Under a blood red sky

[This takes place right after Molly met with Jo and Dean.]

After Jo and Dean left, Molly sat on her bed and stared at the wall for a long time. Curled up with her knees to her chin and her arms wrapped around them tightly she gave in to the memories. Sometimes she just had to do that or they would show up at the worst possible time. After so many months of dealing with them she knew when it was time to do that, and when it was time to tell herself to put on her big girl panties and suck it up. By Sunrise she had it together.

She knew that showing up at Harry's in the morning without coffee and Burger King breakfast goodies in hand was tantamount to a declaration of war, so after a shower and changing into her only other set of clothes she took the fifteen dollars Jo wouldn't take from her the night before and armed herself with a trip to the local Burger King. She might have made them think she was in a car with a clever illusion so she could go through the drive thru instead of dealing with the morning mob in line. Maybe. She'll never tell.

Peace offering in hand, she made her way to Harry's, checking needlessly that the sun was well above the horizon before knocking on the door. She really wasn't ready to meet his new friend yet.

The grab was easy, it was the getting away that was hard.

Mel'd learned to carry her scythe with her, tied to her back, since now lurks had a better handle on who she was when she was out at night. A routine grab turned into something like a half-marathon, complete with jumping from rooftops to cars. It was a normal Thursday evening in Haddyn.

Just when she'd landed on the hood of a fast-moving bus, backback with her prize hanging from one shoulder, something changed.

It looked like the world was made of water. There was a big ripple, a little bit ahead. Mel looked at it, eyebrows drawing together, mouth starting to open in surprise. Then she looked for somewhere to jump to. She did NOT want to go through that ripple.

It didn't look right. It didn't feel right, either.

But the bus wasn't on a route that had enough jumping off points, and other traffic was pretty light. She looked down from the bus to the cars below it, contemplating. When she looked back up the ripple was gone.

"Hell with this," she said, jumping from the bus down three layers of traffic. It was a graceful jump, and Mel smiled. This was fun. It was ALWAYS fun.

What wasn't fun was the ripple appearing under her. There was no way NOT to go through it, now. "Nnnno," she said, trying to twist out of the way. Couldn't, though. Falling was falling, and there wasn't usually a thing anyone could do to stop it except hit the ground.

Which she did, eventually, with a heavy WHUMP!, with her backpack around one shoulder and the scythe strapped to her back.

The ground was hard. It was light outside. There were crunchy leaves, not pavement. There were birds chirping. And it'd hurt like a sonofabitch. Mel made a little rattling hurt sound and got to her feet, combat boots being drawn underneath the rest of her slight frame, orange cargo pants ripped in one spot from her fall, which she noticed and made a huffing noise over.

Still crouched, she looked up, and her mouth dropped open.

This was not... where did Haddyn go?

And there was a guy. Standing here. A big one. With a stick.

Backdated to before the bar scene with Jo.

It was hard for him to admit, but the truth was, there wasn't much left for Harry in Chicago. Not right now, maybe never again. Of course, there were his friends, his cat, his dog, his apprentice his daughter.... but by all their knowledge, he'd died. Months ago. He'd said his goodbyes the best he could, given the circumstances. He'd done what he could to save them.

They were coping. Molly was working on what she could to keep his reputation alive. Mister had a new home, and Mouse was safeguarding Maggie - who couldn't be safer with the Carpenters and the squad of guardian angels that surrounded their home. As much as it hurt that his daughter would never know him, Harry knew what it meant to be raised by the Carpenters. To have that solid foundation of love, support, and faith. It was something he wanted for her, a part of life he himself had never gotten to experience. Something Maggie would never have with him.

He wasn't a part of that life anymore. He'd known that before ever calling upon Mab. It was why he'd made the call to Kincaid in the first place - this wasn't a deal he would survive. Not the way he had been.

The only reason for coming to Chicago at all had been to collect Bob. It had taken some time, but in the end, Butters had given him back the skull, promising not to tell the others he'd been there. Harry wasn't certain how long that promise would last, but he hadn't told the little coroner where he was going. But Harry needed Bob's expertise for this matter in York, and it had been worth the risk and the trip to come back for him.

Now, he just hoped to get away before anyone else came looking.
( Read more... )

It was a warm day, but there was still frost lingering on his shoulders. The duster had been replaced, and woven into its new protection spells was the power of the Winter Queen. Harry had tried hard to avoid accepting favors from the gathered Faerie at the Winter Court, but he could not find the proper way to sidestep Mab's assistance in armoring himself. So her power had strengthened his spells, and the duster was as comfortable as ever. 

