Under a blood red sky

Phaedra thought that, after three hundred years mostly alone, she could return to her state of solitude and being thought of as nothing more than a killer with some degree of ease.

She was wrong.

Harry and Lindsey were gone. Gone somewhere she could not even feel their minds, and she didn't like that. It likely meant dead.

She had cried, briefly. Violently sobbed, more like. And she'd broken several things in what had been Harry's house. A door was ripped off the hinges in her rage, upstairs, and the bathroom mirror was shattered.

She'd gone to Lindsey's motel room and had been sleeping there during the days, not allowing the maid to change the sheets on the bed. They smelled like him. She didn't touch anything. Some of his things were still there. She'd taken to wearing a discarded flannel shirt. A cowboy hat was on the bedside table.

She couldn't feel Saerian, either, but was counting her blessings for that, in the moments when she didn't feel gutted.

Tonight, Phaedra was leaving Lindsey's and returning to Harry's, walking at a human pace the entire distance. She was going to check her messages with the firm. Halfway there, a giant wall of a demon jumped out in front of her, clearly looking for a fight. Feral.

When Phaedra heard the footsteps approaching, she was silently flaying it alive, her face utterly cold. Gone.

Sometimes being a hunter was a thankless job.

Who was she kidding? Most days, really.

But some days were worse than others. Like the days when a person was left holding a gun over a downed skinwalker who simply looked human. Which would have been fine if she'd been able to make a hasty exit.

No, instead, the skinwalker was lying in a back alley behind one of the businesses in town. Unfortunately for her, she apparently wasn't alone. Jo heard a car pull up and then footsteps in the alley.

Shit.

She looked around frantically and tried to find somewhere to stash the gun that she in no way had a permit for. Meanwhile, she tried to come up with a cover excuse for why she was standing over a dead body with blood on her pants.

It was Ash Wednesday, and Anita was out for her late morning run. She'd actually gotten up early, and gone to a Wednesday morning service--and maybe it was shallow of her, but it made her feel good to have gotten in the habit of going to Church again, on the days she wasn't actively working a case. Sometimes that was Wednesdays, sometimes Sundays, and sometimes she still had to skip, but it was nice to have at least some semblance of normalcy in her otherwise crazy life.

She'd wound up being in York longer than she'd originally expected, but she was starting to fall into a routine. Calling to check in with her people back in St. Louis a couple times a week, going in to the station to work with Murphy. Visiting Justine and Thomas. Having random dinners with Edward to compare notes. Etc, etc.

She had to remind herself, as she kept an eye out on her surroundings while she ran, not to grow complacent in the routine. Life may go on as usual, to a certain extent, but there were still greater forces at work than just the daily grind. Which reminded her, she was probably due to check in with the local spook squad again soon, to see if any new leads had turned up.

She'd finish her lap around the park, and then head back to the suite to do just that.

York, Pennsylvania, was no worse than New Mexico. Then again, Edward's only real attachment to his home was a strange kind of allegiance to simplicity, and very little more than that.

He'd rented a house under his most-used name, back near the college, but far enough from the frat houses and nice enough that it was something like Donna's anyway.

The call had come the night before, and the money was much too good to refuse. The job wasn't going to be easy, but after the things he'd been hearing about York, Edward would've taken just about any job that would've put him there with a plausible excuse. He had a hard time believing what the job was, anyway.

It was his because Benning and Son (read as: Phaedra Romani) turned it down after finding out what it was. Just one man? Please. The contract's source was even more interesting.

More interesting? Anita was already here. This was all going to be a lot of fun.

He'd set his house up to his liking, unpacking more ammunition than the German army, and picked up his rental car. Well, a Hummer wasn't really a car. But it got the job done. It could go anywhere. He'd driven around a little, getting a feel for the town and checking out the motels. He'd driven past Harry Dresden's house during the day, getting a good look at it.

He was making plans.

He stopped to pick up groceries, putting them into the Hummer. He figured he'd make himself some dinner, go over the information he had, and start making a plan. A course of action. There was someone here, and he knew it. And that someone was watching him.

Which was fine. There was a flame thrower in the back of the car.

