FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [4/?]
Title: other things the road to hell is paved with [4/?]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, potentially R or NC-17 later.
Summary: Another way the Baron rose to power. Another way the wizard became a Knight.
Word Count: This chapter: 4813. So far: 21186.
Notes: It bares repeating that grenegome is the most amazing beta ever.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Marcone stayed away for a while after that. I think he somehow understood how pissed I was at him and was giving me space and time to cool down. It was scary he could read me that well while I had no idea what was going on in his head. It wasn't fair. We'd both seen each other's souls, and yet he maintained the upper hand over me. Sometimes I really felt the urge to steal a lock of his hair to test it for magical enhancement. The thought that he was actually just that good freaked me out more than most of the terrors of the Nevernever.
So he backed off, and I managed to get some good, honest work done for a while. Rachel Gainsbrook got in touch with me and I helped her learn the basics of magical defense and what it meant to have the Art. She'd never have enough to quit her day job (mural painting, as it turned out-- she was apparently a very talented artist) but mentoring Chicago's newbie mages was one of the services I offered pro bono. It was in everyone's interests that such people got coaching from someone who wasn't going to enthrall them and use them for black magic.
Not that I'm speaking form experience or anything.
I got word of some strange wolf sightings on the South Side, around Chicago U and Hyde Park in particular. A week of stakeouts later and I witnessed a ghoul torn to pieces by a bunch of wolves who didn't feel like wolves. A little bribery to some pixies who did recon for me in exchange for pizza, and I learned the wolves were roughing up any supernatural menace that entered their territory.
Thus, I met the Alphas, a bunch of werewolves. They were kids with some magical ability, but could only do one spell-- turning themselves into wolves. They did it well though. They were students at the college who'd met Tara West and got tutored on their canine sides. I added them to the list of kids who needed a little supernatural guidance from me. They were eager to learn. Their de facto leader, Billy, even invited me to their game night. I didn't tell him yes, but only because I had to find where in my apartment my d20 went first.
What, because I'm a wizard, I can't enjoy a little tabletop? You young whippersnappers and your fancy Nintenboxes.
And no, still no idea what a whippernsnapper is. It's fun to say though.
Bob enjoyed his new shiny lesbian porn and stopped telling jokes about me being Marcone's glorified rentboy, much to my relief. A few small cases kept my cashflow steady. Not that I really needed it. Just for the Gainsbrook case, Marcone gave me enough for three months rent with plenty left over for food and miscellanea.
Still no word from Murphy. I tried not to let that bother me.
Before I knew it, it was getting close to midwinter. Chicago enjoyed the usual snow and sleet. It was less 'winter wonderland' and more 'dammit I can't get my car out of the slush', but I was used to it by now. One upside to being a self-styled fire mage is that you can melt the ice off your windshield real good.
It was nice. Calm for once. I spent a few hours a day in my office, checked up on my growing circle of newbies, sometimes dropped by Billy's to see how the pups were doing, then went back home. On the colder mornings when the Beetle wouldn't start, I just stayed in, which would be unheard of for me a year ago.
It was a rare luxury, just puttering around my apartment in flannel drawstring pants and my robe all day. I read a bit, I cooked some actual food, and spent time with Bob talking magic. Usually, I used Bob for information I needed right away when I stumbled upon my Big Bad of the month. With my finances less tight, I turned down the jobs people offered that were obviously not looking for real magic, but to feel special and see some smoke and mirrors work. Less jobs, less running around, more time for the research I'd been wanting to do for years.
I felt like a legitimate businessman instead of a working Joe living paycheck to paycheck. Then I remembered that security was funded by Johnnie "I'm a Mafia Don, Ask Me How" Marcone.
"You glare any more at that belladonna, I'm going to start feeling bad for it, boss," Bob said.
I blinked out of my thoughts, not realizing I'd been so caught up in them. I was in auto-pilot as I worked on ingredient stock. My belladonna was running low, and you never knew when you needed a flight salve, a magical painkiller, or a really trippy hallucinatory potion. I had out the old mortar and pestle, my gloves on, and was working on grinding down some dried leaves, careful to not inhale any of the resulting powder. Don't try this one at home, true believers; belladonna's dangerous stuff.
"Just thinking, Bob."
"Looked more like moping to me. You always get this surprised face when you're thinking. Which I can understand. I'm always shocked when you use your brain instead of just lighting things on fire."
"Wizards are supposed to be moody," I pointed out, definitely not pouting.
"You are so hypocritical." Bob rolled his glowy eyes. "You can say all wizards are grumpy, but I can't say all women who dye their hair blonde are easy. It's such a double-standard!"
"That's because they're not and that's rude, Bob!"
"Can you say that definitively, Harry? You've been big on research lately. Why don't we go out and do some of our own? Hit a few bars, see if there's any correlation between hair color and attitude towards casual sex."
I poured the powdered belladonna into a container, writing on the side with a Sharpie marker, 'BELLADONNA, POISONOUS' and the date. I picked up my mortar and pestle and headed for the stepladder. "Read your books, Bob."
"Next time you want something, I am demanding a night out!" Bob called at my back.
I shut the sub-basement door and threw the rug back over it, ignoring him. I had potentially deadly potion ingredients to get rid of. It was tempting to put off washing my equipment, but I was afraid Mister would lick the stone mortar and put his omnivorous nature to the ultimate test.
Before I got to my kitchenette, there was a knock on the door. I sighed, tucking my things under one arm and going to the door.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Marcone greeted as he stood before me. Hendricks was with him, holding an umbrella over them both to fend off the snow. He glared at me, devoid of all the magnanimous warmth his boss had. Oblivious or uncaring to his bodyguard's bitchiness, Marcone said, "I'm sorry to intrude, but you haven't been in your office recently and I have a pressing matter in need of your expertise."
