Death Curse: Chapter 5
Title: Death Curse
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 4
*****
It was morning when I awoke. I could tell by the quality of the light in the room. Mouse was on the bed again, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. Molly was asleep in a chair by the bed, her head lolling to one side, her legs curled beneath her. It was kind of cute, really. She startled awake as soon as she hear me stir, which made me feel ridiculously guilty, as though I had just dumped a bucket of ice water down her neck instead of just shifting my weight.
“Harry, you're awake,” she said, entirely unnecessarily, I thought. “How do you feel?”
I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “Anyone get the license plate on that vampire?” Molly didn't laugh. Teenagers. No sense of humour. “I think I'm okay. Kind of groggy.” In truth, my head still hurt like anything, and my stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, but saying that out loud didn't quite work with my tough-as-nails private eye image. Move over, Sam Steele.
“Mom said to tell you that you have to stay in bed. Dad went back home about half an hour ago, but Mom is going to come help once the sprogs have all had breakfast. She told me not to let you get up, if it meant I had to sit on you, so please don't try, okay?”
I growled something ungracious, but let myself sink back onto my pillow. Not that I didn't think Molly could keep me there, but the idea of facing an irate Charity Carpenter later on was more than I thought I could handle with my head already ringing like a kettle drum. Molly looked relieved, as though she'd been worried that she might actually have to sit on me in order to keep me in bed. The thought wasn't an encouraging one.
“You didn't spend all night in that chair, did you?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Uh... do you want something to eat? I can make toast. I don't think you should have anything else for the moment. Uh... the water didn't really sit well last night,” she said, flushing an uncomfortable shade of red and refusing to meet my eyes. Hell's bells, I didn't even want to think about what that meant. I'd already soul-gazed Molly, so that wasn't what she was trying to avoid. Whatever it was, it was probably embarrassing, and more for me than for her.
“I'm not hungry, but thanks.”
She fidgeted in her chair for a moment. “Do you want some water?”
“No, I'm okay, really.”
“All right. Uh... I'm going to, uh, go and work on my stuff or something for a while. Mom said she'd be here as soon as she could. Just call if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I waved vaguely with one hand. “Maybe you should get some sleep, too. Catch a nap on the sofa, or something.”
“Uh-huh.”
She retreated, leaving me to my thoughts, which weren't nearly as coherent as I would have liked. Mostly I just felt tired, and so my thoughts kept drifting into tangents as I tried to sort out just what was happening to me. Maybe it was the flu, after all. The timing could just be coincidence, and wasn't there some sort of scientific evidence that you were more likely to get sick if you were already injured? The fact that de Rome's death curse had been “sicken and die” didn't actually mean that... okay, yes it did, but a curse that strong would have taken a lot of magical juice to accomplish. You'd have to be a really powerful practitioner to... okay, I wasn't exactly making a great case for myself, but there was almost no way it could have worked.
A death curse causing actual death was so rare that I could think of maybe a handful of instances in which it had been used, and none of those had actually worked. In spite of the name, death curses usually toe a fine line between subtle and powerful. They can't be too subtle, because you only get a few seconds in which to utter them, and they're powerful because you're essentially using up all of what's left of your life force and hurling it at your opponent. Still, they have to be subtle, up to a point, because, well, magic just works that way. It doesn't like it when you try to bend the laws of the universe to suit your own whims. So usually it relies on coincidence, on chains of events, uses chinks in the victim's physical or psychological armour. My mother's death curse, for instance, had prevented the most powerful White Court vampire from ever being able to feed. It was an insanely powerful curse -from what I know, my mother was a force to be reckoned with- but she knew her limitations, and that's why she didn't try to smite him with a lightning bolt, for instance. So there was no reason for this death curse to have any effect, except for the fact that I appeared -entirely coincidentally, I was sure- to be sick.
Bob would know more. He'd agreed with me that there was no way the curse would have worked, hadn't he? If anyone or anything would know about what a death curse could and couldn't do, it would definitely be the lecherous spirit of intellect that lived in my basement. I decided to get up and go ask him, but it turned out that was a really bad idea, as my legs buckled under me and I had to clutch the night table to keep from falling over for the second time in as many days.
“Dresden, what do you think you're doing?”
Hell's bells. I hadn't heard Charity come in at all, but there she was, pushing me back onto the bed. Charity may look like the average housewife on the outside, but she's tall and strong, and has been sparring with her husband, the Knight of the Cross, for years to keep him in fighting trim. She's also given birth to five children. I didn't fancy crossing her, and I don't recommend it to anyone else.
“Uh, Charity. Hi. I was trying to get up? Wanted to look something up.” At least I wasn't so fevered that I blurted the truth about Bob. That would take a lot more explaining than I was willing to do.
She snorted derisively. “Your research can wait until you're better. There is no reason for all of us to wear ourselves out looking after you if you're going to sabotage your recovery, do I make myself clear?”
