they got close. But then they made the mistake of lowering their guard and they’d been ambushed by more ghouls in two SUVs.

This time, the attackers shot at them with a barrage of armor-piercing rounds. And while armored cars are pretty good about being bullet resistant, they have their limits. Fortunately, Marcone been close enough to the estate that they could retreat there. What they hadn’t expected was that more ghouls had been waiting for them to arrive. Marcone’s people hadn’t even realized the attackers were ghouls until the Einherjar bodyguards had proved they weren’t useless. The Viking warriors had gone after the ghouls like the berserkers they were, and had smashed them so thoroughly the ghouls had retreated.

Which is where I entered the picture.

Like I said, it really wasn’t much information.

Marcone was right that ghouls were used a lot by the supernatural world as goons for hire. As much as I suspected LaChaise there was absolutely not one shred of evidence pointing in his direction other than my gut instinct.

I remembered his angry face when Marcone had insulted him when LaChaise had tried to run after Ethniu had attacked the peace talks. And LaChaise was an old-school sort of monster. We’re talking someone who was easily two hundred years old or more. Anyone who grew up during the kind of times where being called a coward was a deadly insult, the kind that could only be settled with a duel, likely to the death… well, that kind of person wasn’t going to forget Marcone’s words anytime soon.

I’d checked in with my contacts among the Paranetters, asking for information on any ghouls or White Court vampires sighting. Hell, even Marcone’s movements, although I didn’t expect to get much information there.

And zilch is exactly what I got back.

Which is why I was glowering at the idling car in front of me as I waited for the light to turn green, so I could pull into the parking lot of my daughter’s school and wait for her to come out.

It didn’t take long.

The noise of babbling children who were happy to be released back into the wild was very loud.

Maggie was such a small child that she wouldn’t have been visible among the flood – even with my height it would have been hard to see her – if it wasn’t for Mouse’s distinctive presence at her side. My dog caught the attention of most of the children, and, in what was now an old ritual, he accepted pets, ear scratches and even a couple enthusiastic hugs from Maggie’s classmates (and even some of their parents) before he and Maggie walked over to the Munstermobile.

I opened the back passenger side door and bowed dramatically. “My lady.”

Maggie said solemnly, “Hello, dad.”

I looked at her with more care. Usually, I earned at least a giggle for my theatrics.

Maggie climbed into the booster chair the Carpenters had given me, while I shot Mouse a concerned look. Mouse shot me a very firm stare before he delicately climbed in next to Maggie and rested his large head on her lap.

Maggie’s brown eyes were locked down at Mouse’s ears as she gently scratched his furred head.

I closed the door and settled back into the driver’s seat, studying my daughter through the rear-view mirror. Maggie’s expression was more pale and drawn than I liked to see.

I wondered what – or who – had upset my daughter so much.

I felt helpless and more furious than was probably good for keeping the Winter’s mantle under control. My hands tightened hard on the steering wheel, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to think. Being angry wasn’t any help when I had to be a good dad for Maggie.

“Hey, punkin, what’s on your mind? Anything I can help you with?” I asked gently, as I drove out of the parking lot.

Maggie’s brown eyes flickered up to meet mine in the mirror’s reflection before she looked away to stare out of the window. She bit her lower lip, clearly thinking carefully about what she wanted to say.

Not something she got from me, I can guarantee that.

“Dad… I think… I think I’m a bad person.”

“What?! No! Who told you that?” I had to fight the urge to turn fully around to stare at my child in astonishment.

Maggie’s reflection showed her face not looking at all reassured by my words.

“I think I am,” she whispered.

I took a deep breath, stomped down on my emotions and focused my attention as not ramming the Cadillac into an innocent car while I listened to my daughter.

“What makes you think that?” I asked gently.

Maggie went back to chewing on her lip. “Because… at school… I kept hearing all the kids talk about people who died. Those they lost last year… their family or friends. And I kept thinking... they finally – finally they understand. They finally know how it feels. They know.”

Maggie curled up to hide her face against Mouse’s leonine mane. “And I felt happy,” she whispered shakily, like it was a secret too terrible to be borne.

“First, that doesn’t make you a bad person, okay. And second this is a conversation that needs ice cream,” I said firmly. “And only good people get ice cream.”

*-*-*-*

We were siting on bench near the Mexican ice cream shop that was the only place I’d found so far in Chicago that carried Maggie’s favorite flavor of horchata ice cream.

Today I was trying out a tres leches flavor that I’d let Maggie pick out for me.

I licked away a melting drop before it could slide down the cone and hit my fingers. Then I took a deep breath. “I take it that, with the anniversary of the Battle of Chicago being so close, the kids were talking about it a lot at school.”

Maggie nodded and didn’t look up from picking at her ice cream with a spoon. The kid didn’t do cones.

“Okay, that makes sense. It has been in the news a lot. People want to talk about what happened last year, remember who died, who they miss, who they still grieve for.”

Maggie nodded again.

“Maggie… not only does feeling happy that people understand how you feel, how much you’ve lost too, does not make you a bad person… it makes you a normal human being,” I said quietly.

Cautiously, Maggie finally looked up to meet my eyes. “It does?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s part of being human. We all want people to understand us, to know why we feel what we feel. And sometimes… going through something awful, something other people haven’t experienced, it makes you feel like an outsider. Isolated. It’s a very lonely feeling.”

Maggie nodded. I curled my arm around Maggie, to tug her into a hug. She sighed and leaned in.

“Knowing that there is even one person who understands, who’s gone through something similar… it helps, so you don’t feel so alone.” I dropped a kiss on the top of Maggie’s head. “It’s okay to feel happy about not feeling so alone, kid.”

I squeezed my kid gently, feeling the beating of her heart like the flutter of butterfly wings against my side.

Maggie looked up at me. “But I’m also – so, so happy that no one I knew died. Hank’s best friend died. So did yours and…. I’m just so relieved that the Carpenters are okay. You’re okay. Mouse is okay. But then I feel bad, because Hank was so sad. You too, dad.” Tears shimmered in Maggie’s eyes. “But I can’t lose anyone else.”

My breath caught. “Yeah, punkin. That’s okay too,” I said roughly.

I won’t deny the fact that whenever I thought about how Maggie would grow up never knowing the amazing woman that was Karrin Murphy, it upset me. Maggie would never have her as role model. Never be able to talk to her about boys. Or have her wave a P-90 at whoever dared take Maggie out on her first date (at thirty – no, forty, I swear).

I hadn’t realized how much I had been building a future for all of us – a future together until it wasn’t a possibility anymore. It made me hurt. It made the pain at losing the woman I loved throb with new levels of agony. But there was also a very small part of me that was relieved Maggie never got to love Murphy before she died. Loving Murphy and then losing her would have shattered something in my daughter I don’t know if I could have pieced together again.

While Maggie was growing stronger all the time, more confident and less inclined to have panic attacks, she was still healing a hurt that would take years and years for her to fully recover from (I felt a flash of dark pleasure at knowing that the Red Court was dead). Maggie was fragile and so full of fear at the thought of losing those she loved. Of being alone.

I wasn’t the only Dresden who woke up screaming in the night. She had her nightmares too.

That’s why I’d been so relieved the events of last year hadn’t added more to her repertoire of horrors. But I hadn’t realized that simply having survived that awful night was adding to her already heavy sense of survivor’s guilt.

Dammit.

I added, “I understand everything you’re feeling, punkin. I’ve told you about your grandfather Malcolm and how he died. I understand it all. You aren’t the first Dresden to be feeling these emotions and thinking those thoughts. Sometimes all you can do is offer to help someone else. That helps, too.”

Maggie was quiet for a long moment then she asked shyly. “Can… can I see Hank tomorrow? Maybe spend the night at the Carpenters? I think – I think I should be nearby if he needs me.”

Even knowing it was coming. Even having been constantly reminded of the approaching date. I still felt taken off-guard. Yeah. It was officially almost a year. A year since the peace talks had failed. Since they were revealed as a Fomor plot to attack Chicago.

Stars and stones. I wasn’t ready. I focused on my ice cream instead.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. I nudged her gently. “See, you’re a good person, doing a good deed. I’m so proud of you.”

Shyly, Maggie ducked her head, licking at her spoonful of ice cream.

After a couple of minutes went by, she looked up at me again. “Bonnie doesn’t understand.”

“No,” I agreed. I frowned thoughtfully, mentally hiding a wince at the mention of Bonnie. It wasn’t the time to remind Maggie we weren’t supposed to mention her sister outside of the Carpenter house or the castle. “She doesn’t quite understand the concept of life, either. I think death is a little beyond her. She hasn’t had to face loss like that.”

Maggie’s expression firmed and grew fierce. “She’ll never have to. I won’t let it.”

“I believe you,” I said solemnly. “You are the world’s best big sister.”

Finally, finally, Maggie smiled up at me. It was a small smile. Barely a flicker, but the sight of it was like sunshine breaking through an overcast sky. Brilliant and warming.

We settled down to finish our ice creams.

“We should bring Bonnie some,” Maggie said, after licking her last spoonful clean, having shared half her cup with Mouse. “She hasn’t tried ice cream yet.”

“Hm, I think we better buy an entire pint if we do that,” I said, nodding in agreement. “Why don’t you pick out the flavor?”

Maggie jumped up and headed back into the ice cream shop with Mouse at her heels while I shoved the end of the ice cream cone into my mouth and followed right behind them.

I made it to the shop door just as Elidee, hovered into my line of sight. I paused for moment and she whirled around me twice, dropping a neatly folded paper into my hand before shooting off to vanish over the roof the ice cream shop.

I unfolded the paper.

Below my words of ‘You still owe me a lunch, Marcone. - H’ Marcone had written: ‘I could argue that I have already fed you considering you ate at my kitchen, but I agree with the sentiment. In two nights’ time I need to attend a public function. If you are willing to be my plus-one, I’ll pick you up at 7pm. It’s a black tie event. -J.’

“Of course it is,” I muttered to myself, grimacing at the idea of needing to wear at tuxedo. I dug a stub of a pencil out of my coat pocket and wrote back:

‘Fine. But the food better be worth it. -H’

I folded the letter and tossed it up into the air. It was picked up by a blurring, glowing Elidee at its apex. I waited for her to disappear with the new message to Marcone before I opened the door to the ice cream shop and stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Among the citizens of Chicago there had been a long running argument about which day was the day the Battle of Chicago started. Not because there was any confusion of the sequence of events (trust me, no one who barely survived an attack by horrifying monsters thought of it as just another day in the life of a Chicagoan… well, except me), but because there was a lot of disagreement on what should be considered the start of it all. Ethniu’s hex had downed all of the technology – that mortal magic that brought forth shining, bright cities even in the depths of the night – a little before midnight, but the Fomor forces hadn’t begun their massacre until the witching hour, about two hours later.

So the argument had raged on over which act should be considered the actual start of it all.

The city officials settled the matter by choosing the day the city had woken up to find so many skyscrapers downed, so many people dead and missing, and life irrevocably changed for everyone who’d survived. Me? I broke it down as the day I had to put Thomas in stasis in Demonreach and the night… the terrible night I wasn’t able to save Karrin.

However, I did consider the total blackout of Chicago to be the first salvo and therefore the start of the fight for the city’s survival.

So one year to the day after the Fomor had attacked humanity (it wouldn’t have stopped at Chicago, trust me), considering everything, it didn’t surprise me that my sleep was plagued with nightmares. You’d have thought that all of this time would have managed to blunt the razor’s edge of memories and make them less vivid, less visceral, but you’d be wrong. If anything, it sometimes felt as if memories were becoming stronger every time I thought about that night. As if every recollection wore down a groove in my mind. Entrenching the memories deeper.

As if the arrival of the anniversary of the Battle wasn’t bad enough, the morning started off great. Well, if your definition of great includes waking up yelling yourself hoarse from a nightmare and then hearing one of your daughters wake up screaming in heart-rending terror from her own horrors as you debated whether or not it was worth it to try to get back to sleep.

The sun dawned on Castle Dresden with everyone feeling haunted, fatigued, worried – Mouse and Bonnie – and wanting to the day to be over already – mostly me – or some combination of all four, with the exception of Mister who was always smarter than the rest of us.

The old gray tom just slept on the floor in the brightest sunbeam making its way through the narrow windows of the castle and ignored the chaos.

I dropped Maggie and Mouse off at the Carpenter home, spending about an hour to check-in with Michael and Charity. Then I stopped by to check on the squad of dangerous fae warriors that Molly had had installed in a house across the street and put the fear of the Winter Knight into them. Okay, I probably didn’t need to do that. They were already terrified of failing their youngest queen if they didn’t protect her parents and siblings, but I wanted to make sure they were extra alert for any possible Fomor attack.

Oh, I didn’t think it was likely but… it was on the mind of everyone in the city. As much as I had been ignoring the approaching anniversary, as much I had been putting it out of my mind, I couldn’t ignore the building tension that had been gathering all week. Everyone in the city had become quieter, more alert, cautious, and worried these last few days.

There had been a lot of crazy buying. People hoarded water and groceries like everyone normally did when preparing for a blizzard. Only in this case, people were preparing to fight if they had to. Even the gun stores were sold out of ammo.

Yup, I may have done my own set of stocking up too.

In my neighborhood, which was full of the families I had saved last year, it wasn’t any better. They were feeling anxious. Tense. Many of them had stopped by my door over the past few days, asking if I meant to be home this night. If they could come to the castle for refuge. Just in case.

The entire city was quietly bracing for another attack.

Dammit, if I didn’t understand it. Even knowing how unlikely it was that the Fomor had the means and the manpower to coordinate an attack on the city, considering how intensely they’d been fighting the Ministry forces for the past year? I couldn’t quite shake my own worried thoughts that they would find a way to strike again. Maybe just out of simple vengeance against those responsible for imprisoning their goddess.

Yeah, I was certain that I was a target. It was another reason I was perfectly happy to drop off Maggie with the Carpenters. It opened up the day for me to prepare.

Anyway, I wasn’t planning on getting any sleep. One, I doubted I’d be able to get any shut-eye even if I tried, and two, I needed to keep vigil this night. On this night of all nights, I had to be awake and ready to act.

So I made my rounds, checking in with everyone I knew whether they were a friend, ally or just a passing acquaintance. From Mortimer and his apprentice to the Alphas, to the Paranetters, to the old guard who ate at Mac’s bar and weren’t exactly the joining-a-group types, and even a handful (with a couple fingers to spare) of cops who still took my calls.

It took most of the day.

Then when I could find no one else who could use my help… only then did I drive the Munstermobile over to the last place I had to pay my respects.

Chicago’s biggest, oldest, and most haunted graveyard: Graceland Cemetery.

*-*-*-*

“I hate this, you know,” I said, looking up at the sky overhead. Although sunset was nearly an hour away, the sky was darkening and the clouds had turned a gorgeously picturesque red, pink and orange with the rare streak of lavender. The late summer heat had broken as a cooling breeze came off Lake Michigan, bringing with it the faint scent of the approaching autumn.

“I hate it that you’re not here.”

It had been a year since I failed in my job to protect the woman I loved. Since Karrin Murphy died in my arms.

A year since nearly a hundred thousand men, women and children suffered ugly and viciously deaths at the hands of monsters.

The grave marker I thought as Murph’s, as belonging to everyone who died in the fight against the Fomor felt sun-warm against my back, a soothing heat that managed to get through the protective layer of the duster. Her family had had a casket buried among the rest of the Murphy clan in the family plot down by their local church, but considering it was as empty as the one beneath me, I didn’t particularly feel like visiting it.

I hadn’t managed to make it through the entire funeral. Not with the way her brothers and sister had looked like they’d held me responsible. The heart-broken expression on her mother’s worn face had permanently damaged something in me. The sight of her grief reminded me of my years-old promise and how I had failed to keep it. How I’d failed to save her daughter. Save Karrin.

It hit me harder now, knowing, understanding what it meant to be a parent, to have a daughter. If I lost Maggie….

I shuddered.

I couldn’t go back there. I just couldn’t do it. My pain was bad enough. If I added the weight of the Murphy Clan’s loss, their grief to my own, it would break me. And I didn’t think I could survive seeing the grave maker with her full name on it.

Not again.

“I’m getting married in a few weeks,” I admitted. “To someone I’d never thought of marrying either. To Marcone. Yeah, that Marcone.” I sighed and looked up at the sky again, watching the colors shifting. “You know after Susan… you saw how I was after she left. You know what I was like.”

A mess. The worst kind of mess too, where I hadn’t seen anything but my own pain. Where I’d been hurting my friends with my selfish withdrawal. At least until I’d been made to see what I was doing to them, to myself. Even then it had still taken more than a year to start to put myself together. Years, actually, to recover.

Sometimes I wondered if the fact that I hadn’t fallen apart in the same way this time meant that something was wrong with me. At other times, I was glad I hadn’t. I couldn’t afford the indulgence of being lost in my own head. I had responsibilities that needed me in one piece and focused on the now.

“Even then I never really saw myself as husband material.” Sometimes I wondered about that. I’ve done a lot of maturing since those days, it made me wonder what I would have become. What we would have been together. Like I said before, I had a lot of what-could-have-beens running through my head. Now, of course, I had even more. “Although if I was going to marry anyone I thought it would be because I was in love.” And the last person I’d told I loved her….

“If ever I was to marry someone, it would have been –” I cut off Samwise Gamgee’s words, not able to finish it. I didn’t have the fortitude. Even thinking the words felt like acid had been poured into my insides.

Anyway, it wasn’t really accurate anymore with my wedding to someone else looming in the horizon.

I breathed out for several minutes until the pain subsided into its usual level of perpetual aching. I took my time. I didn’t feel rushed. I had no-where to go.

Even having given up my grave to others, I still felt that same sense of peace that I’d had when I’d been running around as a ghost. It was why I preferred to be here when I thought of those who died while under my responsibility and my leadership. They were people who went to war under my banner. Giving them my grave barely made a dent in the debt I owed them.

Knowing something of what came after, if not necessarily What Comes Next, since I never got any further than the Between, made it… not easier exactly that was the wrong way to describe it. But the lack of uncertainty brought me some comfort. Death was another plane of existence, like the Nevernever. And unlike most people, I knew there were friends and allies on the other side.

Also it was the only place that felt right to really think about Karrin. To remember everything surrounding that night.

Feeling the calm of the grave was a reminder of how it was more soothing than disturbing. It helped. The visual reminder of mortality may give people the heebie-jeebies, but to the dead being in one was peaceful, like being wrapped in a warm blanket and drinking a mug of hot chocolate as you dozed in front of crackling fire. Like I said, remembering that helped. A lot.

I cleared my throat. “I sure as hell wasn’t planning on getting hitched to John Marcone, of all people. Don’t laugh but he’s – surprisingly – been a real gentleman about it too,” I said. I waited a beat before complaining, smiling as I did, “I said don’t laugh.”

Several more quiet minutes eased by gently as the wind picked up and the trees’ summer leaves susurrations were the only sounds throughout the graveyard. I wondered how many ghosts were sitting in their grave listening to my words as they waited for the sun to set and those last rays of burning, scouring sunlight to fade away.

