FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [9/?]
Title: other things the road to hell is paved with [9/?]
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: 6219. So far: 49375.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Marcone was wrong. I didn't sleep well after the incident with Vail. Admittedly, it wasn't the fact that Marcone was going to off a guy who dealt death to kids that kept me awake, so maybe 'wrong' wasn't the right word.
It was everything else that was keeping me from sleep. Seeing Murphy, and not calling to her because I didn't know what she'd think of me. Hearing Marcone lay down the law in Chicago, and realizing that some small part of me was relieved. He was criminal scum, dammit, and I should have had something to say about Marcone going around exercising vigilante justice. Where were my moral objections evaporating to all of a sudden? These things kept me awake, staring at the ceiling well into the night.
Because it frankly scared the hell out of me. I felt so unbalanced and out of sync with the world around me. I kept thinking I was going to wake up from a deep sleep and be done with John Marcone's contract. Until then, I had this weird dissonance to deal with. I wasn't exactly my own man anymore, and I felt Marcone's control over me like a collar around my neck. I knew for sure, after the Nix, that Marcone was a real threat to my physical well-being, and my magic. I had to be careful around him, make sure he couldn't get the drop on me. I knew that. But then last night, I'd gone and dragged his criminal ass out of the fire. If he was dead, I was free, simple. But he was alive and kicking somewhere in Chicago tonight because of me. On some insinctive level, one I really didn't want to be thinking about, I seemed willing to go along with his demands.
That felt so wrong. It wasn't... me. I have history of reacting sort of explosively to people who think they might want a handy wizard puppet. Yet Marcone... I was willing to leap out of buildings with Marcone. And while I was refusing to give him the lowdown on vampires, it wasn't just an act of defiance. If I was honest with myself, I'd admit most of it was because I was sure if Marcone started drama with the vamps, he probably wouldn't walk away from it alive. I wanted him to include me in whatever doubtlessly insane plans he had so I could protect him.
So wrong. I don't know when Marcone stopped being this evil criminal dictator I wanted to avoid at all costs and started being... whatever the hell he was to me now. It was giving me insomnia.
Reason being... While my life was changing into something I couldn't begin to figure out, I was living more comfortably than I had since moving out of Ebenezar's place. I was still working, doing the whole Helping the Helpless thing I had devoted my life to, and I had time. I had a regular game night with the Alphas, I was expanding my knowledge of the Art with lessons from Bob, and I thought I was a pretty good boyfriend to Susan. Hell, more often than not, Susan had to cancel on me because of her job taking over her schedule, rather than the other way around. It was nice and I was enjoying life, and it was all thanks to Marcone.
I had no idea what to think about that. Marcone had said he was insulating me from the realities of his business to make my new situation easier and the thing of it was... maybe it was working. Compared to a year ago, when I was barely scraping by and my life was one big cycle of hurry-up-and-wait, when my best friend didn't trust me not to be a murder suspect most of the time, when I was so soul-crushingly lonely I could hardly stand it...
What really made my chest tight with fear was the fact I was really starting to like this new life, with my affectionate girlfriend, my new ability to be reliable to my friends, and my surprisingly personable employer who fretted over my well-being.
I had the sinking feeling Marcone was trying to tame me, really make me his pet wizard (I could still hear Hendricks saying the words, they echoed around my head forebodingly). I couldn't figure out what scared me more: that he might be succeeding or that I wasn't doing much to stop him.
It was a very complicated feeling, being so content and so uneasy all at once.
As Marcone said, a car picked me up late the next morning to bring me to the station. I gave a vague statement, claiming to not remember too much through the fog of adrenaline. I made it quick and got out of there as fast as I could. I wasn't in the SI building, but I was still nervous about running into Murphy. I stayed up most of the previous night, trying to sort out what the hell was going on with my life and I still had no clue. If I had to run into Murphy, I wanted more time to figure out what I would say.
I waved off the goon who was waiting to take me back home, electing instead to walk and do some more thinking. I wasn't the kind of person who devoted a lot of time to introspection, but I was hoping an epiphany would come along and hit me if I kept at it.
I was buried deep in my own musings, only paying enough attention to the world around me to avoid walking into any busy streets. I made the walk back home slow, just one foot in front of the other.
So I didn't realize I was being followed until a BMW slowed to a crawl next to me and the passenger window rolled down. "Hey! You Harry Dresden?"
I blinked out of my thoughts and looked at the car in confusion. I stepped closer, leaning down to look into the car. A vaguely handsome guy in a polo shirt and jeans with a timid smile peered at me. He instantly reminded me of a golden retriever, friendly and eager. "Who wants to know?"
"M'name's Franklin. I think my boss is looking for you. If you are Dresden, anyway."
"That depends on who your boss is."
"Uh," Franklin scratched his nose in a nervous gesture. He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "John Marcone?"
I sighed. I had to admit that was better than some of the other possible answers. "Did he... put out the word for me or something? Is there a network of mobsters whispering in each other's ears like the world's biggest game of Telephone?"
"No, Hendricks sent out a mass page." Franklin shifted in his seat, digging a hand into his back pocket and pulling out a pager. He thumbed a button and held it out for me to look at the display.
It read: C. Hendricks- L Harry Dresden, BT MMO, FNA.
I had no idea what any of that meant. Except maybe Hendricks did have a first name and it started with a 'c'. Worth remembering. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?"
"It's code." Franklin put the pager back in his pocket. "You don't know the code?"
"I can't use pagers."
"Oh." Someone in the lane behind Franklin honked his horn. Franklin rolled down his other window and flipped the bird at the car behind him, casual as you please. "So, can I give you a ride?"
I really wished Marcone would just bow to my very reasonable demands and make an appointment with me. I deserved that much after the rescue I pulled for him. But if he wasn't willing to stop being an asshole for long enough to do that, I had to go see him. We had things to discuss. "Yeah, all right." I opened the passenger door and got in.
Franklin stopped gesturing to the guy behind us and put the BMW into drive, pulling away. "Thanks." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, seeming at a loss of what to say. I was carrying my staff with me and had left my duster at home due to the late summer heat, so my pentacle sat proudly on top of my tee. I must not have looked like his usual clientèle. Eventually he cleared his throat and said, "Can I ask you something, Mr. Dresden?"
'Mr. Dresden' was said with a quiet respect, which I wasn't used to hearing from people. I boggled at Franklin. "Sure, I guess."
"I heard you were... Some of the guys were at the Tower last night and said you were..." Franklin shook his head. "Nevermind, it's stupid."
I slouched back in my seat, propping my head up with my elbow by the window. "Didn't your parents ever tell you there's no such thing as a stupid question, Frank?"
"Franklin," he corrected instantly. Then he winced. "I-I mean, sorry, you can call me whatever you want, sir."
'Sir.' Stars and stones, no one called me 'sir.' "Sorry, Franklin. What'd you want to know?"
We hit a red light and Franklin-Not-Frank drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The guys are saying you're a magician. I know, it's dumb, but--"
"I'm not a magician, I'm a wizard," I replied coolly. "Put that out on the streets, why don't you?"
Franklin's head snapped to look at me and I turned to face the window. Accidental soulgazes are never fun. "So it's true? You do magic and stuff?"
"And stuff, yeah."