I leaned on the doorframe, looking him up and down. Another day, another super-expensive comfy sweater. "Am I just not good enough for your fancy suits, John?"
Marcone smiled. "You always look so keenly at my more casual attire. I was thinking of getting you a sweater for Christmas, since you've taken such a liking to them."
Was he saying I eyed him up? What? "No thanks, I don't think I have the je nais se quoi to pull off scumbag chic." Sarcasm, my last line of defense. And occasionally my first. Basically, any time fire didn't work. But this time, it did nothing to dull the needle-sharp stare that was Marcone's weapon of choice against me. I cleared my throat and dropped my gaze, staring at our feet instead. That was safe territory, right? He couldn't accuse me of perving on his round-toe Oxfords. "Anyway. Not really big on Christmas, seeing as I'm not exactly a Christian."
"I think you'll find that few people who celebrate the holiday are. The Solstice is approaching, would that be more appropriate?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to come in and speak with you, Harry. We brought lunch."
"Well, in that case," I said, and walked away from the door, leaving it open for them. I got the mortar and pestle in the sink and started rinsing them thoroughly. Only after the brown specks of dried belladonna were gone did I take off my gloves and toss them out.
I took my time with it, my back to the living area because... weird. Really weird, having Marcone and Cujo in my home. I mean, I've seen Marcone's house. I bet his bedroom has more square footage than my entire place.
Behind me, I heard Marcone say softly, "You can sit, Mr. Hendricks."
"I'm fine, boss."
"We're in one of the safest places in Chicago and no one is aware we're here. Sit, take a breath, have a gyro." He pronounced it oddly, almost like 'hero' without the 'h' and I wondered if I'd been saying it wrong all the time I'd been living in this city.
I finally turned around, drying my hands on a dishtowel. "You bought Greek?"
In the plastic bag Hendricks pulled out of the ether, there were several large take-out boxes fill with pita gyros. For those of you poor souls who don't have a Mediterranean place near you, that's slow-cooked lamb meat on warm flatbread with chunks of feta cheese and tomatoes with this amazing yogurt dipping sauce. It's the sort of thing that comes with massive portions on newspaper or checked parchment paper. There's no elegant way to eat it, you just roll it up, try to hold the pita bread closed, and take big bites out of it.
At least, that's how Hendricks and I ate it. Marcone used a knife and fork, which felt like sacrilege to me. But he brought me food, so I wasn't about to tell him off for not knowing how to eat a gyro properly.
Especially when the last box in the bag had calamari.
I popped a few pieces of them in my mouth. Breaded, spicy, and perfect, hell's bells. "Okay," I mumbled as I chewed. "You so definitely have my attention now."
"And you lead me to believe you were above bribery, Harry." Marcone, for all his care in dissecting his gyro and eating it with the sort of grace that belonged in a five star restaurant and not my apartment, dipped the side of his thumb into the little cup of cucumber yogurt. He licked his fingers clean of yogurt and salt as he sat back on my sofa, looking content enough to purr.
"Should have started with goods. Dresden doesn't have enough imagination to be tempted by money." Hendricks said as he dragged the half-finished calamari box over to his side of the coffee table.
I gaped at him. "Since when do you talk? Doesn't Marcone have, I don't know, a gag order on you or something?"
Hendricks glared at me again. Marcone looked between us and sighed in a 'now, now, children' manner. "Mr. Hendricks is more than capable of speaking his mind, Mr. Dresden. You'd do well to pay attention when he does. I'm not in the habit of surrounding myself with people that aren't worth listening to."
Wonders never cease. I tossed my napkin down and leaned back in my chair. "So."
Marcone didn't need any more prompting than that. "There's a marina on the lake shore, a place of interest for me. Over the past few months, there have been recurring incidents involving people drowning. Four individuals so far." He manifested a file folder out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to me.
Inside were three police reports about the victims. Two were civilians, one was a marina worker. With the last one, the report lacked the CPD crest and was printed on the wrong type of paper. I held up the report in silent question.
"The last drowning isn't a matter of public record and the Chicago Police aren't yet aware of the victim's disappearance," Marcone explained evenly. "I had a few of my people draw up a similar report on him anyway for your use."
"He's one of your men and died on the job. You don't want it to be a matter of public record." Marcone nodded. I looked over the reports, now catching some of the details. "The Poseidon Marina. I've been there, it's a dive. What's so important about it to you?"
Marcone smiled and deflected the question easily, "Perhaps I have a predilection for Greek Mythology."
Which meant he was using it for nefarious crime-related activities. My phone was a couple of paces away. I could chuck Marcone out, call Murphy, and have the Marina swarming with cops in five minutes. And if they found something, something that'd stick in court... I took a calming breath and looked up from the folder, thoughts of freedom dancing in my head. Marcone's amused, knowing stare stopped me cold. Right. They'd find nothing. Marcone was too freaking careful. I'd get my ass handed to me for wasting police time, sued to hell and back for defamation of character, and... and Murphy probably wouldn't even take my call in the first place. Goddamnit. That would be a great basis for a good long pity party, but while I missed Murphy, I was back in Susan's good graces and the Alphas had invited me over for a Totally Non-Denominational Christmahannusolstice gaming night Thursday. It wasn't that bad. I just had to remember that.
I had to figure out what was drowning people at one of Marcone's... what? Smuggling drops? His favorite out of the way place to put bullets in competitors?
Stop thinking about that, I scolded myself and refocused on the papers. I could plan a way to screw over Marcone later.
There wasn't much on offer in the files. All the victims died from either hypothermia or drowning. September 26, October 17, November 7, and December 12. None of the dates really jumped out as significant in an occult or spiritual sense and I didn't think they were full moons. Something caught my eye as I looked through some of the photos paperclipped to the Oct 17 report: a photo of something odd at the marina, a crowd of water lilies floating on top of the water. Instead of that pale pinkish white color water lilies tended to be, they were all blood red.