“My godmother has practically taken over the wedding plans from Molly,” I said groaning at the memory. “She has been… I didn’t even realize you could apply the term bridezilla to someone who wasn’t even getting married. God-mother-zilla? She’s changed the theme three times in the last three days. Molly had to put her foot down to keep her from really going all out. And she’s told Molly that she is satisfied by my choice of spouse, which is really, really disturbing.”

I shuddered, only somewhat exaggerating my reaction. The idea of Lea approving of Marcone freaked me out. I kept thinking of what they could get up to if they joined forces. Let’s just stay that with my imagination I never risk running out of nightmare fuel.

The only thing that amused me about the whole situation was that I hadn’t yet warned Marcone that the Leanansidhe was going to be his faerie godmother-in-law, and I wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. I intended to reveal that nugget of information at the perfect moment to savor his expression. Hey, he may have demanded to know my secrets but Marcone hadn’t specified when I had to reveal them. I was already planning to see if I could time it for when he was drinking something.

I snorted with laughter at the thought. But my amusement was brief and I slowly breathed out as it dwindled away.

“I can just see you making fun of me for getting myself into this mess,” I complained softly, feeling wetness prickle at my eyes. Stars, how I wished Karrin was here. I could practically hear her laughing at me and wondering aloud how I got myself into such ridiculous trouble.

Karrin Murphy been part of my life for so long, her absence often didn’t feel real. I was thrown off balance when I remembered I couldn’t pick up my phone and call her. I kept finding myself driving to her house, only to remember as I turned into her street that she wasn’t waiting for me to come make her dinner. For the entire year I’d felt like something vital had been cut out of me.

I missed her. I missed her. I missed her.

I shivered and for the first time since last year I let the tears flow.

I missed my lover. I missed my partner against the spooky things that went bump in the night.

I missed my friend.

She would have been furious on my behalf. Furious at Mab for forcing me into getting married. Furious that Mab was only giving me two options, which amounted to staying in the frying pan or jumping into the fire. But Murph would never have be angry at me for making what I thought was the best decision for Maggie’s sake.

It was only knowing she would have understood my choice to protect Maggie which brought me any sense of comfort. It was the only reason it had stopped feeling like I was betraying her memory – betraying her.

I buried my face in my hands.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but it was long enough for the temperature to drop a few degrees. Long enough for the first star of the night sky – Sirius – to shine and for Venus to show up to represent the planets. Long enough for me to think I had better start getting back home.

It wasn’t a good idea to linger in a graveyard after dark, even if you were a badass wizard.

I wiped my face in a clean handkerchief I had in my pocket and then I pulled myself to my feet. I gave the headstone a long, lingering look, reaching out to let my fingers drift slowly over the epitaph THEY DEFENDED CHICAGO, as I remembered everyone else who’d died that night. I thought of Chandler, Will Bill, Yoshimo, the people who had followed my banner, even Hendricks. I only pulled away once I finished tracing the year.

Then I turned away and stretched out my legs to get back to the car.

*-*-*-*

I was almost at the point of the wall where I could parkour over the top to get to where I parked the Munstermobile, when out of the corner of my eye I saw John Marcone standing before a gravestone.

I froze, surprised to see him. For a split-second I felt a spark of anger like something inside me had struck hard at a piece of flint at the sight him, at the idea that he had witnessed my private grief. I would have worked up a temper but sanity quickly doused my anger. I made myself stop and take a good hard look. It was was plain to see that Marcone didn’t know I was there; he wasn’t looking in my direction at all. And the cut of his charcoal suit didn’t hide the rigidness of his back and shoulders.

I knew that pose.

There’s a position you hold your body in when you have broken ribs, or an ache in your chest. When something in the core of your being just hurts and you’re fighting the agony with everything you have instead of crumbling in on it.

I never expected to see Marcone standing like that. It was startlingly human. Vulnerable in way that I never thought of when it came to Marcone.

It was a reminder that I wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone important to him in the Battle. That for all Baron John Marcone had gained since that day in terms of prestige, influence and reputation, the man had also paid a steep cost for the new power he’d acquired.

Marcone’s oldest friend had died.

Thinking that, and seeing him standing utterly alone tugged at my heart-strings. I was about to walk away. I mean, you don’t usually come up to people in cemeteries. People are there to grieve. And in my opinion the moment is private and deeply personal. It’s not a situation where one is usually welcomed for barging in. You have to be invited.

But it struck me after a second that I couldn’t see any of Marcone’s security around. No loitering Einharjaren were standing guard with their weapons, and no mortal trouble-shooters were lingering in the deepening shadows of the trees.

I tried to Listen for anyone nearby, but all I heard were the rustling of trees and insects buzzing around.

The man had been attacked twice. And those were just the ones I knew about. Where was his security? Was Marcone really just standing around out in the open without anyone to watch his back?

What the hell.

At once I strode toward him, grumbling under my breath. I barely made it two steps before Marcone glanced sharply towards me. Something in the way his shoulders shifted let me know he’d gone for a weapon before he saw who was approaching. Then his entire stance shifted into something more relaxed.

I knew that trick of hiding your pain away, too.

“Before you starting wondering, the fact that we’re both here is a coincidence,” I said in greeting as I approached him.

Marcone gave me steady look with his pale green eyes empty of all emotions before he nodded slightly. Nothing in his expression showed he had been grieving, Eexcept for a lingering tension around his mouth and the tight grip his right hand had on a… was that a book?

Well, I guess Marcone isn’t a flowers kind of guy.

“Dresden,” Marcone said calmly. “I take it you are here to pay your respects?”

I stopped a good couple of feet away from him and glanced down at the gravestone. I wasn’t even a little surprised when I read the words carved into the stone: Nathan Hendricks. A Loyal Friend.

There was something in the simplicity of the words, a pure sparseness that showed up a lot on gravestones, which was moving. And for me, knowing who had likely been the one to choose those words made them especially powerful.

Marcone wasn’t prone to false flattery.

“Yeah,” I said. “And I see you are too.” I tried to not squirm, feeling like I was intruding on Marcone’s privacy (which I hated). “But where the hell is your security?” I finally asked.

“Currently? Taking a long and circuitous drive through Chicago while giving the impression that I am with them.”

“Hm,” I said skeptically. “I doubt those tactics will fool the ghouls.” Normal mortal tactics didn’t usually stump predators who went hunting with enhanced supernatural senses. At least not for too long. Well, depending on how bright they were, but so far these ghouls were coming across as smart monsters.

Just for the record, I prefer my enemies on the stupider side.

“It will,” Marcone said with flat certainty.

“You should have kept some guns with you.”

“I’m not a defenseless damsel,” said Marcone. Purple light flickered on his forehead as if a pair of eyes had quickly blinked open before closing.

I grimaced. Right. Right.

“You’re hardly bullet-proof,” I groused, but subsided at the look of faint exasperation Marcone shot me. Okay, I know Marcone isn’t lax with his own safety. But I couldn’t quiet the worried thoughts circling in my head. Maybe especially because of today’s date.

“Is there something I can do for you, Dresden?” Marcone asked after a moment.

And maybe that should have been my cue to say goodbye and leave Marcone to pay his respects to his dead friend in peace. But again, I found myself wondering… since Hendrick’s death, who did Marcone have in his life who he could trust? Or simply call a friend?

“Where’s Sigrun Gard?” I asked abruptly. And it wasn’t until I posed the question that I realized how much the lack of Gard’s presence had been bothering me. She should have been guarding Marcone. I hadn’t seen her at his side in weeks. Stars, in a couple of months. While Gard hadn’t been with Marcone from the first like Hendricks, she’d been part of his entourage for so long I still couldn’t think of either man without imaging a tall blonde Valkyrie at their side.

There was something wrong about it being the year anniversary of Hendricks’ death without seeing her here too. I may not have known much about their relationship, but I had no doubt that whatever Gard and Hendricks had had, it had been real.

Where was she?

“Miss Gard is on bereavement leave,” Marcone said.

I blinked in surprise. “Vadderung offers that?”

“No, but I do,” said Marcone. His expression was still and his eyes were unreadable. “I insisted she take the time.”

For a breathless moment, I wondered if the Valkyrie had gone back to Valhalla. Maybe she was paying her respects to Hendricks in person. My envy nearly took me out at the knees. But then I remembered my conversation with Gard in the aftermath of the battle at the Bean.

Her grief had been too raw.

No. It wouldn’t be so easy, not even for a Valkyrie, to see the dead honored in Valhalla.

And a small voice inside me pointed out, ‘And if she couldn’t, then neither could I.’

I looked away and blinked back at the wetness threatening to gather at my eyes. I blinked them away before I glanced back at Marcone and met his gaze.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered, letting my voice convey how much I honestly meant it. And not for the first time, I felt a flash of regret that I never bothered to get to know Hendricks. I always dismissed him as a brainless thug who stuck around because Marcone paid well. But the man who’d stood up to the fury of a Titan, who’d spat in the face of a mad goddess and who had fearlessly taken a fatal blow in defense of John Marcone, wasn’t merely sticking around for a paycheck, with or without great benefits.

And for the first time ever, I asked myself: What had Hendricks seen in Marcone to make him decide the man was worth his life?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help save him,” I added.

He glanced toward the gravestone. “We all did what we had to do that night; it was hardly your responsibility. You had another task. That Chicago still stands is worth the cost of all our efforts.” Marcone turned back to me, his gaze was less guarded as he added quietly, “My condolences for your own loss as well. And you may not believe this coming from me, but Ms. Murphy’s death was a blow. I have never had much respect for those in law enforcement but she was exceptional.”

I stared at him in surprise. Now that I never expected to hear from Marcone.

“Yeah, she was.” I said hoarsely. Then I snorted. “And she would have hated that you said it.”

The corners of Marcone’s lips curled up. “Yes,” he agreed, amused.

For several minutes we just stood there in comfortable silence before Marcone stirred. He stretched out his hand holding the book and left it on top of the gravestone. I couldn’t read the title, the old brown leather cover was so cracked and worn that the letters were indistinct blurs.

Marcone’s controlled, untouchable demeanor slipped back into place. He shot me a glance with eyes that were back to being cool and opaque, as if the soul-baring discussion we’d just shared hadn’t happened.

I hated it.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said politely, as he walked away from me.

“Hey, Marcone,” I called out.

He paused and turned back to me.

I hesitated for a moment before adding, “Marcone, if you want… come over to the castle tonight. I’m not gonna sleep at all. We can watch over the city together.”

And no one – not even Marcone – should be alone tonight. Gard was away. I hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask when she’d be back, but I suspected it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Marcone had felt every death of those who followed his banner, the same as I had. He had seen a dear friend die before his very eyes. Gard was probably the only other person who would have understood, but she wasn’t here. No one who wasn’t an employee was keeping him company on the anniversary.

I had spent all day touching base with friends Hell, I’ve had an entire year of my friends reaching out and being there for me even when I couldn’t put two words together out of fear of falling part. Who did Marcone have to help him? No one, as far as I knew, and I sure as hell wasn’t counting Namshiel as a friend.

This… this felt right. Offering my company on this night felt like the least I could do (I had to live up to my daughter’s great example after all).

Marcone stared at me the entire time I’d been thinking, with green eyes wider than normal. My offer had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t expected it at all.

His old money green eyes searched mine, looking for what I didn’t know but his expression softened. Marcone said, “I will consider it. Goodnight, Mr. Dresden.”

“Hey, we’re getting married soon. You should probably call me Harry,” I blurted out. For a split second I regretted the offer, but only briefly. It was true anyway.

Marcone stared at me for another moment, then inclined his head. “As you wish.”

I watched him walk away. At some point during our talk the sun had set, so he was little more than a shadow by the time he was out of sight.

That’s when I glared as I glanced around the graveyard. “That was not a Princess Bride reference,” I said sharply to my invisible spectral audience.

I wouldn’t swear to hearing anything that wasn’t the wind in the trees. But I definitely got the impression of a couple of people laughing at me.

I grumbled and left the graves to their rightful owners.

Chapter Text

I was nearly home as twilight fully faded away and bloomed into the darkness of night… well, as much dark as you get in a city of Chicago’s size, which honestly isn’t much. Since it’s a very large city the night sky in Chicago isn’t anywhere near as blazingly stellar as the sort of you’d get in the countryside.

If you’ve never been away from all the light pollution, do yourself a favor and find a place to visit so you can see what raw night really looks like. The sheer number of stars will take your breath away. And if you can schedule your visit for a time of the year when a meteor shower is expected… well, that’s an experience everyone should have at least once in their life.

For an aching moment, I wondered if I would ever be able to take Maggie to a certain farm in the Ozarks so she could peer through same antique copper telescope I had used when learning astronomy.

I shoved that thought away into a mental box. This day was painful enough without poking at those wounds too.

I focused back on the night sky of Chicago. You know, something I hadn’t expected was how after the Battle, every evening had felt weird. Subtly wrong. It took a couple months post-Battle before I realized what had changed and why nightfall made me so uneasy. It wasn’t just because for the first few weeks every time the sun set, I’d gotten an unshakeable lump of dread in my gut that the Fomor would be back to try again while our guard was down. No, to put it simply, all the skyscrapers Ethniu had destroyed had put a significant dent in the light output of the city. And on a clear night, like tonight, there were more stars shining overhead than there had been in Chicago’s sky in a very long time.

As if there weren’t enough reminders of that awful night everywhere you looked in the scarred skyline, now the stars were in on it too. Ugh.

When I turned the Munstermobile into my street, I was caught flat-footed by the sight of my neighborhood. Every house and apartment on the blocks had windows outlined with glowing strands of lights in various colors. I had wondered why so many of the houses had been outfitted with Christmas lights at this time of the year, but I had dismissed it as people being overly enthusiastic and just assumed those yearly complaints about the holiday season coming sooner and sooner were starting to have some merit.

But considering that those early Christmas lights were mixed with what looked like everything that could light up, including glowing Halloween decorations, it didn’t seem to be the case. I had to take a closer look to notice but at nearly every window, there was also the flicking flame of a lit candle burning away.

As I got out of the Cadillac, the real purpose behind the light show dawned on me.

Defiance.

Every person in those decorated homes, every survivor of the terrible night of the Fomor’s attack, was making the choice not to cower in fear. It would be understandable to chose to hide. To find a place that was quiet, dark and hidden while hoping the creatures hunting in the shadows would ignore you; ignore your racing heart and shuddering breath.

But instead these people had gone in for the most basic human instinct we – humanity – have when facing the terror in the dark. Something we have done since we’ve mastered fire.

We turn on the light.

By the time I made it up to the roof of Castle Dresden, I could see the proof that our little street wasn’t the only one lit up as there were various shining glows from neighboring streets. And I had to Listen for it, but I could also hear people out blasting their music.

It wasn’t perfectly universal, of course, there were pockets of unstirring darkness. Places were people had made the choice to hide instead. To give in to the fear of the sharp monstrous teeth in the shadows.

But those unlit areas were surprisingly rare and scattered.

I put my hand against the castle’s stone merlon, mentally reaching out to my home’s complex web of magics. The castle practically purred at my touch.

“Hey, how about we show them how a wizard lights it up?” I asked, even as I shifted power into the castle’s shield defenses to make them visible even to non-magical eyes. It wasn’t something that took any clever spell-casting on my part, only power and focus. Anyway, the castle’s magics did the heavy lifting.

Actually, considering how easy it was to do, I suspected it was a built-in feature. You know, in case the residing wizard needed to intimidate the local vanilla mortals or another wizard or anything with working magical senses.

I have mentioned that the castle’s defense were incredible powerful, right?

Now imagine how all that energy felt against senses attuned to it. For a vanilla mortal it would be like standing next to a jet engine. Mindbogglingly loud and capable of knocking you off your feet with no effort. Or in the case of the castle, turning you to little more than ashes if you were careless enough to challenge the defenses.

At once, the gray stones glowed faintly white and small fireworks began exploding from the parapet as if I had set off spinning sparklers every couple of feet, throwing off cascades of brilliant falling stars from the roof. It wasn’t close to the incandescent neon color show that Castle Dresden put on in the Nevernever, but it was still impressive.

“Good job,” I said, as I gave the stones another pat. The castle’s answering hum of power could almost be called pleased. Seriously, with all the power running through it, give it a thousand years or so and I think the castle could end up developing a fully conscious genius loci of its own. It was more than halfway there.

I gave the city another glance and caught a sight that punched the breath out of me.

In the lonely gaps of space where skyscrapers had once stood, beams of light were appearing one by one. In those empty spaces, there were towers of white bright light reaching up to the heavens, reflecting on the clouds.

Stars... there were so many.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t known the total numbers of buildings that had gone down. The change to the city’s skyline was undeniable, as I’ve mentioned before. But there was something about being reminded of the losses so starkly, of being reminded of the numerous wounds the city had taken so recently, which shook me.

I wasn’t expecting such a sight.

I rubbed at my eyes, at my face, before sitting down on a chair I’d dragged upstairs. I set my staff and blasting rod within arm’s reach and then I double checked my gun, making sure it was loaded and that I had enough ammunition on hand to take down a small army or two.

Only then did I snag a soda from the cooler, popping the tab on the can of Coke as I kept my eyes locked on Chicago.

I raised my drink in silent salute, pausing for a few heartbeats before drinking it down.

*-*-*-*

As the night progressed the city became quiet. Unnervingly quiet for its size. There was just enough distant noise from cars and the occasional roar of passenger jets to keep it from being too quiet.

It put me on edge. Every distant siren sent me jumping to my feet with my heart racing in alarm. But nothing ever came of it.

The occasional helicopter flying overhead always caught my attention. If they were from Chicago Police Department, I watched the copter like a hawk, wondering if the cops were responding to an attack. But every police helicopter I saw only ended up circling the city as CPD ran their own protective watch.

I really had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and stew in my thoughts.

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising that I started to simmer. Hell, it was probably inevitable considering how thoroughly with my thoughts had been wrapped up in memories of Karrin.

I had spent a year not daring to say her name, trying my best not even to think it to keep from getting sucked into a whirlpool of grief, pain and guilt which threatened to drown me whenever I remembered the injustice of how an entire year had gone by while she was no longer part of this world. But with the anniversary on hand, the dam had well and truly broken down.

Maybe it was being alone and having no one around who might get hurt, or that I had spent too long bottling up my emotions but finally letting myself feel had brought back everything wrapped up Murphy’s death and it wasn’t all grief.

Because I found myself becoming angry.

Karrin Murphy no longer being alive, no longer being here. It was enraging. Knowing that her death was the result of sheer damned incompetence by a cowardly bastard. It was infuriating.

My anger threatened to spill over, but I managed to keep a grim lid on it. The Winter Knight’s mantle wasn’t a joke, and knowing that I had lost control once meant that I was even more determined to never do it again. I wasn’t about to forget what happened last time my rage overwhelmed me... even if sometimes in the depths of the night I wished my friends hadn’t stopped me from getting payback.

I stayed in control. But if there was ever a night for letting off steam….

