Exchange Fic #24: En Fuego (3/3)

[dmacabre]

The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.

****

Title: En Fuego, Part Three
Author: dmacabre
Recipient: rikkitsune
Prompt: Jareth abdicates the Goblin Throne and chooses a normal mortal life with Sarah, Aboveground. Unfortunately, the bored and lonely Labyrinth has other plans for the power couple...
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Broke and desperate for work, Chicago's only professional wizard is hot on the trail of a stolen relic from the Oriental Institute when he unexpectedly lands not one, but two additional cases. Turns out that nothing livens up a slow work week like a little demon trouble, a pair of star-crossed royal lovers, and a bored faerie kingdom who wants her king and queen back at all costs.

Part One
Part Two

The lakefront suite at the Congress Plaza Hotel wasn't nearly as luxurious as it sounded, but it had a good view of the sunrise. Gold and grey light spilled over the horizon and into the misty harbor, and early morning traffic hummed along Michigan avenue.

Sarah and Jareth were exhausted. They'd salvaged a few things from their apartment, miscellaneous bags and boxes I'd helped carry to their temporary digs until they could find another apartment. When everything had been wedged into closets, the three of slumped in the living room, drinking watery hotel coffee and picking at the grilled cheese sandwiches ordered from room service.

After what happened at the bookstore, I'd decided to put all my cards on the table-- the security camera photos from Professor Bronson were propped up against the coffee pot, and we'd spent the better part of an hour arguing over whether or not the figure captured on film was human, inhuman, or merely a trick of the light. To be fair, Jareth did most of the arguing; Sarah had said little since we'd left the bookstore. She'd offered no theories, made no arguments or counter-arguments, and didn't even bat an eyelash when the Goblin King finally conceded that yes, the mysterious figure in the photographs might be of the non-human persuasion.

"At least we know the thief hasn't skipped town," I offered.

"Yes," said the Goblin King tightly, "So glad we could clear up that little mystery for you."

If looks could kill, his eyeballs would be guilty of first-degree murder. Possibly abuse of a corpse as well.

"It's a breakthrough. We might not like the answers we turned up, but I'll take progress wherever I can find it."

Jareth picked up one of the security camera photographs and tossed it back on the table with a derisive sneer. "If this is all the evidence we have, calling it 'progress' is charmingly optimistic. Why would a thief--human or otherwise-- steal from the museum and then remain in town to monitor the investigation? Why not simply flee with the prize? Your theories yield more questions than solutions, wizard."

I folded my arms across my chest. "If you think you can do better, impress me with your sleuthing skills, pal. I have to warn you, though... I don't dazzle as easily as teenage girls do."

Hah. Score one for Team Wizard.

Before Jareth could stop fuming long enough to spit out a snappy comeback, Sarah plucked the photo from the table. Her eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue, but she sat on the edge of her chair like a coiled spring.

"Will you two shut up for a minute? I've been racking my brain to remember and I'm not one hundred percent positive, but..." Sarah took a deep breath. "I think I recognize her."

"You what?"

Unless Bob had missed something, we had no information about what this particular demon looked like or what form it might take. There's no America's Most Wanted for demons, which is a shame because it'd make for one hell of a prime time show.

Sarah was gnawing at her cuticles again. "If only there was a way to... wait. Stay here, I'll be right back." Fumbling in her messenger bag, she grabbed her university ID and shoved it in her back pocket.

The Goblin King was on his feet in a second. "If you think I'm letting you run around on your own with a demon loose--"

Sarah was already halfway out the door, but she sighed in exasperation. "Stop fussing, I'm only going down to the front desk. Give me five minutes. If I'm not back by then, you can call out the entire goblin army. You know, like before."

The door closed behind her with a decisive click, and the room fell silent except for the audible grinding of Jareth's molars. He shot me another look seething with barely repressed homicidal intentions.

"Whatever you're about to say, you can save your breath, wizard."

"Babes," I said with a deadpan shrug, "What can you do?"

Sarah was back in two minutes, a slender booklet in hand. "I had to wrangle it out of the concierge," she explained as she flipped to the back, "But he finally let me have one since I'm on the University staff. It's a program for that big archaeological conference the Institute's hosting here."

The program was an expensive looking affair, all glossy paper and full color photographs. The first few pages mostly featured artifacts from the Seleuca-on-Tigris dig, but at the back was a page and a half of notable attendees and guest speakers with small photos and mini CV of sorts.

Sarah tapped a grainy photo at the bottom of the list. "Her. Maybe it's crazy, but... well. Look for yourself."

Pictured was a dark-haired woman with her face turned slightly away from the camera so that her features were ever so slightly blurred. The entry by her photo was much shorter than most of the others: Countess Lilith von Amsberg, Rijksmuseum, Netherlands.

I studied the photograph again. Could be. This Countess had a strong, but unmistakably feminine jawline and high cheekbones that resembled the blurry figure in the security camera photos.

"You know this woman?"

"I've seen her from a distance at University functions, but we haven't been introduced," said Sarah as all three of us peered at the program. "She's a hobbyist, an amateur archaeologist with no formal training or degree. It doesn't stop her from organizing her own annual expeditions, though, and she's got the money to fund a few others. Her affiliation with the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam isn't official. Rumor has it she's a distant relation of the Dutch royal family."

"Was she present at the expedition with Professor Talebi?"

"Don't think so. Hamideh never liked untrained amateurs going along on digs. She says said they get in the way." Sarah looked up from the program. "But the Countess did stop by the office last fall. I remember her talking to Professor Talebi..."

"About the bowl?"

"I don't know. The door to the office was closed, but you could hear enough to tell that they were arguing. The meeting didn't last long and the Countess left in a huff. Professor Talebi brushed it off and said it was just an old squabble among colleagues." Sarah gnawed at her cuticle thoughtfully. "If it was about the incantation bowl, that could be motive... but Countess von Amsberg is a well-known figure in academic circles and has been for years. She can't be a demon in disguise!"

"Well..." I admitted with reluctance, "It's not the most likely answer, maybe, but it's not impossible, either."

Where demons were concerned, anything could happen. Some were good at shape-shifting and persuasion, while others preferred the straight-up approach of stomping a city into rubble. But all demons liked getting inside a mortal's head and messing it around like a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass messes with an ant hill.

"You mean demon possession." The Goblin King was preternaturally calm, as though we were discussing the weather.

"If a demon wanted to inhabit a human form, picking one with power, money and influence is an obvious choice. Let's say the demon is able to reach out from its trap, maybe work its influence on those nearest it. Professor Talebi would've been a vulnerable target."

At the mention of her mentor, Sarah opened her mouth, then quickly closed it again. I hurriedly continued before she could gather her thoughts.