Shit.
"Something interesting?" Marcone leaned forward, tilting his head to see what had caught my attention.
I snapped the file folder shut. "Not really." Marcone wasn't going to be forthcoming with me, so I would return the favor. Petty, yeah, but I took my victories against him where I could.
"Thoughts?"
"Looks like a bunch of drownings. That marina's ancient, maybe the docks are rickety or something. Bad weather, or something."
It wasn't true at all, but situations like these were a little delicate and I needed to be able to work without Marcone hovering. I needed to talk to Bob and dig up some old lore books I had in the lab. I also needed to call in a favor or two.
"Mr. Dresden," Marcone said, filling my name with the full depth of how much he didn't believe me.
"No, seriously, I'll look at the marina but don't worry about it. I'm sure whatever it might be won't interfere with..." I made a face. "Whatever you're doing down there. I doubt it's yachting."
"True. I utilize the Columbia Club for my boating needs, but the marina is of some... strategic importance." He did that finger steepling thing I hated. "If there is an issue with the marina, Harry, I'd really prefer if you told me."
I shook my head, not giving myself chance to reconsider. If I hesitated, I knew Marcone would notice and would press me for more information than I was willing to give him at the moment. "Nope, no issues."
"You are a wretched liar," Marcone said softly. He sighed and got to his feet. Hendricks followed immediately, obediently tailing Marcone to the door. As he passed my chair, Marcone put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed faintly. "In the hypothetical event that there is something to worry about at the marina, I suggest you sort it quickly." He backed off, vague threat delivered, and gave me a politician's smile, his eyes like green ice. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Dresden."
I let them show themselves out, then waited a full sixty seconds before flipped the rug off my lab door and climbing down. "Bob! Wake up, we got a problem!"
"No! Forget it! I want a night out!" Bob yelled back.
Damn. I'd forgotten about that. I needed my magic encyclopedia and he was still sulking. My luck is amazing, let me just say.
I caved and gave Bob permission to hitch a ride in Mister's body and go out for a day. That gave me time to visit the marina to make sure my suspicions were correct.
The place was nearly empty. It wasn't exactly the season for recreational boating, with the Lake cold enough to kill a man in minutes. The latest snowfall was cleared from the streets, but another one was on its way down, small snowflakes that vanished the moment they touched ground. It looked innocent and pretty, but by the time I got home, it'd be working on reclaiming the city with a blanket of white that would turn to ice in the night.
The Poseidon Marina wasn't like the flashy corporate yacht clubs further south along the shore. It was a single building made of worn but freshly repainted wood. I could see its berth consisted of just two long docks extending into the Lake. A few boats were tied there, all small modest affairs. It was quaint in a place where quaint didn't usually last very long before being bought out and transformed into something else entirely.
Chicago, depending on your point of view, either glutted on itself like a cannibal or was constantly rising from its own ruin like a phoenix. My opinion on which one it was changed from day to day.
Once I was inside the marina, I was reminded of car dealer or a mechanic's office. There was a desk on the other side of the room. There was a bored-looking boy sitting there, his eyes on a book in his lap and not on me. Behind him, the wall was cork board with numerous hooks in it. Some held keys with little identifying tags on them. Most were empty though.
There was a lobby area, decorated sparsely but with warm kitsch. A few barnacle-encrusted license plates hung on the wall between a life preserver and an old-fashioned ship wheel. The walls in here were wood as well, the blue paint chipped and worn, obviously left that way for aesthetic purposes. Standing there, you expected to inhale and breathe in salt water and seaweed smells.
It just smelled like cold and snow.
"Need something?" The kid at the desk finally asked, putting a index card in his book to mark his place before setting it aside. He was young, probably a sophomore or freshman at one of the colleges.
I sauntered over and took a peek at what he'd been reading. "The Man Who Was Thursday. Nice."
"You know Chesterson?" He had the tone of someone who'd become convinced that the modern world had abandoned literature for flashy Hollywood action movies and sex-heavy late night television, and was sure I was one of them. And, hey, I'd love to watch some action movies and late-night television, but technology. It hated me. Just wasn't fair.
"GKC, oh yeah. He was a man who knew what was going on." The kid stared at me, the reference flying over his head. "Geez, kid. Gaiman and Pratchett, try them sometime."
He snorted. "Only hipsters like Gaiman."
"Hey, his comics were amazing!" And scarily close to the truth. There were rumors in the magical community that Gaiman was one of us in some capacity, but no one had been able to prove anything yet. There was a pool at Mac's, and I had my money on Gaiman being a minor Wyldfae. Most of the bets were on him having made a deal with the Leanansidhe. I wouldn't put it past my Godmother, honestly. Not that I was about to ask her.
The kid gave me a look that contained nothing but disdain. Comic book hater, clearly. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Nah. Mind if I look around?"
He arched an eyebrow at me. "Why? Shit, are you here about the drownings?"
That caught me off guard. "Uh... no?"
"People are stupid." He rolled his eyes. "The docks get slick at night with the tide and all. We have signs about it put up, but I guess no one bothers to read them."
"You're not a people person, are you? Four people died, you can be a little nicer about it." Yeah, I wasn't going to make any friends that way, but the uncaring attitude bothered me. Especially if they died how I thought they did, the deserved more than a world-weary college kid.
"Three, man. Not four." He picked up his book again and slouched in his chair. "Look around, I don't care."
There wasn't much to see. I walked up and down both docks, trying to sense anything that might help me pinpoint the culprit. The planks under my feet were shaky and somewhat uneven and the cold left a thin sheen of ice over them in places. I skidded a few times just walking normally. But there were ladders hanging off the dock and into the water below. They looked sturdy enough that someone could climb out if they fell in. And yet all the victims were recovered from the water.