I snarled and swore filthy curses to turn the air blue. I paced the length and width of the roof glaring at everything and nothing in particular. Occasionally, I had to pause, breathe and mentally go through multiplication tables until the mantle settled down again, but I let myself be mad.

For Murph. For her family. For my daughters’ sakes, who would never know Karrin and would never get to grow up looking up to her. For the loss of the family we might have been.

For my brother. For Justine. For their child who doubtlessly had been born and was in the uncaring hands of an Outsider.

At my grandfather. Not only for how he had cut me out of his life, but for Maggie, who was bewildered and hurt he had never come back again to see her.

For my own sake. For being forced to get married against my will. For being made to feel powerless, without the right to say no, by Mab. For being kept in the dark about what it meant to be a starborn by older beings who claimed to know better even though it was my goddamned life!

For the Wardens who had been friends and were now dead. For the people who had died under my banner. For everyone the Fomor had killed. For those who had been left behind to pick up the broken pieces.

I spent the better part of an hour of storming around, feeling the internal pressure build, build and build.

Dammit, I had to get it out.

I grabbed my blasting rod. With a grip so tight that my right hand hurt and the burns on left arm throbbed in counterpoint, I pointed the blasting rod up at a cloudy patch of sky. I poured my rage into my magic until the runes on the blasting rod glowed gold-green, and bellowed out in a voice so loud my throat instantly ached, “Fuego! Fuego! Fuego!”

The roaring blast of gold fire that thundered up into the sky radiated so much light that for a brief incandescent moment, it appeared as if the sun had chosen to rise early.

I sustained the fire for only a couple of seconds before I terminated the spell.

The sudden silence was startling. The scent of burning wood filled the air as the blasting rod gave off curls of pale gray smoke. Heat lingered, chasing away the late night chill. As I stared up, I saw how far the spell’s energy reached when the clouds moved. Soon there was a large circle of cloudless night sky right exposing the stars right above the castle as if it stood in the eye of a storm.

I panted for breath before closing my eyes and pressing my left palm against my face.

My anger wasn’t gone… but it was used up for the night. For now. That particular flame of rage might grow smaller with time but it would never, ever go out.

Hell, I was worn out. The entire year had been exhausting on every level. And with everything I was facing, I didn’t see that changing in the year to come, either.

I want it noted for the record that I preferred to turn monsters into charcoal when I felt this way.

I winced at the thought. Yes, I’m aware that’s not exactly the healthiest way to deal with it but it usually worked for me.

‘Until it doesn’t’ said an inner voice that sounded entirely too much like my id for comfort.

I pointedly ignored it. I wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction.

*-*-*-*

The rest of night passed slowly.

As the hours ticked and tocked by I got reports from the members of the Za Lord’s Militia. I had asked them to do extra sweeps of the city. That way I wouldn’t be jumping at every siren and it would let me know almost right away of any supernatural trouble, especially if it smelled of the Fomor – or ghouls.

But the Little People of Chicago hadn’t reported anything I needed to be involved with. Even on the supernatural front, nothing stirred.

Damn… when was the last time that ever happened?

It made me more than a little twitchy with paranoia when even the monsters who called Chicago home were keeping their heads down. Or if they were on the prowl, they were being quiet about it, which –keeping in mind how on edge the entire city was feeling this night – was a smart call. Hell, considering how I was practically vibrating with nerves and caffeine (I’d almost admit to drinking too much Coke if that wasn’t a blasphemous admission) if I saw a creature with too many claws and fangs I would blast it with fire first and ask questions… well, probably never.

Speaking of dangerous forces out and about, Gentleman John Marcone finally showed up at the door of Castle Dresden with only a few hours left to go before sunrise. Considering the lateness of the hour I had stopped expecting the man to take me up on my invitation. That was something which did not disappoint me and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

I had just settled back into my chair on the roof after restocking the cooler with drinks, mostly a new six-pack of Coke, when the brass bell rang loudly throughout the castle.

I leaned over the parapet and glanced down to see Marcone looking back up at me. One of Marcone’s armored town cars was parked right before Castle Dresden. There were also two large and intimidating dark-colored (blue or black or, hell, green, it was impossible to figure out at night even with the neighborhood’s light show) SUVs on the my street. I just knew they were stuffed full of gun-toting cold-blooded killers, although the only one I could see was Childs as he stood next to Marcone.

“Hey, you have a key for a reason, Marcone,” I called down. Childs didn’t bother to look up towards me as he glanced around, sweeping the area for threats against his boss. Yet I swore I saw him stiffen for a moment.

No one can prove I actually smirked at his reaction.

Marcone’s expression was calm as he glanced up at me before turning to say something inaudible to Childs. The other man nodded in acknowledgment and stepped back into the SUV’s front passenger side. That seemed to be some kind of signal to the other passengers, since the doors to the car opened and several armed men kitted out in dark combat gear climbed out and spread out to various spots around Castle Dresden.

In my neighborhood. On my street.

Deep in my mind the Winter Knight’s mantle stirred, making me want to growl. To snarl at all these intruders in my territory.

Oh, hell. There was a pretty good chance my reaction was also me being me. Since taking on the Winter Knight’s mantle, my efforts to keep it under control had forced me to get introspective, including confronting my own worse traits so I could separate them from the mantle’s urges. While usually the mantle was pretty freaking obvious, sometimes that delineating line got muddied and I found it difficult to tell the difference between what was the mantle and what was me. That’s when I knew I was in trouble or that I really need to take a hard look at what the hell I was doing.

And, in this case, I’ve never been very good about sharing what I considered mine. My territorial tendencies had been around before the mantle.

In my defense, I want to point out that not liking a bunch of armed criminals hanging around my home and getting annoyed at their presence was a perfectly valid reaction.

I scowled darkly down at Marcone’s killers, but grudgingly decided to be the bigger man and not protest all those goons littering my neighborhood. However, I had to bite down my my tongue to keep from giving into the temptation to shout at them to get off my – metaphorical – lawn. Maybe after the night was over. I’d hate to chase those guys away and then regret not having extra guns around in a worst case scenario.

At the very least Marcone’s men were staying out of my home. If they had set a foot inside the castle I would have had to make my disgruntled feelings known. Loudly.

Thinking about it, that’s probably the reason that Marcone left them outside in the first place.

As I waited I silently counted the seconds that went by, but Marcone didn’t take an outrageously long time in getting up to the roof. Oh, enough minutes went by that I had no doubt he had done his own version of nosing around my home. Hell, even if he hadn’t done it now it wasn’t like he couldn’t do his spying later.

I had given Marcone a key and a way to get through the wards. I knew what I would be inviting – literally and figuratively – by giving the man access to the castle. Marcone had the means to get in anytime he wanted now. Sure we may have agreed he was to use it to seek sanctuary, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he took the opportunity to learn more of the changes I had brought to the castle.

I’d already set up safe-guards for the really top-secret stuff – like Bob – so they were safely behind concealment spells and extra wards which weren’t easy brought down. My own wards might not be up to the castle’s insanely powerful standards but they got the job done. Honestly, I wasn’t too worried about Marcone finding out about Bob. I had already weighed the risks. I had thought it through, and whatever danger Bob could pose in Marcone’s hands wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as the fact that Marcone already had Thorned Namshiel in his head. The Denarians and the Fallen within the coins were the only supernatural beings around I would rank as exponentially more alarming in the hands of bad guys (or anyone, really) than my magical assistant. Anyway, I doubted Bob would be more useful in helping Marcone fulfill his ambitions than the fallen angel of freaking magic.

The heavy wooden door that led to the roof opened and Marcone strode out with noiseless steps. I hadn’t noticed before, but now that he was closer I could see the subtle bulkiness under his charcoal suit that spoke of body armor and gun holsters.

And multiple knives, I had no doubt.

“You look like hell, Marcone,” I blurted out as soon as he drew close letting me get a good look at his face. Marcone looked significantly more tired than he had appeared in the cemetery. Or maybe I hadn’t noticed in the setting sun, but with his face lit by bursts of extramundane light I could see dark shadows under his pale green eyes. It gave them faintly bruised look.

The expression Marcone shot me was wry. “As you’re doubtless aware, Dresden, it has been a rather long and trying couple of days.”

I snorted in agreement because, yeah, talk about understatement. I probably had my own pair of baggy eyes, courtesy of the plague of nightmares that had visited me last night. As soon as the sun rose, I planned on crashing hard into my bed and not rising again until lunchtime at the very least. Maggie had asked to stay with the Carpenters until tomorrow morning and so I had no need to force myself to stay awake.

“There have been numerous situations which required my attention today,” Marcone added, as he sat down onto an extra chair that had been loitering empty all evening. His descent was perfectly controlled, but there was something in the heavy way he sank into the cushion that rang of deep fatigue. For a man as self-controlled as Marcone, it was the equivalent of slumping into a puddle of exhaustion. And all things considered it didn’t necessarily have to be purely physical.

I eyed him warily, noting the way that his jaw went stiff like he was preventing a yawn from escaping. I wondered if I wanted to know the full details, considering I remained firmly in the camp of not wanting to hear about his criminal business. The thought of it made my soda-filled stomach churn. But Marcone was in charge of more than just the criminal underworld of city.

You couldn’t convince me that being the Baron of Chicago didn’t come with its own set of constant problems needing attention, especially these days with the ongoing Fomor war and so many vanilla mortals aware that the supernatural monsters they’d previously thought to only exist in fairy tales were actually real. And that was without adding that someone from the supernatural side was inflicting military ghouls on him.

In any case the Wizard of Chicago couldn’t ignore any potential boiling points.

“Anything I need to know?” I asked steadily.

Marcone stared off at the city, his eyes scanning the surrounding with in a slow practiced way that came off as more of a habit than his actually expecting to find oncoming threats. A habit of someone used to always looking for danger even in innocuous surroundings or places as well-defended as Castle Dresden.

Finally, Marcone said, “Not particularly, however...”

I frowned.

“I do have a request,” Marcone continued. He paused for moment, thinking through the best way to frame his question. “Among the group of survivors from those who fought under my banner a handful of men and women have been having difficulties in returning to their lives. It is unsurprising, considering all which they witnessed with their own eyes; terrors that they had no concept even existed before that night.”

I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Even those of us who were more used to the spooky side of life struggled with dealing with everything that had happened. Example one: Me.

“And while I have offered assistance, I’m afraid those resources have proved insufficient.”

Startled, I blinked at him.

Okay, I don’t know why I was so surprised that Marcone was taking care of the civilians who’d followed him in the Battle. Marcone returned loyalty to those who showed it to him. Hell, he’d even manipulated events (remembering the freaking jury selection will always make me grumble) to get me involved in a situation where I could help one of his men who’d gotten himself in trouble. And the guy hadn’t even been working for Marcone at the time, having retired out of the criminal life. But he’d been loyal to Marcone and Marcone hadn’t forgotten.

Marcone was downright infamous for the lengths he would go to protect his people.

But the Chicagoans who followed him under his banner during the Battle for Chicago weren’t part of his criminal empire. They didn’t work for Marcone. Hell, most of them probably wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line-up before that night. They were just regular people living their regular lives, what did they care about some guy accused of being a mob boss who’d never even been convicted. I would’ve have bet the Munstermobile against the idea of Marcone even speaking to any of them in the last year.

That he was still looking after people who fought with him for just one night; that he kept tabs on them and tried to give them the means of getting help… it shouldn’t have blown my mind but it did. Especially considering how often Marcone claimed he wasn’t running a charity.

Marcone finally looked towards me, catching my gaze with his own. And while his emotions were under control, there was a steely gleam of determination in his pale green eyes. “I believe they would benefit from talking with you.”

“Um… yeah, I can do that,” I said, unable to stop staring at him. A thought occurred to me. “Actually… Sanya and Butters have been leading a support group for the survivors who fought at the Bean under my banner. I can get you the contact details if your guys want to join up with them too.”

“Excellent, that would also be beneficial,” Marcone agreed. Then something hard flashed in his eyes as he added in low cold voice, “I will not lose any more more soldiers to negligence.”

Although the threat in his dark tone wasn’t leveled at me, I felt chills running down my spine. And I wondered how many he had lost. How many of his people hadn’t been able able to handle the lingering trauma of the Battle?

If it hadn’t been for Sanya and Butters taking an active interest in the lives of those who’d followed me – followed us, how many would now be spiraling down? Or dead? Those men and women sure as hell wouldn’t have reached out to me for help. They would have been too terrified of the wizard who they found to be as frightening as the monsters they’d fought. How many of them wouldn’t have been able to handle the reality of the supernatural or deal with the psychological injuries inflicted that night if they hadn’t had the support group? If they hadn’t had the Knights who wielded Hope and Faith to talk about what it was like to go up against monsters and live with having survived a bloodbath?

Even one loss would have been too many.

Just because someone walks off the battleground in one piece it doesn’t mean they aren’t bleeding from other types of wounds.

After a moment I said slowly, “You were in the military, weren’t you?”

I felt like I should have had that revelation years ago. Because it fit. It felt like a light now shone on an aspect of Marcone that I have always seen but never truly understood. And it wasn’t just his ease with weapons and killing (hell, if you weren’t proficient at those you didn’t remain a mobster for long, at least not a living one) that made me suspect he had a military past. No, it was the devotion to his men. The military tactics he used with ease. The number of ex-soldiers who he had working for him. The way that the Einherjar respected him.

Now it was Marcone’s turn to blink at me as he was startled by my question.

He studied me for moment before admitting, “Yes. A lifetime ago.”

“What branch?” I asked, unable to keep a rein on my curiosity. As far as I knew no one in CPD had ever mentioned suspecting Gentleman Johnny Marcone of having a military background. Or if they had checked, nothing came of it. I frowned to myself as the thought niggled at me.

In answer, Marcone only arched his eyebrows at me and looked back out into the city, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I was reminded that the man hadn’t promised to divulge his secrets to me. I scowled at him but only briefly. Then another revelation hit me.

“That’s where you met Hendricks,” I said with certainty.

This time, Marcone stiffened in place, his hands clenching briefly on the arms of the chair. “I would prefer it if you refrained from using your wizardly insight on me, Mr. Dresden,” he said flatly.

Yeah, not surprised he knew about that one. Although, I was a little annoyed that he didn’t seem to have learned it the hard way like I had – after freaking decades. The benefit of having a magic teacher in your head to answer all your questions, I bet.

“Hell, Marcone, I can’t exactly turn it off,” I said defensively. And… well, I wouldn’t have wanted to even if I could. How else was I going to learn anything about him? Marcone was so close-mouthed, he made me look like a babbling brook. And I’ve been accused in the past of enjoying keeping my secrets too close to the vest (oh dammit, I missed my brother).

…and now I suspected that could end up being a problem on my end too. Ugh.

“You know, I met... Murphy not too long after I first got to Chicago,” I offered hesitantly.

Oh stars, but it hurt. Speaking Karrin’s name would always hurt. It was always a fight to push through the pain to remember her, but it was worth it to be able share what I knew of her with someone else. Even if she would have scowled at me for sharing it with Marcone.

I got lost in the memory.

God, I still couldn’t believe so much time had elapsed that it could be counted in decades. Even before I’d met Michael or Charity I’d met Murph. I had barely turned twenty and had been apprenticed to Nick Christian while she’d been a street cop proving her worth and ready to move on to bigger and better things.

When I resurfaced from my thoughts I found Marcone watching me steadily with understanding in his worn dollar bill green eyes.

For only a moment I wished he wasn’t on the roof with me. That it was someone else. Anyone else, so that someone like Marcone couldn’t see the depths of my grief in my face. But the feeling soon drained away. Because he was here for a reason. Because I had invited him since he had a loss of his own.

I didn’t have to put on a brave face with him. He knew.

And that made easier to speak of those early memories.

I could have talked about Murphy for hours, for days really, but somewhere around the half-hour mark Marcone began to share nuggets of information on Nathan Hendricks and I shut up and listened. As he talked Marcone’s entire demeanor lightened. I doubt it would be noticeable to most people, but I could tell.

Did you know Hendricks could sing? Or that he wooed Sigrun Gard with poetry he’d written himself? Or that Hendricks had a doctorate? He’d somehow managed to write a thesis while working practically every day of the week as Marcone’s bodyguard.

You could have knocked me over with a feather, I sure as hell would never have guessed any of it.

I really hadn’t known anything about the man, had I?

“He was the last one…” Marcone said, so quietly I nearly missed his words.

“The last what?” I murmured after a moment when he didn’t continue.

Marcone’s green eyes flickered to me before looking away again. He said, “He was the last of the men from my unit who joined me in Chicago.” The sorrow I had glimpsed at a distance in Graceland Cemetery colored Marcone’s voice and his hands clenched into fists before relaxing. “When I decided to take down Vargassi. I needed men I knew and could trust with my life. Men I had complete faith would remain unswayed by offers of money or power or even threats. Several joined me.” Marcone’s eyes drifted closed as he breathed out, “Of all of them, Hendricks lived the longest.”

So not only his oldest friend but also his last one.

Damn. It wasn’t like I was oblivious to the fact that Marcone’s life wasn’t exactly conducive to making friends. I knew he had walked into organized crime with both eyes open to what he was choosing, but knowing the true extent of how alone he was hit hard.

I’ve been there. I knew what it was like to stand alone and know there was no one who would have your back. That there was no one who cared – really cared – if you breathed. And, stars, I was so damned grateful that I haven’t been able to say it was still true for years and years.

“Men of such honor are rather difficult to find,” Marcone continued. His eyes opened again. He turned to look at me and I found myself caught by the depth of his gaze. “And it is even harder to earn their trust.”

For a wild moment, I felt the urge to tell him that he had me. I looked away and swallowed the words down before they could slip out, because it wasn’t true. Not in the way he was talking about. What we had was a contract. A potential partnership with a time limit of twenty-five years. Oh, and a marriage, I can’t forget that part either.

“To lost friends,” I said instead, holding out my can of Coke.

Marcone grabbed a bottle of water from my cooler of drinks. “Who will always be missed,” he added, gently tapping the red and silver soda can.

After we both finished swallowing, I wiped at my mouth and eyed my empty Coke ruefully. “We really need something stronger.”

“Agreed, but not on this night,” Marcone said. He blinked a couple of times and I could see him struggle to swallow down another building yawn. “However, I would appreciate some coffee if you have any to offer.”

“Dresden’s Diner always has coffee,” I snorted, getting myself to my feet to play host.

I returned cradling a full thermos, some sugar cubes, creamer, and two empty mugs. One mug read ‘Sarcasm is Strong With This One,’ with an appropriate Darth Vader, and the other one had a wand and ‘You’re a Wizard, Harry’ on it. I hadn’t yet decided which one was I was going to inflict on Marcone.

To my surprise, I found he had drifted off to asleep in the time it had taken me to get the water boiling and coffee poured. As soon as I noticed I froze in place, clutching mugs and thermos so tightly that I had to force myself to set them down before I broke anything.

Oh. I didn’t think – I mean, when I made my oath to Marcone, I had done it out of frustration at his paranoia. To get rid of any lingering reason he could have for thinking I was working to take him out. I didn’t think it would work so well that Marcone was able to fall asleep in my home without his bodyguards around. Well, if I had needed proof he trusted me, I had it.