"You said she was distracted for weeks before her disappearance. Not quite herself, not getting enough sleep. Did she ever let you study the incantation bowl after it arrived at the museum?"

Sarah looked troubled. "No. She insisted on cataloging it and writing up the documentation herself. I once asked if I could borrow the bowl for a few hours, just to sketch it."

"She refused you?" A slight crease formed on Jareth's brow.

"She absolutely forbid it. It wasn't like her to get angry about anything, unless it was sloppy work. I thought she was going to bite my head off. She apologized later, but from then on the incantation bowl was kept under lock and key at all times. She wouldn't let any of the grad students or researchers near it." Sarah folded her hands tightly in her lap, knuckles white. "I thought... well, most archaeologists are protective of their work."

"Not the work," I said gently. "You."

After a few moments of silence and a quiet sniffle or two that I pretended not to notice, Sarah scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'll never believe Professor Talebi was possessed by a demon."

"I don't think she was, either.. but I suspect she might've had some idea of what was happening, " I rubbed my chin, wincing a bit at several days' worth of coarse stubble. "She tried to keep others away from the incantation bowl and she hid or maybe even destroyed her field notes. Seems to me she was doing her best to isolate its influences."

"And died doing so." Jareth was sympathetic, but not sentimental. "I don't like what that says about our chances... if this Countess is indeed the demon's new host."

"It makes sense. Sort of. We can assume Professor Talebi resisted this demon, otherwise it wouldn't have turned on her. Countess von Amsberg might not have been able to resist."

Sarah still shook her head in disbelief, but I pressed my point.

"We have a thief," I said, ticking off the list aloud. "Probably a murderer. An arsonist. A demon.  If they're all the same person, that explains everything."

The Goblin King's slouch could not have been more calculated to show off his profile, gracefully silhouetted in the dawn's early light. "If they're all the same person, you're in serious trouble."

In a detached corner of my mind, I noted the "we" had turned into a "you". Typical Sidhe.

"Thanks," I replied with an admirably scant amount of sarcasm. "And what do you intend to do about this? Someone in your position doesn't usually forgive and forget when it comes to destruction of personal property. Or so I've heard."

That won the smallest of eye-twitches from the Goblin King, but he rallied calmly. "I'll do what people in my position have always done-- pay someone else to do the dirty work."

"You're going to hire an assassin?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nothing so crass. I'll need to find our little burglary-inclined fire demon first. Fortunately, I know of a private investigator with just the skillset required. I believe he even comes with references."

I gave him a look so dirty, it was illegal in forty states. "No way. Don't even think it."

"You're a wizard for hire, are you not? Consider yourself gainfully employed."

"I'm already working this case. As much as my bank account would appreciate the extra paycheck, your offer is redundant."

"Not quite. The Oriental Institute has hired you to retrieve their property. I couldn't care less about their wretched relic," The Goblin King ignored Sarah's muffled exclamation of outrage. "I want revenge. I want that demon in whatever form it takes, and I'm accustomed to getting what I want, Mr. Dresden."

I didn't doubt that for a second. "I'd need a way into that conference."

Sarah was skeptical. "The attendees are mostly older academic types. You'd stick out like a sore thumb, Harry. But... the black tie reception where the speakers meet all the big donors is on Sunday." She looked at us expectantly. "You guys, that's tonight."

Jareth's smirk could light up the Navy Pier all by itself. "How fortunate that I look ravishing in black tie. Perhaps you can smuggle the wizard in as one of the more disreputable-looking members of the catering staff?"

It was my turn to bestow the darkest of scowls upon my would-be employer. "Just so you know, the special rate for former royalty is quadruple my usual fee. And you're paying for my tux rental."

***

I usually spend Sunday nights stretched out on my couch in a bathrobe, nursing a beer and a good book while Mister sits on my legs. Spending Sunday night in a hotel bathroom while the former King of the Goblins painstakingly styled his hair was a lot less rewarding.

"How can you possibly be wearing a custom-fit tuxedo? Everything you own went up in flames yesterday." I didn't bother to mask my annoyance.

The Goblin King shrugged, flicking an invisible speck of dust off the front of his impeccably tailored suit. "This old thing? It was just lying around in storage. I cannot abide rentals. You simply don't know what sort of unthinkable riff-raff wore it previously."

This was accompanied by an unsubtle side-eye in my direction. He fastened on a pair of gold cuff links, looking remarkably like a British secret agent. I, on the other hand, looked like a waiter. A really scruffy waiter wearing a rented jacket several sizes too large and pants several sizes too small. Not that I wasn't used looking like a slob, but deep down I'd always told myself that given the opportunity and the right aftershave, Harry Dresden could clean up real nice. Finding out I was wrong was a big disappointment.

"Such a pity about the rental shop," murmured the Goblin King as he adjusted his tie. "I'm told it's quite a challenge to fit gentlemen of abnormal height." He glanced down at the hem of my pants, which cleared the tops of my shoes by a good three inches.

"Enormous inside leg measurement," I informed him haughtily, "It's a curse, but the ladies love it."

Sarah stuck her head in the doorway. "Everyone decent?"

"One of us is." Surveying her with undisguised admiration, the Goblin King kissed her hand. "You look enchanting, love."

Unlike me, Sarah did clean up nice. But to be fair, she didn't have as far to go. Her borrowed gown was a low-cut ivory number that swept the floor. With her hair swept back at the sides, she looked like a movie starlet from Hollywood's golden age.

"Too much?" Sarah held up a pair of elbow-length silk gloves.

The Goblin King rubbed the fabric between thumb and forefinger with an enigmatic smile. "Not at all."

They exchanged knowing looks, as if savoring a private joke. The Goblin King took her arm and they swept out of the room looking every inch like royalty. I slouched in their wake.

"It's not as bad as all that, Harry." Sarah craned her neck over her shoulder to assess my appearance.  "Stand up straight and you can hardly tell the jacket's too big."

"Yeah, but if I stand up too straight, my pants turn into capris."

Jareth regarded my appearance with an unmistakable air of petty satisfaction. "It's nothing anyone will notice when you're carrying a tray of crab puffs. Shall we be off, then? We've a demon to catch."

***

The Gold Room in the Congress Plaza Hotel was its largest reception room, a grand two-story gallery built out of Italian marble and covered floor to ceiling in gold leaf. It looked like a Roman emperor's mausoleum, so naturally, the Goblin King loved it. Or so I assumed from what little I could see of his smug expression, because I was mobbed by hordes of hungry academics who wanted a crab puff or mini Thai spring roll.