One of the four victims missing the ladders, that I could believe. All four of them, though? That was suspicious.
Between that and the image of the red water lilies still burned in my mind's eye, I was not liking the way this was going. I was hoping for evidence that would contradict, not support.
And Bob wasn't going to back until tomorrow afternoon. That gave me very little time to work. I needed to get things ready before Thursday and it was already Tuesday.
Speaking of Thursday.
I went back to the sulky kid at the desk. "Are you open Thursday night?"
He sighed explosively and took his time finishing his paragraph before marking his page again. He gave me a lazy look. "What?"
"Thursday night."
"Booked."
Stars and stones. "Thursday night is booked?"
"Ye-- no." He looked at the little appointment book on the desk next to him. "I thought..." I saw his eyes widened minutely, just for an instant. "Oh, right. No, we're closed that night. Everyone has the night off. Holiday."
I frowned, checking my mental calendar. "What holiday?"
"Birthday. Someone's, I forget whose. What do I care, I don't have to come in." He glared at me for daring to question him.
"So no one is going to be here? You're sure?"
"Positive." He picked up his book again, which I knew was just a nicer way of telling me to get the hell out.
I wasn't going to argue. I showed myself out. There wasn't much I could do until Bob got back to confirm my theories, but it was a load off knowing no one was going to drown in two days.
September 26. October 17. November 7. December 12. All Thursdays. And I only knew one creature that had a preference for that day.
For those playing along at home, I hope you know your Germanic folklore.
Bob was late and it drove me nuts. I paced by the front door, waiting for the sound of Mister's claws on the door, asking to come in. It was over 24 hours and while I hadn't given Bob an exact curfew, I was getting annoyed. He'd probably gotten caught up in whatever orgy he'd started. Bob had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to naked people.
I was getting antsy. It was Wednesday already and long past time I got to work on the Marina problem. But without Bob, all I could do was wait. The apartment was clean, my dishes were done, and I put more ice in my icebox, all despite the moral objections I had to chores as a bachelor. I also added a new ring of runes to my blasting rod and powdered three more potion ingredients.
I was considering cleaning out my fireplace when I felt something near my wards. I immediately went to the door and opened it, letting Mister and Bob in.
"Skull, now," I said tersely, locking up the apartment and heading to the basement.
A moment later, the orange glow that was Bob lit up his skull. "Where's the fire, boss? And did you light it this time?"
"The fire is at the Poseidon Marina." I filled Bob in on my findings, talking about the Thursday deaths, the unused ladders, and even showed him the photo of the red water lilies.
"Ah," Bob said. "That fire usually hangs out in Europe, not North America."
"So I'm right? It's got to be a water fae, right?"
"Sounds like a Nix. The lilies are a dead giveaway." His gaze seemed to alight on the photo. "Nix, Näkki, Neck, Bäckahäst, Rhinemaiden-- they got a million names. Most are Wyldfae, but some align with Winter or Summer, depending on if how nasty they are about their job. If this one started in September, it may be Winter. A Summer Nix would prefer warmer waters."
I blew out a long breath. Hurrah for being right about this, but now I had to actually deal with the thing. "How do I get rid of a man-eating mermaid?"
"Mermaids are different from Nix. They're a bit more friendly and less likely to kill you. Nix are closer to sirens, actually. Big on using magical melodies to learn humans in. Sirens do it for kicks, but Nix want blood."
"Are Nix always Chaotic Evil?"
"Nah, not if you know how to handle them. You can summon one with an offering. Make a deal and they'll teach you to play like they do."
"And you summon them how?"
Bob snorted. "You thinking of picking up the lyre, boss?"
"No, but if I summon the Nix, I don't need to cut a deal for music lessons, right? I can just rid of it when I'm done."
"I think you could pull off a lyre, actually. Think about it. Playing an instrument is a big hit with the ladies."
"Bob," I warned.
"Anti-fun, seriously." He sighed. "It's like summoning pixies. Instead of milk and honey, you use three drops of blood. That'll get a Nix's attention."
"And how do I get rid of it?"
"Usual standbys. Iron will work. If you had its Name, you could banish it with that. If it's in Winter's Court, you could use the usual 'kill it with fire' tactic, but prepare for it to attack you if you don't do it fast. Or you could just make a deal with it." I had the impression that Bob would shrug if he had shoulders. "Barring the whole sucking you dry bit, they're not that bad company. Lot of them trade musical talent for blood instead of just snagging mortals wholesale."
"Four people have died because of this thing, Bob."
"I knew a Nix in Denmark that lived under this old bridge and snacked on children for something like three hundred years. Four people is nothing."
I didn't bother giving Bob a lecture on how every life was important. Amoral as he was, I doubt it'd sink in with him any more than the other times I'd tried. Instead I looked around the lab, thinking. "If I were making a deal, it'd probably be for blood, right?"
"Probably the best bet, yeah. Mortal blood is a yummy snack, but wizard blood might actually give you some leverage. Just be careful the Nix doesn't drain you."
"Noted." I got up and examined my newly restocked shelves, an idea forming in my mind. It'd be a dirty trick, but so was eating mortals. "Thursdays only, right?"
"That's their day, yeah. Watch the water for the lilies. They're a sign the Nix is around. They turn red after feasting, but they'll be normal beforehand."
"Normal, if horribly out of season."
"Part of the appeal. You see something that odd floating in the water, you wanna get close and look. It's bait." Bob watched me collect a few things and set them on the work table. "Got a plan?"
"Yeah," I breathed, sitting down and rolling a jar of iron powder between my hands. "Yeah, bit of a plan."