"Can you fly and stuff?" I found myself smiling at his slightly awed tone. It was like a kid who'd just been reassured that, yes, there was a Santa Claus. Which is the truth, by the way.
"I'm not good at the flying thing. Pretty good at thaumaturgy and passable at evocation." I watched Franklin nod along even though I was sure he had no idea what I was talking about. "Can I ask you something, Franklin?"
"Of course."
"What's the code? What'd that page say?"
Franklin frowned and bit his lower lip. He was a big guy, not quite as muscled as Cujo, but he still looked capable of pounding a skinny guy like me into the pavement like a nail. At the same time, he looked like a boy who was going to tell a secret he wasn't supposed to. "That's... I mean, if you don't know, I'm not sure if I should say. Only the capos are supposed to teach the code to newbies."
Interesting. I had no idea Marcone's Outfit used the usual Mafia power structure. Capos, as far as I knew, were captains of sorts, in charge of all the mafioso in a given area. They answered to Don's second-in-command. "Hey, I work for Marcone himself. I'm like..." What was the term? I tried to recall, but I'd only seen The Godfather once. "Consigliere. I'm above the capos."
Franklin chuckled. "You're new, aren't you?"
I sighed. "That obvious?"
"A bit." He gave me one of his good-natured smiles. He looked less like a mobster and more like one of the carpentry guys Michael sometimes worked with, big but mostly harmless. "I mean, we call the district leaders capos, but that's just leftovers from the way the Vargrassi did things. It's not really a famiglia anymore." He didn't say it like Marcone did, with that little Italian flourish. I was pretty sure you weren't supposed to pronounce that 'g.'
We got stopped at another red light. I pushed a little more. "Come on. C. Hendricks. What, is his first name Chris? Charlie? Something embarrassing like Caroline?" That would make my day, it really would.
"No. C means command. It's a command issued by Hendricks, which usually means it came from Mr. Marcone himself." Franklin blew out a breath, sounding resigned. "L Harry Dresden, locate you."
"BT MMO?" I prompted. I felt like writing all of this down for future reference. Never knew when it could come in handy.
"Bring to Marcone main office." He nodded to a building we were closing in on, a skyscraper at the end of the Magnificent Mile. "That's this one up here. Mr. Marcone has a few places around the city and no one but Hendricks knows where all of them are, but this is where he takes care of the more, uh... legit business stuff."
This was news to me. I never knew exactly where Marcone did his business from. I had to admit, the image I had been running with was Marcone in shady alleys with some disreputable types, making deals and putting caps in whatever asses weren't doing what he wanted. Given his preference for business suits, the office building made more sense. "I forget the rest."
"FNA. Force not authorized."
"Sooo..." I turned that over in my head. "If I told you to leave me alone, you couldn't intimidate me into the car or anything?"
Franklin nodded. "Pretty much. Just as well, I'm not good at the whole intimidating thing."
I believed it. He looked far too nice to be part of the mob. "I thought that was a job requirement."
"Well... I just watch over some of Chinatown, really, make sure no one messes around with the businesses Mr. Marcone's protecting. I run errands, help when they need grunt work. Drive around VIPs," he added, nodding to me.
"I'm a VIP?"
"You didn't know?" He seemed as surprised as I was. "You... you work for the man himself. I've met him, I don't know, twice?" He coughed. "N-not that I'm complaining."
I smirked. "Don't want to see the Don?"
"Nah, he's..." Franklin scratched the back of his neck, looking away from me. "He was nice and all, but friggin' scary. Like if I said the wrong thing, he'd eat me alive."
A mobster that wouldn't swear. That was oddly endearing. I patted Franklin on the arm. "I know the feeling."
The car stopped in front of the doors to the office building. "Well, this is your stop, sir. Mr. Marcone's office is at the top level."
"You..." I shook my head. People showing me respect was just strange. "You don't have to call me 'sir,' seriously. Just Dresden's fine."
Franklin smiled. "Okay, Dresden. Nice to meet you."
"You too, Franklin." I bade him farewell and got out of the car. Franklin waited until I was inside the building before pulling away.
He was not what I expected from one of Chicago's made men. He struck me as the sort who'd go to college on a football scholarship then decide against going pro so he wouldn't be too far away from his family, that kind of guy. I guess Marcone was equal opportunity about his hiring process. Big guys needed, criminal tenancies preferred but not necessary.
It was a long elevator ride to the top, where Marcone was waiting for me. As I rode up, I leaned against the elevator wall furthest from the buttons, and reflected on another thing I'd learned from Franklin: I was a VIP to the Chicago Outfit. The mobsters around the city knew me well enough to recognize me walking down the street. They called me 'sir,' of all things. After years of working with the CPD and being accused of being a con-artist or charlatan, I had no idea how to handle being treated like that. It was a novel experience.
Speaking of new info, I got out a little notebook I kept tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. I pulled the pencil out of the spiral wire binding and wrote down what I'd learned about the pager code. Could come in handy to someone eventually.
I'd just shoved my notepad back in my pocket when the elevator doors opened to sunlight. The roof of this skyscraper was glass, a massive arch that hit its apex twenty feet above my head. My jaw dropped at the view. It wasn't the tallest building in the city, but it was in the running and the panoramic view was beautiful. I walked out onto the floor proper and was instantly drawn to one of the glass walls. I stared out at the Gold Coast and Lake Michigan beyond it. Looked straight down, the cars going by looked like tiny beetles crawling along.
Looking down also gave me a wicked case of vertigo. I stumbled back and stared at the horizon again instead. From up here, the city looked completely different, her blemishes too far away to be seen, her visage strong and lovely in a way that demanded respect.
"Mr. Dresden," a woman's voice said behind me. I snapped out of my reverie and spun around.
On the opposite end of the room was a woman who I assumed was Marcone's secretary. She was giving me a severe, impatient frown, like a school teacher that just found a student slacking off during an assignment.
I shuffled forward. "Yeah, sorry. Gorgeous view from up here." I smiled at her apologetically.
She touched her hand to her ear, and I could see a device was hooked around the shell of her ear, a thin microphone extending from it, out over her mouth. "Sir?" She was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded to me. "Go in."
Wow, five words altogether. I think I just met the short-spoken phone secretary I'd spoken to before. I regaled her with an even bigger grin before walking to the door. Not only were the outer walls glass, but the inner ones as well, albeit a more opaque, fogged type. The door was the same, with a shiny chrome handle that looked like it'd just been polished. Everything was very sleek and chic.
I walked into Marcone's office, which was similarly styled. It was like walking into an opal, with the cream tiled floor and silver fixtures and glass tables. Hendricks' red hair stood out starkly, incongruous in the rest of the room. He was seated at a desk just inside, and as soon as he saw me, he shut the laptop in front of him and spun around the pull the plug out of the wall.
I felt that was an unfair reaction to my presence. I had yet to wreck any of Marcone's electronics. I'd been really good about that so far.
"Hi, Cujo. You summoned me?"
Hendricks put a finger to his lips and said quietly, "Phone." He pointed one finger towards the far end of the room, silently urging me along.