It hadn't taken much subterfuge to insinuate myself as one of the catering staff; all I had to do is grab a tray of hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen and make the rounds. The reception was chaotic, with waiters carrying trays of champagne weaving in and out of the crowd while a string quartet played on in the upper gallery. Jareth and Sarah had split up in order to cover the exits and work the crowd. Luckily for me, a tray of tasty nibbles is like an all-access backstage pass at a fancy party. Everyone sees the food and nobody pays attention to the guy in the cheap suit carrying it.

My oversized jacket had other benefits, too, being baggy enough to conceal the wooden blasting rod strapped to my back. A couple feet long and carved with runes, it's less conspicuous than my staff and an excellent focus for channeling energy into spells-- something I hoped I wouldn't need. Hidden in my jacket's inner pocket was the revolver. I didn't know how much use it'd be against a demon, but so far it was purely a moot point because the Countess was nowhere to be seen.

Balancing the tray in one hand, I scanned the room for the dozenth time. The clock at the end of the hall read half past eight. In our rush to find appropriate formal wear, we'd missed dinner. I could only hope we hadn't missed our target as well. Making a slow circuit of the north end of the reception hall, I turned and headed back, using my tray to gently part the crowd before me. This catering gig wasn't so bad, I reflected after a while. Sure, there's the monkey suit, but it's easy work, no man-eating unicorns showing up to ruin your day, and-- I snitched a spring roll and popped it into my mouth-- free food. If the wizarding thing didn't work out, who knows...

In front of me, a hand paused in the act of liberating a crab puff from the tray.

"Mr. Dresden?" Professor Bronson stared at me quizzically, a glass of champagne in one hand and a cocktail napkin in the other. "What are you doing here?"

Always helpful, I plopped a crab puff into his outstretched hand. "Working undercover. Ix-nay on the ames-nay, if you don't mind."

Professor Bronson looked extremely dapper in his tux, and he scrutinized my own with a dubious frown. "I see. This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I engaged your services."

I endeavored to look suave and clandestine, which is difficult to do when you're displaying several inches of shapely ankle. "The job of a private investigator makes many demands, Professor. Some of them require close encounters with canapés."

While he obligingly ate crab puff after crab puff, I gave him a quick rundown on the progress I'd made. It didn't take long since there wasn't much to report. I told him about Professor Talebi and the bookstore fire. I didn't tell him about the demonic murderer/thief/arsonist or the fact that I now had two more cases closely entangled with his own.

Professor Bronson heaved a sigh of resignation. "I'll let you get on with your investigation, Mr. Dresden. You'll let me know if you make any further progress?"

I nodded my agreement. "Absolutely. And um, on that note, you haven't by chance seen Countess von Amsberg around, have you?"

The Professor's eyes narrowed. So he knew, or he at least had some unconfirmed suspicions. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact. She was just leaving the reception hall, said she needed a breath of fresh air." He nodded at the opposite end of the hall.

I saw her. An arresting figure in floor-length black silk, Countess von Amsberg moved easily through the crowd. Under one arm, she carried a large leather case. Almost as if she'd heard her name spoken, she turned around and just for a moment I thought we must be mistaken. For all her exotic name and royal connections, Countess Lilith looked like your average socialite: long, graceful neck and hair that tumbled loosely over exquisitely pale shoulders, full red lips that parted in laughter as she greeted another guest.

I didn't dare use the Sight, but to the ungifted eye she looked... well, like a beautiful woman. Then our eyes met from across the room and my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes... no, the whole of her being burned, barely disguised by the human shape she wore, like glowing embers beneath a thin layer of ash. The incantation bowl's angled script swam before my eyes:

The evil one who causes the hearts of men to go astray
And appears in the dream of the night and in the vision of the day...

It's not possible to soulgaze a demon, but I still looked away quickly, as if flinching from a too-bright light. Just before I did, however... I could've sworn the Countess winked at me.

"Thanks, Professor." A cold sweat prickled the back of my neck and trickled uncomfortably down my spine. "Nothing to worry about, I have it all under control." Ditching the tray of hors d'oeuvres on the nearest table, I ran into Sarah.

"I think she's on to us, Harry," she hissed, grabbing my arm. "Jareth's trying to head her off, but if she leaves the building we'll lose her for sure. Come on!"

At the opposite end of the Gold Room was a narrow hallway that led to the kitchens. The Countess paused in the doorway, then disappeared down it in a swirl of black silk. Using my best elbow technique, I cut a chaotic path through clusters of startled academics, with Sarah apologizing profusely behind me. The kitchen was a seething cauldron of activity full of catering staff who were neither surprised nor concerned by the sudden influx of total strangers into their domain.

A harried-looking chef was spooning caviar and sour cream onto a tray of blinis. Wiping his hands, he motioned behind his shoulder. "If you're looking for the lady, she went out the back."

There was only one other exit, an aisle that went past the dishwashing station and the walk-in fridge to a set of double doors. We pushed through them cautiously, and as the doors clanged shut behind us, we found ourselves in a dead-end alley by the dumpsters. Crates of wilting produce and empty wine bottles were stacked along the wall. Steam vented from the kitchen, gathering and creeping along the asphalt like fog. The only light came from a fixture over the doors, a rusty halogen lamp that did very little to illuminate the dingy recesses of the alley. I sensed the demon Countess even before I saw her. She was a slip of black velvet concealed in the shadows, a pungent whiff of brimstone that cut through the reek of garbage and stale cooking oil.

"Harry Dresden. Sarah Williams." The words came slinking out of the darkness on cat's paws. "What a pleasant surprise to see you both here." The Countess stepped into the watery light, leather case balanced easily on one hip.

Sarah's mouth was set in a firm line. "Countess von Amsberg. I believe that is museum property, and the Institute would like it back."

"This?" A low chuckle. "Not at all. This has been in my family for many generations. It belongs to me. You might even say it's a part of me." The temperature in the alley dropped a few degrees. "I couldn't possibly let it go."

In the relative quiet, the Countess' voice had a discordant, off-key pitch to it, like two voices speaking in unison. If there was any human still left in that form, the demon was riding it hard. But just maybe, I thought, it could be unseated...

Wizards can't spell-cast through voice alone, though if I'd had more time I could've brewed a Persuasion potion with Bob's help. Among other things, it contained an ingot of silver, candlelight, a four-leaf clover, a whispered secret and a spoonful of lavender honey, all dissolved in Irish whiskey.  The potion can't convince someone to do something against their own will, but it can imbue the speaker with an added level of charm. As it was, all I had to work with was my rugged good looks and a handful of charisma points.

"Are you sure?" I asked, keeping my tone light. "That case looks pretty heavy. Maybe you'd like to set it down just for a minute...?"

Holding my breath, I infused the words with the tiniest push of my Will.  Let go of the case. A bead of cold sweat ran down my cheek. And let go of the mortal.