Harry had stood in front of the door for almost ten minutes now, veiled, trying to work up the nerve to knock. e wasn't certain how this left things with Murphy, or how his most recent adventure in Chicago had left the rest of them, but one more supernatural bad guy had been defeated. He'd done everything he could to help them out one last time. He wasn't sure if this way the right way to go about things -- he'd thought it was over for him, and had made the preparations as though it was -- but this was Murphy. Karrin Murphy. He couldn't leave her thinking him dead when he wasn't. 

If anything else, because she'd make sure it stuck once she found out.

That thought made him smirk a little, and his fist took the momentary distraction to knock, regardless of what else was going on in the brain. Harry paled, swallowed, and dropped the veil to wait.

( Were greatly exaggerated. )

The day after this.

Magic was fluid, not fixed. Sunrise was a time of new beginnings, and the first rays of dawn could wipe away any spells left out in the open. It was one of the reasons Harry keyed his wards into a home's threshold, since by their very nature, a threshold was fixed. But for the alarm spells that would let him know if someone (or something) was approaching his home with ill intent? Those required a bit more effort.

Harry had encountered this issue in Chicago, and the way he worked it out there seemed fine for working it out here. Rings of sea glass, with runes carefully etches into their smooth sides, were hung on iron nails, which in turn were hammered into the telephone poles and trees in a two-block radius around the house. Anyone taking a route that would bring the to Harry's door would activate the spells, which in turn would activate his defenses.

The wards were permanent once they went up... well, at least until they were burned away, taken down by Harry or a stronger wizard, or had enough bodies thrown at them to burn out the spells. That last had happened to his first generation of wards, thanks to the zombie hordes at the disposal of a few necromancers. Harry had learned a few tricks after that, and the second generation wards would last long enough for that not to be an issue.

He stopped to take a break just after midday. The police had so far only asked him about a permit once for climbing a phone pole. Harry didn't want to attract attention from the local authorities just yet, so he opted for sticking to trees here on out. For now, he perched on the hood of his Jeep, munching on some Burger King.

The phone call with Bobby had been... interesting. No idea why Jo was back. Shame. But a direction to point Dean in, at least.

"It's easy to find 'im," Bobby said. "Y'know how we couldn't find Bin Laden? A giant Arab on dialysis? It's kinda like that."

Dean really didn't get the joke until he pulled up in the driveway at Harry Dresden's house.

He joked that Sam was a Sasquatch. This guy was a Yeti, or something, then. Dean already knew Harry was a wizard. He didn't really get what that meant, per se, but that was probably better, since he really wasn't a fan of witches. People were scarier than demons.

Once he was out of the Impala, Dean did his best to look friendly. "Hey, are you Harry?" he asked, walking up to the Jeep, and the Redwood sitting on top of it.

( read more )

Surely the house on the edge of town had once been glorious, but to the modern eye, it was a monstrosity born out of neglect. Palatial and vast, the building sat on a largely unkempt lot, brambles of dead bushes and overly tall grass hiding lost artifacts from children’s summer baseball games and random bits of trash.

The house itself was made of a solid stone, weathered by many harsh winters. It seemed much too large for one person, and far too creepy.

Of course, the irony of this did not escape Godric. As he cleared the dust in his new home, he couldn’t help but think of the time-honored cliché of the monster in the creepy house. It was an image that was prevalent in almost every child’s ghost story, and made quite vivid with the advent of the motion picture.

But, clichés did exist for a reason. It was a creepy house, and by definition, he supposed he was a monster. Perhaps, he mused, he took a little satisfaction in the ambiance of living the part.

Mostly, however, the house and its grounds suited his purposes. It, of course, was much too large for a single individual, but with the coming storm that brought him to this place, he had the sincere hope that he would not be solitary in its stone walls for long.

Godric had, of course, heard of the gathering council of powers. Indeed, as a being of vast age and respect in the vampire community, he could likely have attended himself. However, bureaucracy was of little interest to him. Such trivialities were for the Nan Flanagans of the world, individuals jockeying for power and significance. After thousands of years, Godric felt no need to prove to anyone who he was, and rather wanted to avoid any direct interaction or conflict with those who sought to do so. That said, time had not rendered him complacent. To Godric, the merits of what was to come did not rest within what could be prevented, but what could be gained.