Marcone with his guard down… even with everything that’s changed between us, some part of me never expected to see it. His arms were crossed across his chest with his hands hidden under the suit jacket (closer to the weapons he had on him, I suspected). Marcone’s dark hair was also looser as if he’d broken the hold of whatever hair product he used by running his hands through it once or twice before succumbing to the Sandman. He was asleep with his head slightly tilted back, exposing the part of his pale throat left uncovered by his tie. I could see the growth of salt-pepper stubble lining his jaw and I was struck with the urge to feel the grit with my fingers.

I stared.

Maybe it was because I had been stirring up the Winter Knight’s mantle all night, but seeing Marcone like that, vulnerable in a way the Winter Court predator in my head found too enticing, made the mantle’s dark desires hit me like a ton of falling bricks.

I’ve seen Marcone without a suit before. Seen him utterly stripped of every armor. Now, the sight of him sparked off a need to do something about it inside of me

And the mantle didn’t care if Marcone would be willing.

My breath caught and my burned left arm started throbbing with warning, rising pain.

I deliberately looked away, gritting my teeth and focusing on counting prime numbers until the mantle shut up. It was a struggle, but the mantle grudgingly retreated and after another couple of minutes it went back to sleep, and the urges went with it.

The only thing that lingered was the awareness of how enticing Marcone looked, trusting me to keep him safe.

Only once I was certain of myself did I shrug out of my duster, gently settling it down around Marcone.

Marcone tensed at once.

“Hey, get some sleep. I’ll awake you if anything needs your attention,” I whispered.

Marcone’s eyes flickered open, studied me for a second and then closed again as he settled into the duster. “Sunrise, please wake me at sunrise, Dresden,” he said, only a little sleep slurred.

“You got it,” I said, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded at this show of trust. I took a deep breath and stalked away to give the man some space.

I spent that last hour before sunrise standing on the roof and staring at a distance.

Once the first hints of dawn lightened the sky, I went and got Marcone, who was already stirring. He handed me back my duster with an unreadable expression, looking substantially more alert than he had before his impromptu nap.

I put my duster on and tried to ignore the way the scent of Marcone’s cologne was clinging faintly to the leather.

So for the second year in a row, I found myself next to John Marcone at the end of a stressful night. But for the first time, I could say that I wasn’t unhappy he was there. Hell, I was actually grudgingly glad he was beside me.

“Are you going to stick around for breakfast?” I asked, as the night sky brightened into colors full of glorious oranges, vibrant reds and brilliant blues. I could hear the distant chirping of birds. And while I sensed it more than heard it, the tension, worry and fear the citizens of Chicago had been feeling all night broke with the dawning day.

“Unfortunately, I have certain other matters to settle before this evening. I can’t spare the time,” Marcone said, turning away from the sunrise as he straightened his suit jacket, checking the weapons hidden under his clothes as he went.

I eyed him in disbelief before snatching up the thermos and handing it to him. “Fine. At least take this. It’s coffee.”

Marcone took it with a nod. He said, “I will send a car to pick you up for tonight’s event.”

I grimaced. “No thanks, I can get there on my own.”

“It’s a black tie event, Dresden. A limousine is a more appropriate vehicle than a Cadillac, however fashionably painted.”

“It’s a company car,” I grumbled. I had more of a taste for Volkswagen Beetles than Cadillacs. Thinking about it, Marcone did have a point. I nodded, “Alright, send a car.”

“I do look forward to seeing you in a tuxedo again, Dresden.” Marcone’s slight smile had a hint of heat that made me my cheeks burn hot. “It’s been a while.”

“You should be so lucky,” I shot back without thinking.

Marcone’s smile deepened, I didn’t need wizardly insight to know what he was going to say next.

“Don’t say it,” I said threateningly. “Not one word.” Then I snorted, “If anything every single time I’ve warned a tux, everything has gone to hell. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll be sure to make preparations,” Marcone said, amused. It faded as he stared at me before he took a step closer and added more soberly. “Thank you… for the invitation.”

I found my eyes locking with his, seeing in their depths how much it had mattered to Marcone that he hadn’t been alone last night. It was more than a little dizzying, to see Marcone deliberately lowering his shielding, giving me a glimpse behind the opaque wall to something even more vulnerable than merely catching him asleep.

“You’re welcome,” I breathed.

Marcone nodded once before turning away, exiting through the roof access door and downstairs to his awaiting goon squad.

I leaned over the edge of the castle’s roof and watched as Marcone’s men whisked him away with professional speed and efficiency until the SUVs, a couple of cars I hadn’t even pegged as being part of Marcone’s security forces, and three motorcycles bearing familiar Einherjar all drove out of my neighborhood.

Only then I did go crawl into bed to get some much-needed, and hopefully nightmare-free, sleep.

Chapter Text

I tugged at the black bow tie at my neck, making grumbling noises as I undid the damned thing for the umpteenth time and tried again to retied it correctly. To my rising frustration – which was quickly reaching escape velocity – one end insisted on sticking right up until it tickled the underside of my chin.

It refused to just. Behave.

I muttered violent death threats to the little scrap of cloth as I started over. Again. Grr.

Out of the corner of my eye, Marcone was watching my epic struggle with the bow tie with a nearly invisible smile on his face. But what really got to me was the banked heat in his pale green eyes. Hell, the man had been aiming that look in my direction from the moment I’d stepped into his limo.

Which, to my chagrin, had promptly made my cheeks feel like they were on fire.

They had only grown hotter when Marcone had scoped me out from head to toe, taking a slow panning look at how well the tuxedo I wore fit my long frame. Even now, I could feel the weight of his gaze. Stars, it had been too much. It was still too much, too overwhelming considering my own mixed feelings. So I was doing my best to turn a blind eye to the way he looked at me in an attempt to tamp down the burning color of my cheeks.

I wasn’t planning to show up a fancy shindig looking like a tomato’s lankier, two-legged cousin, but I had the sinking feeling I was losing that fight as surely as I was being defeated by the damned bow tie.

Dammit, I was too conscious of Marcone’s gaze.

I avoided looking in his direction. Instead, I went for another knot on the tie and focused the on other people in the car. Keeping us company in the back of the limo was the trio of Einherjar who seemed to go everywhere together: the smiling blond, dour brunet and bear-sized redhead. From where they sat on the opposite end of the car, those jerks kept shooting amused looks in my direction, making me scowl darkly at them. The Einherjar were also wearing tuxedos, although they didn’t seem to have any problems getting their bow ties to behave.

Sigh.

I did not want to be wearing a tuxedo tonight. And no, it wasn’t just because of my miserable personal history with penguin suits (although those things have to be cursed considering how every single time I’ve worn a tux everything always went to hell). I ignored the inner voice that snorted and pointed out how often everything went to hell when I wore perfectly normal clothes, making it likely that the source of the trouble wasn’t my clothing and I should really think about the only other consistent factor in those scenarios.

I had no clue who that could be... ahem.

Well, ultimately the driving force behind my aversion was that none of the clothing that Molly had given me had come with any magical defenses, doubtlessly intentional since then there would not have been any way to avoid the fact that she was doing me a personal favor. Actually, once I finally got to talk to Molly about it, she’d explained the clothes were technically on loan to me since gifts among the fae are… let’s just say I don’t want to get into the habit of accepting gifts, well, unless it was Christmas.

So, I had no protections built into the clothing. And considering the black-tie nature of the event Marcone had invited me to, it wasn’t like I could get away with wearing my bespelled duster over the tuxedo. I really had to come up with a workaround for that particular problem (mentally I added it to the never-ending To Do list).

I missed my coat.

“Do you need assistance, Dresden?” Marcone asked lightly, derailing my train of thought and attempts to ignore his existence in one go.

“No,” I snapped and risked sending him a glower, but Marcone’s smile only deepened at the corners. I gave up after a few seconds when my best death-glare bounced off him without leaving so much as a slight dent from the impact. I took a moment to regret that since giving him my oath – my Name – Marcone no longer seem to be all that concerned about sparking off my temper.

On one hand, I was relieved that Marcone’s paranoia wasn’t directed at me anymore, since it had made me nervous that he would change his mind about the marriage. On the other, the part of me that always enjoyed scaring him, well, as much as Marcone ever got scared – alright, fine, correct that to ‘worrying him’ – was grumbling unhappily I couldn’t put a damper on his amusement.

“Okay, yeah,” I admitted reluctantly, dropping my hands clear and letting the ends of the bow tie flop loose.

Marcone was sitting next to me in his fancy, armored limo so he easily could have leaned over to get the job done. Instead, he slid smoothly into my personal bubble until his entire side was pressed against mine.

I nearly jumped out of my skin – and seat – in surprise at feeling all that unexpected body heat, but managed to suppress my startled reaction down to a slight flinch.

And I was abruptly reminded of the other reason I had been avoiding looking at him for most of the car ride.

Marcone must have gone back to whomever had made the tight gray suit that he’d worn to the last Ministry summit, because his black tuxedo was just as well-fitted, and just as threatening to my peace of mind. The lines of the tux accented his body (his shoulders, waist, legs and muscles) in ways that made me swear silently, but fiercely, to myself. And then twice as ferociously at my libido.

He also must have fitted in a haircut at some point in his schedule. His hair was neatly trimmed and styled with what looked like very expensive expertise (for several seconds I missed Thomas so much my chest ached), making me more than a little self-conscious at the current state of my own barely tamed mop. Even Marcone’s cologne had changed to something subtle I couldn’t pin down, making me want to bury my nose into the crook of his neck to figure out the scent.

Stars and stones, I wished I was back to not having a damned clue that… that John Marcone was fucking hot. If I was still being an oblivious idiot then I could have ignored my own reactions with some kind of success.

You can no doubt guess how well my plan not to even think about how attractive I found the man was currently holding up.

Argh.

As Marcone’s hands reached up towards my neck I was surprised to see that the cufflinks he wore held the Demonreach crystal fragments I’d given him just a few days ago. Those crystals couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. I knew the pieces of my island on sight. Stars, it could be argued that those bits of crystal were signs of my power – I was the Warden of Demonreach after all – and Marcone was wearing more of them.

I had absolutely no idea how to feel about it. I refused to acknowledge feeling so much as a flicker of pleasure at the sight.

Damned possessive mantle.

“Mr. Dresden,” Marcone murmured, as he lifted my chin up with a broad right hand. His calloused fingers slid down my neck. “If I push your boundaries too much, you are within your rights to tell me to back off.”

I met his eyes and saw that the earlier amusement had drained out of them leaving them opaque in the way that had started to make me to think he was trying to hide some deep emotion from me.

Something I was making him feel.

He hadn’t missed my flinch.

“Hell, John, I know that,” I said slowly. Then I snorted, “Trust me, if I want you to back off you’ll know it.”

Marcone’s lips quirked up, although his eyes remained solemn.

“I do wonder,” he said instead, glancing down at my neck, “considering that I know your motivation for being here with me in the first place.” His fingers made short work of tie until the knot rested below my Adam’s apple. Marcone tested the give by slipping his two fingers between the shirt’s collar and my skin.

For a moment, he let them linger there and I wondered if Marcone could feel the wild galloping of my heart, but if he could tell I was reacting him being so close, he didn’t let it show.

“There, that will do,” Marcone added quietly. He backed off until I could no longer feel him pressed against me.

“Hey, I’m here because I want to be,” I said, kicking lightly at Marcone’s black custom shoes – I tried not to show my glee at the scuff mark I left behind – to get his attention. Marcone’s eyes flickered up to catch my own and he inclined his head. I let out a breath. I couldn’t read what thoughts had to be whirling away in that head of his, but at least he seemed to believe me. Or at least he wasn’t inclined to argue.

I tugged at bow tie mostly to give myself something to do before I added grudgingly, “Thanks, Marcone.”

Practically, every single time I’ve ever been face-to-face with Marcone he’s worn a suit, so why did the sight of him in a tuxedo get to me so much? I frowned at him. Or maybe it wasn’t the tux. Maybe it was just him. I knew what it felt like to kiss him now, and reminding my libido that Marcone was criminal scum didn’t seem to have much of an effect on it (reminding me yet again how moronic – utterly lacking in self-preservation instincts – it was).

Not for the first time I wished I could punch my id in the face.

“Boss, we’ve arrived,” Childs called from up front where he was keeping the driver company.

While I had noticed the limo had been moving along Lake Shore Drive, I hadn’t realized our final destination was Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry until the car turned into its entrance.

“A science museum,” I noted in disbelief. I shook my head and added sarcastically, “Oh yes, because mixing technology and a wizard never causes any problems whatsoever.”

“Considering the size of the event planned for this evening, most other venues aren’t available,” Marcone explained calmly. “Or their repairs have yet to be completed.”

I grimaced at the reminder.

The parking lot attached to the museum was packed. A valet system was in place to get to get the guests inside as quickly as possible so no one ended up having to desperately circle around for a parking spot.

And, as if the car valets weren’t enough of a give-away of the nature of the party, there was also a score of reporters situated right at the entrance. The media horde had come with both video and photographic cameras. All of them were focused on the spot where the guests were disembarking before valets drove their cars off.

Ah, hell.

I gripped tightly onto my emotions, hopefully lowering the destructive effect I had on technology. I hoped that if any of those guys found themselves holding a very expensive and utterly useless – except as a future paperweight – camera, none of them figured out I was the cause of their catastrophic equipment failure. I wasn’t looking to get sued again anytime soon.

Then a thought struck me: Holy shit, what kind of party had I signed myself up for that had the media swarming around like locusts?

“This event, what is it being held for?” I asked slowly.

“On this day?” Marcone asked, arching a dark eyebrow in surprise at my question.

I shot him an exasperated look. He was well aware that I knew what day it was. I would never forget the day I lost Murphy. For a moment, it was hard breathe, but I’d had too much practice in the last few days at getting through the reminder so the stab of grief wasn’t as crippling as it would have been only a couple of days ago (although it would always, always hurt). Quickly, I was able to inhale again without letting show any sign, but for the brief falter in my breathing.

From the understanding look that flashed across Marcone’s face he hadn’t missed my reaction or the reason for it. Marcone continued in the same even tone, “The mayor wanted an occasion to celebrate Chicago’s recovery. The anniversary seemed fitting. And as a means of raising the city’s morale, the event is being broadcast on all the local channels. To her credit, she is also permitting various Chicago charities to use the gala as an avenue to solicit donations at the same time.”

“All while raising her profile,” I added cynically. Then I sighed in exasperation before eyeing the reporters warily. “So how exactly do you want to do this? Didn’t you say you had issues with your ‘business’ associates finding out about me?” My air quotes and sarcasm probably defeated the purpose of using a euphemism for Marcone’s scumbag criminal partners, but I didn’t give a damn. I offered, “Want me to hang back?”

“I would prefer it if you remained by my side for the evening,” Marcone said calmly, reaching out and curving his fingers around my left hand. I let him. He stopped for a moment and studied the lingering scars and the most recent burns. Marcone’s thumb drifted along the raised burn scar that encircled my wrist like angry jewelry. My previous shield bracelet had left it behind after being overloaded with energies during the battle. Even with my ability to heal faster than most people the scar was sensitive, although the pain had long since faded. Only the burns from a holy light-saber, which I had fully deserved to get, still hurt in a way that couldn’t be blunted by the Winter’s Knight mantle.

I tried to fight off a shiver. And failed spectacularly. Then I just had to fight to keep the mantle from stirring in interest. Fortunately, that was an easier victory.

“And...” Marcone continued thoughtfully, “if you would continue to refrain from starting any wars, that would also be beneficial.”

I sputtered in indignation. “Really? Again, Marcone? You’ve worn out that joke. It’s no longer funny.”

Marcone’s pale green eyes glinted as I scowled and tugged my wrist free from his hand. “Maybe not to you, Dresden. I continue to thoroughly enjoy it.”

“Just for that, don’t blame me if I do,” I muttered threateningly.

My response only seemed to amuse him all the more.

As soon as the limousine was parked before the entrance, Childs was the first to step out. He looked around before knocking lightly on the window by the Einherjar. Then all three Einherjar bodyguards got out. They glanced in all directions as they checked the area for threats. The dour brunet ended up scowling fiercely at the reporters. From the way he kept staring at their equipment he either suspected them of having hidden weapons stashed amongst the gear or he was debating the benefits of shoving a camera down a pushy reporter’s throat if they got too close.

Only when the blond nodded at Childs did he gesture at us to follow.

“Thanks, Jeeves,” I told him as I stepped out of the door he held open for his boss. Childs rolled his green-gold eyes at me, but otherwise made no comment.

The reporters stared at me before dismissing me as uninteresting. I snorted, but took the opportunity to conduct my own inspection of the surroundings for magical threats, including stretching my senses for anything remotely eldritch. But there wasn’t anything alarming – or, to be more accurate, – there was nothing out of place that I could pick up. As I looked around, I noted the rest of Marcone’s motorcade disgorging more of his mortal trouble-shooters, although they were also in penguin suits and accompanied by... women.

I blinked at them. Huh. After a moment, I realized that I probably shouldn’t be surprised if they turned out to be as well armed and as dangerous as the men. No matter where she currently was resting Murphy would have found a way to kick my ass if I dismissed the women as harmless dates. For a moment, my longing to see her again spiked as sharply as my grief.

Finally, Marcone stepped out of the limousine.

I guess the reporters had been waiting for Gentleman John Marcone. At least, they hadn’t shown any interest in the very tall wizard fella (which was their loss). The sheer number of camera flashes that went off made me temporarily blind. I swore, turning my head to desperately blink away the afterimages and trying to control my unease as it hit me that now would be a perfect time for an enemy to attack.

When I couldn’t see it coming.

I shook out my left arm and prepared to raise my shield bracelet, just in case, even as my right hand went for my blasting rod in its new shoulder holster. Marcone – it had to be him, as he was the only one standing on my right – caught my elbow and gave my arm a firm squeeze before moved his hand to the small of my back.

Once the purple and green splotches faded away enough that I could once again see clearly, I did my own fierce scowling at the camera wielders. Okay, I did feel a twinge of guilt for the sheer number of breaking bulbs, which I could hear popping into oblivion as cries of dismay rose around us. Other expensive-looking equipment started hissing sparks and coughing out gray smoke.

But, hey, if you attack a grown wizard with light flashes and only end up with malfunctioning gear, you’re kinda getting off easy, as far as I’m concerned.

Still, I winced.

Marcone ignored the storm of eager questions flung at him with his usual cold indifference and silently urged me into the museum. His bodyguards fanned out behind us and to our sides, creating a wall that neatly cut him off from the waves of reporters who continued to shout questions and – in their frustration – tried to surge after Marcone, only to end up crashing onto his merciless security.

Childs dismissed an approaching valet and waved Marcone’s driver away to find parking before he caught up to us and stepped into place at Marcone’s back. Into the same position where Hendricks always used to stand. It wasn’t Childs’ fault that it made me instantly want to growl at him to back off and to shove him away. He wouldn’t be there if Marcone didn’t want him there. Yet I found myself grinding my teeth in irritation before I forced myself to ignore Childs by turning to Marcone.