Chapter Five
Originally posted at DW. Comment here or there. DW comments:
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, potentially R or NC-17 later.
Summary: Another way the Baron rose to power. Another way the wizard became a Knight.
Word Count: This chapter: 4813. So far: 21186.
Notes: It bares repeating that grenegome is the most amazing beta ever.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Marcone stayed away for a while after that. I think he somehow understood how pissed I was at him and was giving me space and time to cool down. It was scary he could read me that well while I had no idea what was going on in his head. It wasn't fair. We'd both seen each other's souls, and yet he maintained the upper hand over me. Sometimes I really felt the urge to steal a lock of his hair to test it for magical enhancement. The thought that he was actually just that good freaked me out more than most of the terrors of the Nevernever.
So he backed off, and I managed to get some good, honest work done for a while. Rachel Gainsbrook got in touch with me and I helped her learn the basics of magical defense and what it meant to have the Art. She'd never have enough to quit her day job (mural painting, as it turned out-- she was apparently a very talented artist) but mentoring Chicago's newbie mages was one of the services I offered pro bono. It was in everyone's interests that such people got coaching from someone who wasn't going to enthrall them and use them for black magic.
Not that I'm speaking form experience or anything.
I got word of some strange wolf sightings on the South Side, around Chicago U and Hyde Park in particular. A week of stakeouts later and I witnessed a ghoul torn to pieces by a bunch of wolves who didn't feel like wolves. A little bribery to some pixies who did recon for me in exchange for pizza, and I learned the wolves were roughing up any supernatural menace that entered their territory.
Thus, I met the Alphas, a bunch of werewolves. They were kids with some magical ability, but could only do one spell-- turning themselves into wolves. They did it well though. They were students at the college who'd met Tara West and got tutored on their canine sides. I added them to the list of kids who needed a little supernatural guidance from me. They were eager to learn. Their de facto leader, Billy, even invited me to their game night. I didn't tell him yes, but only because I had to find where in my apartment my d20 went first.
What, because I'm a wizard, I can't enjoy a little tabletop? You young whippersnappers and your fancy Nintenboxes.
And no, still no idea what a whippernsnapper is. It's fun to say though.
Bob enjoyed his new shiny lesbian porn and stopped telling jokes about me being Marcone's glorified rentboy, much to my relief. A few small cases kept my cashflow steady. Not that I really needed it. Just for the Gainsbrook case, Marcone gave me enough for three months rent with plenty left over for food and miscellanea.
Still no word from Murphy. I tried not to let that bother me.
Before I knew it, it was getting close to midwinter. Chicago enjoyed the usual snow and sleet. It was less 'winter wonderland' and more 'dammit I can't get my car out of the slush', but I was used to it by now. One upside to being a self-styled fire mage is that you can melt the ice off your windshield real good.
It was nice. Calm for once. I spent a few hours a day in my office, checked up on my growing circle of newbies, sometimes dropped by Billy's to see how the pups were doing, then went back home. On the colder mornings when the Beetle wouldn't start, I just stayed in, which would be unheard of for me a year ago.
It was a rare luxury, just puttering around my apartment in flannel drawstring pants and my robe all day. I read a bit, I cooked some actual food, and spent time with Bob talking magic. Usually, I used Bob for information I needed right away when I stumbled upon my Big Bad of the month. With my finances less tight, I turned down the jobs people offered that were obviously not looking for real magic, but to feel special and see some smoke and mirrors work. Less jobs, less running around, more time for the research I'd been wanting to do for years.
I felt like a legitimate businessman instead of a working Joe living paycheck to paycheck. Then I remembered that security was funded by Johnnie "I'm a Mafia Don, Ask Me How" Marcone.
"You glare any more at that belladonna, I'm going to start feeling bad for it, boss," Bob said.
I blinked out of my thoughts, not realizing I'd been so caught up in them. I was in auto-pilot as I worked on ingredient stock. My belladonna was running low, and you never knew when you needed a flight salve, a magical painkiller, or a really trippy hallucinatory potion. I had out the old mortar and pestle, my gloves on, and was working on grinding down some dried leaves, careful to not inhale any of the resulting powder. Don't try this one at home, true believers; belladonna's dangerous stuff.
"Just thinking, Bob."
"Looked more like moping to me. You always get this surprised face when you're thinking. Which I can understand. I'm always shocked when you use your brain instead of just lighting things on fire."
"Wizards are supposed to be moody," I pointed out, definitely not pouting.
"You are so hypocritical." Bob rolled his glowy eyes. "You can say all wizards are grumpy, but I can't say all women who dye their hair blonde are easy. It's such a double-standard!"
"That's because they're not and that's rude, Bob!"
"Can you say that definitively, Harry? You've been big on research lately. Why don't we go out and do some of our own? Hit a few bars, see if there's any correlation between hair color and attitude towards casual sex."
I poured the powdered belladonna into a container, writing on the side with a Sharpie marker, 'BELLADONNA, POISONOUS' and the date. I picked up my mortar and pestle and headed for the stepladder. "Read your books, Bob."
"Next time you want something, I am demanding a night out!" Bob called at my back.
I shut the sub-basement door and threw the rug back over it, ignoring him. I had potentially deadly potion ingredients to get rid of. It was tempting to put off washing my equipment, but I was afraid Mister would lick the stone mortar and put his omnivorous nature to the ultimate test.
Before I got to my kitchenette, there was a knock on the door. I sighed, tucking my things under one arm and going to the door.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Marcone greeted as he stood before me. Hendricks was with him, holding an umbrella over them both to fend off the snow. He glared at me, devoid of all the magnanimous warmth his boss had. Oblivious or uncaring to his bodyguard's bitchiness, Marcone said, "I'm sorry to intrude, but you haven't been in your office recently and I have a pressing matter in need of your expertise."