Charity started out by hating me when we first met, although she put up with my presence as long as Michael asked her to. Over time that hate thawed into a tolerance once she realized I wasn't purposefully trying to get her husband killed, but my presence was a source of constant worry for her. As far as she was concerned, one day her husband and I would go up against something big and bad, and her husband would never come home, and she lived in mortal terror of that day. Not that I can blame her. We've reached a sort of détente in our relationship, especially since I spared her daughter from being executed by the White Council, but I don't think she's my number one fan by any means.
“Hadn't thought of it that way,” I said, hoping I sounded repentant enough for her.
“That's the problem with you, Dresden. Thought so rarely enters into the equation with you.”
“You know, you're the second person to say that to me in two days.”
She rolled her eyes, then tucked me back into bed with the ease of years of practice. “You're lucky that Molly insisted on coming back to check on you. Otherwise you might have lain on the floor the whole night. The people in your building complained about the dog, but I don't think they'll make an issue of it, since he's never barked otherwise.”
I was only partly listening to the soft stream of words by then. Getting tucked in was kind of nice, actually. I hadn't had anyone tuck me into bed since... well, since my father died when I was a boy. Funny how when you're sick these things start to matter again. I was trying to remember exactly the last time he'd done it, when her voice broke through my thoughts.
“Dresden, are you still with me?”
It took an effort to wrench my thoughts back on track. “Yeah, sorry.”
Charity gave me a disapproving look, then felt my forehead. Her fingers were soft and felt ice-cold, a welcome sensation against my burning skin, although I wouldn't have said so for a million dollars. “Your fever's still too high for my liking. I want you to take these,” she held some pills to my lips, which I obediently swallowed with a mouthful of water. “It's just Advil,” she added, seeing my expression. “I want to bring your fever down.”
“Thank you.”
She made an odd sound in the back of her throat, as though thanks were the last thing she had been expecting, then abruptly turned on her heel and left the room. I thought she'd gone to see to Molly, but a few minutes later she reappeared in my room, this time with a still-steaming bowl of chicken soup. Don't look at me like that, I do have a stove in my place, it's just a gas stove instead of electric. I don't just survive on pizza and Coke. No, really. I swear. She sat in the chair next to my bed and gave me another of her patented doubtful looks while holding the bowl of soup for me.
“Can you manage?”
I nodded, then gingerly took the bowl from her. I really wasn't hungry, but it felt good sliding down my throat and was easier to swallow than the cold water. I tried to put the bowl down after a few mouthfuls when my stomach threatened to stage a revolt, and Charity quickly took it from me as it threatened to tip in my hands and scald me.
“You'll have to do better than that next time. You have to eat something, or you won't have any strength to get better.”
I let my eyes close. “I know. I couldn't keep it down right now. Later, I promise.”
“All right,” her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Get some sleep, Dresden.
*****
Chapter 6
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 4
*****
It was morning when I awoke. I could tell by the quality of the light in the room. Mouse was on the bed again, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. Molly was asleep in a chair by the bed, her head lolling to one side, her legs curled beneath her. It was kind of cute, really. She startled awake as soon as she hear me stir, which made me feel ridiculously guilty, as though I had just dumped a bucket of ice water down her neck instead of just shifting my weight.
“Harry, you're awake,” she said, entirely unnecessarily, I thought. “How do you feel?”
I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “Anyone get the license plate on that vampire?” Molly didn't laugh. Teenagers. No sense of humour. “I think I'm okay. Kind of groggy.” In truth, my head still hurt like anything, and my stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, but saying that out loud didn't quite work with my tough-as-nails private eye image. Move over, Sam Steele.
“Mom said to tell you that you have to stay in bed. Dad went back home about half an hour ago, but Mom is going to come help once the sprogs have all had breakfast. She told me not to let you get up, if it meant I had to sit on you, so please don't try, okay?”
I growled something ungracious, but let myself sink back onto my pillow. Not that I didn't think Molly could keep me there, but the idea of facing an irate Charity Carpenter later on was more than I thought I could handle with my head already ringing like a kettle drum. Molly looked relieved, as though she'd been worried that she might actually have to sit on me in order to keep me in bed. The thought wasn't an encouraging one.
“You didn't spend all night in that chair, did you?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Uh... do you want something to eat? I can make toast. I don't think you should have anything else for the moment. Uh... the water didn't really sit well last night,” she said, flushing an uncomfortable shade of red and refusing to meet my eyes. Hell's bells, I didn't even want to think about what that meant. I'd already soul-gazed Molly, so that wasn't what she was trying to avoid. Whatever it was, it was probably embarrassing, and more for me than for her.
“I'm not hungry, but thanks.”
She fidgeted in her chair for a moment. “Do you want some water?”
“No, I'm okay, really.”
“All right. Uh... I'm going to, uh, go and work on my stuff or something for a while. Mom said she'd be here as soon as she could. Just call if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I waved vaguely with one hand. “Maybe you should get some sleep, too. Catch a nap on the sofa, or something.”
“Uh-huh.”
She retreated, leaving me to my thoughts, which weren't nearly as coherent as I would have liked. Mostly I just felt tired, and so my thoughts kept drifting into tangents as I tried to sort out just what was happening to me. Maybe it was the flu, after all. The timing could just be coincidence, and wasn't there some sort of scientific evidence that you were more likely to get sick if you were already injured? The fact that de Rome's death curse had been “sicken and die” didn't actually mean that... okay, yes it did, but a curse that strong would have taken a lot of magical juice to accomplish. You'd have to be a really powerful practitioner to... okay, I wasn't exactly making a great case for myself, but there was almost no way it could have worked.