The wall in front of me was another floor to ceiling window, overlooking the Loop and the Chicago sprawl. In front of it was a large desk that was immaculately organized. All the papers were stacked neatly, the computer was sitting even on the corner, and a silver gyroscope was perfectly balanced on a stand at the exact middle of the desk. It lacked a name plate, probably because no one walked into this office not knowing exactly who it belonged to.
Behind the desk was another one of those executive chairs that looked sinfully comfortable. It was turned slightly away from me, but I could see Marcone's profile around the wings. As I got close, I could hear him talking. I sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and listened in.
"No, I'm glad to take care of it. It's the least I can do." Marcone chuckled softly. "I know, the timing was dreadful. Has it scared you off? It was hard enough to get you to leave New York. Oh, I know how Manhattanites are, you never want to leave your little island." He hummed in vague agreement. "I suppose that's true enough, but at least I have the excuse of having a business to run. Yes, well, next time will go better, I promise you. Yes, I'll see you then. Have a good day, Bobby."
At last, Marcone spun his chair back towards me and put the handset back on its cradle. "Harry. I wasn't expecting you so soon. Sorry to make you wait."
"It's okay, I assume whoever Bobby is, they're more important than I am." I sniffed disdainfully and worked up a good pout. "I'm not the apple of your eye anymore, John, I get it."
Marcone smirked. "Bobby is the person whose window I am replacing after you had me shoot it out last night. I should have you apologize to Mr. DeNiro yourself, as it was your insane plan that resulted in the damage."
"DeNiro. Bobby DeNiro." My eyes widened. "That Bobby DeNiro? Taxi Driver DeNiro? Young Don Corleone DeNiro? Raging Bull DeNiro?"
Marcone nodded, and the man looked just slightly smug. "The same."
"You're pals with Robert DeNiro."
"Acquaintances, yes." He put his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers against his mouth and I just knew he was hiding a grin.
I laughed and shook my head. "Stars, John. Tell me the truth, you just want to buddy up to him so he'll play you in your biopic, I Was A Criminal Scumbag."
The smile he'd been suppressing appeared and he leaned back in his chair, rocking in it comfortably. "Hm, I don't know. I suppose he could do if Clooney was too busy to play the role."
"Wow, you want Clooney? Narcissistic much?"
"What about you, Harry?" He eyed me critically. "Robert Downey Jr, perhaps? He was recently in a very funny noir film."
"Wasn't he in prison for cocaine possession or something?"
"He's sober now. And a remarkable actor."
I snorted. "Yeah, no thanks."
"All right, give me time and I'll think of someone more suitable." With that, some of the humor left his face. "Now, I think you and I have a few things to talk about."
Just then I discovered my armchair spun. I quickly took advantage of this by spinning in circles. "Oh, do we?"
"Yes." He paused, watching me. "Are you going to sit still?"
"Signs point to no." I was really enjoying spinning, if only because it obviously bothered Marcone. I couldn't keep it up for long though; Hendricks walked up to me and grabbed the back of my chair in both hands, halting my twirling. "Dammit, Cujo, I thought we had an understanding."
Hendricks grunted and went back to his desk. He could get chatty when it was just us in my apartment, but when Marcone was around, he got quiet again. And clearly our tentative truce was void when Marcone was involved.
I titled my head and glared at Marcone. "Okay, what?"
"Well, first," he said, his lips twitching up in a vaguely fond look, "thank you for your assistance with Mr. Vail. Your methods were rather extreme, but undeniably effective."
I still had no idea what to do with someone who actually thanked me for my work, so I snapped back, all ruffled feathers, "No, first let's talk about the fact you're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you throw down with the vampires."
You could have heard a pin drop. Nothing about Marcone's expression changed but he still managed to suddenly seem a lot less amiable towards me. When he spoke, his voice was measured and calm. "Let me, Harry?"
A small, pragmatic part of me pointed out that I was in Marcone's territory and had no home field advantages. And, without my duster, I was certain Hendricks could easily put a bullet in me from behind before I knew I was danger. The biggest, more reckless part of me ignored the tiny sensible part in favor of continuing. "Yeah, let you. You're talking about something that's solidly in my jurisdiction, and I'm telling you to back off. I know Bianca St. Clair is your only competition in the prostitution game, but it isn't worth taking her on." I took a slow, deep breath, and met Marcone's eyes steadily. "I need you to trust me on this. You won't make it through this alive."
Marcone stared back into my eyes, and it was like we were locked in a battle of wills. Others would mistake it for a staring contest, but they'd be wrong.
"Once again," Marcone said softly, "you are withholding information in an effort to protect me. Do we have to go through this again, Harry?"
"This is different. You're going to be picking a fight and you have no idea what you're getting into."
"Then tell me."
I put my face in my hands and tried to rub the stress and exasperation away. No luck. "This isn't worth having a monopoly on the sex trade, John." I dropped my hands and leaned forward on his desk, close enough now to see the flecks of hazel in his pale green eyes. "Vampires have been around longer and they aren't going to play fair with you if you threaten them." I tapped my finger against the desk for emphasis as I said, "Let. This. Go."
Probably because he knew how much it would startle me, Marcone reached out and put one of his hands over mine, pressing it against the glass. "Harry. You are working under the incorrect assumption that I am doing this simply to expand one aspect of my business. While that would be a fringe benefit, there are bigger stakes."
I felt my face grow warm under his intense gaze. I looked away and tried to lean back in my chair, but Marcone's hand tightened around mine, stopping me. "They feed on Chicago, do they not? In the last few years, more and more young women have vanished off the streets. Some of that might be just normal disappearances, but you and I know that Bianca St. Clair is growing in power and is culling humans accordingly."
Worst part was he was right. Bianca was rising in the eyes of the Red Court. From what I heard, she was due to be named head of her own house, the first Red Court stronghold this far north, which meant she'd gain even more power. Reds would go to join her house and she'd have more mouths to feed. More disappearances were a given. There was also the matter of the people the Red Court enslaved when they addicted them to their narcotic venom and their bites. It was worse than Marcone knew. And that was before bringing the other Courts into account.
Of course I wasn't about to tell him that. He didn't need more justification. "John."
"You're not the sort of man that ignores the suffering of innocents, Harry," Marcone murmured.
"I know. Christ, John, I know." My voice got louder as I went on, my temper picking up. "You think the entire supernatural community is blind to what the vampires do? Don't you think if we could do something, we would? This isn't some fancy new business opportunity for you to try to buy into. This is a conflict that's been going on since before either of us were alive and you don't want to get into it." Marcone opened his mouth to reply and I cut him off, thumping my fist against the desk. "You wanted a supernatural advisor, you got one, so listen to my damn advice!"
On the desk, there was a whirring, popping noise. Marcone's computer took offense at my rising emotions and started smoking from the vents.
Marcone sighed. "And this is why I invested in private servers to back-up data after hiring you."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"No, it's fine." Marcone leaned forward on the desk, his hands clasped and tucked under his chin. He regarded me levelly, lacking all the anger I was expecting from him. He didn't seem surprised by my outburst. "I might be asking too much of you at this juncture."
I snorted. "This isn't a matter of timing."
"I disagree. At this point, you trust me enough not to kill you, but not enough to keep myself safe. That will hopefully change."
"Should you be telling me this?"
"It shouldn't be news to you that I want your trust. I need you on my side, Harry. You are an important part of my plans for Chicago." He smiled enigmatically.
"That's ominous," I joked weakly. "Want to throw in an evil laugh there for flavor? I'm not sure if you're a big enough cliche yet."
"If I were a cliche, I'd be bragging about my plan. Possibly while stroking a white Persian cat."
"Hey, that'd be nice. Why don't you do that so I'll know what the hell you're going on about?"
Marcone shook his head and kept smiling, which was starting to drive me crazy. "Someday, perhaps. But not now." He pushed his chair away from his desk and to a file cabinet in the corner of the room, gliding across the floor. "Perhaps you and I will start smaller. It's about time we got used to collaborating peacefully."
I watched him pull a file folder out of one of the drawers with narrowed eyes. I was perfectly happy about not being used to collaborating with Marcone. I liked the boundaries drawn between us. It seemed they were gradually eroding over time, my autonomy being whittled away. "Why?"
"Because, if all goes well, we will be collaborating often in the future." He put a few folders on his lap and slid back over to the desk. I had the distinct impression he was a fan of abusing his rolling chair.
"Not sure how I feel about getting friendly with you, John."
"Oh, Harry, you've been nothing but amicable so far," he purred, placing the folders on the desk. "I think the wizard doth protest too much."
The wizard was going to punch him in the face if he didn't quit the smug snake act. I grabbed a folder and took a look. "I have not yet begun to protest." I lost the thread of our banter when I looked inside the folder and found building plans. "What am I looking at?"
"A new property I've purchased. I'm hoping to put a new central office there while I have it renovated." He went back to the villainous slouch and steepled finger pose that made me want to tease him mercilessly. "Your home, it's protected from supernatural threats, correct?"
"Yeah, I'm warded pretty well. Why?"
"Would it be possible for a non-magical being to have such protections?"
"That depends on the way the wards are set up and the place that's being protected." I caught on quickly. "You want to spook-proof this place?"
Marcone nodded. "For reasons that don't need to be examined right now, I think it'd be prudent for me to have certain measures put into place and to learn how to keep myself secure."
"What did you have in mind?" I asked in a guarded tone.
"What's available?"
That was a loaded question. My eyes rolled skyward as I thought of all the magic I had laid around my apartment and the protections I'd seen others use. And I do mean skyward; the ceiling was glass too. "There's... reflective wards, spells that react to malicious intent, inscribed runes, utilizing thirteens to disperse harmful ambient magic, reinforcing thresholds, prepared seals, strategically placed Hermetic circles, using iron and silver in the architecture, faith symbology--"
"We'll start with those then," Marcone said.
"What, all of them? Are you..." I rubbed my eyes again. This was just a reminder that Marcone, however scarily well-informed he was, did not understand magic. I'd grown up in this invisible world and he was playing catch-up. "John, even I don't use all of those."
"Is there some limitation? Too much magical energy in one place causing problems?"
"No, but--"
"Would using as many forms of protection as possible not make the room safer?"
"Yeah but-- No, don't, let me finish!" I waved a finger at him and Marcone started laughing at me, quietly and behind a fist, but I could see his eyes brighten. God, one day I was going to snap and punch him and he'd have no one to blame but himself, I swear. "Okay, yes, in theory more is better, but to get everything working together without cancelling things out by accident, that takes a lot of planning. This isn't something I could bang out in a day or two."
He cleared his throat and settled down. Well, gee, glad he found me so amusing. Hell's bells. "How long would you need?"
"I don't know. I've never done anything that extensive."
He made a contemplative humming noise under his breath and pulled a little leather-bound book out of his desk. He started flipping through it, reading quickly. "A few weeks, then?"
"I... I don't know, John. Yeah, weeks, maybe a month or two, depending how much time I can devote to it. Why?"
"But you're capable of doing it?"
"Yeah, I guess." If I wasn't up to snuff on some things, I had a lab assistant who was. "Why do you need the magical equivalent of a panic room? What's your game here?"
Marcone looked at me and smiled. "Play along and you'll find out." He leaned back and addressed Cujo. "Mr. Hendricks, if you would speak to Ms. Reynolds, see what we could do about opening up my evenings for the next month or so, barring emergencies."
Hendricks nodded and left the room. I turned back to Marcone. "You're serious."
"Yes. I have the feeling measures like this are going to be necessary for my future endeavors." He fixed me another of his piercing stares. "I need your help, Harry. I'm sure you realize I am, despite my best efforts, not au fait with the intricacies of the supernatural. I need to rectify that."
I stood up and placed my palms against the desk, leaning over him. He didn't seem at all nervous at my gesture, which was annoying but to be expected. I glared down at him anyway. "John. I don't know if it escaped your notice, but you're a murderer and a vice lord. What makes you think I'm going to help you gain more power than you already have?"
"Because I am a professional monster, Harry," he conceded dispassionately, "but I'm much more than that. And deep down you want to know what my plans are and where you fit into them. You're curious, and there is no force in the universe more inexorable than curiosity."
"You're not going to change my mind."
"So you keep telling me." The smile on his face softened to something guileless and honest. "Let me convince you. In fact," he rose to his feet and circled the desk. I recoiled instinctively when he put a hand on my shoulder. His voice had lowered enough it was just above a whisper. "How about a deal, Harry? The next time I ask you about the matter of Chicago's vampire problem, if you still don't believe me and trust I know what I'm doing, then I'll dissolve your contract."
I staggered like he'd hit me, gawking at him. "What?"
"Exactly what I said," he murmured. "Give me a chance to show you what I intend. If you still don't want to help me, then we'll broker a dissolution of your contract."
I was instantly suspicious. "What's the catch?"
"There's no catch." His fingers dug into my shoulder a little. "Look at it from my perspective. I recruited you for specific purposes. If I cannot gain your trust, you'll be useless to me. It'd be more economical to cut you lose and seek out another magical consultant."
"You want me to trust you, John?" I didn't hide the thick layer of skepticism in my words.
"Yes," Marcone answered, apparently unaware of what he was asking of me, that it was just not gonna happen. Ever. "So does that sound fair, Harry? A deal between us?"
I considered it. It was very tempting, given the fact I was currently having a pretty severe existential crisis. There was no downside. If he had some insanely persuasive reason for needing to know about the vampires, I'd be stuck with the status quo. But it was more likely I'd remain unswayed, get freed from my contract, and return to life pre-Marcone.
"A note of caution before you answer," Marcone added. "I want your loyalty, Harry. I will work very hard to secure it. I can be convincing when I want to be." He was close enough that I could smell his cologne and it was hard for me to stand still, not let him intimidate me. This near, my height advantage was more obvious and I shouldn't have been so disquieted. The man had presence though, an undeniable, natural ability to compel.
To borrow a line from DC, there was nothing mere about this mortal.
"I have it on good authority I'm a stubborn son of a bitch," I replied.
"Oh, you are. Infuriating but doubtlessly entertaining." He smiled and slid his grip off my shoulder, brushing down my arm in a blatantly proprietary gesture before he offered it for a handshake. "Do we have a deal?"
He knew before he even asked what my answer would be. Like there could be any doubt I wouldn't take him up on the offer with the prospect of freedom at stake. Like I would let his easy confidence in his power over me go unchallenged.
I shook his hand. "Deal."