“So… you’re popular,” I noted wryly, as I let him lead me through the building. This gala was a mortal party. I had no message to declare to a supernatural audience. No politics I needed to play. I didn’t care if he wanted to guide me in (I was ignoring the way I was too aware of the feel of his broad palm at my back). Actually, I was glad to have two free hands. I didn’t exactly trust the security here to be up to the Ministry’s exacting standards. For one, this close to the lake it would be too easy for a Fomor assassin to slip in. Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes at the surroundings.

“The media has become annoyingly persistent in the last year,” Marcone said in a low voice threaded with faint disgust. “Fortunately, my people have become skilled at dodging them.”

Something about that comment niggled at my mind. I frowned to myself as I tried to think it through. But before I could get a good grip on it, we entered the main room where the gala was being held and it completely slipped away as I was distracted by the Rotunda.

*-*-*-*

The Rotunda of the Museum of Science and Industry can hold over five thousand people if everyone is willing to remain on their feet for the entire time, or a little over a thousand if the hosts are merciful and give their guests’ feet a break with a chair and a table. The black-tie event the mayor or someone from her staff had creatively named the ‘A Celebration of the Strength of Chicago Gala’ had over one thousand attendees and – surprisingly – the guests weren’t all just politicians, celebrities and Gold Coast residents. Among the guests were plenty of police officers and firefighters in their Class A dress uniforms, along with their spouses. There were also quite a few men wearing rented tuxedos, which more than anything clued me in that there were normal people here too.

At one point, I swore I saw Lamar, an EMT I know, but he ducked out of sight before I could wave at him. I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like the guy hadn’t told me on several occasions he wanted nothing to do with me.

Or maybe it was due to the man at my side.

The sight of Gentleman John Marcone entering the large room caused a widening circle of silence around us so unnerving that the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Yet the attention we were drawing wasn’t unfriendly. Most people were smiling, looking delighted at the sight of kingpin of Chicago’s underworld. Which… jeez… was just wrong on so many levels.

Fortunately – for my peace of mind – and my shrinking belief in humanity having so much as a pinch of common sense left – scattered throughout the Rotunda were enough people who didn’t look happy at the sight of Marcone to make me feel relieved. At least Chicago hadn’t completely lost its mind.

My relief was cut short when I realized that the owners of some of those unhappy faces were familiar White Court vampires. Oh, hell’s bells. Of course, there would be White Court vampires here. This was exactly the kind of social event they thrived on. It was a party where they could exert influence over the rich, powerful, and famous, all while doubtlessly picking through them for a late-night snack.

I made sure to give no sign that I knew who and what they were. I said quietly to Marcone, “There are several members of the White Court here.”

“There usually are,” Marcone replied calmly, although his eyes hardened as he also flicked a quick glance over the crowd. “Take special notice of whom they have as dates. Those are usually the people they have under their power. Or are seeking to control.”

“Yeah,” I grunted in agreement, taking his advice as I tried to memorize faces.

Childs spoke quietly to a plump Latina woman decked out in so many jewels I wondered if I’d be blinded all over again if I looked at her too long. We were given the gala’s itinerary and directions to our table… excuse me, tables. Even though every one of the decorated round tables had the space to seat five people comfortably, Marcone and his entourage took up six tables all by themselves. The Einherjar and Childs took over one of the tables nearest to him, while the rest of his security formed a barrier between the other guests and their boss.

Marcone and I got a table to ourselves.

After a waiter stopped by to see if we wanted drinks, it didn’t take long before other – clearly rich and powerful – attendees started to come up and greet Marcone. Those brave enough, or maybe just oblivious to the danger, crossed the Great Wall of Security while ignoring the way Marcone’s people eyed them like they were marking the interlopers with bulls-eyes.

To my surprise, I was ignored, well, except for the cautious distance the more alert men and women maintained from me. It didn’t take me too long to figure out what was going on. Then I had to fight off a laugh. I was being ignored by the rich and powerful not as some sort of weird snub towards Marcone’s arm candy – um, guest, I meant guest – but instead, because it seemed they were under the impression that I was Marcone’s newest bodyguard.

Well, I couldn’t exactly blame them. I was a very tall man with multiple scars on my face and a dangerous air, who kept looking around like I was expecting an attack to be launched in my direction. Okay, yes, I admit that I was expecting it (you try going through danger training with Mab as your teacher and see if you come through it without being extra paranoid of… everything), so my demeanor that was more inline with the professional bodyguards’. Those I could see in the grand room who weren’t part of Marcone’s security kept an eye on me as some inner instinct told them I was a potential threat (actually, more than a couple of Marcone’s people eyeballed me warily as well).

Huh. Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to anyone that I was the ‘plus one’ on the invitation instead of the help.

That was perfectly fine by me. The more everyone thought I was a bodyguard, the less time I had to spend making small talk. In case it had somehow slipped by you, let me clarify: I am not a small talk kind of guy. And I sure as hell don’t enjoy schmoozing. Well, if you want to talk to me about Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings, I’m your man. And I’m always up for a game of D&D. But politics? And mortal politics at that? Yuck. Keep me out of it.

And, I noticed – to my growing amusement – Marcone wasn’t any better at the pointless chitchat. He had never been one to bother faking that particular veneer of civility. He didn’t even do it during the Ministry meetings, so I doubted he was anymore inclined to glad-hand the vanilla mortals.

Marcone didn’t smile at anyone who stepped up the table, not even when the mayor stopped by to greet him. Nor when she tried not-so-subtlety to ask if he had any desire to challenge her in the next election. Which was terrifying, but also darkly hilarious. As if Baron Marcone would let something like popular opinion and democratic votes dictate whether or not he ran this city.

Marcone said, “I have no ambition to be involved with politics.”

I snorted, raising my eyebrows at him in disbelief. Yeah, right. I bet there were easily a handful of city officials he owned outright somewhere in the Rotunda.

Marcone shot me a cool quelling glance with a flicker of his pale green eyes.

I rolled my eyes back at him.

I tried to ignore the following conversation as the relieved mayor asked for not only donations, but also for Marcone’s public endorsement in her re-election campaign. I had to bite my tongue to keep from sardonically chiming in that asking a notorious mob boss for an endorsement might possibly not be the best political move ever. I suspected my observation would just fall on deaf ears. Instead, I focused my attention on the scanning the Rotunda once again. That’s when I saw Rawlins.

It took me a moment to recognize him because I had never seen him wearing the dress uniform before. Once the older man saw he had caught my attention, he glanced to the side and then back at me before he turned and walked through an open door to a display hall that had been left open for the gala.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a minute,” I said to Marcone and scooted out of my seat.

“Don’t break any of the museum displays if you can help it,” he said in reply, because he’s a goddamned smart-ass. The mayor looked at me warily.

“Ha ha,” I said dryly. With that amazing rejoiner, I walked away leaving Marcone awestruck. Okay, the corners of his lips were probably upturned in amusement, but since I never turned to check that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

*-*-*-*

I dodged various clumps of people before I caught up to Rawlins.

“Aren’t you supposed to be retired by now?” I asked jokingly. Rawlins had stopped in a display room that showed off telephone designs throughout the ages. I ignored how the rotary phones I used for my landlines were in the ‘vintage’ section of the display, or how a few of the oldest models were labeled ‘antiques.’

Rawlins was a cop. One of those old cops who looked like they’d been carved from a block of teak and was utterly capable from the top of his gray head to the tips of his black shoes. In his career, he had been busted down to street level after making detective on more than one occasion because he wasn’t the type to suffer fools quietly. And he didn’t play politics.

I really liked the guy.

His beard had more white in it than when I had last seen the man. The aging hairs contrasted sharply against the dark coffee color of Rawlins’ skin. It also made the gleam of shrewd intelligence in his brown eyes all the more intense.

Rawlins snorted, “Yeah, in two weeks.” He sighed heavily, a worn sound, “At least that’s what the department has been telling me every two weeks since the damned mess last year.” Rawlins’ dark eyes caught my furrowed brow. “There’s been too great a need for experienced cops, Dresden. They froze retirements. Hell, the department has even asked back some of the older guys who’d already gotten out.”

This was one of the many impacts that the Battle had had on the citizens of Chicago. First responders especially had been some of the hardest hit groups. And they weren’t close to being back to the numbers a city like Chicago normally needed. Special Investigations – SI – as the department that dealt with the spooky and scary, was especially depleted. Even with their greater experience with the supernatural compared to their brothers and sisters in blue, too many had run towards danger they hadn’t known how to handle.

I winced.

“But what I really want to know, Dresden, is what the hell are you doing here with Gentleman Johnny Marcone?” Rawlins asked grimly.

I blinked, then I rubbed at the back of my head, feeling pretty damned awkward. “Um, well… um... it’s complicated,” I said lamely. It wasn’t like Rawlins wouldn’t believe me if I gave him all the details. He was in the know about the weird side of life as an SI cop. I just really, really didn’t want to have to explain it.

Worry flashed across Rawlins’ face. Then he glanced around for eavesdroppers before he leaned closer. He whispered urgently, “Are you here willingly? Do you need help? Say the word and I’ll get you out.”

Again I was surprised and more than a little warmed at knowing that if I’d needed the help, Rawlins would have given it in a heartbeat. He was a good man.

I clasped Rawlins’ shoulder. “Thanks, man. But it’s not like that.”

Rawlins stared at me hard, judging how much he should believe my words. After a moment, he shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Dresden. You could get out, if you wanted?”

“Yeah,” I said reassuringly, still not wanting to explain the entire gnarl of reasons as to why I was hanging around Marcone. Or why the real problem I had was staying in.

Rawlins let out a low breath. “Good.” Then he added, with growing anger in his voice, “Then you have no goddamned excuse. Don’t you know how stupid it is to show up here with him of all people?”

I blinked again.

“I know Marcone is Chicago’s golden boy at the moment, but there are plenty of people who haven’t forgotten what he is.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten either,” I muttered defensively.

“Yeah, well you sure as hell have forgotten something pretty important,” Rawlins said darkly. He glanced up at my face and shook his head again in disbelief at my baffled expression.

“Dresden… don’t you have a clue how the investigation against Rudolph is going?”

I stiffened, my hands clenching into fists at the bastard’s name. Anger thrummed with-in me. The mantle stirred until the burns on my left arm throbbed in rising warning. The spiking agony brought me out of my head and building rage. I breathed out harshly as I struggled to control my temper.

“What about that bastard?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I gave my eye witness report months ago. Isn’t he already in jail?”

“No, we should be so lucky. With how understaffed CPD has been, and the backlog of cases, everything that wasn’t an immediate priority was pushed back for more urgent matters. IA only launched the official investigation against him a few weeks ago.” Rawlins grimaced, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been dragging their feet because the case involves one of their own.”

I stared him.

Rawlins continued grimly, “It hasn’t been going great, Dresden. You’re the only eye-witness to what happened. The other reports were all after the fact. There’s no video recording of what happened. There’s not a damned scrap of physical evidence. There’s no body. Not even so much as a blood drop was found at the scene.”

No. No.

“It got washed away in the rain,” I whispered, feeling dizzy as my stomach dropped to my knees.

He grimaced again. “Even that bastard’s gun wasn’t recovered. It comes down to only your word against his. And your word wasn’t exactly the best before –” Rawlins gestured out to the Rotunda, “you showed up here on the arm of a mobster.”

I didn’t know what my face was doing, but it was enough to make Rawlins look away from me.

I got a hold of myself.

“What are you trying to say, Rawlins?” I asked, in a voice so harsh that it was barely recognizable to my own ears.

“I’m saying that Rudolph has a damned good lawyer. A lawyer who’s been putting up smart arguments on behalf on of his client. And when this thing you have with Marcone gets to him, hell, to all of Internal Affairs, that you – the only eye witness against a cop – are keeping company with Chicago’s crime boss… you aren’t stupid, Dresden. You know what will happen.”

I closed my eyes, feeling my stomach churn.

Yeah, I know exactly what would happen. Murphy’s killer would never pay for taking her life.

Rudolph would be free.

Any lawyer worth their salt would easily spin my testimony against that sack of shit as some sort of conspiracy to take down an Internal Affairs investigator. Hell, I could already hear accusations that I had been working for Marcone all along ringing in my ears; it wasn’t like it would be the first time I had been tied to him in the eyes of the cops. Only this time it wouldn’t be some unsubstantiated rumor.

“Dammit, Dresden, how could you do that to Karrie?”

The only reason that I didn’t punch Rawlins for the accusation was because of the thick grief in his voice. I throttled the anger that wanted me to do nothing more than snarl back and stalk away to find Rudolf and… I breathed out and tried to keep the mantle’s bloodthirsty instincts under control. It was really hard to think logically, to think about numbers, when I wanted nothing more than to scream in rage.

“You know I would never do anything to hurt Karrin or her memory. Not intentionally,” I caught Rawlins’ gaze and admitted to myself that I owed the man more of an explanation than that. Rawlins had known Murphy since she was a little girl. He had been friends with her father, for Pete’s sake. “Due to the spooky side, my kid’s life is on the line. Marcone is the only one who can help me keep her safe. I have to marry him or I have to marry a vampire. And before you ask, yeah, he’s the only option.”

My words hit Rawlins like a blow.

“Shit,” he whispered as he rubbed his right hand over his face. The anger visibly drained away and his shoulders slumped as if dragged down by a heavy weight.

Like most cops in CPD, Rawlins knew about Marcone’s rule regarding children and how brutally he enforced it. What’s more, Rawlins was a father. He didn’t even have to know what I had done to the Red Court to know I would move heaven and earth to keep Maggie out of the hands of vampires. He understood, without me having to explain, how far I would go to keep my daughter safe.

But Rawlins had also loved Karrin Murphy with all the affection of a family member, of an uncle. He was the only one in CPD who had gotten away with calling her Karrie. At one time, he had also been her partner on the force. And if he was feeling half as torn up inside at the thought of her killer walking away as I was feeling… stars and stones, I was surprised he didn’t take a swing at me for giving that asshole any opportunity to get away with it.

I had to keep my knees locked. I had to force myself to take steady even breaths. The room threatened to spin.

“Dresden,” Rawlins said, his voice tired. He sounded more cautious than before, like if he was afraid of breaking me with his words. “That bastard’s lawyer is good. If you’re going to stick with Marcone there’s also every chance Rudolph will end up keeping his badge. And you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” He sighed heavily, “None of us will.”

I couldn’t tell you with any certainty what Rawlins said to me after that. I only vaguely remembered him dropping a hand on my shoulder and making me promise to call him if I needed that escape route. I remember mumbling something in agreement and Rawlins shooting me one final concerned look before he left.

The thought of that bastard – that piddling coward – that utterly useless sack of shit – keeping his badge, after he killed Murph through his own incompetence and inability to accept reality was infuriating. He could be allowed to keep the job that Murphy had been so heartbroken to lose when it had torn her up inside to have to give it up, simply for supporting me.

When she had died to save the Chicago and had never so much as been honored for it.

I ground my teeth so hard my entire jaw ached. Even the faint sounds of the people in the Rotunda suddenly struck me as too loud. I had to get some fresh air, before I gave in to the anger clawing at my chest and the mantle’s desire to burn everything down around me. Or maybe that was just me.

Stars, it was a damned bad sign when I couldn’t tell the difference between my desires and those of the mantle. I needed to get out and away from everyone before I did something I would regret. The burns on my left arm pounded agony in rising warning.

Abruptly, the memory of the last time I lost control hit me. And just like that my anger flipped into nausea.

Quickly, I found an exit and strode out into a dimly lit garden. I clamped my hands on top of an iron railing separating me from some tech display with too many blinking lights before I leaned over a bush and dry heaved until I gagged out bile. It took a couple of minutes and only when I was certain I wasn’t actually going to throw up anything more did I risk standing up straight. I spat a couple of times to clear my mouth before swallowing to soothe my aching throat. I stared up at the blurring night sky.

I blinked away the wetness in my eyes as I whispered, “I’m sorry, Karrin.”

Stars, the only thing that kept me from crumpling down to the ground was the certainty that Murphy would haven’t have blamed me. Still, the guilt hit me like a hammer, because Rawlins wasn’t wrong.

I understood why it wouldn’t look good for someone to be seen hanging around a mobster after accusing a cop of murder. Especially when I had been regarded suspiciously by the CPD before the fight with the Fomor went down. And while it was technically Murph who had been under investigation by IA, I hadn’t exactly gotten away without suspicion either. For crying out loud, I had had a damned APB out on on my name during the night of the battle. I would bet that there weren’t many cops who had forgotten that, as much as it had been swept under the rug in the aftermath.

If Rudolph went free… if he wasn’t ever held to account… I don’t know what I would do.

My chest ached. My lingering burns throbbed.

I couldn’t see a solution. My reason for choosing Marcone over Lara hadn’t changed; I just never imagined this would be one of the costs I’d have to pay. I had already accepted that my reputation would end up in ruins, that by hanging around Marcone I would be marked as an associate, if not a criminal accomplice. I had known there would be consequences for asking Marcone to marry me, for bringing him so visibly into my life. But this… it never crossed my mind.

It… it wasn’t fair. Karrin deserved justice.

Then a worse thought occurred to me: what if Karrin’s memory ended up tarred with the same brush? What if my choices tarnished her reputation? Made people whisper and wonder if she had been corrupt too?

As I bent my head in despair, I couldn’t help but hear the faint whisper of Karrin’s voice in my ear, swearing at me and urging to remember who she really was. How she had lived her life. Her devotion and service to others. The memory of her said firmly, “To protect someone’s life, to protect any kid, I would pay such a price ten times over. You know it, Harry.”

Tears pricked again at my eyes. Because yes, that was exactly the kind of person she was. That was why she was now among the honored dead in Valhalla, a fate only deserving of a true warrior. Someone who remained unbowed to fear. A hero.

“It looks like you’re having a bad night, Mister Dresden.”

Instantly, I spun on my heels, shaking out my shield bracelet even as I reached under my tuxedo jacket for my blasting rod before I froze at the sight in front of me.

Helen Beckitt was sitting on a nearby bench, wearing a black dress that covered her neck and exposed her pale shoulders before flowing dramatically all the way down to her high-heeled feet.

Oh, crap.

Beckitt was the only woman I’ve known to have a – uh, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it – relationship with John Marcone. I mean, she had tried to kill him in two occasions that I knew about. And the last time she had been working for him, under the name of Ms. Demeter. Oh, all while sleeping with him too, can’t forget that.

And for the first time I wondered if I had stepped on her toes with my decision to propose to Marcone.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, blinking away the wetness at my eyes and trying to not show how uncomfortable I felt at seeing her again. “You can say that again.”

Chapter Text

After delivering such an obvious straight line I half expected Beckitt to repeat her observation of the lousy state of my evening. Yet she only watched me with a coolly impassive expression and eyes that were dead in a way that had nothing to do with being a corpse, but only just.