I leaned on the doorframe, looking him up and down. Another day, another super-expensive comfy sweater. "Am I just not good enough for your fancy suits, John?"
Marcone smiled. "You always look so keenly at my more casual attire. I was thinking of getting you a sweater for Christmas, since you've taken such a liking to them."
Was he saying I eyed him up? What? "No thanks, I don't think I have the je nais se quoi to pull off scumbag chic." Sarcasm, my last line of defense. And occasionally my first. Basically, any time fire didn't work. But this time, it did nothing to dull the needle-sharp stare that was Marcone's weapon of choice against me. I cleared my throat and dropped my gaze, staring at our feet instead. That was safe territory, right? He couldn't accuse me of perving on his round-toe Oxfords. "Anyway. Not really big on Christmas, seeing as I'm not exactly a Christian."
"I think you'll find that few people who celebrate the holiday are. The Solstice is approaching, would that be more appropriate?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to come in and speak with you, Harry. We brought lunch."
"Well, in that case," I said, and walked away from the door, leaving it open for them. I got the mortar and pestle in the sink and started rinsing them thoroughly. Only after the brown specks of dried belladonna were gone did I take off my gloves and toss them out.
I took my time with it, my back to the living area because... weird. Really weird, having Marcone and Cujo in my home. I mean, I've seen Marcone's house. I bet his bedroom has more square footage than my entire place.
Behind me, I heard Marcone say softly, "You can sit, Mr. Hendricks."
"I'm fine, boss."
"We're in one of the safest places in Chicago and no one is aware we're here. Sit, take a breath, have a gyro." He pronounced it oddly, almost like 'hero' without the 'h' and I wondered if I'd been saying it wrong all the time I'd been living in this city.
I finally turned around, drying my hands on a dishtowel. "You bought Greek?"
In the plastic bag Hendricks pulled out of the ether, there were several large take-out boxes fill with pita gyros. For those of you poor souls who don't have a Mediterranean place near you, that's slow-cooked lamb meat on warm flatbread with chunks of feta cheese and tomatoes with this amazing yogurt dipping sauce. It's the sort of thing that comes with massive portions on newspaper or checked parchment paper. There's no elegant way to eat it, you just roll it up, try to hold the pita bread closed, and take big bites out of it.
At least, that's how Hendricks and I ate it. Marcone used a knife and fork, which felt like sacrilege to me. But he brought me food, so I wasn't about to tell him off for not knowing how to eat a gyro properly.
Especially when the last box in the bag had calamari.
I popped a few pieces of them in my mouth. Breaded, spicy, and perfect, hell's bells. "Okay," I mumbled as I chewed. "You so definitely have my attention now."
"And you lead me to believe you were above bribery, Harry." Marcone, for all his care in dissecting his gyro and eating it with the sort of grace that belonged in a five star restaurant and not my apartment, dipped the side of his thumb into the little cup of cucumber yogurt. He licked his fingers clean of yogurt and salt as he sat back on my sofa, looking content enough to purr.
"Should have started with goods. Dresden doesn't have enough imagination to be tempted by money." Hendricks said as he dragged the half-finished calamari box over to his side of the coffee table.
I gaped at him. "Since when do you talk? Doesn't Marcone have, I don't know, a gag order on you or something?"
Hendricks glared at me again. Marcone looked between us and sighed in a 'now, now, children' manner. "Mr. Hendricks is more than capable of speaking his mind, Mr. Dresden. You'd do well to pay attention when he does. I'm not in the habit of surrounding myself with people that aren't worth listening to."
Wonders never cease. I tossed my napkin down and leaned back in my chair. "So."
Marcone didn't need any more prompting than that. "There's a marina on the lake shore, a place of interest for me. Over the past few months, there have been recurring incidents involving people drowning. Four individuals so far." He manifested a file folder out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to me.
Inside were three police reports about the victims. Two were civilians, one was a marina worker. With the last one, the report lacked the CPD crest and was printed on the wrong type of paper. I held up the report in silent question.
"The last drowning isn't a matter of public record and the Chicago Police aren't yet aware of the victim's disappearance," Marcone explained evenly. "I had a few of my people draw up a similar report on him anyway for your use."
"He's one of your men and died on the job. You don't want it to be a matter of public record." Marcone nodded. I looked over the reports, now catching some of the details. "The Poseidon Marina. I've been there, it's a dive. What's so important about it to you?"
Marcone smiled and deflected the question easily, "Perhaps I have a predilection for Greek Mythology."
Which meant he was using it for nefarious crime-related activities. My phone was a couple of paces away. I could chuck Marcone out, call Murphy, and have the Marina swarming with cops in five minutes. And if they found something, something that'd stick in court... I took a calming breath and looked up from the folder, thoughts of freedom dancing in my head. Marcone's amused, knowing stare stopped me cold. Right. They'd find nothing. Marcone was too freaking careful. I'd get my ass handed to me for wasting police time, sued to hell and back for defamation of character, and... and Murphy probably wouldn't even take my call in the first place. Goddamnit. That would be a great basis for a good long pity party, but while I missed Murphy, I was back in Susan's good graces and the Alphas had invited me over for a Totally Non-Denominational Christmahannusolstice gaming night Thursday. It wasn't that bad. I just had to remember that.
I had to figure out what was drowning people at one of Marcone's... what? Smuggling drops? His favorite out of the way place to put bullets in competitors?
Stop thinking about that, I scolded myself and refocused on the papers. I could plan a way to screw over Marcone later.
There wasn't much on offer in the files. All the victims died from either hypothermia or drowning. September 26, October 17, November 7, and December 12. None of the dates really jumped out as significant in an occult or spiritual sense and I didn't think they were full moons. Something caught my eye as I looked through some of the photos paperclipped to the Oct 17 report: a photo of something odd at the marina, a crowd of water lilies floating on top of the water. Instead of that pale pinkish white color water lilies tended to be, they were all blood red.