While she and Thomas were scheming Christmas presents for Harry, Justine hadn't forgotten about Anita and the potential that was there. She reminded Thomas that she was going to invite Anita to come visit them and he wouldn't be able to go grave robbing tonight. Covered in corpse dirt was such a turn off.

The house was tastefully decorated for the holiday with the obligatory amount of mistletoe artfully spread throughout the house. Justine arranged for a spread of nibbles, candies and cookies of all kinds, and h'orderves to be delivered from one caterer. The festive beverages came from yet another. All of it was delivered and set out at Justine's direction. The next hour or more was spent on preparing her appearance and timed to finish perfectly.

She came down the grand staircase in the curve hugging deep burgandy velvet gown with the slit up the side that ended somewhere near her waist. Her heels, lipstick and nails matched the dress while her stark white hair was pinned up with strands falling over one shoulder. She wanted this to be perfect for her and Thomas which translated to looking her best and most appealing.

One hand on the banister she smiled for Thomas as her heels clicked on the marble floor of the foyer. "Everything is ready."

Anita had contact the local chief of police, before ever coming to York. After working with vamps, wolves, and any number of law enforcement officers, it had just seemed like the right thing to do. But now she was hearing about cops committing suicide left and right, and she was surprised that Lieutenant Murphy hadn't already contacted her in person. She supposed it was possible that with everything that was going on right now, the right hand didn't know what the left hand  was doing--which meant it was probably time to take matters into her own hands.

Or at least introduce herself to the woman in charge, and make sure Murphy knew what sort of resources she had at her disposal. Just in case. She called ahead to the station and left a message, making an appointment like a good professional, and then finally headed over as the hour approached when she had been told Murphy would be in.

Late Friday morning, Anita rolled out of bed, grabbed some coffee and a roll at the continental breakfastand went for her daily run in the crisp November air. She planned the circuit so that she would wind up at the coffee shop for a real caffeine fix. Though the run had kept her comfortably warm, she was ready for another steaming cup of goodness, especially since--without as many zombie raising to do after dark--she was actually trying to be awake during the day. Sort of.

Some time after dark, but before midnight, Anita took her slaying kit, and her raising kit, and--making sure she had all the proper items, tools, weapons, and ingredients--loaded them into the back of her rental car, along with the chickens she would need for the ritual. Halloween was always the busiest time of year for Animators, Inc., and just because she was out of town didn't mean that Bert was going to let her get out of working. Yay, out-calls.

She pulled up at the cemetery ahead of schedule, so that she could have everything in place before it was time to meet her clients, and began to step into her coveralls when something prickled at her awareness. She wasn't alone here, was she?

Sunday evening, Anita was strolling through the carnival, killing time before the sun went down so that she could get in touch her more nocturnal contacts. She hadn't exactly intended to get in line for whatever attraction was waiting just ahead, but she had been distracted for a moment, and then suddenly became swept up in the crowd of boisterous young teenagers and/or twenty-somethings, and here she was. Had she known it was the tunnel of love, she might have ducked under the ropes and run while she had the chance, but by the time she realized, it was already too late.

So she tried to relax and enjoy the ride. After all, it was just a little harmless fun. Right? Of course, right.

Anita had flown to Pennsylvania--reluctantly, because she hated flying--after she and Jean Claude had both gotten calls from their respective connections. They'd all heard rumors, down in St. Louis, about the going-on in York. Some of them had even felt the dark magic at work. Now, it was time for Anita Blake--animator, federal marshal, bolverk, nimir-ra and human scion--to find out first hand what the situation really was, and what--if anything--could be done about it.

Little did she know there would be more trouble waiting for her than just vamp-versus-furry politics, or evil sorcerers awaiting when she got there.

Being used to working the graveyard shift--literally--she'd arrived at the airport via Jean Claude's private jet at what most people called 'stupid am,' then picked up her rental car, and driven to her motel in York. Once there, she decided to make a few calls before she caught some shuteye. But before she did that, she needed more coffee, so she walked over to the nearest cafe to get her morning fix--keeping a weather eye out as she waited for her order to come up.