Chapter Ten
ALMOST 50K WORDS OH MY FUCK WHAT
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: 6219. So far: 49375.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Marcone was wrong. I didn't sleep well after the incident with Vail. Admittedly, it wasn't the fact that Marcone was going to off a guy who dealt death to kids that kept me awake, so maybe 'wrong' wasn't the right word.
It was everything else that was keeping me from sleep. Seeing Murphy, and not calling to her because I didn't know what she'd think of me. Hearing Marcone lay down the law in Chicago, and realizing that some small part of me was relieved. He was criminal scum, dammit, and I should have had something to say about Marcone going around exercising vigilante justice. Where were my moral objections evaporating to all of a sudden? These things kept me awake, staring at the ceiling well into the night.
Because it frankly scared the hell out of me. I felt so unbalanced and out of sync with the world around me. I kept thinking I was going to wake up from a deep sleep and be done with John Marcone's contract. Until then, I had this weird dissonance to deal with. I wasn't exactly my own man anymore, and I felt Marcone's control over me like a collar around my neck. I knew for sure, after the Nix, that Marcone was a real threat to my physical well-being, and my magic. I had to be careful around him, make sure he couldn't get the drop on me. I knew that. But then last night, I'd gone and dragged his criminal ass out of the fire. If he was dead, I was free, simple. But he was alive and kicking somewhere in Chicago tonight because of me. On some insinctive level, one I really didn't want to be thinking about, I seemed willing to go along with his demands.
That felt so wrong. It wasn't... me. I have history of reacting sort of explosively to people who think they might want a handy wizard puppet. Yet Marcone... I was willing to leap out of buildings with Marcone. And while I was refusing to give him the lowdown on vampires, it wasn't just an act of defiance. If I was honest with myself, I'd admit most of it was because I was sure if Marcone started drama with the vamps, he probably wouldn't walk away from it alive. I wanted him to include me in whatever doubtlessly insane plans he had so I could protect him.
So wrong. I don't know when Marcone stopped being this evil criminal dictator I wanted to avoid at all costs and started being... whatever the hell he was to me now. It was giving me insomnia.
Reason being... While my life was changing into something I couldn't begin to figure out, I was living more comfortably than I had since moving out of Ebenezar's place. I was still working, doing the whole Helping the Helpless thing I had devoted my life to, and I had time. I had a regular game night with the Alphas, I was expanding my knowledge of the Art with lessons from Bob, and I thought I was a pretty good boyfriend to Susan. Hell, more often than not, Susan had to cancel on me because of her job taking over her schedule, rather than the other way around. It was nice and I was enjoying life, and it was all thanks to Marcone.
I had no idea what to think about that. Marcone had said he was insulating me from the realities of his business to make my new situation easier and the thing of it was... maybe it was working. Compared to a year ago, when I was barely scraping by and my life was one big cycle of hurry-up-and-wait, when my best friend didn't trust me not to be a murder suspect most of the time, when I was so soul-crushingly lonely I could hardly stand it...
What really made my chest tight with fear was the fact I was really starting to like this new life, with my affectionate girlfriend, my new ability to be reliable to my friends, and my surprisingly personable employer who fretted over my well-being.
I had the sinking feeling Marcone was trying to tame me, really make me his pet wizard (I could still hear Hendricks saying the words, they echoed around my head forebodingly). I couldn't figure out what scared me more: that he might be succeeding or that I wasn't doing much to stop him.
It was a very complicated feeling, being so content and so uneasy all at once.
As Marcone said, a car picked me up late the next morning to bring me to the station. I gave a vague statement, claiming to not remember too much through the fog of adrenaline. I made it quick and got out of there as fast as I could. I wasn't in the SI building, but I was still nervous about running into Murphy. I stayed up most of the previous night, trying to sort out what the hell was going on with my life and I still had no clue. If I had to run into Murphy, I wanted more time to figure out what I would say.
I waved off the goon who was waiting to take me back home, electing instead to walk and do some more thinking. I wasn't the kind of person who devoted a lot of time to introspection, but I was hoping an epiphany would come along and hit me if I kept at it.
I was buried deep in my own musings, only paying enough attention to the world around me to avoid walking into any busy streets. I made the walk back home slow, just one foot in front of the other.
So I didn't realize I was being followed until a BMW slowed to a crawl next to me and the passenger window rolled down. "Hey! You Harry Dresden?"
I blinked out of my thoughts and looked at the car in confusion. I stepped closer, leaning down to look into the car. A vaguely handsome guy in a polo shirt and jeans with a timid smile peered at me. He instantly reminded me of a golden retriever, friendly and eager. "Who wants to know?"
"M'name's Franklin. I think my boss is looking for you. If you are Dresden, anyway."
"That depends on who your boss is."
"Uh," Franklin scratched his nose in a nervous gesture. He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "John Marcone?"
I sighed. I had to admit that was better than some of the other possible answers. "Did he... put out the word for me or something? Is there a network of mobsters whispering in each other's ears like the world's biggest game of Telephone?"
"No, Hendricks sent out a mass page." Franklin shifted in his seat, digging a hand into his back pocket and pulling out a pager. He thumbed a button and held it out for me to look at the display.
It read: C. Hendricks- L Harry Dresden, BT MMO, FNA.
I had no idea what any of that meant. Except maybe Hendricks did have a first name and it started with a 'c'. Worth remembering. "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?"
"It's code." Franklin put the pager back in his pocket. "You don't know the code?"
"I can't use pagers."
"Oh." Someone in the lane behind Franklin honked his horn. Franklin rolled down his other window and flipped the bird at the car behind him, casual as you please. "So, can I give you a ride?"
I really wished Marcone would just bow to my very reasonable demands and make an appointment with me. I deserved that much after the rescue I pulled for him. But if he wasn't willing to stop being an asshole for long enough to do that, I had to go see him. We had things to discuss. "Yeah, all right." I opened the passenger door and got in.
Franklin stopped gesturing to the guy behind us and put the BMW into drive, pulling away. "Thanks." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, seeming at a loss of what to say. I was carrying my staff with me and had left my duster at home due to the late summer heat, so my pentacle sat proudly on top of my tee. I must not have looked like his usual clientèle. Eventually he cleared his throat and said, "Can I ask you something, Mr. Dresden?"
'Mr. Dresden' was said with a quiet respect, which I wasn't used to hearing from people. I boggled at Franklin. "Sure, I guess."
"I heard you were... Some of the guys were at the Tower last night and said you were..." Franklin shook his head. "Nevermind, it's stupid."
I slouched back in my seat, propping my head up with my elbow by the window. "Didn't your parents ever tell you there's no such thing as a stupid question, Frank?"
"Franklin," he corrected instantly. Then he winced. "I-I mean, sorry, you can call me whatever you want, sir."
'Sir.' Stars and stones, no one called me 'sir.' "Sorry, Franklin. What'd you want to know?"
We hit a red light and Franklin-Not-Frank drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The guys are saying you're a magician. I know, it's dumb, but--"
"I'm not a magician, I'm a wizard," I replied coolly. "Put that out on the streets, why don't you?"
Franklin's head snapped to look at me and I turned to face the window. Accidental soulgazes are never fun. "So it's true? You do magic and stuff?"
"And stuff, yeah."