To that end, Godric did not wait for the Authority to send him to York, as they inevitably would. He resigned his position in Dallas and came willingly. He saw in the potential end of everything a chance for a new beginning. Centuries of divide between the supernatural communities had caused death, destruction, and despair. To be sure, Godric himself had killed many, and would forever feel that blood stain on his hands. But this was a chance for reprieve. As hunters and demons alike would soon arrive on the borders of this town, Godric knew that there had to be someone who could show them that the apocalypse could not only be prevented by unification, but that the world could continue to progress under such bonds.

Perhaps his goals were lofty. But, he mused, why not? After millennia of life, why not yearn for the impossible? Everything else in his existence had defied what was expected, why bother to start falling in line now?

But, Godric also knew that whatever was to come, would not come easily…and would not come without a cost. The armies would come, and many would die. He only hoped that out of those ashes, life could begin. Which, he recognized, was a strange hope coming from one who had often believed himself to be Death itself.

With the setting sun, Godric took leave of his new home, barely gaining notice from any of the townspeople of York. He was, to them, just another fresh-faced teenager. They had not yet come to know him as the “monster in the house.” But they would, in time. For now, he wanted to be out amongst the people of this town where chaos was soon to reign. To see the faces of those that were meant to be saved and destroyed, to greet the warriors to come.

He wandered the crisp evening, sensing that although it was merely beginning, for York…it may well be the end.

The house was ranch-style, with two distinct sides, separated by a shared kitchen and patio. Harry had set aside the smaller wing for Phaedra, since it had fewer windows and a private bath in the master bedroom. In the bedroom, steel shutters had been placed over all the windows, behind heavy curtains. The door was in a solid oak frame, and additional interior locks had been placed.

On his own half, Harry had converted the second bedroom into a makeshift lab. It had more room than his previous lab had allowed, but all the walls were lined with shelves and long worktables. A corner of the carpet had been lifted away, with a summoning circle placed underneath, an elegant thing of silver, copper, and iron.

It was an older home, and one that had been well loved. Harry was the first to rent it out after the original family had left. The threshold still held, though he knew it would weaken over time. The next few days would be spent enforcing wards around the house. He felt oddly naked without them.

"Your room is on that end," Harry told Phaedra, pointing past the kitchen. It was well after dark, and with the thick, solid curtains he'd placed on that side of the house, no trails of moonlight or starlight could penetrate to illuminate her way. "Um. Need a candle or something?"

He'd already forgotten that the electricity was still in place, since Harry had lived without it for so long.

I said you're such a sweet young thing, why you do this to yourself?
She looked at me and this is what she said

Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked
Money don't grow on trees
I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed
There ain't nothin' in this world for free

I know I can't slow down, I can't hold back
Though you know I wish I could
Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked
Until we close our eyes for good



They didn't talk around water coolers.

They sat behind closed doors, subtle nods to each other upon arrival in the evenings. There were meetings in a board room with a long mahogany table, all of them sitting sentinel at various points around it.

There was only ever one heartbeat in the office, and it belonged to Joe--the boss's son, who now ran the firm. He was universally hated by his staff, which was more of an occupational hazard than it would be in any other situation, in any other job.

Except perhaps that of a lion tamer.

The stencil on the office suite read BENNING AND SON. To everyone who knew, everyone who should know, this group was only called The Firm. The cards its staff carried were blank and only had a phone number in red ink.

Joe Benning ran a firm of assassins, and every one of them was a vampire.

It'd been his father's idea, years and years ago. They were the perfect killers. They HAD to kill; why not pay them?

Phaedra Romani was one of the first hires, and now she had her own office. In terms of office hierarchy, and in terms of reputation, she was the go-to girl for all things wet work. She did not suffer fools, enjoyed taking contracts that gave people their just desserts, and was unassuming in appearance enough that it was easy for her to do her job. Very, very easy.

When Joe entered her office without knocking to inform her that there was a client waiting to speak to her, the glare he received damn near stopped his heart. She'd been in not even half an hour and had a line up of research to do. There were other vampires here who would take a new client.

Phaedra did not move, just arched a brow at her boss. "I find it difficult to believe," she said, voice very smooth, "that there is no one else here who can see this client."

Joe's face grew angry and full of lines. "You give me a lotta lip just for trying to run this place."

That's because your father was better at it.

Joe sighed. "He asked for you by name, specifically."