The sight of those emotionally empty eyes sent creeping chills down my spine. I fought off a shudder. I could meet Beckitt’s eyes for more than a second since we had exchanged a soulgaze years ago. Let’s just say that it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Alright, it might not have been as mind-rending soulgazing a kraken (no, I’m not going to to explain that one right now) but it was as terrible in its own particular way.

The glimpse I’d had of Beckitt’s soul haunted me.

And not just because every soulgaze remains fresh and unmarred by the memory blunting effects of time and everything to do with the contents of her soul. The moment she held onto to – the memory that Helen Beckitt continuously relived with every breath – was the day her little girl was shot, the day that her happy world shattered into irreparable pieces. It was taking all my willpower not to fall into that memory at the sight of her. I didn’t need to relive that nightmare, atop everything else, so I strengthened my focus and kept it at bay by the skin of my teeth.

I shifted my gaze, glancing back to the glass double-doors that led back to the Rotunda, as I ducked my head to hide away my face. I wiped at my watering eyes with the tuxedo’s jacket sleeve and wished I had thought to bring along a handkerchief. Once again, I cursed the fact I wasn’t wearing my duster although this time it was because I always kept a couple of clean handkerchiefs tucked into its pockets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I stiffened, startled and put on guard by Beckitt’s silent approach. My fingers once again twitched for my blasting rod, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I became aware yet again of how vulnerable I was to a bullet. Or, hell, even a knife at this close range.

Abruptly, those paranoid thoughts stuttered to a stop and I blinked down in surprise at the sight of a full champagne flute being pushed along the flat top of the black iron railing towards my hand.

“Here, so you can rinse out your mouth,” Beckitt said quietly.

Warily, I eyed the pale golden liquid filled with steadily rising tiny bubbles. Although I didn’t consider Beckitt an enemy in the same way I once had, that didn’t mean that I trusted her, either. I wasn’t going to take a drink from her hand just because she offered one. I’ve had a hard lesson on that topic, I didn’t need a refresher course to know that a glass could have all manner of nasty things sneaked into it.

I didn’t move. After a moment, Beckitt took the flute back, I heard the wet sound of a slight swallow and then the glass returned with the level of champagne noticeably lower. I hesitated again, but the lingering sour taste in my mouth convinced me. I picked up the glass, ignoring the suspicious voice at the back of my mind muttering dire warnings that this could be a iocaine powder situation.

I said, “Thanks, Ms. Beckitt.”

“I’m working tonight, so I prefer to be addressed as Ms. Demeter,” she replied. I could feel her staring at me. I tried not to squirm, feeling more and more uneasy under her gaze and the way she was noting every twitch and jaw clench I made. It made me feel more and more like a baby bird being stalked by a hungry cat. As I gargled with my ridiculously expensive mouthwash, Demeter added, “Is he the reason for your misery?”

I didn’t have to ask her to be specific. There was only one person Demeter would have on her mind.

“No. Yes,” I said, once I spat my mouth clean. I sighed before admitting reluctantly, “No. No. Not really.”

I wasn’t going to deny that part of me wanted to cast all the blame, if Rudolph did manage to slither free and clear, onto Marcone’s shoulders. But every step that led to me being by his side before the whole of Chicago’s high society – and all those cops – had been because I’d been the one pushing the issue. Anyway, I was too cynical to think that Rudolph’s lawyer wouldn’t have found some excuse to get that coward exonerated, even if I hadn’t handed over such an incredible defense on a silver platter. And it would have doubtlessly still have centered on me since I was the only eyewitness to what the bastard had done.

My hands clenched, and the mantle stirred with rising interest at the reminder of what had driven me out of the gala in search of a quiet spot. I had to put down the empty champagne flute on the railing before I broke it. The garden’s tech display made a high-pitched whining sound, spilling out a plume of acrid smoke that smelled of burning plastic, before all its blinking lights abruptly went dark. The nearby lamppost that dimly illuminated our corner of the garden darkened threateningly, flickering twice before the white light steadied.

“You don’t sound particularly certain, Mister Dresden.”

“He’s only involved in a roundabout fashion,” I said, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths in order to remain calm. I shoved the anger, the grief, and the pain down where I could deal with it later. Demeter continued to watch me. The lingering sense that I was in danger, deepened and dug in its claws the longer Beckitt stared me. I mumbled, “This is kind of awkward.”

“Oh? Because you are here with a man I’ve slept with?” Demeter asked in the same even tone.

I winced.

“I used to believe that we had only one thing in common, Mister Dresden… that we both thought he deserved to die. I didn’t expect we would have sharing his bed as another point of similarity.”

Okay, now it was definitely awkward.

“Yeah, well, something came up,” I muttered, fighting the urge to hunch forward defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure it did.”

I couldn’t help but notice the subtle innuendo in her words. The blush that flooded my cheeks felt hotter than normal in contrast with the cool evening air. After a second, I seriously considered making a break for the safety of the crowded Rotunda.

Look, I’m not a coward, I think my history has proven that I’m perfectly willing to take danger head on (as my friends could attest and complain at length about my reckless habits), but… come on, there are some things a guy shouldn’t have to deal with. Like talking with the murderous ex of his shiny new mob boss fiance.

Okay… that was never a sentence I ever thought I’d say.

Ultimately, this kind of situation was so far outside of my personal experience it had crossed into another time-zone. I was so uncomfortable. Hell’s bells, where were the blood-thirsty monsters when you needed them? Those I knew how to handle.

Demeter must have read my intention to make a run for it from how I was slowly inching away because she said, “Before you go, I have another question.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” I asked cautiously, while eyeing the double-doors with longing.

“What made you decide to give him everything he’s ever wanted?”

Startled, I glanced at Demeter.

I haven’t seen her in a long time, not since Nicodemus had rolled into town, kidnapped Marcone and used him as a lure for the Archive. Now that she was closer, lit to a greater extent by the light of the lamppost, I could see her more clearly. Demeter had never been one to wear make-up as long as I’ve known her. Even now, at this high-society event she hadn’t bothered to wear any, so the years that had passed since I’d last seen her weren’t hidden, but other than looking older, she hadn’t changed much. She still looked pared down and worn, as if the only reason she kept herself alive was out of habit, rather than any real interest in life.

“Everything?” I repeated, bewildered and rather offended by the accusation. Please, I knew better than that. I protested, “I’m not giving him everything he wants.”

Demeter stared up at me. “Oh, but you are, Mister Dresden,” she said simply. She studied me carefully, then she shook her head in quiet disbelief at the bafflement she read on my face. “Do you truly not know? He’s wanted you for years. He mentioned you often when we were… intimate.”

Gulp.

She tilted her head slightly to the side. “Do you want all the details?”

“No!” I yelped, reflexively shying away.

With anyone else, I would have expected my unthinkingly alarmed reaction to garner me a look of amusement, but Demeter’s lips didn’t so much as twitch as she continued watching me.

It wasn’t exactly relaxing.

I took a fortifying breath of the cool night air. The scent of the lake was carried on a gentle breeze, and it helped to settle me. I stated, firmly, “There’s no way I’m giving Marcone everything he’s ever wanted. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be his mobster wizard. Nor am I about to start committing crimes on his behalf. My help has limits. Our partnership has an expiration date.” And so did the marriage, dammit. I felt a low thrum of dissatisfaction from where the mantle dozed that I pointedly ignored.

With Marcone’s name ringing in our ears, the feeling of his presence was even heavier in the air between me and Demeter.

“If you think that he would give you up after having you then you are naive,” Demeter said flatly. No argument in her voice. There was no derision. She was simply stating a fact.

I looked at her sharply, wondering what she meant. It had never occurred to me that Marcone wouldn’t let me out of our contract when the time came, or out of the marriage if that’s what I wanted. Why in the hell would he try to keep me?

I frowned at her. “Well, now I have a question for you.” Demeter’s expression remained unchanged, so I continued, “Those girls who work for him, the ones you manage at Executive Priority, they make him a lot of money, right?”

For the first time in this conversation, Demeter glanced away from me. Her eyes flickered towards the museum doors before she looked back. She nodded briefly. “And earn themselves a fortune as well.”

“Yeah, but money isn’t everything. They’re young. At some point they’ll want to do something else, maybe settle down, start families, go to college, or just move to another city. Whatever the case may be, eventually they’ll want to move on.”

Demeter didn’t react to my words, just watched me steadily.

“Does Marcone force them to stay? Does he keep them when they want to leave?” I asked quietly. It was something that had been bothering me since I’d first learned what went on in Marcone’s so-called health club. CPD had labeled Marcone’s brothel a victimless crime and not something worth the resources to investigate. Hell, even Murph (dammit, I couldn’t help but wish she was my backup right now) had agreed, but I’d wondered how much of it was really true. After all, ugly things can be hidden by expensive walls and people willing – or paid – to look away. Considering all the money Marcone must be funneling into the police to keep their eyes off his businesses, I didn’t doubt it was also enough to keep certain questions from being asked.

So I had to ask them. I had to know the truth.

“Are you comparing yourself to a prostitute, Mister Dresden?” she murmured.

I was proud I didn’t sputter. Instead, I met her gaze, keeping a tight rein on my emotions. I said evenly, “I believe the term is sex worker, if you want to be polite. Seamstress, if you want to Pratchettian.”

Demeter’s joyless eyes didn’t blink.

Sigh. No one appreciated my references.

“Well, then, since it clearly matters to you… at the end of their contract the girls are free to renew or to go, as they wish.”

I tried controlled the relief that bubbled inside me, but I suspected Demeter had seen it. “Then what makes you think that he won’t do the same with me?” I asked.

“Because, ultimately, those girls don’t matter. However beautiful and profitable they may be, they are easily replaced,” Demeter answered coolly. “You, on the other hand, are another story. He won’t let you go once he has you in his grasp, Mister Dresden. You know how far he’ll go to accomplish his goals. Do you really think he would do anything less to keep you?"

Doubt rose within me. Old fears of being under someone’s control and not being able to get away or make my own choices stole the breath from me. Having to answer to Mab was bad enough, but adding someone else? Especially someone as terrifying as John Marcone?

My mouth went dry.

But those thoughts were quickly dashed when I remembered how serious Marcone had looked when he told me that he didn’t take to bed unwilling partners. He had meant every word and I had believed him. Hell, I still believed him. And he would never use my greatest point of leverage against me. Maggie would never be in danger from him.

Marcone had only ever tried to strong-arm me to sign on with him on one occasion. And he hadn’t bothered to offer me a contract to work for him since then. Although it has been years, I doubted he had forgotten my reaction to his first offer just because everything was much more personal this time around. Marcone knew that the consequences of forcing me to keep the partnership going longer than what we’d agreed would only end badly for him. He knew me too well to think otherwise.

Demeter must have read something of my thoughts on my face because she shook her head lightly. “You really have no idea what he feels for you, do you? Let me give you a clue then. It is a rare day where your name doesn’t pass his lips at least once. And it isn’t out of annoyance or anger.”

I stared at Demeter and the only reason I didn’t stagger back in shock was because of the grip I had on the iron railing.

I found myself rubbing at my mouth, the sense-memory of that first kiss with Marcone coming back to me. Okay, it wasn’t like I didn’t already know he wanted me. I might have been ignoring my own reaction to it, but Marcone’s desire had been very clear in that kiss. And I had seen that it wasn’t a new thing. Yeah, I hadn’t expected it, but then I had had no damned clue that he was even attracted to men before then. Much less that he was attracted to me, of all people.

But feelings? That Marcone had any kind of feelings for me as more than a supernatural resource – as a weapon mostly – in his bid to control all of Chicago was… honestly, it cast a lot of our recent interactions in a new light. And that change in perspective was more than a little disorienting.

Stars and stones… what in the world was I going to do with this information? I was tempted to bury it under a metaphorical rock and pretend I’d never learned it.

Wait. I had to take everything Demeter said with a grain of salt. She wasn’t exactly objective on the subject of Marcone. I had to remember that she always had ulterior motives when it came to him, especially since I doubted she had let go of her desire to kill him. Demeter wasn’t above trying to manipulate current events or using anything she saw as potential weapon against Marcone. And I had to remember that in her eyes that also included me.

I was sick and tried of people trying to use me as a cat’s-paw.

“I guess I’ll just have to deal with it when it becomes an issue,” I said, stone-faced.

“Until then, you’ll be in his corner? Giving him your support and power?” Demeter asked.

I nodded. Because that was what we had negotiated. “With limits,” I muttered.

“And you’ll protect him,” Demeter pressed. “You’ll save his life if he’s in danger?”

I nodded again, wary at how insistent she was being.

Something dreadfully pained crossed Demeter’s face before it smoothed out into her usual calm expression. She said, quietly, “Then we have nothing more to discuss, Mister Dresden. Although, I hope, for your sake, that what you believe will turn out to be true and you’ll have your freedom when the times comes.”

With those worrying words, Demeter turned her back to me and that’s when I noticed she had slipped off her shoes because she walked silently across the cement path back to the bench. Her heels were sitting there along with her cellphone. As she settled back on the bench, her expression looked drawn, adding more lines to her face. And it slowly crept up on me how many years had gone by since the last time we’d spoken. She had a lot more gray hairs.

She wasn’t a wizard. She wasn’t carrying the coin of a Fallen angel.

How many years did she have left? Years where she was living in her personal hell, believing her daughter was dead?

Suddenly, it hit me how utterly wrong I had been to let Marcone convince me to keep the existence of Helen’s daughter from her. No matter what state the girl was in, it was her daughter, her kid.

I almost said screw it and told her the truth, damn Marcone to hell for ever keeping a mother away from her daughter. But even as the words built up on the tip of my tongue, I paused. Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending a lot more time lately thinking before I leap, but it struck me that I could easily end up destroying my impending marriage if I spilled the truth. And with it went my daughter’s safety from the White Court.

Marcone had been keeping the existence of Helen’s daughter from her because he believe it would destroy her. How would he react if I told her the truth now?

I couldn’t risk it.

Hell, I wanted to tell her. But it also occurred to me that I actually had no idea of her daughter’s current location. I had known it once, when I had followed Marcone to Amanda’s long-term care facility, but considering his fanatical need to keep the kid safe Marcone must have moved her since then. I would have in his place. I couldn’t tell Helen Beckitt that her daughter was alive and then not have any proof to back it up. I couldn’t ignite that kind of hope in her only to then confess I didn’t even know where her child was.

At that point, I wouldn’t blame her if she lashed out and tried to kill me.

I had agreed with Marcone’s assessment of Helen’s mental state at the time, but I realized now that he had been wrong. We had both been wrong to make that decision. And the only reason I knew it to be true is that I’d become a father since then. Before, I hadn’t really understood what it meant to be a parent, to love a child unconditionally. Or how the love for one’s offspring ran so deeply that nothing could carve it out. I simply hadn’t known how parenthood changed everything, not like I did now. I hadn’t understood that the most important thing to Helen, before anything else, would be that her child was still alive.

Goddammit, the smartest play all around was to convince Marcone to tell her. And that was hardly going to be a cake walk.

I didn’t like having to bite my tongue. I hated it from the moment I realized what I had to do. But it was the only solution I could think up that would keep Marcone from throwing the ring away again. And it was the only way to get Marcone to cough up Amanda’s current location. Unless I wanted to try following him again, and I rather suspected that trick wouldn’t work a second time.

I felt like a total bastard making Helen wait another second. No matter what, I swore that I would tell her. Even if I couldn’t get Marcone to do it. I would. I owed it to Helen, as a fellow parent. Stars, as a human being who understood too well how much the loss of someone you loved stayed within you, forever. How it was a pain that waxed and waned but never ever went away. I wouldn’t let her go too much longer without seeing her daughter’s face again.

I would do it, even if I had to wait until after the wedding to tell her everything.

I shot Helen one last glance over my shoulder and turned to head back to the Rotunda.

*-*-*-*

I had barely gotten a few steps past the double doors, still wrapped in thoughts on how to bring up Demeter to Marcone when I ran into– literally in this case – a White Court vampire.

Great. I would wonder if the night couldn’t get any worse, but I didn’t dare risk the universe then doing its damned best to try and prove me wrong.

Tania Raith bounced off me, giving out a startling shriek of pain when I automatically reached out and ended up grabbing her bare left upper arm with my right hand in the instinctive attempt to keep her from falling. Instantly, I snatched my hand back, even as she tore away from me with an agonized gasp.

Oh hell, I had left a noticeably red and blistering hand print around her slim bicep. And my hand isn’t a size that anyone would describe as petite.

Tania’s blue eyes widened as she took me in and she backpedaled so quickly, she nearly blurred.

“You!” she said, accusingly, even as she clutched at her burned arm, smartly keeping her fingers off the damaged skin.

“Yup, me,” I said warily, even as I quickly glanced around to see if she had any bodyguards with her. Mostly to know if I should be activating my shield bracelet. Once I was satisfied that no armed guards were trailing after her, I looked back at Tania and blinked at her very revealing dress. It was white, silky, clingy and had a plunging neckline that made me both want to stare and wince before offering her my tuxedo jacket as cover. The youngest Raith, had her dark, fine hair piled up on her head in a hairstyle that looked like it would have taken several hours – and an ocean of hair product – to accomplish. Even her supernatural beauty was enhanced by artistically chosen make-up and the diamonds she wore at her ears and around her neck.

Tania looked drop-dead gorgeous. And by that I mean, she would use her looks to make you dead.

I shook off the strong attraction I felt towards her with a dismissive snort.

“You know, considering there are bound to be at least a few people at a party this big who are genuinely in love, going around with that much exposed skin is just asking for world of pain,” I noted, bewildered at her lack of forethought. Her burn was already swelling, although the blisters remained small. It looked like I hadn’t burned her too deeply. That was a relief; I didn’t want to deal with an angry Lara at some point in the near future. She was very protective of her family, and would doubtlessly be even more protective of the person who could arguably be considered the baby of House Raith, for all that Tania was an adult.

For example, last time I’d run into Tania, she’d had Riley and some of his soldiers along to be her minions-slash-babysitters. Riley was the smartest of Lara’s mortal security guys, so that told you something of Tania’s importance to Lara. As well as her lack of faith in Tania’s abilities.

The way Tania’s chin rose and her eyes flashed pale made me sigh, more in exasperation than in worry.

Along with being the youngest Raith, Tania was also very, very inexperienced compared to the rest of the White Court. And when you combined that inexperience with her arrogance and smug sense of superiority over the kine (the White Court word for humanity, in case anyone needed a reminder of how they valued people), well, let’s just say that last time we tangled I had to take her down several pegs. I hadn’t been messing around – not with a kid’s life on the line – and while I’m pretty sure I taught her a valuable lesson about underestimating her opponents, I have no idea how much of it had actually sunk in. Our previous interaction underscored why I will not have White Court vampires anywhere near my daughter, not when even their youngest saw nothing wrong in killing a young girl.

I didn’t feel like having to give her another lesson in respecting mortals. For one, Lara would probably take it out of my hide. And that would certainly fray the peace we’d brokered until I could pull our brother out of stasis. Secondly, it would only give more fuel to Marcone’s terrible joke about me setting off wars and I didn’t need to give him any more ammunition on that front.

Tania scowled at me. “Barely two weeks after ending your engagement with Lara and you’re already in love? Now, I understand why Lara wanted to discard you. Your type quickly becomes worthless. And unappetizing.”

I arched my eyebrows. Huh, so Lara hasn’t shared the news about my protection with the rest of the White Court? Or was Tania just too low-level to brought in on such details?

Either way, I didn’t bother correcting her mistake. I would be perfectly happy for the news to spread throughout the White Court that I could burn them with a touch if it meant they kept their damned hands off me. And if they thought the protection was due to Marcone, then all the better, since then they would go on believing I was protected even after the wedding night.

I kept the pain and sorrow at the thought of losing the protection Karrin had given me – and the proof she had loved me as much as I had loved her – off my face. But the knowledge that I would lose that last bit of her clawed at my chest and made my heart ache.

Tania’s pale eyes narrowed as she studied my face. “Although, I’m surprised that Baron Marcone would have such uncouth taste. I thought he was smarter than to develop such easily exploitable weaknesses. How disappointing to learn the Lord of Chicago is just like the rest of the kine.”

“Well, the heart wants what the heart wants,” I said with mock-cheer. I didn’t bother standing up for Marcone, hell, I suspected he would only be mildly entertained at the ham-fisted attempt to insult him. I’d certainly have done better on that front.

“Oh, I meant your useless doe as well as you,” Tania sniffed.

It took me a split second to realize that she was talking about my daughter. And not-so-subtly threatening her.

My upper lip curled back in a snarl even as I ground my teeth. The mantle growled along with me.

Tania’s face paled and she took another hurried step away from me. Then it seemed to finally dawn on her that she was alone with a very angry wizard who’d proven immune to her White Court powers, could burn her with a touch, and, oh yeah, had an infamous reputation for killing vampires on behalf of his daughter.

Tania’s pointed chin went up defensively even as her glossy lower lip trembled faintly. She managed to mask her fear with a firmly voiced, “You can’t touch me, wizard. The White Court is part of the Ministry, we’re allies together!”

Which… was true and my boss certainty wouldn’t like it if I went around killing Accorded allies when we needed their cooperation in the Fomor war. Yet the mantle wanted to rend her limb from limb, and I was in uncomfortable agreement with the damned thing. It didn’t help that the cold calculating part of me (that I could only partially blame on the mantle) pointed out how easy it would be to pull her into the Nevernever. And, well, there were all kind of nasty predators there, including some that would be deadly to lost little White Court vampires.

And who’s to say how Tania got there if there was no one left to talk.

The burns on my left arm throbbed. The pain was as startling as a bucketful of water and I shuddered at the murderous direction of my thoughts. I focused on pushing the mantle away, thinking about balancing energy equations when it came to calculating the storage needs of my force rings.

I hadn’t gotten very far when a grinning blond man appeared from around the corner, holding a mostly full whiskey bottle in his right hand. If it wasn’t for the tuxedo, he would be a perfect casting-call face for the role of a spoiled trust-fund kid or frat boy. “Hey, babe, I found us something stronger!”

The mantle – finally – subsided with grumble.

In control of my temper, I arched my eyebrows as I asked, “Are you even old enough to drink yet, kid? Where are your babysitters?”

“I’m twenty-one! Not that it is any of your business,” Tania snapped, even as she clutched at her date – or to be more accurate, her evening meal – shoving herself into his side. She winced as the motion pulled on her burn. She was already in heels but she tried to stretch up even more on her toes to say – not very quietly – into Frat Boy’s ear, “This is the Wizard of Chicago I was telling you about. His name is Harry Dresden.”

Frat boy grinned sloppily, which told me he’d been hitting the bottle even before he caught up with Tania. “Yer a wizard, Harry!”

“That’s funny,” I said absently, even as I narrowed my eyes at Tania. “Definitely never heard that one before.”

Tania caught my reaction and a smug smile blossomed on her face like a particularly carnivorous flower. “Oh, after my family heard the good news, we just had to let all our friends know that the Wizard of Chicago was engaged to John Marcone,” she said sweetly. “We were so excited we just couldn’t keep it to ourselves, Harry.”

All those ‘we’s were very telling. There were several White Court Vampires at the gala. How many of them had been telling everyone I was the Wizard of Chicago? And while I wasn’t keeping it a secret, exactly – I can be found in the yellow pages in the Ws – after Molly had handed out all those Christmas gifts on my behalf I’d been trying to keep my head down on. I wasn’t ready to face the kind of attention that publicly claiming the title of Wizard of Chicago would garner, but it seemed that decision was being taken out of my hands.

I scowled.

And as if that wasn’t enough, they were also telling everyone about Marcone. Dammit, there went my handy bodyguard camouflage.

Then a horrible thought struck me: Oh hell, were they also talking to the press?

I wouldn’t put it past the White Court. I mentally groaned at the thought I could soon be dealing with reporters chasing me down for information on Gentleman John Marcone. Stars, I was glad I had the solid walls of Castle Dresden to hide behind. Although I was already wishing the castle had come with a moat. Preferably filled with hungry crocodiles.

“Gossiping about me?” I asked. “That strikes me as being… more high school than high society.”

Tania gave a smug smile, “You really don’t understand how it works do you?”

I thought I got it then. The White Court was using gossip to put social pressure on Marcone to keep his engagement by exposing its existence to everyone. If Lara had gone with the excuse I’d given her, then she would encouraging her people to do anything they could think of to make sure Marcone didn’t back out. Which, of course, fit neatly with her desire not to marry me, but also made the rest of the White Court invested in making sure her so-called plan to palm me off on Marcone actually succeeded.

Well, if I need proof of how badly the White Court misjudged Marcone, I had it. Like Marcone would let the court of public opinion sway him from whatever course of action he decided to take. That wasn’t how the man worked.

…or I could be underestimating Lara.

I had to remember that Lara was smart, dangerous and an old hand at manipulation. She had to be aware of the impact the news that Marcone was engaged to another man would have on his business deals. And while she and I have an understanding, her greatest obstacle to gaining control of Chicago was Marcone. She wouldn’t hesitate to use any tool to gain an advantage over him, even if it was just forcing him to deal with the fallout of this kind of news being spread everywhere and to everyone.

It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that some of the very same people who’d so happily clapped when Marcone entered the Rotunda would turn around and despise him, not because he was a criminal and murderer, but because he was engaged to a man. And as much as Lara didn’t hold such prejudices considering her own interests, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be perfectly happily to use them against Marcone to erode his influence on the city’s elite. Marcone himself had said that the White Court was relentless in extending their influence into Chicago. Using whispers in people’s ears struck me as the kind of tactic that Lara would enjoy using.

Since it left no traces, or proof of being an attack, that could lead back to her and the White Court.

“Well, the way you’re going about it isn’t exactly subtle. Are you still trying to prove yourself competent after last time?” I asked, not really caring about our drunken audience.

Tania’s nostrils flared and her painted lips flattened. She gritted her perfect white teeth. Stiffly, she said, “I need some fresh air.” She grabbed Frat Boy by the arm and hauled him through the double-doors and out to the garden.

“Congratulations on getting engaged, man,” Frat Boy called out as he stumbled to keep up.

I frowned after them.

I heard the steady approach of footsteps and then Childs stepped into my field of view. I suspected he could have easily made his steps soundless and had deliberately chosen to be loud. So as not to startle the wizard, I bet. Childs, I was reminded, wasn’t an idiot. I appreciated the professionalism. My nerves were frayed enough as it was.

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I said, feeling more than a little irritated that Marcone had sent Childs after me.

“I believe I’m here less on your behalf than on theirs,” Childs said, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the garden. Childs continued, “But mostly I’m here because Mr. Marcone has asked me to remind you that he had only one request.”

For me to stay at his side.

I rolled my eyes. I said, annoyed, “Alright fine, take me to your leader.”

Childs eyed me as he turned. His British accent gave his words a very dry tone as he asked skeptically, “Am I to assume that you’ll come in peace?”

“You can, but I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said. I snorted in amusement at the wary look Childs shot me. I stretched out my longer legs and quickly outpaced him back to the Rotunda.

*-*-*-*

I hadn’t realized how much time I had spent away until I saw the mayor on the dais, smiling into several lights and cameras set up to broadcast the gala to whoever cared to watch at home. I caught the tail-end of her speech, which she was reading from a teleprompter.

Something, something…“—this day more than any other is the day we celebrate the heroes among us. They are our neighbors. Our Friends. Our family. They are the people who a year ago did everything they could to save lives, to help their fellow citizens, to be the helping hand which reached out to those who needed it. Our great city suffered, but it is people like them that Chicago still stands, and grows stronger everyday. We are here tonight to celebrate these extraordinary individuals.”

Marcone’s pale green eyes were on the mayor, but his attention shifted to me as I approached the table. As I got closer I also realized he wasn’t the only one watching me. In the crowed Rotunda, there were too many eyes looking in my direction considering the mayor was in the middle of giving a speech. I saw more than one person leaning over to talk to their dining companions and then gesturing towards me.

Partly out of paranoia, and partly out of curiosity, I Listened.

“–heard he’s the Wizard of Chicago. Yes, that wizard. Bet he was the one who set off that fire ball last –”

“–Wizard. Yes, I heard he fought that night. With magic. No, I’m not drunk.”

“–thought he was a charlatan. But if he’s really the Wizard of Chicago… fuck, I bet he could kill all of us with a spell.”

“– marrying John Marcone! It wouldn’t surprise me if he put a spell on the man. Look at him, do you really think–”

“What a cool guy! I wonder how he got all those presents out to everyone. Magic, well, yeah, but what kind?”

“–letting someone like that walk around. Someone should do something!”

“–I bet he knew the attack was coming. Asshole could have given us more warning than we got from that woman, maybe then Alex would still be –”

I grimaced and stopped Listening. I had been wondering how far the White Court gossip campaign had spread. That answered my question. I wasn’t all surprised at the negative tone in most of the conversations I had overheard. I had too many enemies in the White Court to think that they wouldn’t use any opportunity against me. House Malvora would especially enjoy stirring up fear, considering it was their favorite emotional meal.

Or hell, maybe they barely had to do anything. Fear of the supernatural ran rampant through Chicago after the attack by the Fomor. That a year had passed hadn’t done anything to dissipate it. If anything, it had shifted into an anger that had been slowly simmering all year. That it never boiled over was due to everyone’s energies being mostly spent on trying to survive… and, Marcone stepping in to keep everything from getting worse.

But now that everything wasn’t a matter of life or death, anger at everything eldritch could quickly end up turning to hatred. And when people get really, really angry, they have a tendency to strike out at any convenient target.

And the Wizard of Chicago could end up being very convenient.

“Dresden, you appear… ruffled,” Marcone noted, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

I had no idea if my eyes showed any evidence of my earlier tears, or if it was more proof of how well Marcone could read me, but he could tell something had happened.

“Nothing’s on fire,” I said, as I slid into my seat. I remembered the smoking garden display and couldn’t quite hide a grimace. “Well, not last time I checked at least.” I glanced at our surround, trying to clock how many eyes were still watching me, which were too many for comfort. I turned back to Marcone and locked my gaze with his. I lowered my voice, adding grimly, “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Childs’ barely controlled wince, then his not-at-all subtle sidle way to rejoin his Einherjar tablemates. Even in my current dark mood, I couldn’t suppress an amused snort as Marcone’s top-ranked killer all but ran away from a situation that I would hardly call dangerous.

Marcone’s green eyes didn’t so much as flicker from me to clock Childs’ escape although the corners of his mouth quirked up briefly. It told me that he found the reaction as hilarious as I did.

“You’ve never hesitated in speaking your mind before, Dresden. It is a personality trait of yours that I doubt will ever change,” Marcone stated with faint fondness that caught me flat-footed.

I blinked at him. It was barely there, but considering the usual coolness of Marcone’s voice, the warmth stood out starkly. Or... had it always been there and I was only noticing it now?

“However, is this a conversation that we can safely have in this particular setting?” Marcone continued, arching an eyebrow at me questioningly.

The pressure of stranger’s eyes on us, which I had been stoically ignoring, suddenly felt intolerable.

Dammit.

Marcone had a point. Even if I decided to take the risk to openly talk about Beckitt and her daughter, Marcone sure as hell wouldn’t do the same considering the number of potential eavesdroppers around us. Hell, the threat that would come from the White Court vampires alone was enough to give me pause. And I’ve mentioned before that it wouldn’t surprise me if all kinds of eldritch beings were attending as guests, so there were more than just vampires to keep in mind.

I ground my teeth in frustration.

Any person listening didn’t even have to be an enemy. If Marcone’s past reaction to when I first discovered Amanda’s existence was any indication, he didn’t want anyone to know, and that included his own people. We needed more privacy than we were currently getting for us to have any kind of discussion about the Beckitts. And when I considered that it wasn’t likely to stay a ‘quiet’ conversation, then it was all the more necessary that we have it without an audience.

I deeply inhaled before exhaling slowly, letting my lingering anger spill out with my breath. “Yeah, it can wait,” I admitted reluctantly, hating the delay. All I could do now was swear to myself that this was a conversation we would have. But I couldn’t quite let it go completely (and I couldn’t give up such a prime opportunity to mess with Marcone), so I added in a clearly falsely bright tone, “You know, I was just talking with Ms. Demeter. Gosh, imagine my surprise since I didn’t know she was going to be here.”

Marcone went completely still in the exact same way he did when he was expecting an attack. The first indication that he hadn’t been turned into a statue was a slow blink as he assessed my expression. He cleared his throat once before saying calmly, “Ms. Demeter will not be joining our retinue tonight as she has other duties.”

I didn’t want to be impressed by his steady nerve but I was. Dammit.

At my raised eyebrow, Marcone added, “She is acting as a chaperon this evening.” To whom he didn’t say. But it wasn’t that hard to figure out who a madame would be keeping an eye on in this kind of event. He continued, “I doubt she will need to discuss any business matters with me.”

“Don’t worry,” I continued, “We didn’t talk about your business either. But we certainly had an... interesting conversation.”

When I didn’t add any details a look of discomfort flashed across Marcone’s face that had me leaning forward in fascination. And I couldn’t quite keep my amusement at his reaction from curling up at the corners of my lips.

Hah. Making Marcone worry was truly never going to get old. But since I’d also reminded myself of my conversation with Beckitt and everything she had said and implied about Marcone’s… er, feelings, I had to fight off a burgeoning blush. Oh damn, what would I say if Marcone asked me the details of our talk?

No. Nope. No way in hell was I going to mention that topic. Not gonna happen.

Marcone’s pale green eyes narrowed as he caught on to my yanking his chain. But the subtle quirk of his lips pretty much gave the game away that he wasn’t truly annoyed by it.

“But we’ll talk about her later,” I added hastily. Wanting to move the conversation to a different subject matter and speaking of the White Court, I continued, “You should probably also know I had a run-in with the youngest Raith.”

Marcone’s eyes instantly hardened, his mouth flattening as he said with a voice like bitter winter, “I’m aware of Ms. Tania Raith.”

Tania’s attempts to hurt one of Marcone’s former men and a child had resulted in her having made just the right, or more accurately the very wrong and very stupid, choices to get on Marcone’s radar. And everything that entailed.

Considering what she’d said about my daughter, I couldn’t dredge up even a minuscule amount of pity for her.

“Is she the source of your distress, Mr. Dresden?” Marcone asked, in the same gelid tone. Hints of the predator, the merciless tiger I had once seen in his soul, unfurled in his eyes like spreading, branching frost.

It was a sight that normally would have scared the hell out of me. And for all that it was… alarming it also felt like it was something I didn’t really need to worry about. I’m not gonna lie and say that being reminded of how incredibly dangerous Marcone could be – and often was – didn’t make my heart beat faster. But, for once, it wasn’t because I was scared of what he’d do.

Instead it made me think of how Susan’s half-vampire state had never been a turn-off. Or how often my eyes were caught and held by the sight of Karrin decked out in body armor while wielding her P-90 with expert focus. Or how it wasn’t the first, second or even the fifth time I’d thought it was sexy that the woman I was attracted to was also capable of being downright lethal if she chose to be.

Apparently, it was a trait I didn’t only find attractive in women.

Oh, hell’s bells. Why did I always have to have these kind of revelations right in front of Marcone?

The only reason I didn’t beat my head against table in order to hopefully get my id (who wasn’t going to escape a punch to the face next time I spoke to him) to suffer from the shared headache was because I didn’t want to have to explain to Marcone why I suddenly trying to break the table with my thick skull.

I swallowed hard, pointedly ignored the building heat in my veins, and managed to gather my composure enough to answer, “All she managed to do was piss me off.”

Marcone thawed slowly as amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’m sure Ms. Raith regretted it instantly.”

That startled a brief grin out of me.

“Oh, yeah,” I agreed, with satisfaction. “I can handle Baby Raith. I’m more concerned over what she told me about what she and the others have been up to.”

Marcone tilted his head slightly in silent inquiry, so I explained, “They’ve been spending their time talking to everyone about us.”

I looked down at the glass that had held my long ago ordered drink and regretfully decided to stick to water instead of gulping it down. Maybe it was due to my recent conversations or all the attention we were getting but I felt too much under the spotlight – and therefore an easy target – right now to want to dull my senses with alcohol.

You know that vague feeling you get when someone is watching you? Now increase that by a factor of a hundred. Ugh, all the attention was making my skin crawl. I kept having to suppress a reflexive reach for my blasting rod every few minutes simply because I couldn’t shake the paranoid certainty that all that attention meant someone was looking for an opening to launch an attack.

Or… hmm, could you get stage-fright if you weren’t even on a stage? Er, not that I get stage-fright. Ahem.

Marcone’s slight smile had faded at my words. His green eyes narrowed as he said, “Other than seduction and bribery, rumor-mongering and gossip are among the most common tactics favored by the White Court, at least when they try to be subtle.” He turned his head to cast a slow scan of the guests seated near us. I followed his gaze. It was interesting to see who had been paying close enough attention to Marcone to notice his attention, and among them who hastily dropped their eyes or who refused to look away. Entirely too many people smiled widely in our direction, or to be specific, in Marcone’s.

Three of them were too gorgeous to be human. Their pretty smiles were too sharply unfriendly and their expressions were just too damned self-satisfied.

Great. More White Court vampires. One of them blew me a kiss. I scowled darkly in return, and my fingers twitched again in the direction of my blasting rod.

“It is their standard strategy when it comes to sowing division. Or creating discord. Or, as it has always been a pet theory, simply as a means to spark off explosive drama in order to enjoy the emotional fallout that results,” Marcone continued. He brushed the back of my left hand with his fingers, startling me into breaking off my death glare to the White Court members.

The message in the look Marcone gave me was as clear as if he had spoken it aloud. As irritated as I was with Lara’s people they weren’t terribly important right now. Nor should I give them the satisfaction of knowing they were getting to me.

I grimaced in silent agreement before saying, “I wouldn’t put it past them. Tania was pretty smug about what they’d been up to.”

“I would hardly have invited you as my personal guest if I wasn’t prepared to be a topic of conversation.” Marcone’s voice was rather dry as he added, “I am, after all, wearing what is rather obviously an engagement ring.”

Without thinking, my eyes dropped to the openly worn ring, resting on a finger that informed everyone of what it was meant to represent. As always the sight of it – something I had made – that Marcone was willingly to wear made my breath catch.

“The only unexpected element is my being forced to endure tedious observations on how I am no longer on the market. There have been entirely too many,” Marcone said, sounding remarkably irritable. “More than anyone can reasonably be expected to tolerate.”

I couldn’t keep back a growing smirk at the thought of Marcone dealing with such clumsy jokes. Although I did have to wonder who had been brave enough – or maybe just oblivious of the danger – to spout them in the first place.

Marcone looked at me intently as he added in a quieter voice, “Dresden, if you were not yet ready for our engagement to become public knowledge outside of the supernatural community, then –”

“No, that’s not it,” I said, cutting him off. “I expected that particular cat to claw itself out of the bag at some point.” Even if I hadn’t fully considered all the consequences, but I had no one to blame other than myself for not thinking things through. I pulled my thoughts away before I started down a path that would make me uncontrollable angry. “I’m more concerned about the fact that they’re also telling everyone I’m the Wizard of Chicago.”

Marcone hummed thoughtfully, “That is interesting. Your standing as a wizard is not a topic I thought they would breech. At least not with mortals.”

I shot him a surprised look at the idea he would admit to a lack of foresight in anything.

“Oh, I considered it.”

Instantly, I rolled my eyes and muttered not-exactly-to-myself, “Of course you did.”

Marcone’s lips twitched, but his amusement died away as he said flatly, “It was my evaluation that it wouldn’t be in Lara Raith’s best interest to push any narrative that encouraged the acknowledgment of the supernatural among the citizens of Chicago. Especially if one factors in that there has been a noticeable increase in violent words and actions directed at those who have the slightest connection to the occult as the government’s cover story is thin and too easily disproved.”

Especially by the ongoing efforts of the Midwestern Arcane, a local tabloid that had always been good at finding and printing stories about supernatural goings-on. Even a year later they kept publishing articles crowing about the exclusive evidence their reporters had collected from the battle against the Fomor. This week’s special were photographs some enterprising person with a vintage camera had taken of Jotun footprints. The fire Jotun had run so hot that they had left behind many imprints sunken into the melted asphalt of various streets. Weirdly enough, filling in the ‘potholes’ had been one of the city’s first priorities after the battle (yeah, reading that in the article had pissed me off, too). And the Arcane had gleefully reported that fact at as well.

I could practically see the gears in Marcone’s mind shift to a higher speed. His pale green eyes narrowed and his voice hardened, “Or possibly that is the point.”

A chill went down my spine as Marcone echoed my thoughts, lending more weight to my initial suspicions.

I furrowed my brows as I said slowly, “I don’t think I’m the actual target here, at least not purposefully.” While I had no doubt that several White Court members would enjoy it if mortals started gunning for me, my truce (well, at least my faith that it still existed) with Lara held strong. Whatever she had planned, it wasn’t intended to take me down, at least not until she got what she wanted. Although I wouldn’t put it past her to be quietly satisfied if a side-effect of her schemes ended up leaving me bruised and annoyed. “After all, its not like me being revealed as a member of the supernatural community is going to be a shock. Not only can I be found in the phone book, I’ve gone on television and told everyone I was a wizard. I’m a known element. If there’s anyone that is going to be tarnished with the brush of association with magic, I suspect it’s supposed to be you.”

Marcone tilted his head, then he nodded thoughtfully. “Most likely, although I doubt either of us is intended to be the sole target of such a campaign.”

“You know how you thought Lara was testing your security before. I think this could be it,” I pointed out. Lara would enjoy such an underhanded way of putting pressure on Marcone. “After all, any threats you would face from mortals would be more inconvenient than anything else,” – especially if they faced Einherjar bodyguards – “but they’d keep your security busy.”

“It is a rather clever means of stoking animosity among those who wouldn’t be moved by the revelation of me being engaged to a man,” Marcone said calmly, as if was axiomatic. “Anywhere else it would be dismissed as an amusing – if esoteric trait that you name yourself a wizard – but in Chicago, it would be considered a rather ignominious relationship. Having a magic-wielding fiancé is a stigma that would not be as easily tolerated.”

Hell’s bells, that hadn’t occurred to me. But yeah, that would a major issue these days.

“Or both,” I sighed, because an action that triggered multiple reactions made the most of sense when I thought about Lara’s usual machinations. I suspected she would be thoroughly delighted at using the mortal citizens of Chicago – therefore leaving no traces back to her – against Marcone, a ‘mortal’ himself.

Just imagine me making sarcastic air quotes there.

“Or both,” Marcone agreed. He turned his head to where the mayor was still talking. “Fortunately, the use of such insidious tactics to undermine one’s social standing can be addressed and their effects mitigated.” He inclined his head toward the dais ringed with cameras. “For example, by being publicly exalted and recognized for one’s contributions to the recovery of the city.”

I had been so wrapped up in our conversation that I’d missed the rest of mayor’s speech. I barely had the chance to furrow my brow in bafflement when the sound of her voice shifted from being only white noise to distinct words.

The mayor was still smiling the wide, dentist-white smile of those who knew they had several cameras focused on them. She said brightly, “Chicago kicks off honoring all those people, our people, who have proved their character since last year by giving the key to the city to someone who is deserving of every accolade. He is a man who has saved countless lives during the attack and in the aftermath by holding out a helping hand to so many of us. Please give a warm round of applause to none other than John Marcone.”

I blinked.

My train of thought was completely derailed. There was a lot of mental metal screeching and railcars smashing into one another. Something definitely caught on fire.

“What?” I yelped, louder than I meant to. My shout was hidden by the thunderous applause that had instantly broken out.

Being the only one close enough to hear me, Marcone’s eyes freaking crinkled at the corners even as the pale green of his irises glittered in entirely too much damned delight at my reaction.

I stared at him in disbelief.

Marcone slipped out of his chair with smooth, predatory grace. As he passed me by he briefly pressed a warm broad hand to my shoulder before he walked up to the platform where the mayor and the city council members were waiting and clapping enthusiastically. At his approach, the applause from the gala attendees actually grew louder, as people started cheering and getting to their feet. The expressions on their faces… well, I couldn’t deny that those who were clapping actually appeared to be sincere in their enthusiasm.

Even the White Court members were going along with tight spurious smiles on their faces.

“What,” I repeated, in a quieter voice as I sat stunned. I couldn’t remember anyone ever being given the key to the city of Chicago in the entire time I’ve lived here. I didn’t think it was something the city did.

Oh, right, the Savior of Chicago shtick.

My sarcasm was probably unfair. For all his sins, Marcone had earned that title fairly. He had saved the city.

Stars, in three separate occasions I had personally witnessed him being instrumental in ensuring that Chicago survived that night. Marcone had faced Ethniu and kept the members of the Unseelie Accords bound together to fight. He’d carried his own psychic banner, brought in his fighters as reinforcements at the perfect moment. And he had gotten me the blood I needed to bind the Last Titan.

You also have to remember that Ethniu’s blood-lust wouldn’t have been satisfied by taking the lives of every man, woman and child who lived in Chicago. Not when she wanted every human on the planet dead.

And, as if being a critical linchpin in saving all of humanity wasn’t enough, Marcone had also saved my life that night. Specifically, I mean, and not just because I was included in the total package of saving the city.

After binding a freaking minor deity, I was understandably exhausted and absolutely devoid of any magic. I nearly died because of, um… completely unforeseeable side-effects of calling in Demonreach.

Okay, so I ended up creating a small tsunami from the waters of Lake Michigan (I’d forgotten to take physics into account... it could have happened to anyone, I swear). I wouldn’t have blamed Marcone if he had chosen to get the hell out of Dodge at that moment. The man had been freaking teleporting only a few moments prior, and unlike me he’d still had plenty of gas in the tank so he’d had the means to get out. I had expected him to take it, but instead Marcone had made the choice to stand his ground, and poured his efforts into creating the means of saving both of us from the impact of all that rapidly approaching water.

I didn’t drown because of John Marcone.

And that’s not even factoring everything he did in the aftermath of the battle.

None if it excused the slowly creeping evil that Marcone enabled with his so-called business. The people he’s harmed weren’t magically made better. Those he’s murdered aren’t breathing again. The corruption he spread as a means of gaining power wasn’t undone. Marcone’s sins weren’t cleared away by his good acts.

But by the same token, then none of the genuinely good and selfless things Marcone had done were diminished by his crimes either.

I glanced at the clapping crowd one final time before I turned in my chair to face the dais.

The mayor was shaking Marcone’s hand, smiling more at the cameras than at him even as she handed him what looked like a gold skeleton key. At least it looked like it was covered in gold. Or it maybe it was only gold colored. It certainly shone brightly enough under the camera lights.

The major stepped away from the microphone, clapping as she did to let Marcone stand by himself in the center of all that attention.

Marcone’s speech was hardly anything special. He thanked the audience for having been given the honor of the key to the city. He promised to keep pouring his attention into the reconstruction. He promised to continue funding support for the citizens of the city who still needed help. He kept the speech short and with no peroration tacked to the end of it.

Marcone stood before what one could argue was the city itself. All of Chicago. For in the crowd of the gala was its richest members, its working class, its most famous citizens, its civil servants, its elected officials who’d been given power to represent many voices and its common people who barely had any. It even had members of the supernatural community in attendance.

And before them all the Baron of Chicago, Kingpin of its criminal underworld, and burgeoning magic-user, while holding a freely given symbol of the city, made oaths to protect its people. His people. His city.

And on this night, they weren’t just empty words.

And the city accepted them.

*-*-*-*

“Has no one warned you about making promises in front of witnesses,” I muttered, as Marcone sat back in his seat. He still held the key to the city in his hand. Marcone set it down between us. The key made such a surprisingly heavy-sounding thump as it was put down on the pristine white tablecloth that it cut through the loud applause that had heralded Marcone back to his table.

Marcone gave a nod of acknowledgment to the gala attendees and after a few more seconds the clapping tapered off. Up on the dais the mayor awkwardly cleared her throat, looking briefly relieved to be able to regain everyone’s attention after Marcone had stolen it away. Her speech continued, but I tuned her out.

Curious, I peered at the key. Yup, definitely gold-ish. I’d eat my bow-tie if there was so much as a speck of real gold on that thing; it was clearly made up of polished brass. However, even without any real gold the key was a lot more impressive than I’d first thought. The city’s emblem was stamped on the bow and ‘Key to the City of Chicago’ ran along the blade. The cuts and bitting had been sculpted into the current, depleted skyline of Chicago. There were even delicately engraved lines hinting at the buildings’ structural frame and windows.

“I meant every word that I said, Dresden. I intend to fulfill those promises,” Marcone said, distracting me from my study of the key. “Chicago is my city.”

“Our city,” I corrected at once.

A spark of something hot flared in Marcone’s green eyes. And after a moment he agreed, “Our city.”

“So you’re going to keep taking the whole Baron of Chicago thing seriously,” I said. I was pretty certain that he would. Everything Marcone had done since in the aftermath of the battle had proved it. But I think I just needed to hear him actually say it.

“Yes,” Marcone said simply, yet with such certainty that he didn’t require any extra words to convey the depth of his sincerity. He offered quietly, “Together, if you’re willing, Wizard of Chicago.”

Maybe it was the aftermath of Marcone’s speech, but I felt the weight of the title he’d bestowed on me in a way that I never had before. I nodded, “To protect the people.”

The key on the table gave off a single startling pulse of energy that nearly made me jump out of my seat. Even Marcone blinked and we both looked down at the key in surprise. I could feel the subtle energy it was giving off. It was like hearing a high-pitched hum that was just at the edge of audible hearing.

It was more than a little alarming, to be honest.

Magical artifacts are created in two ways that I know about: deliberately or accidentally.

Accidentally created magical artifacts aren’t normally very stable. I wouldn’t trust one to last longer than three sunrises before the magic gathered in the object faded away. But I was more concerned about what the hell the key could do. It could be damn near anything. And it was even more disturbing when you factored in that wildly crafted bits of magic had a tendency to have more power than the most meticulously crafted spell.

Think nitroglycerine. Yeah, the unstable stuff that always pops up in those Old West movies and always leads to an explosion at some point usually after some cowboy inevitably reminds the audience that even the horses rattling the carriage too much could end in disaster.

That’s exactly what this key was.

I mean, I didn’t really think it was going to explode, but it made me rather wary. And uncomfortable at having a potentially powerful magical artifact in plain sight.

“So, I guess you didn’t mean to do that,” I said slowly, looking at the way that Marcone was studying the key with interest.

“I was made aware of the possibility,” Marcone murmured, clearly fascinated. “But considering the nature of my oaths, any sort of ulterior motive would have negated the creation of a magical artifact. Or so it was explained to me.”

I nodded grimly, “Yeah, it would have. And you wouldn’t have liked the results.” Motivations and emotional states influence magic, by a lot, and I was probably understating their importance. If Marcone had stood on that dais and accepted a symbol of the city with anything less than pure motivations… especially considering the promises he’d made and his burgeoning magical talents, it could have exploded in his face. Literally.

Unless he had extra help. Reminded of Namshiel, I frowned.

But… Marcone had been nothing less than sincere in his promises to the city. I trusted that even if I didn’t trust a demon in a Denarian coin.

“I’d keep that somewhere safe,” I said, gesturing at the key, which had gone back to feeling like an ordinary – albeit shiny and decorated – skeleton key. “It has a strong magical tie to the city. I can think of a couple nasty spells that would work perfectly with that key as a conduit.”

Marcone considered my words for a second before pushing the key towards me.

My eyes widened to what felt like a ridiculous degree.

“You have been entrusted with holy objects, Dresden,” Marcone said, dryly. “While the key hard ranks in the same category I trust I can do the same.”

I was shaking my head before he finished talking. “No, it was given to you. You better hold on to it.”

And I strongly suspected the artifact was keyed – heh – to Marcone in some way. I certainly didn’t want to risk it exploding in my face if it didn’t like my touching it.

Marcone studied me for second and then nodded before making the key vanish into an inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket almost faster than I could blink. Good. No one would be getting that key off Marcone without losing a limb or two in the process.

And that was only if they were lucky.

*-*-*-*

I let out of long breath of relief as the limo pulled out of the museum parking, shedding the reporters who had chased us out. And it was us, this time and not just Marcone. Apparently, the White Court’s gossiping had reached the ears of the reporters and I was not happy to find myself a target. Not that I was particularly worried with Einherjar and several of Marcone’s goons glowering at the media.

Okay, I had been a little concerned. The pack seemed to be more ravenous than when we first arrived.

I couldn’t wait until I was safely behind the thick stone walls of my castle. And not just because I worried about being tracked down by a newshound. I’ve said before that I’m more of a homebody than a party animal. While the gala was hardly a party, especially not considering the reason it was held in the first place, it was physically and emotionally draining. Although, at the end of it all – and considering how awfully the whole thing had started – I found myself surprised to feel glad I had come along.

Because I had heard the stories of the heroes of the aftermath of the battle that I hadn’t known about before. Mired as I’d been in my own misery and fraying attempts to keep myself together, they had slipped me by. I had heard stories of humans being the best of humanity in the way that reminded me that we weren’t all violence and anger when push comes to shove.

Like the cadre of nurses who kept their patients alive by pumping air into their lungs with their own hands once the ventilators went down, working in constant shifts until the back-up generators were brought back online.

Or the strangers who carried people who suddenly found their electric wheelchairs wouldn’t move, as monsters got closer and closer. The untold number of people who stood in line for hours to donate blood, even weeks later.

The grandmother in China Town who’d fired up an antique wooden stove she had held onto and fed everyone and anyone who came to her for days on end. Even, according to the granddaughter telling the story to the attendees – laughing and shaking her head in delight at her grandmother – chasing down a man who’d donated boxes of food supplies for her to continue to work and wouldn’t let him leave until he’d eaten and only then with a pork bun in each hand.

Stars… I hadn’t realized how much I had needed to hear those tales.

I had too many horrors from that night in my head. Too often it hadn’t even been monsters, but people turning on each other, driven by the influence of fear and malice that a goddess had thrown at Chicago. I hadn’t seen the other side of it. I hadn’t seen the many hands that reached out to help, to lift up those who had fallen down. I hadn’t seen those who’d managed to hold onto their humanity even under the influence of an ancient power that had battered at their psyche.

It was incredible.

And one of the highlights of the evening had been seeing Rawlins lauded for his bravery and extraordinary leadership, of both officers and civilians. His actions had saved over a hundred lives that night.

I had had no idea. I had clapped so hard my palms had throbbed for the rest of the gala.

“Dammit, I wish I could tell Murphy about Rawlins,” I said, not even thinking of how much it hurt to speak of her until after I spoke the words. And it did hurt. And maybe it was my exhaustion talking, but the pain didn’t seem to spike with the same sharpness as before.

Marcone glanced at me, reading my flash of grief. After a moment, he said, “Write to her.”

“What?”

“Write her letters,” Marcone clarified. His pale green eyes flickered away from me. “I write to Hendricks. Nothing that could be considered a security risk, of course. Only personal details that I know would interest him.”

I blinked at the concept of Marcone having something – anything – in his life he considered personal but worthy enough to share with his friend. Then I wondered if he wrote to Hendricks about me.

Hell, I didn’t have to wonder. I knew.

Marcone continued, “New Einherjar may not be able to return to the world until memory of them has faded, but paper holds no memory. And I know Hendricks will want to know what happened in his absence. Gard has already agreed to hold them and pass them on to him when he returns.”

My jaw was sagging in a very cartoonish way.

“That’s… a goddamned genius idea,” I breathed once I got my jaw off the limo floor.

Hell, I bet I could get my godmother to pass them on as a last god-motherly duty to me. Or if I wasn’t willing to trust that task to her, I knew River Shoulders wouldn’t mind doing me a favor.

My mind was so thoroughly distracted and spinning with ideas of everything I wanted to tell Karrin, everything I wanted her to know, or remind her of (how I loved her, how I missed her) that it took several minutes before I manged to pull myself out of those thoughts to meet Marcone’s eyes.

It struck me that Marcone had shared something that was incredibly personal, something vulnerable, by admitting to me that he wrote to friend. A friend that he would never see again.

“Um… thank you… for the idea,” I said awkwardly, glancing away. That’s when out of the rear window, I saw a familiar glowing violet light streaking towards the moving limo.

“You’re welcome,” Marcone said quietly.

I frowned, as Toot-toot got close enough for me to see his face. My Major-General’s mouth was shouting something I couldn’t hear as he gestured desperately somewhere off to the limo’s side.

At once, my eyes widened as realization struck.

I threw myself at Marcone, even as I activated my shield bracelet. Marcone’s head whipped around to where I’d been looking even as I wrapped an arm around him pulling him close. I made the shield as big and as flexible as I could until we were enveloped in a multilayered cocoon of magical energy.

And that’s when I heard it.

The furious roar of an eighteen-wheeler sounding like an enormous, hungry beast as it accelerated toward us.