"Can you fly and stuff?" I found myself smiling at his slightly awed tone. It was like a kid who'd just been reassured that, yes, there was a Santa Claus. Which is the truth, by the way.
"I'm not good at the flying thing. Pretty good at thaumaturgy and passable at evocation." I watched Franklin nod along even though I was sure he had no idea what I was talking about. "Can I ask you something, Franklin?"
"Of course."
"What's the code? What'd that page say?"
Franklin frowned and bit his lower lip. He was a big guy, not quite as muscled as Cujo, but he still looked capable of pounding a skinny guy like me into the pavement like a nail. At the same time, he looked like a boy who was going to tell a secret he wasn't supposed to. "That's... I mean, if you don't know, I'm not sure if I should say. Only the capos are supposed to teach the code to newbies."
Interesting. I had no idea Marcone's Outfit used the usual Mafia power structure. Capos, as far as I knew, were captains of sorts, in charge of all the mafioso in a given area. They answered to Don's second-in-command. "Hey, I work for Marcone himself. I'm like..." What was the term? I tried to recall, but I'd only seen The Godfather once. "Consigliere. I'm above the capos."
Franklin chuckled. "You're new, aren't you?"
I sighed. "That obvious?"
"A bit." He gave me one of his good-natured smiles. He looked less like a mobster and more like one of the carpentry guys Michael sometimes worked with, big but mostly harmless. "I mean, we call the district leaders capos, but that's just leftovers from the way the Vargrassi did things. It's not really a famiglia anymore." He didn't say it like Marcone did, with that little Italian flourish. I was pretty sure you weren't supposed to pronounce that 'g.'
We got stopped at another red light. I pushed a little more. "Come on. C. Hendricks. What, is his first name Chris? Charlie? Something embarrassing like Caroline?" That would make my day, it really would.
"No. C means command. It's a command issued by Hendricks, which usually means it came from Mr. Marcone himself." Franklin blew out a breath, sounding resigned. "L Harry Dresden, locate you."
"BT MMO?" I prompted. I felt like writing all of this down for future reference. Never knew when it could come in handy.
"Bring to Marcone main office." He nodded to a building we were closing in on, a skyscraper at the end of the Magnificent Mile. "That's this one up here. Mr. Marcone has a few places around the city and no one but Hendricks knows where all of them are, but this is where he takes care of the more, uh... legit business stuff."
This was news to me. I never knew exactly where Marcone did his business from. I had to admit, the image I had been running with was Marcone in shady alleys with some disreputable types, making deals and putting caps in whatever asses weren't doing what he wanted. Given his preference for business suits, the office building made more sense. "I forget the rest."
"FNA. Force not authorized."
"Sooo..." I turned that over in my head. "If I told you to leave me alone, you couldn't intimidate me into the car or anything?"
Franklin nodded. "Pretty much. Just as well, I'm not good at the whole intimidating thing."
I believed it. He looked far too nice to be part of the mob. "I thought that was a job requirement."
"Well... I just watch over some of Chinatown, really, make sure no one messes around with the businesses Mr. Marcone's protecting. I run errands, help when they need grunt work. Drive around VIPs," he added, nodding to me.
"I'm a VIP?"
"You didn't know?" He seemed as surprised as I was. "You... you work for the man himself. I've met him, I don't know, twice?" He coughed. "N-not that I'm complaining."
I smirked. "Don't want to see the Don?"
"Nah, he's..." Franklin scratched the back of his neck, looking away from me. "He was nice and all, but friggin' scary. Like if I said the wrong thing, he'd eat me alive."
A mobster that wouldn't swear. That was oddly endearing. I patted Franklin on the arm. "I know the feeling."
The car stopped in front of the doors to the office building. "Well, this is your stop, sir. Mr. Marcone's office is at the top level."
"You..." I shook my head. People showing me respect was just strange. "You don't have to call me 'sir,' seriously. Just Dresden's fine."
Franklin smiled. "Okay, Dresden. Nice to meet you."
"You too, Franklin." I bade him farewell and got out of the car. Franklin waited until I was inside the building before pulling away.
He was not what I expected from one of Chicago's made men. He struck me as the sort who'd go to college on a football scholarship then decide against going pro so he wouldn't be too far away from his family, that kind of guy. I guess Marcone was equal opportunity about his hiring process. Big guys needed, criminal tenancies preferred but not necessary.
It was a long elevator ride to the top, where Marcone was waiting for me. As I rode up, I leaned against the elevator wall furthest from the buttons, and reflected on another thing I'd learned from Franklin: I was a VIP to the Chicago Outfit. The mobsters around the city knew me well enough to recognize me walking down the street. They called me 'sir,' of all things. After years of working with the CPD and being accused of being a con-artist or charlatan, I had no idea how to handle being treated like that. It was a novel experience.
Speaking of new info, I got out a little notebook I kept tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. I pulled the pencil out of the spiral wire binding and wrote down what I'd learned about the pager code. Could come in handy to someone eventually.
I'd just shoved my notepad back in my pocket when the elevator doors opened to sunlight. The roof of this skyscraper was glass, a massive arch that hit its apex twenty feet above my head. My jaw dropped at the view. It wasn't the tallest building in the city, but it was in the running and the panoramic view was beautiful. I walked out onto the floor proper and was instantly drawn to one of the glass walls. I stared out at the Gold Coast and Lake Michigan beyond it. Looked straight down, the cars going by looked like tiny beetles crawling along.
Looking down also gave me a wicked case of vertigo. I stumbled back and stared at the horizon again instead. From up here, the city looked completely different, her blemishes too far away to be seen, her visage strong and lovely in a way that demanded respect.
"Mr. Dresden," a woman's voice said behind me. I snapped out of my reverie and spun around.
On the opposite end of the room was a woman who I assumed was Marcone's secretary. She was giving me a severe, impatient frown, like a school teacher that just found a student slacking off during an assignment.
I shuffled forward. "Yeah, sorry. Gorgeous view from up here." I smiled at her apologetically.
She touched her hand to her ear, and I could see a device was hooked around the shell of her ear, a thin microphone extending from it, out over her mouth. "Sir?" She was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded to me. "Go in."
Wow, five words altogether. I think I just met the short-spoken phone secretary I'd spoken to before. I regaled her with an even bigger grin before walking to the door. Not only were the outer walls glass, but the inner ones as well, albeit a more opaque, fogged type. The door was the same, with a shiny chrome handle that looked like it'd just been polished. Everything was very sleek and chic.
I walked into Marcone's office, which was similarly styled. It was like walking into an opal, with the cream tiled floor and silver fixtures and glass tables. Hendricks' red hair stood out starkly, incongruous in the rest of the room. He was seated at a desk just inside, and as soon as he saw me, he shut the laptop in front of him and spun around the pull the plug out of the wall.
I felt that was an unfair reaction to my presence. I had yet to wreck any of Marcone's electronics. I'd been really good about that so far.
"Hi, Cujo. You summoned me?"
Hendricks put a finger to his lips and said quietly, "Phone." He pointed one finger towards the far end of the room, silently urging me along.
The wall in front of me was another floor to ceiling window, overlooking the Loop and the Chicago sprawl. In front of it was a large desk that was immaculately organized. All the papers were stacked neatly, the computer was sitting even on the corner, and a silver gyroscope was perfectly balanced on a stand at the exact middle of the desk. It lacked a name plate, probably because no one walked into this office not knowing exactly who it belonged to.
