Blood Files

Eric stared up at the ceiling of the elevator. As its cabled pulled the cabin upwards, it rattled back and forth in the shaft. He sighed heavy enough for his black, leather coat shoulders to lift and fall. The light flickered before the brakes squeaked, metal on metal. As soon as the doors opened onto the fifth floor, he slipped out with great speed.

He sauntered down the hall until one of the doors read, "Harry Dresden – Wizard." On any other day, he would smile. But he was in Chicago; he wasn’t making a social call. With his pale skinned knuckles, he knocked on the frosted glass.