A death curse causing actual death was so rare that I could think of maybe a handful of instances in which it had been used, and none of those had actually worked. In spite of the name, death curses usually toe a fine line between subtle and powerful. They can't be too subtle, because you only get a few seconds in which to utter them, and they're powerful because you're essentially using up all of what's left of your life force and hurling it at your opponent. Still, they have to be subtle, up to a point, because, well, magic just works that way. It doesn't like it when you try to bend the laws of the universe to suit your own whims. So usually it relies on coincidence, on chains of events, uses chinks in the victim's physical or psychological armour. My mother's death curse, for instance, had prevented the most powerful White Court vampire from ever being able to feed. It was an insanely powerful curse -from what I know, my mother was a force to be reckoned with- but she knew her limitations, and that's why she didn't try to smite him with a lightning bolt, for instance. So there was no reason for this death curse to have any effect, except for the fact that I appeared -entirely coincidentally, I was sure- to be sick.
Bob would know more. He'd agreed with me that there was no way the curse would have worked, hadn't he? If anyone or anything would know about what a death curse could and couldn't do, it would definitely be the lecherous spirit of intellect that lived in my basement. I decided to get up and go ask him, but it turned out that was a really bad idea, as my legs buckled under me and I had to clutch the night table to keep from falling over for the second time in as many days.
“Dresden, what do you think you're doing?”
Hell's bells. I hadn't heard Charity come in at all, but there she was, pushing me back onto the bed. Charity may look like the average housewife on the outside, but she's tall and strong, and has been sparring with her husband, the Knight of the Cross, for years to keep him in fighting trim. She's also given birth to five children. I didn't fancy crossing her, and I don't recommend it to anyone else.
“Uh, Charity. Hi. I was trying to get up? Wanted to look something up.” At least I wasn't so fevered that I blurted the truth about Bob. That would take a lot more explaining than I was willing to do.
She snorted derisively. “Your research can wait until you're better. There is no reason for all of us to wear ourselves out looking after you if you're going to sabotage your recovery, do I make myself clear?”
Charity started out by hating me when we first met, although she put up with my presence as long as Michael asked her to. Over time that hate thawed into a tolerance once she realized I wasn't purposefully trying to get her husband killed, but my presence was a source of constant worry for her. As far as she was concerned, one day her husband and I would go up against something big and bad, and her husband would never come home, and she lived in mortal terror of that day. Not that I can blame her. We've reached a sort of détente in our relationship, especially since I spared her daughter from being executed by the White Council, but I don't think she's my number one fan by any means.
“Hadn't thought of it that way,” I said, hoping I sounded repentant enough for her.
“That's the problem with you, Dresden. Thought so rarely enters into the equation with you.”
“You know, you're the second person to say that to me in two days.”
She rolled her eyes, then tucked me back into bed with the ease of years of practice. “You're lucky that Molly insisted on coming back to check on you. Otherwise you might have lain on the floor the whole night. The people in your building complained about the dog, but I don't think they'll make an issue of it, since he's never barked otherwise.”
I was only partly listening to the soft stream of words by then. Getting tucked in was kind of nice, actually. I hadn't had anyone tuck me into bed since... well, since my father died when I was a boy. Funny how when you're sick these things start to matter again. I was trying to remember exactly the last time he'd done it, when her voice broke through my thoughts.
“Dresden, are you still with me?”
It took an effort to wrench my thoughts back on track. “Yeah, sorry.”
Charity gave me a disapproving look, then felt my forehead. Her fingers were soft and felt ice-cold, a welcome sensation against my burning skin, although I wouldn't have said so for a million dollars. “Your fever's still too high for my liking. I want you to take these,” she held some pills to my lips, which I obediently swallowed with a mouthful of water. “It's just Advil,” she added, seeing my expression. “I want to bring your fever down.”
“Thank you.”
She made an odd sound in the back of her throat, as though thanks were the last thing she had been expecting, then abruptly turned on her heel and left the room. I thought she'd gone to see to Molly, but a few minutes later she reappeared in my room, this time with a still-steaming bowl of chicken soup. Don't look at me like that, I do have a stove in my place, it's just a gas stove instead of electric. I don't just survive on pizza and Coke. No, really. I swear. She sat in the chair next to my bed and gave me another of her patented doubtful looks while holding the bowl of soup for me.
“Can you manage?”
I nodded, then gingerly took the bowl from her. I really wasn't hungry, but it felt good sliding down my throat and was easier to swallow than the cold water. I tried to put the bowl down after a few mouthfuls when my stomach threatened to stage a revolt, and Charity quickly took it from me as it threatened to tip in my hands and scald me.
“You'll have to do better than that next time. You have to eat something, or you won't have any strength to get better.”
I let my eyes close. “I know. I couldn't keep it down right now. Later, I promise.”
“All right,” her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Get some sleep, Dresden.
*****
Chapter 6