Behind the desk was another one of those executive chairs that looked sinfully comfortable. It was turned slightly away from me, but I could see Marcone's profile around the wings. As I got close, I could hear him talking. I sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and listened in.
"No, I'm glad to take care of it. It's the least I can do." Marcone chuckled softly. "I know, the timing was dreadful. Has it scared you off? It was hard enough to get you to leave New York. Oh, I know how Manhattanites are, you never want to leave your little island." He hummed in vague agreement. "I suppose that's true enough, but at least I have the excuse of having a business to run. Yes, well, next time will go better, I promise you. Yes, I'll see you then. Have a good day, Bobby."
At last, Marcone spun his chair back towards me and put the handset back on its cradle. "Harry. I wasn't expecting you so soon. Sorry to make you wait."
"It's okay, I assume whoever Bobby is, they're more important than I am." I sniffed disdainfully and worked up a good pout. "I'm not the apple of your eye anymore, John, I get it."
Marcone smirked. "Bobby is the person whose window I am replacing after you had me shoot it out last night. I should have you apologize to Mr. DeNiro yourself, as it was your insane plan that resulted in the damage."
"DeNiro. Bobby DeNiro." My eyes widened. "That Bobby DeNiro? Taxi Driver DeNiro? Young Don Corleone DeNiro? Raging Bull DeNiro?"
Marcone nodded, and the man looked just slightly smug. "The same."
"You're pals with Robert DeNiro."
"Acquaintances, yes." He put his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers against his mouth and I just knew he was hiding a grin.
I laughed and shook my head. "Stars, John. Tell me the truth, you just want to buddy up to him so he'll play you in your biopic, I Was A Criminal Scumbag."
The smile he'd been suppressing appeared and he leaned back in his chair, rocking in it comfortably. "Hm, I don't know. I suppose he could do if Clooney was too busy to play the role."
"Wow, you want Clooney? Narcissistic much?"
"What about you, Harry?" He eyed me critically. "Robert Downey Jr, perhaps? He was recently in a very funny noir film."
"Wasn't he in prison for cocaine possession or something?"
"He's sober now. And a remarkable actor."
I snorted. "Yeah, no thanks."
"All right, give me time and I'll think of someone more suitable." With that, some of the humor left his face. "Now, I think you and I have a few things to talk about."
Just then I discovered my armchair spun. I quickly took advantage of this by spinning in circles. "Oh, do we?"
"Yes." He paused, watching me. "Are you going to sit still?"
"Signs point to no." I was really enjoying spinning, if only because it obviously bothered Marcone. I couldn't keep it up for long though; Hendricks walked up to me and grabbed the back of my chair in both hands, halting my twirling. "Dammit, Cujo, I thought we had an understanding."
Hendricks grunted and went back to his desk. He could get chatty when it was just us in my apartment, but when Marcone was around, he got quiet again. And clearly our tentative truce was void when Marcone was involved.
I titled my head and glared at Marcone. "Okay, what?"
"Well, first," he said, his lips twitching up in a vaguely fond look, "thank you for your assistance with Mr. Vail. Your methods were rather extreme, but undeniably effective."
I still had no idea what to do with someone who actually thanked me for my work, so I snapped back, all ruffled feathers, "No, first let's talk about the fact you're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you throw down with the vampires."
You could have heard a pin drop. Nothing about Marcone's expression changed but he still managed to suddenly seem a lot less amiable towards me. When he spoke, his voice was measured and calm. "Let me, Harry?"
A small, pragmatic part of me pointed out that I was in Marcone's territory and had no home field advantages. And, without my duster, I was certain Hendricks could easily put a bullet in me from behind before I knew I was danger. The biggest, more reckless part of me ignored the tiny sensible part in favor of continuing. "Yeah, let you. You're talking about something that's solidly in my jurisdiction, and I'm telling you to back off. I know Bianca St. Clair is your only competition in the prostitution game, but it isn't worth taking her on." I took a slow, deep breath, and met Marcone's eyes steadily. "I need you to trust me on this. You won't make it through this alive."
Marcone stared back into my eyes, and it was like we were locked in a battle of wills. Others would mistake it for a staring contest, but they'd be wrong.
"Once again," Marcone said softly, "you are withholding information in an effort to protect me. Do we have to go through this again, Harry?"
"This is different. You're going to be picking a fight and you have no idea what you're getting into."
"Then tell me."
I put my face in my hands and tried to rub the stress and exasperation away. No luck. "This isn't worth having a monopoly on the sex trade, John." I dropped my hands and leaned forward on his desk, close enough now to see the flecks of hazel in his pale green eyes. "Vampires have been around longer and they aren't going to play fair with you if you threaten them." I tapped my finger against the desk for emphasis as I said, "Let. This. Go."
Probably because he knew how much it would startle me, Marcone reached out and put one of his hands over mine, pressing it against the glass. "Harry. You are working under the incorrect assumption that I am doing this simply to expand one aspect of my business. While that would be a fringe benefit, there are bigger stakes."
I felt my face grow warm under his intense gaze. I looked away and tried to lean back in my chair, but Marcone's hand tightened around mine, stopping me. "They feed on Chicago, do they not? In the last few years, more and more young women have vanished off the streets. Some of that might be just normal disappearances, but you and I know that Bianca St. Clair is growing in power and is culling humans accordingly."
Worst part was he was right. Bianca was rising in the eyes of the Red Court. From what I heard, she was due to be named head of her own house, the first Red Court stronghold this far north, which meant she'd gain even more power. Reds would go to join her house and she'd have more mouths to feed. More disappearances were a given. There was also the matter of the people the Red Court enslaved when they addicted them to their narcotic venom and their bites. It was worse than Marcone knew. And that was before bringing the other Courts into account.
Of course I wasn't about to tell him that. He didn't need more justification. "John."
"You're not the sort of man that ignores the suffering of innocents, Harry," Marcone murmured.
"I know. Christ, John, I know." My voice got louder as I went on, my temper picking up. "You think the entire supernatural community is blind to what the vampires do? Don't you think if we could do something, we would? This isn't some fancy new business opportunity for you to try to buy into. This is a conflict that's been going on since before either of us were alive and you don't want to get into it." Marcone opened his mouth to reply and I cut him off, thumping my fist against the desk. "You wanted a supernatural advisor, you got one, so listen to my damn advice!"
On the desk, there was a whirring, popping noise. Marcone's computer took offense at my rising emotions and started smoking from the vents.
Marcone sighed. "And this is why I invested in private servers to back-up data after hiring you."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"No, it's fine." Marcone leaned forward on the desk, his hands clasped and tucked under his chin. He regarded me levelly, lacking all the anger I was expecting from him. He didn't seem surprised by my outburst. "I might be asking too much of you at this juncture."
I snorted. "This isn't a matter of timing."
"I disagree. At this point, you trust me enough not to kill you, but not enough to keep myself safe. That will hopefully change."
"Should you be telling me this?"
"It shouldn't be news to you that I want your trust. I need you on my side, Harry. You are an important part of my plans for Chicago." He smiled enigmatically.
"That's ominous," I joked weakly. "Want to throw in an evil laugh there for flavor? I'm not sure if you're a big enough cliche yet."
"If I were a cliche, I'd be bragging about my plan. Possibly while stroking a white Persian cat."
"Hey, that'd be nice. Why don't you do that so I'll know what the hell you're going on about?"
Marcone shook his head and kept smiling, which was starting to drive me crazy. "Someday, perhaps. But not now." He pushed his chair away from his desk and to a file cabinet in the corner of the room, gliding across the floor. "Perhaps you and I will start smaller. It's about time we got used to collaborating peacefully."
I watched him pull a file folder out of one of the drawers with narrowed eyes. I was perfectly happy about not being used to collaborating with Marcone. I liked the boundaries drawn between us. It seemed they were gradually eroding over time, my autonomy being whittled away. "Why?"
"Because, if all goes well, we will be collaborating often in the future." He put a few folders on his lap and slid back over to the desk. I had the distinct impression he was a fan of abusing his rolling chair.
"Not sure how I feel about getting friendly with you, John."
"Oh, Harry, you've been nothing but amicable so far," he purred, placing the folders on the desk. "I think the wizard doth protest too much."
The wizard was going to punch him in the face if he didn't quit the smug snake act. I grabbed a folder and took a look. "I have not yet begun to protest." I lost the thread of our banter when I looked inside the folder and found building plans. "What am I looking at?"
"A new property I've purchased. I'm hoping to put a new central office there while I have it renovated." He went back to the villainous slouch and steepled finger pose that made me want to tease him mercilessly. "Your home, it's protected from supernatural threats, correct?"
"Yeah, I'm warded pretty well. Why?"
"Would it be possible for a non-magical being to have such protections?"
"That depends on the way the wards are set up and the place that's being protected." I caught on quickly. "You want to spook-proof this place?"
Marcone nodded. "For reasons that don't need to be examined right now, I think it'd be prudent for me to have certain measures put into place and to learn how to keep myself secure."
"What did you have in mind?" I asked in a guarded tone.
"What's available?"
That was a loaded question. My eyes rolled skyward as I thought of all the magic I had laid around my apartment and the protections I'd seen others use. And I do mean skyward; the ceiling was glass too. "There's... reflective wards, spells that react to malicious intent, inscribed runes, utilizing thirteens to disperse harmful ambient magic, reinforcing thresholds, prepared seals, strategically placed Hermetic circles, using iron and silver in the architecture, faith symbology--"
"We'll start with those then," Marcone said.
"What, all of them? Are you..." I rubbed my eyes again. This was just a reminder that Marcone, however scarily well-informed he was, did not understand magic. I'd grown up in this invisible world and he was playing catch-up. "John, even I don't use all of those."
"Is there some limitation? Too much magical energy in one place causing problems?"
"No, but--"
"Would using as many forms of protection as possible not make the room safer?"
"Yeah but-- No, don't, let me finish!" I waved a finger at him and Marcone started laughing at me, quietly and behind a fist, but I could see his eyes brighten. God, one day I was going to snap and punch him and he'd have no one to blame but himself, I swear. "Okay, yes, in theory more is better, but to get everything working together without cancelling things out by accident, that takes a lot of planning. This isn't something I could bang out in a day or two."
He cleared his throat and settled down. Well, gee, glad he found me so amusing. Hell's bells. "How long would you need?"
"I don't know. I've never done anything that extensive."
He made a contemplative humming noise under his breath and pulled a little leather-bound book out of his desk. He started flipping through it, reading quickly. "A few weeks, then?"
"I... I don't know, John. Yeah, weeks, maybe a month or two, depending how much time I can devote to it. Why?"
"But you're capable of doing it?"
"Yeah, I guess." If I wasn't up to snuff on some things, I had a lab assistant who was. "Why do you need the magical equivalent of a panic room? What's your game here?"
Marcone looked at me and smiled. "Play along and you'll find out." He leaned back and addressed Cujo. "Mr. Hendricks, if you would speak to Ms. Reynolds, see what we could do about opening up my evenings for the next month or so, barring emergencies."
Hendricks nodded and left the room. I turned back to Marcone. "You're serious."
"Yes. I have the feeling measures like this are going to be necessary for my future endeavors." He fixed me another of his piercing stares. "I need your help, Harry. I'm sure you realize I am, despite my best efforts, not au fait with the intricacies of the supernatural. I need to rectify that."
I stood up and placed my palms against the desk, leaning over him. He didn't seem at all nervous at my gesture, which was annoying but to be expected. I glared down at him anyway. "John. I don't know if it escaped your notice, but you're a murderer and a vice lord. What makes you think I'm going to help you gain more power than you already have?"
"Because I am a professional monster, Harry," he conceded dispassionately, "but I'm much more than that. And deep down you want to know what my plans are and where you fit into them. You're curious, and there is no force in the universe more inexorable than curiosity."
"You're not going to change my mind."
"So you keep telling me." The smile on his face softened to something guileless and honest. "Let me convince you. In fact," he rose to his feet and circled the desk. I recoiled instinctively when he put a hand on my shoulder. His voice had lowered enough it was just above a whisper. "How about a deal, Harry? The next time I ask you about the matter of Chicago's vampire problem, if you still don't believe me and trust I know what I'm doing, then I'll dissolve your contract."
I staggered like he'd hit me, gawking at him. "What?"
"Exactly what I said," he murmured. "Give me a chance to show you what I intend. If you still don't want to help me, then we'll broker a dissolution of your contract."
I was instantly suspicious. "What's the catch?"
"There's no catch." His fingers dug into my shoulder a little. "Look at it from my perspective. I recruited you for specific purposes. If I cannot gain your trust, you'll be useless to me. It'd be more economical to cut you lose and seek out another magical consultant."
"You want me to trust you, John?" I didn't hide the thick layer of skepticism in my words.
"Yes," Marcone answered, apparently unaware of what he was asking of me, that it was just not gonna happen. Ever. "So does that sound fair, Harry? A deal between us?"
I considered it. It was very tempting, given the fact I was currently having a pretty severe existential crisis. There was no downside. If he had some insanely persuasive reason for needing to know about the vampires, I'd be stuck with the status quo. But it was more likely I'd remain unswayed, get freed from my contract, and return to life pre-Marcone.
"A note of caution before you answer," Marcone added. "I want your loyalty, Harry. I will work very hard to secure it. I can be convincing when I want to be." He was close enough that I could smell his cologne and it was hard for me to stand still, not let him intimidate me. This near, my height advantage was more obvious and I shouldn't have been so disquieted. The man had presence though, an undeniable, natural ability to compel.
To borrow a line from DC, there was nothing mere about this mortal.
"I have it on good authority I'm a stubborn son of a bitch," I replied.
"Oh, you are. Infuriating but doubtlessly entertaining." He smiled and slid his grip off my shoulder, brushing down my arm in a blatantly proprietary gesture before he offered it for a handshake. "Do we have a deal?"
He knew before he even asked what my answer would be. Like there could be any doubt I wouldn't take him up on the offer with the prospect of freedom at stake. Like I would let his easy confidence in his power over me go unchallenged.
I shook his hand. "Deal."
Chapter Ten
ALMOST 50K WORDS OH MY FUCK WHAT
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