Shit.
"Something interesting?" Marcone leaned forward, tilting his head to see what had caught my attention.
I snapped the file folder shut. "Not really." Marcone wasn't going to be forthcoming with me, so I would return the favor. Petty, yeah, but I took my victories against him where I could.
"Thoughts?"
"Looks like a bunch of drownings. That marina's ancient, maybe the docks are rickety or something. Bad weather, or something."
It wasn't true at all, but situations like these were a little delicate and I needed to be able to work without Marcone hovering. I needed to talk to Bob and dig up some old lore books I had in the lab. I also needed to call in a favor or two.
"Mr. Dresden," Marcone said, filling my name with the full depth of how much he didn't believe me.
"No, seriously, I'll look at the marina but don't worry about it. I'm sure whatever it might be won't interfere with..." I made a face. "Whatever you're doing down there. I doubt it's yachting."
"True. I utilize the Columbia Club for my boating needs, but the marina is of some... strategic importance." He did that finger steepling thing I hated. "If there is an issue with the marina, Harry, I'd really prefer if you told me."
I shook my head, not giving myself chance to reconsider. If I hesitated, I knew Marcone would notice and would press me for more information than I was willing to give him at the moment. "Nope, no issues."
"You are a wretched liar," Marcone said softly. He sighed and got to his feet. Hendricks followed immediately, obediently tailing Marcone to the door. As he passed my chair, Marcone put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed faintly. "In the hypothetical event that there is something to worry about at the marina, I suggest you sort it quickly." He backed off, vague threat delivered, and gave me a politician's smile, his eyes like green ice. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Dresden."
I let them show themselves out, then waited a full sixty seconds before flipped the rug off my lab door and climbing down. "Bob! Wake up, we got a problem!"
"No! Forget it! I want a night out!" Bob yelled back.
Damn. I'd forgotten about that. I needed my magic encyclopedia and he was still sulking. My luck is amazing, let me just say.
I caved and gave Bob permission to hitch a ride in Mister's body and go out for a day. That gave me time to visit the marina to make sure my suspicions were correct.
The place was nearly empty. It wasn't exactly the season for recreational boating, with the Lake cold enough to kill a man in minutes. The latest snowfall was cleared from the streets, but another one was on its way down, small snowflakes that vanished the moment they touched ground. It looked innocent and pretty, but by the time I got home, it'd be working on reclaiming the city with a blanket of white that would turn to ice in the night.
The Poseidon Marina wasn't like the flashy corporate yacht clubs further south along the shore. It was a single building made of worn but freshly repainted wood. I could see its berth consisted of just two long docks extending into the Lake. A few boats were tied there, all small modest affairs. It was quaint in a place where quaint didn't usually last very long before being bought out and transformed into something else entirely.
Chicago, depending on your point of view, either glutted on itself like a cannibal or was constantly rising from its own ruin like a phoenix. My opinion on which one it was changed from day to day.
Once I was inside the marina, I was reminded of car dealer or a mechanic's office. There was a desk on the other side of the room. There was a bored-looking boy sitting there, his eyes on a book in his lap and not on me. Behind him, the wall was cork board with numerous hooks in it. Some held keys with little identifying tags on them. Most were empty though.
There was a lobby area, decorated sparsely but with warm kitsch. A few barnacle-encrusted license plates hung on the wall between a life preserver and an old-fashioned ship wheel. The walls in here were wood as well, the blue paint chipped and worn, obviously left that way for aesthetic purposes. Standing there, you expected to inhale and breathe in salt water and seaweed smells.
It just smelled like cold and snow.
"Need something?" The kid at the desk finally asked, putting a index card in his book to mark his place before setting it aside. He was young, probably a sophomore or freshman at one of the colleges.
I sauntered over and took a peek at what he'd been reading. "The Man Who Was Thursday. Nice."
"You know Chesterson?" He had the tone of someone who'd become convinced that the modern world had abandoned literature for flashy Hollywood action movies and sex-heavy late night television, and was sure I was one of them. And, hey, I'd love to watch some action movies and late-night television, but technology. It hated me. Just wasn't fair.
"GKC, oh yeah. He was a man who knew what was going on." The kid stared at me, the reference flying over his head. "Geez, kid. Gaiman and Pratchett, try them sometime."
He snorted. "Only hipsters like Gaiman."
"Hey, his comics were amazing!" And scarily close to the truth. There were rumors in the magical community that Gaiman was one of us in some capacity, but no one had been able to prove anything yet. There was a pool at Mac's, and I had my money on Gaiman being a minor Wyldfae. Most of the bets were on him having made a deal with the Leanansidhe. I wouldn't put it past my Godmother, honestly. Not that I was about to ask her.
The kid gave me a look that contained nothing but disdain. Comic book hater, clearly. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Nah. Mind if I look around?"
He arched an eyebrow at me. "Why? Shit, are you here about the drownings?"
That caught me off guard. "Uh... no?"
"People are stupid." He rolled his eyes. "The docks get slick at night with the tide and all. We have signs about it put up, but I guess no one bothers to read them."
"You're not a people person, are you? Four people died, you can be a little nicer about it." Yeah, I wasn't going to make any friends that way, but the uncaring attitude bothered me. Especially if they died how I thought they did, the deserved more than a world-weary college kid.
"Three, man. Not four." He picked up his book again and slouched in his chair. "Look around, I don't care."
There wasn't much to see. I walked up and down both docks, trying to sense anything that might help me pinpoint the culprit. The planks under my feet were shaky and somewhat uneven and the cold left a thin sheen of ice over them in places. I skidded a few times just walking normally. But there were ladders hanging off the dock and into the water below. They looked sturdy enough that someone could climb out if they fell in. And yet all the victims were recovered from the water.