Fine-tuning a spell takes time and delicate control, like performing brain surgery. I've got raw power, but subtle magic isn't one of my strengths-- that's why I use the blasting rod or my staff as a focus. My mentor once said I was like a bull in a china shop... one that also happened to be driving an armored tank.

It didn't work. Not exactly, anyway.

The Countess' silhouette rippled and blurred before dissolving like mist. In its place crouched an enormous creative of flame and shadow, bat-like wings furled tight against its body. Sarah stifled a gasp. The figure shuddered and vanished, and the Countess von Amsberg stood before us again.

Her gimlet gaze fixed upon me. "I think not, wizard. Neither do I believe you are man who can take it from me."

Slipping one hand underneath my jacket and behind my back, I loosened the strap on my blasting rod. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I shifted my weight slightly to cover Sarah, pulling in my Will like a wrestler bracing himself for a body-slam. I didn't know if it was possible to forcibly separate a demon from its mortal host-- not without pissing off the former and possibly killing the latter. But I had to try.

"One more chance, demon. Drop the case and let the woman go, and maybe you'll live to see another thousand years."

A guttural snarl rose from the Countess' throat, more demon than human. With her free hand, she gestured and a wall of fire sprang up before her, six feet high and growing higher. Another gesture, and it swept toward us with blinding speed. I barely had time to shove Sarah behind me, blasting rod in my outstretched hand.

"Vento riflittum!"

The spell was nearly lost in the roar of flames as the wall of fire washed over my shield, so close that I could still feel the heat on my exposed skin. Behind us, the wooden crates had transformed into a pile of charred sticks, cinders drifting up into the night sky. I peered down toward the alley exit, but a thick haze of smoke hung low over everything and everyone. I could barely make out the Countess' silhouette.

Crouched on the asphalt, Sarah coughed and gasped for air.  "Way to talk her down from the ledge, Harry."

"Look, we already tried diplomacy. It didn't work."

"That was your idea of diplomacy? What else did they teach you in wizard school, how to provoke a demonic attack in three easy steps?"

I grinned. "Nope. But they did teach us this: don't wait too long for your counterattack or it ruins the element of surprise." I hefted the blasting rod, the sigils carved along its length glowing fiery red. Whirling about, I swung it like a medieval mace.  "Forzare!"

Caught off guard, the demon Countess flew back several feet, hitting the dumpster hard enough to dent the metal upon impact. She straightened with a sneer, one arm still wrapped protectively around the leather case.

"Is that the best you can do, Mr. Dresden?"

"No, but my client wants that bowl back in one piece. He didn't say anything about you, though,"  I raised the blasting rod again. "That was about a three. Don't make me turn it up to eleven, lady."

I'd made my challenge; what I got in response was a ball of red and orange flame. The Countess cradled it lovingly in the palm of her hand, drawing back her arm like she was throwing the first pitch on Opening Day.

This time, I was prepared.

"Close your eyes," I warned Sarah. "And maybe cover your nose and mouth while you're at it."

Sarah stared at me. "What?"

"Vento servitas!"

Sometimes raw power is enough.  The blast of air I conjured transformed the alley into a wind tunnel, with bits of trash and kitchen debris whirling around like a dangerously unsanitary tornado. It snuffed the fireball out like a birthday candle, and when the whirlwind died down, the Countess was already fleeing down the alleyway. I cursed soundly and hauled Sarah to her feet, her gown smeared with what was still recognizable as beef wellington.

"I am so sorry."

She swatted my shoulder. "Never mind that, Harry. Go after her, she's getting away!"

As luck would have it, the Countess hadn't gotten far.  The alley emptied out onto a parking lot on Wabash Avenue, and leaning against the corner of the building like a high-rent James Dean was none other than the ex-Goblin King. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered over to bar the exit as casually as if he were sidling up to the buffet table at a garden party.

"Well, well... it's about time."

The Countess regarded him warily. "Stand aside, wyldfae. This is not your fight."

It wasn't," he agreed pleasantly, "That is, until you burned down my property. But I'm nothing if not magnanimous-- surrender the case and we have no quarrel. Otherwise..." He let the threat trail off, like a dagger sliding out of a silk sheath.

The demon Countess was not happy to hear it, and her free hand flexed nervously, like a raptor opening and closing its talons.  She'd retreated several feet until she was so close I could almost touch her. "You know I cannot comply."

"Can't or won't?"

"You force my hand," she insisted.

The Goblin King loosened his tie. "So it seems."

"I did not want this."

At this, Jareth allowed himself a thin smile. "One of the things I've learned in my time in the mortal realm is that it doesn't matter what you want. What will be, will be."

The Countess gave the barest shrug of resignation. "So be it, then." Throwing back her head, she gave an unearthly howl, like a pack of jackals coming in for the kill.

Sarah clapped her hands over her ears, as did I. The cry seemed to go on for an age, echoing back and forth along the alley and ringing off the brickwork. When it died, the Countess' shoulders were a little more stooped, and fine age lines edged her eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before. She clung to the leather case as though it were a life preserver.

"Remember," she said hoarsely, "I never meant to harm you and yours. I only want what is rightfully mine."

A low rumble sounded from the other end of the parking, followed by an earth-shaking thud, then another.

"What the hell was that?" Sarah asked.

I had no idea. And when several car alarms went off, I was pretty sure I didn't want to know but was about to find out. The parking lot was well-lit in the center, with the edges plunged into relative darkness. First came the screech of metal buckling as the roof of a Cadillac crumpled and caved in. Two pairs of cloven hooves landed heavily on the asphalt, legs like tree trunks. The creature's hide was the color of old blood, its broad chest covered in plated mail of gold and silver. Folded across its back was a pair of wings, ghost-white and so long that the feathery tips brushed the ground. Above it all rose the enormous head of a man with a thick, curling beard and eyes the color of desert sand.

"Oh my god." Sarah's eyes were wide and disbelieving, her whisper little more than a breathless exhalation. "It can't be."

A lamassu. Last seen as an enormous stone figurine guarding the temple of Sargon II, it had somehow decided to leave its hallowed spot in the Mesopotamian Hall to come and really screw with our plans. Frankly, I was less than thrilled.

Countess von Amsberg called out to it, a harsh word in a foreign tongue I didn't recognize. The lamassu's head turned in our direction, and its lips parted in an eerie bull's bellow that rattled windows for half a block. It pawed the ground, hooves striking sparks from the pavement. Satisfied, the Countess ran back down the alley in the direction of the kitchen doors, slipped through them and was gone.

My throat felt dry, like I'd been gargling salt. I felt the need to say something. Anything. "Well, crap. This is... crap."

It's inevitable; danger brings out the poet in me.

"A most unwelcome development, I agree." The Goblin King took off his jacket and folded it carefully over the hood of a nearby car. "Go after the Countess. I'll deal with this."

Sarah tore her gaze from the lamassu. "No way in hell."

Jareth pulled her close and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. Brushing back her hair from her face, he whispered into her ear. Whatever he said, it didn't make Sarah very happy. She firmed her chin and gave him a Look that suggested there might be Words to follow at a later date.

"You?" I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me, but I thought you didn't have any--"

Jareth glared at me. "Just go. Whatever happens, get Sarah out of here. I'm not paying you to stand around gawping."

I looked at the advancing lamassu, then back at the Goblin King who was busily rolling up his sleeves. I shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss."

The lamassu was close enough that I could see the steam rising off its flanks. It grutned, unfurling its wings until they spanned the alley entrance completely, all but blocking out the night sky. Grabbing Sarah by the hand, I half-pushed, half-dragged her back into the cover of the alley.

She stiffened, resisting. "Don't let him do this, Harry," she begged me, "You know he can't face that... that thing down by himself. I shouldn't have--"

"Don't underestimate His Royal Highness," I told her, shoving her up the ramp and through the kitchen doors. "If he says he can handle it, he can handle it. Our best hope is to find the Countess and stop her."

As the lamassu charged with an angry roar, I slammed the doors shut behind us and hoped that my optimism wasn't misplaced.

***

The reception had spilled out of the Gold Room into the lobby and the bar beyond, where guests mingled and sipped cocktails. In the far corner of the bar, half a dozen grey-haired academics were arguing over a BBC documentary on television and lining up tequila shots. Sarah scanned the room anxiously, and I tried to look as inconspicuous as only a slightly scorched waiter wielding a large stick carved with runes can look.

"Great party," I muttered. "Shame about the forty ton winged Babylonian nightmare stomping around the parking lot."

Sighting a particular black silk gown in a hotel full of people dressed in black tie formal wasn't easy, but I have a special radar when it comes to women with hourglass figures. It's not chivalrous, but occasionally it comes in handy. The Countess cut across the lobby in the direction of the elevators, the leather case swinging demurely at her side. Reaching inside each elevator, she hit the up button, darting out as the doors closed. As she ducked into the emergency stairwell, she glanced back at us and smiled, all drawn-back lips and white teeth.

Sarah was livid. "That bitch. She's heading for the roof, Harry. She has to be. There's nowhere else to go."

We reached the elevators, and Sarah had already slipped off her heels when I held up a restraining hand.

"We'll get her, but we'll need to split up. You wait and grab the next the elevator to the top floor, I'll take the stairs and make sure she doesn't double back on us. Oh, and..." I extracted the .38. from my jacket pocket.

"Won't you need that?" she asked worriedly.

"I've got another ace or two up my sleeve. Take it. It won't be of much use against a demon, but it'll attract attention. Fancy place like this, Chicago's finest is bound to come running at the sound of gunfire. You know, just in case."

Sarah took the revolver with a conspiratorial grin. "Just in case," she agreed. "Good luck, Harry."

***

Unlike the swankier common rooms of the hotel, the stairwell was strictly utilitarian: white cinderblock walls and concrete steps edged in bright yellow paint. Like every hotel stairwell, it smelled like old cigarette butts and air freshener. After pounding up five flights, I was winded and sweaty and thinking that chivalry be damned, maybe I should've let Sarah perform the feats of athletic heroism instead. She probably would've caught the Countess by now.

I leaned against the railing for a breather, rubbing the cramp in my left calf. Footsteps clicked faintly above me, the sounds reverberating strangely against the concrete. The stairwell had emergency lights and a bare fluorescent bulb at each landing, casting greenish shadows over the walls. Several flights above, a door slammed and the lights flickered-- just once, then shone brighter than before. The Countess was there, waiting. I'd bet my last dollar on it.

A throaty chuckle echoed down the stairwell. "You disappoint me, wizard. I expected a more challenging adversary. Not as amusing as the wyldfae king, perhaps, but light entertainment at least."

"Well, I hate to disappoint a lady." Or a soul-sucking demon from the cradle of civilization. "Why not come down and we can talk things over? I know a great bar a couple blocks from here. Margaritas are on me."

With my back to the wall, I moved forward a few more steps and craned my neck for a better angle of the landing above. Nothing.

"I think the time for discussion has passed, don't you?" Countess von Amsberg sounded almost cheerful.

The soles of my dress shoes were slippery, but at least they didn't make any tell-tale scuffing noises on the concrete. Step by step, I gained another flight. "It's never too late."

"Ah, but I'm afraid it is.  I have something the museum wants, and I have no intention of returning it. As an archaeologist, I regret that, of course... it will likely mean tense relations between the Institute and Salahaddin University. A shame. But believe me, there is no other choice."

"Yeah, that's what every thief says, whether they're stealing Monets from a museum or knocking over a liquor store. You--" I stopped. Something the demon had said buzzed insistently in the back of my brain like a wasp trapped in a car. Wait. Then it clicked. "But you're not an archaeologist, are you? Lilith von Amsberg is an archaeologist, and an amateur one at that.  You might look like her, but you're not her. Not anymore."

Silence from above. I wondered if the amateur comment had gone too far. The lights flickered and dimmed.

"Very good, Mr. Dresden. Almost, but not quite." The strange two-toned echo to her speech was gone. "Shall I let you in on a little secret? In every way that matters, Iam Lilith von Amsberg. I had a privileged upbringing and one of the finest educations money can buy. A modest income allows me to pursue my archaeological hobby, as some would call it, without concern over financial backing. Unlike many others, I had the good fortune of knowing that I could the rest of my life doing what I love."

"Sounds like a good life."

"Oh, it was, Mr. Dresden, it was. But it wasn't enough."

One by one, the stairwell lights popped and fizzled, plunging us into darkness. I flattened to a half-crouch against the wall and held my breath. The chemical stink of burned-out fluorescents hung in the air. I'd been expecting as much, but still fought down a jolt of panic. The emergency exits glowed a feeble red-- not enough to see by, which meant feeling my way along the stairs. A flickum bicus spell would give me light... but it also meant I'd be an easy target. As much as I disliked the idea of stumbling blindly through the dark in pursuit of a demon, now I was the one who had no other choice.

The Countess' disembodied voice drifted out of the darkness, further away this time. "When I was a girl, I spent hours in my father's library reading everything I could get my hands on. Not just archaeology, but myths and fairy tales, too. Do you read, wizard? You'd be surprised at how many people do not... what dull, colorless lives they must lead. I devoured endless tales of castles in faraway lands, djinns and afreets, talismans of great power. I dreamed of them, of the wishes they could grant: wishes for wealth, love, and eternal life. But you see, I already had the first two."

I did see, figuratively speaking. Stories can be a valuable means of escape, the ability to turn the pages and forget about the outside world for an hour or three. Libraries saved my childhood from being one endless slog of sheer misery, but you can't fool yourself into thinking that everything in your life can be neatly sandwiched between "Once upon a time" and "Happily ever after". Take it from someone who has a real faerie godmother: it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Using the blasting rod like a blind man's cane, I swung out into the darkness and was relieved not to encounter anything squishy. I started up the stairs again, one hand on the wall to guide myself. I'd lost count of how many floors we'd climbed, but if I could stall the Countess, maybe Sarah could cut her off before the she reached the rooftop.

"Most people would be satisfied with just one of those things, Countess."

"I'm not most people, Mr. Dresden. If a lifetime of study yields a wealth of knowledge, think of how much more I could do in a hundred lifetimes... a thousand!" For the first time, ardent emotion shook her voice, and the last word was a hoarse whisper.

I had no ready answer. The lifespan of a wizard was a lot longer than an ordinary human-- not a hundred lifetimes, but centuries. Lilith was only a few years older than I was, but by mortal reckoning, her life was already half over.

"I have the largest private collection of Babylonian incantation bowls in the world, did you know that? It took me years to amass them." Calm had returned. In the dark, I could hear her shifting the leather case from one arm to the other, the quiet click of the metal hasp as she ran her fingers over it in an unconscious caress. "It wasn't easy to do, even with the funds at my disposal. So many priceless artifacts have been scattered across the world in museum collections, and many more remain in private hands, owned by people who don't wish to have their privacy compromised. I am not without influence, and yet I had to beg, borrow--"

"Or steal," I interrupted. "I know."

So you do." Wry amusement again, a glimpse of the human being she'd been. "Many of the incantation bowls were nothing more than empty husks, their enchantments broken with time and age. But this one... this one still retained its precious contents. I could sense it as soon as I set foot in the Institute. It called to me. None of the others had ever done that."

My eyes were adjusting slowly to the darkness; I could just make out the shape of the railings and the landing beyond when I stepped on a shard of broken fluorescent bulb that crunched underfoot-- quietly, but all too audible in the echo chamber that was the stairwell.

"It must've been frustrating not to have full access to it," I said quickly, "Professor Talebi had some idea of the bowl's potential. She wouldn't let you near it."

"Quite." The Countess' audible exhalation sounded more annoyed than angry. "Hamideh Talebi's death was a regrettable necessity. She was a good archaeologist, ambitious and thorough. But she of all people should've understood... Why live in an ordinary life when you can live forever?  Once I had the bowl in my possession, the rest was easy."

"I doubt that."

One floor above me was an indistinct shadow in the darkness. It moved restlessly; I could hear the creak of the leather case as the Countess set it down on the floor at her feet. Pressing my back hard against the wall, I moved more cautiously than ever-- testing each step with my toe before noiselessly sliding my heel forward.

"You'd be surprised at how persuasive I can be, wizard. After a thousand years of captivity in the desert, my offer was accepted with alacrity. And why wouldn't it be? The demon gets freedom and a willing host, and I get to pursue my studies for as long as I desire. So you see, Mr. Dresden... I couldn't give back the incantation bowl even if I wanted to."

I repressed a shudder. A demon subverting a human host was bad enough, but this was worse. No mortal in their right mind would go looking for a demon to make a Faustian bargain like this. We'd been wrong about Countess von Amsberg, all three of us... but me most of all.

On the landing above, the silhouette shifted noiselessly and flitted down a few steps in my direction. Two cat-like eyes gleamed in the dark, and I caught the scent of a musky, floral perfume that completely failed to mask the whiff of sulfur beneath. The Countess' hands were empty; behind her, the leather case sat tantalizingly out of reach.

"No further, if you please, Mr. Dresden. I've told you of my bargain. Now it only remains for me to make you an offer."

My palms were sweating. The only way to disarm a demon is to kill it or its host. I could do both, but probably not without reducing the incantation bowl--and most of this stairwell-- into dust and rubble. That bull-in-a-china-shop handicap was coming back to haunt me.

I raised the blasting rod anyway. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't even like sharing a bathroom with anyone. I doubt there's room for three in your, uh, special relationship."

The Countess took another step down, her every movement accompanied by a sensual whisper of silk. "The demon wouldn't need to possess you, wizard. Keep your mortal form and all of its charming conceits. In fact, I can think of many..." She paused and the tip of her tongue flicked contemplatively over her lower lip, "... delightful uses for it."

The human body is a complex and occasionally contradictory machine. My rational mind knew that regardless of how nonexistent my sex life was, an offer of hot demon nookie is, at best, a risky long-term prospect. But my irrational lust-beast brain ruthlessly slapped down all attempts at logic like King Kong on top of the Empire State building and argued that beggars can't be choosers. Mentally, I dumped several trays' worth of ice cubes down the front of the lust-beast's pants and listened sympathetically to its howls of frustration.

"That's, um... nice of you to say. I guess."

The Countess persisted. "You could leave behind that wretched hole you call a home. The White Council's henchmen would never trouble you again. No more menial labor that barely pays for your food and shelter. No more lonely nights."

Her hypnotic murmur throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and the mix of sulfur and perfume had grown pleasantly stultifying, like drowning in spiced wine. She leaned in and ran her hand down the front of my shirt, long nails scoring the fabric and leaving thin red furrows on my skin.

"Think of the adventures we could have together, wizard," The Countess' breath on my cheek was hot and dry like the desert wind. "My wealth and cunning. Your magic. And life eternal..."

My arms and legs felt heavy, the blasting rod too cumbersome to hold.  It would be easier to give up fighting. So far, trying to be the good guy hadn't yielded much in the way of earthly rewards: scrounging just to make ends meet, no social life, and certainly not the respect of my peers. Even with the Doom of Damocles lifted, I'd never have an entirely clean reputation in the eyes of the White Council. I let the blasting rod drop, where it bumped gently against the side of my knee. My throat was parched, and her offer was like a cold beer to a man who'd just crawled out of the desert.  A vaguely troubling thought rattled around my skull like the last wintergreen Tic-Tac in the box. I tried to ignore it. What was so wrong about having a little fun? Everyone deserved a vacation now and then.

Except that I liked my wretched hole of an apartment. And on most days, my menial job, too. And... and there was something else... When at last the reluctant epiphany dawned, it stung as sharp as a pixie-bite.

I opened my eyes. "Adventure, excitement... a Jedi craves not these things."

The Countess hesitated. "What?"

"It means I cordially decline your invitation to eternal damnation." Not without considerable effort, I shook off my lethargy and swung the blasting rod up like a lightsaber. "Fuego!"

The Force was very much with me. Maybe a little too much. A column of fire erupted like geyser of flame and smoke, hurling us in opposite directions. The Countess shrieked her fury, and in the next moment the stairwell exploded with the thrashing of leathery, bat-like wings and talons that raked deep gouges in the wall.

"Wizard!" All the velvety seduction was gone, replaced with the bellow of a beast from the underworld. "Wizard, you will pay--"

I braced myself against the wall and ducked a vicious swipe of demon claws. I was pretty sure I would pay for what I'd done, but the idea was to put off that deadline for as long as possible. "Forzare!"

The blast caught the demon right in its midsection, flinging it back up the stairs and sending it crashing against the landing. As she hit the wall, the Countess' form returned and she sprawled on the floor in a tangle of white limbs and black silk. I barely had time to process a twinge of guilt before she sprang up like a feral cat.

Darting to one side, she grabbed the leather case and hurled it in my direction, spitting out a tongue of blood-red flame as she did so. The case hit me full in the chest and I dropped to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around it like I'd caught a forward pass. The flames passed overhead so closely it left a welt of blisters on the back of my neck. The Countess shrieked again. More fire lanced past, incinerating the door leading back to the hotel hallway.  The wood crackled as it burned, falling off in blackened pieces around me.

Somewhere in the hotel, a fire alarm finally went off.

Geez, about time. I peered up through the dense cover of smoke to see the Countess disappear up the stairs, but not without hurling an unintelligible curse or two in my direction. Coughing, I kicked away the still-burning debris, seized my blasting rod and scrambled to my feet. The leather case was black with soot, the brass fastenings hot to the touch. I thumbed them back gingerly and let the lid fall open...

Empty.

I knew it. The impact had been far too light, but I'd allowed a small part of me to hope. I tossed the case aside in disgust. Give it up, Harry. Hope's for people who don't have to spend their weekends wrangling Old World demons with a thirst for vengeance. A cold draft of night air washed over me from above, sending the remnants of the smoke swirling away.  The Countess had gained access to the roof. This raised a lot of intriguing questions, first among them being: were those demon wings practical or merely decorative?  Hurling aside the empty case, I charged up the stairs. I'd follow her regardless of the risk, of course. I had to.

After all, in the immortal words of Freddie Mercury: who wants to live forever?

***

In every investigation, you're allowed to have a moment of existential despair. Those are the rules. I'd had mine in the stairwell, empty-handed and surrounded by smoking debris with ash in my hair and dress pants so tight they were sabotaging my ability to sire children, should I ever have the opportunity. But pity parties are not permitted; there's no crying in wizardry. Personally, I find that the best cure for the blues is to become someone else's worst nightmare.

Standing on the rooftop with the cold October wind whipping my lapels and Countess von Amsberg cornered on the ledge, I figured it was now or never. I gathered my Will and let it build up around me until the air crackled with power. In one hand, I held aloft the blasting rod, the runes and sigils carved along its length glowing red. In the other hand, I held... a piece of paper.

Not just any paper. A special piece of paper, with a copy of a very special spell.

The Countess regarded me with contempt, the bowl cradled in one arm like a child. "You're going to read me my rights, wizard? The White Council has indeed gone soft if this is how they operate now."

I refused to rise to the bait. Instead, I cleared my throat and began to read aloud.

You are bound and sealed, all you demons and devils and lilitu
By that which is mighty and powerful...

On the streets below, the car alarms had fallen silent but police sirens wailed softly in the distance.  It was hours till dawn. To the west, the city sparkled with thousands of lights, but to the east, the harbor waters lay calm and dark. And just out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of white, quickly appearing and disappearing in the jungle of heating ducts and exhaust pipes that transformed the rooftop into an industrial labyrinth. I raised the blasting rod a little higher, and the runes blazed. Slowly and steadily, I read the spell from beginning to end, without interruption and with only one or two stumbles.

It didn't get me the reaction I'd hoped for.

"Is that it?" The Countess sounded more herself again, almost pitying. She extended a long-nailed hand and ticked off her points, little jets of flame shooting up from each finger as she did so. "First and foremost, you do not have possession of the bowl. I thought even a wizard of very little wit would've noticed that. Second, you read it without conviction. The words hold no meaning for you, and without belief there can be no power. And third..." Three jets of bright red flame danced at her fingertips, illuminating the cruel twist of her mouth. "You cannot read Eastern Middle Syriac. A mere translation will not do, not for the likes of us. Really, Mr. Dresden, what sort of result were you expecting?"

I'd kept my eyes fixed on the crumpled sheet of legal pad as I read, but now I looked up with a zen calm I'd never experienced before.  On my left, a figure clad in ivory silk  stepped from the shadows into the light, and over the gusts of wind came the distinctive sound of a hammer cocking on a .38 revolver.

What had I been expecting? A little Regina ex machina.

Her elegant hairdo was long gone and I could still see traces of garbage on her gown, but there was a wild light in Sarah Williams' eyes and she held the revolver in an admirably composed two-handed grip, her feet planted wide.

She made the tiniest of gestures with the snub-nosed gun. "Do as he says."

"Your weapon cannot harm me." There was nothing human left in Countess von Amsberg's face. Her fine features were twisted, eyes narrowed to reptilian slits.

Sarah half-shrugged, the strap of her evening gown slipping off one shoulder. "We can test your theory if you don't give us that bowl."

I cleared my throat. "Uh, Sarah..."

She said nothing, but the look she gave me filled my head with a startlingly clear vision: goblins, goblins everywhere, under my bed, in my closet, raiding my icebox, toilet-papering my laboratory, playing kickball with Bob... The imagery flashed before my eyes with all the terrible power of prophecy.

I smiled weakly. "Never mind."

The creature that had been the Countess laughed, a deep, grating rumble like logs settling as they burned. "Foolish girl. The wyldfae's charms must be potent indeed, to addle your senses so."

Whoo boy. Mentioning the Goblin King was a mistake. Even I could see that. Sarah's jaw clenched so tight, she was getting that scary neck-tendon thing going on.

But she only nodded curtly. "Have it your way."

The revolver cracked once, and even knowing it was coming, I flinched. The sound of the incantation bowl shattering to pieces was soft and brittle, as if someone had dropped a carton of eggs. It was the demon who made all the noise...

Shards of pottery littered the ground at the Countess' feet, but she paid them no attention. Her slender hands were covered in hairline cracks that glowed like fire, cracks that grew wider as we watched. A croaking wail tore from her throat as they spread, up her arms and across her breasts. They crept up her neck, raw red fissures mapped across her face until she resembled a porcelain doll fracturing in the heat of a bonfire.

Sarah let the barrel of the revolver dip, then jerked it up again as the demon Countess took a faltering step forward. When she dropped to her knees, bones snapped like dry kindling. Inside her, the demon howled, and she cried out in agonized counterpoint-- a dissonant shriek in minor thirds. Her lungs forced out air in obscene whistles and gasps, and she pressed her burning hands to her face. Through the gaps in her fingers, I could still see her eyes. I wished I couldn't. Her skin slowly blackened, peeling off in jagged flakes as it cooled. As the fire within died, splintered sections of it fell away and out spilled a river of fine golden sand, slowly at first, then faster as the burnt-out husk of the Countess' body broke apart. It flowed over the rooftop like the tide rushing in to lap at our feet. When the last grain fell, the terrible howling stopped.

There was no more demon; only desert.

"Harry," Sarah's hand gripped my arm hard. "End it. Please."

It didn't take much. A whispered vento servitas took the brittle, blackened remains and reduced it to powder. Black and gold sand went swirling round and round across the rooftop, far out into the harbor and over the lake until I couldn't see them any more.

Only then did Sarah relax her grip. "Thank you, Harry."

"All part of the service, ma'am." The joke fell flat, as I knew it would. I had to make it, anyway.

We sucked down lungfuls of crisp autumn night. I don't know what kind of thoughts ran through Sarah's head, but I was thinking that all the money in the world couldn't tempt me to witness something like that again.

"I didn't think you'd do it. Break the bowl, I mean. I thought you wanted it back in one piece." And so did the Countess, for which I was grateful.

Sarah was already on her knees, the revolver laid to one side as she swept the pieces of broken pottery into a tidy pile. "Wanting things doesn't make them happen," she said at last. "I learned that lesson a long time ago."

I nodded. "And now?"

Sarah retrieved the revolver. Something like the ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. "Now we rescue His Majesty, of course."

Of course. All hail the Goblin Queen.

***

In the private investigation business, each case teaches you something new. On my last one, I learned that you should never try to ambush a psychotic kelpie from its blind side in the dark. In this case, I found out that Goblin Kings were indestructible as cockroaches. Nuclear apocalypse, fifteen year-old girls, gigantic human-headed winged bulls from the Netherworld... nothing can keep an overdressed faerie narcissist down.

We found the Goblin King seated on the slightly concave hood of a Mercedes-Benz, engaged in a fearsome battle with a platter of blinis and a bottle of champagne. His sleeves were still rolled up to his elbows, but he looked otherwise unscathed-- not a single silken strand of hair was out of place, and his shirt was spotlessly white as if it'd just been starched and ironed by a valet. The bottle was half empty; he was clearly winning.

"It breathed fire at you?" After greeting her paramour with enough enthusiastic lip action to warrant its own suggestive soundtrack, Sarah was all shining-eyed admiration.

"Like an inferno of the damned." Jareth poured her a glass of champagne. "I was very nearly incinerated alive."

Yeah, somehow I doubted that. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone and the gold and silver pendant was nowhere to be seen, but I didn't need the Sight to detect the echoes of faerie magic all around us. The air still shimmered with it, and the surrounding brick gave off a radiant heat like a cooling steam engine.  The only sign of the lamassu was smoking crater in the parking lot the size of a swimming pool and a lingering odor that smelled disturbingly like well-done steak.

"We took care of the Countess," I said pointedly. "Lots of fire and peril there, too." Not to mention that I nearly became the third participant in a demonic ménage à trois. Bob would never let me hear the end of that.

Jareth glanced at me as if he'd only just noticed I was there. "I was under the impression that Sarah was the one who actually defeated the demon."

"I said 'we', didn't I?"

Sarah elbowed the Goblin King and offered me a blini. "It was a team effort. Harry did most of the footwork and provided the distraction, I pulled the trigger."

I ate my blini in a cloud of gloom. Any day where the bad guy goes up in smoke and you don't is a good day, but the job still wasn't quite finished yet. I swallowed the last bite and brushed a few rogue blobs of caviar off my shirt.

"Uh, seeing as how we're such a great team and all that..."

Sarah immediately grew wary. "Yes?"

"Well. It's just that we've got some bad news to break to Professor Bronson about his demon bowl, and since you're his favorite grad student and all..."

Sarah was already shaking her head. "I wish I could, but now that the danger is over someone really ought to collect those potsherds, and--" Depositing the .38 back in my hands, she tugged off her elbow-length gloves and wadded them into a ball, "I've got some incriminating evidence to get rid of here. Gunshot residue and all that."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess, but--"

"I'm afraid it can't wait, Harry. We wouldn't want any inconvenient questions about who's responsible for firing a gun off the rooftop of the hotel during a busy reception, would we? Catch up with you two later..." With that, she gave Jareth a quick peck on the cheek, drained the champagne glass and retreated back into the hotel kitchens with a cheery wave.

A woman with an exit strategy, indeed.

Mournfully, I stared in the direction Sarah had gone. "I never even had a chance, did I?"

The Goblin King snorted, with what might've been a glimmer of sympathy. "Not even a hundred-to-one shot."

"Yeah... Speaking of long shots, I'm sure we'd all love to know the precise details of how you single-handedly defeated the lamassu. All by yourself without the help of any magic whatsoever."

"When I write my memoirs, I'll be sure to send you a copy." Carefully avoiding my eye, he rolled down his shirt sleeves and buttoned his cuffs.

I grinned. The music turning itself off at the bookstore, the invisible helpers in the kitchen... Vindication was mine. Even the knowledge that I'd have to tell a client I'd botched the recovery of an important artifact couldn't quite dampen my adrenaline-fueled triumph. Grabbing the champagne bottle, I gulped down the last few swallows and savored the fizz against the roof of my mouth. There was a decent all-night diner a couple blocks away, the kind that served five different types of pancakes and corned beef hash so greasy, the cholesterol content alone would kill a troll. The Goblin King didn't know it yet, but he was buying.

I tossed the empty champagne bottle in the dumpster. "So. I guess you and Sarah will be having a long talk once things settle down."

"I imagine we might." Jareth couldn't quite hide a grimace at the thought.

"And that talk will probably be about certain promises made and not kept... letter of the law versus spirit of the law and all that."

Another barrage of killer eyeball action. "It may."

"All's fair in love and war, etc." I yawned and stretched. "She's a smart girl. She should've known the odds of you giving up the throne and living a mortal life."

"But I did." The Goblin King brushed off his tuxedo jacket and slipped it back on. He gave me a sidelong enigmatic glance.  "Well. Mortalish."

It was nearly dawn, and already the eastern sky was lightening with the promise of a new day. The bad guy had been defeated. I was still alive and only slightly charred around the edges, I had enough money to cover my rent till after the new year, and someone else was buying me breakfast.

In the private eye business, this is about as good as it gets.

The End