Leather creaked as Phaedra pushed her chair back, slightly more interested now. Many of her clients were women. Women who were wronged, cheated on, raped, or otherwise hurt by men. She had other clients, yes. But that seemed to be how the chips fell. Phaedra was the only female vampire in the firm. Most of the women came to her.

"Send him in."

( Enter Harry. )

It was a gathering that had not been seen in recorded history. Every council leader, every being of power was gathered in the clearing that had been declared Accorded Neutral Territory for the duration of the meeting. Leaders from various nations, packs, clans, courts. Some Harry could recognize immediately. Others, he had only known through rumor. The clearing swelled with power, and Harry himself was distinctly uncomfortable. As the representative of the Unseelie Court, it was his job to ensure the Accords were followed, as well as representing his Queen in this matter. Mab might have had the power to control this lot, but Harry wasn't entirely certain of his own ability to do so.

Still, he took down the names of all those present. And when Fix, the Summer Knight, arrived and stood beside him, Harry was relieved. Fix had been the Summer Knight for several years now, and had more knowledge than Harry would admit. Winter and Summer were perpetually at war, but in this matter, they were united. It was enough of a shock to everyone that Harry suspected many here now had come simply to see what would make the Queens of the Sidhe set aside their eternal struggle and work together.

Arthur Langtry, the Merlin of the White Council, gave Harry a dirty look. He'd never liked Dresden, and fully believed the young wizard to be a time bomb waiting to explode and destroy them all. The fact that this upstart youth had maneuvered his way into power as the Winter Knight did not pass his attention, nor his suspicion. He filed the information away, giving the Knight a barely respectful nod. This answered the question of where Dresden had been the last several months, after being presumed dead.

Mavra, the eldest vampire of the Black Court, avoided Dresden. She loathed the wizard and was determined to see him dead. But at this meeting, he was untouchable. She scowled as he was approached by Lara Raith, who had arrived in proxy for her father, the King of the White Court. Raith flirted openly with Dresden, but the wizard resisted her charms and she moved on through the crowd to take her place.

Harry waited until all the dignitaries were in place, keeping his expression neutral. This was the very last place in the world he wanted to be, but it was his Queen's order. Well, his Queen and Fix's. At least the changeling was in the same boat as him. Before anyone could start to get impatient (and for immortal and semi-immortal beings, they could be damn impatient), Harry nodded to Fix. The changeling quickly drew up his will and closed the circle. Trees surrounding the clearing groaned and shifted, closing the physical circle at the same time a magical barrier was erected. The air immediately began to swell with the pressure of those contained within.

There were plenty of beings who could easily break it and leave. But the matter was ceremonial, traditional. The circle ensured privacy, and no magical communications or scrying could penetrate it. Any technology to do so would have burned out by now, given the magical energies moving about.

"Thank you all for coming," Harry announced, his stern baritone ringing clearly through the clearing. "On behalf of Mab, Queen of Winter, I bid you all welcome. This conclave has been called to address an issue of utmost importance, and one that has attracted the attentions of both Summer and Winter alike." That said, he turned to face a woman in a crisp, cream-colored business suit. "I now open the floor to the representative of the Senior Partners, the Wolf, Ram, and Hart, to give us this most pressing news."

"Thank you, Mr. Dresden," the woman said, her voice very pleasant, like nothing at all was wrong. She rose from her spot at the U-shaped table and began to pace, high heels clicking on the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, higher beings," she began, with a nod to a section of the table where, sandwiched between an angel and a demon, a hunter from South Dakota sat. The hunter was incredibly uncomfortable. He scowled.

"I realize that this meeting is... unorthodox at best, but it's to the advantage of everyone here to discuss something that's come to the attention of both the Senior Partners of my firm and Queen Mab. Lights, if you please?"

At the back of the room, a young man in a suit--another lawyer from Wolfram and Hart--hit the lights. The woman turned on a lap top, and a screen on the back wall sprang to life.

"I know we're all familiar with the Hellmouth in Sunnydale," she said. "Some more than others." She offered a smile to Rupert Giles, who sat at the end of the table, nearest the door, just next to a vampire named Nan Flannigan, head of the American Vampire League. "In all of my time at Wolfram and Hart, in all the meetings we have held, all of our plans, not a single employee was aware," she said, clicking a button, "that this existed."

Behind her on the screen, there was an aerial image of an expanse of land.

"Now, I know that looks like just a piece of land in the middle of nowhere," she said, offering everyone a beautiful smile. "And it is. You'd be right to think that." She waited a beat.

( Until it opens. )