One of the four victims missing the ladders, that I could believe. All four of them, though? That was suspicious.
Between that and the image of the red water lilies still burned in my mind's eye, I was not liking the way this was going. I was hoping for evidence that would contradict, not support.
And Bob wasn't going to back until tomorrow afternoon. That gave me very little time to work. I needed to get things ready before Thursday and it was already Tuesday.
Speaking of Thursday.
I went back to the sulky kid at the desk. "Are you open Thursday night?"
He sighed explosively and took his time finishing his paragraph before marking his page again. He gave me a lazy look. "What?"
"Thursday night."
"Booked."
Stars and stones. "Thursday night is booked?"
"Ye-- no." He looked at the little appointment book on the desk next to him. "I thought..." I saw his eyes widened minutely, just for an instant. "Oh, right. No, we're closed that night. Everyone has the night off. Holiday."
I frowned, checking my mental calendar. "What holiday?"
"Birthday. Someone's, I forget whose. What do I care, I don't have to come in." He glared at me for daring to question him.
"So no one is going to be here? You're sure?"
"Positive." He picked up his book again, which I knew was just a nicer way of telling me to get the hell out.
I wasn't going to argue. I showed myself out. There wasn't much I could do until Bob got back to confirm my theories, but it was a load off knowing no one was going to drown in two days.
September 26. October 17. November 7. December 12. All Thursdays. And I only knew one creature that had a preference for that day.
For those playing along at home, I hope you know your Germanic folklore.
Bob was late and it drove me nuts. I paced by the front door, waiting for the sound of Mister's claws on the door, asking to come in. It was over 24 hours and while I hadn't given Bob an exact curfew, I was getting annoyed. He'd probably gotten caught up in whatever orgy he'd started. Bob had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to naked people.
I was getting antsy. It was Wednesday already and long past time I got to work on the Marina problem. But without Bob, all I could do was wait. The apartment was clean, my dishes were done, and I put more ice in my icebox, all despite the moral objections I had to chores as a bachelor. I also added a new ring of runes to my blasting rod and powdered three more potion ingredients.
I was considering cleaning out my fireplace when I felt something near my wards. I immediately went to the door and opened it, letting Mister and Bob in.
"Skull, now," I said tersely, locking up the apartment and heading to the basement.
A moment later, the orange glow that was Bob lit up his skull. "Where's the fire, boss? And did you light it this time?"
"The fire is at the Poseidon Marina." I filled Bob in on my findings, talking about the Thursday deaths, the unused ladders, and even showed him the photo of the red water lilies.
"Ah," Bob said. "That fire usually hangs out in Europe, not North America."
"So I'm right? It's got to be a water fae, right?"
"Sounds like a Nix. The lilies are a dead giveaway." His gaze seemed to alight on the photo. "Nix, Näkki, Neck, Bäckahäst, Rhinemaiden-- they got a million names. Most are Wyldfae, but some align with Winter or Summer, depending on if how nasty they are about their job. If this one started in September, it may be Winter. A Summer Nix would prefer warmer waters."
I blew out a long breath. Hurrah for being right about this, but now I had to actually deal with the thing. "How do I get rid of a man-eating mermaid?"
"Mermaids are different from Nix. They're a bit more friendly and less likely to kill you. Nix are closer to sirens, actually. Big on using magical melodies to learn humans in. Sirens do it for kicks, but Nix want blood."
"Are Nix always Chaotic Evil?"
"Nah, not if you know how to handle them. You can summon one with an offering. Make a deal and they'll teach you to play like they do."
"And you summon them how?"
Bob snorted. "You thinking of picking up the lyre, boss?"
"No, but if I summon the Nix, I don't need to cut a deal for music lessons, right? I can just rid of it when I'm done."
"I think you could pull off a lyre, actually. Think about it. Playing an instrument is a big hit with the ladies."
"Bob," I warned.
"Anti-fun, seriously." He sighed. "It's like summoning pixies. Instead of milk and honey, you use three drops of blood. That'll get a Nix's attention."
"And how do I get rid of it?"
"Usual standbys. Iron will work. If you had its Name, you could banish it with that. If it's in Winter's Court, you could use the usual 'kill it with fire' tactic, but prepare for it to attack you if you don't do it fast. Or you could just make a deal with it." I had the impression that Bob would shrug if he had shoulders. "Barring the whole sucking you dry bit, they're not that bad company. Lot of them trade musical talent for blood instead of just snagging mortals wholesale."
"Four people have died because of this thing, Bob."
"I knew a Nix in Denmark that lived under this old bridge and snacked on children for something like three hundred years. Four people is nothing."
I didn't bother giving Bob a lecture on how every life was important. Amoral as he was, I doubt it'd sink in with him any more than the other times I'd tried. Instead I looked around the lab, thinking. "If I were making a deal, it'd probably be for blood, right?"
"Probably the best bet, yeah. Mortal blood is a yummy snack, but wizard blood might actually give you some leverage. Just be careful the Nix doesn't drain you."
"Noted." I got up and examined my newly restocked shelves, an idea forming in my mind. It'd be a dirty trick, but so was eating mortals. "Thursdays only, right?"
"That's their day, yeah. Watch the water for the lilies. They're a sign the Nix is around. They turn red after feasting, but they'll be normal beforehand."
"Normal, if horribly out of season."
"Part of the appeal. You see something that odd floating in the water, you wanna get close and look. It's bait." Bob watched me collect a few things and set them on the work table. "Got a plan?"
"Yeah," I breathed, sitting down and rolling a jar of iron powder between my hands. "Yeah, bit of a plan."
Chapter Five
Originally posted at DW. Comment here or there. DW comments: