A sequel
An as yet unnamed sequel to Abandon with... plot and such.
Betad by edana_ni_emer and gehayi
+Title - Untitled chapters 1 and 2
+Author - Shiplizard
+Pairing - Harry/Bob established relationship
+Rating - PG-13, these chapters
+Book or TV-verse - Book
+Summary - Strange signs on the street. Friendly neighborhood spirit of intellect acting oddly. Molly Carpenter has an unexpected new boyfriend. Unfortunately, this is no weirder than Harry's life usually is-- but worse is coming.
+Warnings - Spoilers for White Night
+Word count - 1399
It's the little conversations that are important. Of course, they're the ones you always forget. The boring, tiny, important little details.
I was repairing Little Chicago with Bob. Little Chicago is a scale model of the city-- almost perfectly accurate. The city changes-- I have to change the model with it-- but I do my best to keep it up to date. The giant hole melted through the center, that wasn't life-accurate.
If I'd been a little less lucky, it would have been a giant hole melted through my head. I'd had a run-in with a member of what I called the Black Council-- a group of warlocks, destructive magic users, who were trying to... what? Bring down the White Council, I knew that much. Summon ancient, horrible things to earth.
You know the type.
That was just a small fraction of the fun I'd had over the last few months. Another adventure had involved the White Court-- vampires that fed on emotion. I used to think that they were the most reasonable, the most humane of the vampire. They seem so friendly. They're well dressed. Appealing. Very polite as they snacked on your soul.
Lara Raith was the current power that was in the white council, through the puppet figure of her father Lord Raith. She was also my half brother's half sister-- don't ask-- and she had nearly killed me. She'd been trying to help, and she had failed to drain my soul, so I was trying not to hold it against her-- much.
But she shouldn't have failed.
"She said the last person I was with was Susan," I mused to Bob, who paused in his direction giving to roll his eyes.
"I know. I suppose not having sex for four years is worth not dying, but only barely. If I were you-"
"But Bob," I stopped him. "Susan's not?"
The skull swiveled, the orange light in the eyesockets flaring with interest. Bob's voice was a full of delight and reproach. "Harry! You got laid and didn't tell me!
"You were there," I said, my brow furrowing. "Every time."
"Oh." The eye-lights rolled in their sockets. "That. You got my hopes up. Harry, that doesn't count. Not as far as a Raith is concerned."
"Why not?" I asked, frowning.
"Goodness, you're a puritan when it comes to sex magic." The skull sighed theatrically. "Sex as a ritual involves two people. At least two," he corrected himself immediately. "A meeting of nearly-equals. A mingling of similar energies. A joining-" his tone was getting steadily more lavicious. I cut him off.
"And that didn't happen."
"Of course not. Our energies aren't similar at all-- you're a human, a combination of spirit and all four elements and a bunch of fiddly energies. I'm a comparatively straightforward air spirit."
"I don't buy it. If you were that straightforward, you'd get hot for gentle spring breezes, not trashy romance novels."
"Academic interest," Bob told me, not for the first time. Not for the first time, I didn't quite buy it.
"You're sure? You aren't the slightest bit jealous about mingling energies?" I teased him.
"This from a man who hasn't mingled in four years."
"At least I have."
Bob was quiet for a moment, then his eyes flared to life and he snapped "Careful with that sigil! Do you want this whole place blown up?" I inspected the symbol-- not that dire a mistake, I thought. But I fixed it, and went on with my repairs.
Two days later, something unsettling happened. I'd gone out for groceries-- we were out of catfood, and dogfood; I'd woken up with thirty pounds of grey tomcat sitting on my chest as Mister stared into my face, paws on the mattress on either side of my face. I'd managed to dislodge him and rolled over and right into Mouse, standing beside the bed and giving me a doggy look of hurt and confusion.
The dual attack disarmed me-- grumbling, I'd taken some of the cash from my last case (a blessedly simple cat tracking and retrieval) and gone shopping.
When I got back, the apartment seemed odd somehow. Things had been rearranged. I wrote it off to my brownie housekeepers; they always left a tingle of energy around. I should have trusted my instincts, but I was busy with new information from the white council. I let it go.
A month later, I'd almost totally forgotten the incident. I was puttering upstairs, working on a new force ring, when the phone rang.
"Harry Dresden," I said cheerfully.
"Dresden." Sergeant Karrin Murphy. She sounded tense-- this wasn't a personal call. "Need you to come look at something."
"On my way. Um, is this--"
"You'll be paid. The department actually wants you here this time." Something about the statement seemed to amuse her, in a dark way. I could understand that-- she'd been busted down to Sergeant for getting involved in one of my battles. But why did they want me around this time?
I followed her directions out to a warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago, and found her, a few other department members, and a black and white.
Behind them, inside the empty warehouse, a magic circle was drawn on the ground in what looked like red spraypaint. It was a series of concentric circles, actually-- each ringed with dozens of symbols. But it didn't have an open center-- the circles got smaller until the symbols were barely legible, and at the dead center of it was a flat black stone.
That wasn't right. Circles are for holding things in, and then releasing-- or keeping things out. That requires an open center to do the holding or the protecting. I'd never seen something like this before, and I didn't like it.
Someone was taking pictures of it-- a forensics officer was kneeling at the perimeter, scraping at and grumbling.
Murphy gave me a wry look. "The city called me when they realized it didn't scrub off."
I cursed. Someone was serious about their ritual being uninterupted. It hadn't been used yet--there hadn't been a discharge of energy through it. No, this was waiting for something. Someone. I had an ugly feeling that I knew who, too.
"And they'd like you to politely ask all your weirdo friends if they're drawing on city property," Murphy said, cracking a weary smile. "Not that anyone said weirdo friends. I believe the official term was 'Wicca-satanist potheads.'"
I allowed myself to feel offended for a second-- not just for myself, but for the city's Wiccan and witch population. The Ordo Lebes weren't satanists, or potheads, and they certainly weren't leaving ugly graffiti all over the place.
"I think this is a little bigger than some stoned kids, Murph."
She nodded, her smile fading, replaced by resolve. "So do I." She's cute when she's intent, and her little turned-up nose wrinkles. You could almost forget that she's a blackbelt, not to mention a veteran cop who's looked vampires in the eyes and fought at my side against ghouls and demons.
Well, maybe someone could. I couldn't. I'd rather have her by my side than a tank.
"What do you know?"
"Nothing yet. I've never seen something like it before," I admitted. "I'll get on researching it, though. Call you the second I've got something." A thought struck me. "Keep track of any of the pictures that are taken of it, okay?"
"Already done. I'm getting the originals and they'll have to sign out the copies through me."
Murphy's a shrewd woman. And she knows more about magic than most non-magic users.
"It felt like bad news," she said simply, and handed me a polaroid-- the circle. I tucked it with distaste into the pocket of my duster. "Be careful."
"Murph. Who are you talking to?"
"I know. Lost cause."
I started away from Murphy, to have a look around-- she stopped me. "Oh, hey. Did you know that your apprentice has been hanging around the morgue?"
Alarmed, I stopped dead. Okay, bad phrase. But: "What? No! What's she doing?"
This smile wasn't quite so weary. "Dating Butters, apparently."
I blinked. Center-less magic circles I could start to understand. Carefully, slowly, picking my way through the symbolism with the help of my books and my local spirit of intellect.
Molly Carpenter.
Waldo Butters.
Now that was just strange.
Betad by edana_ni_emer and gehayi
+Title - Untitled chapters 1 and 2
+Author - Shiplizard
+Pairing - Harry/Bob established relationship
+Rating - PG-13, these chapters
+Book or TV-verse - Book
+Summary - Strange signs on the street. Friendly neighborhood spirit of intellect acting oddly. Molly Carpenter has an unexpected new boyfriend. Unfortunately, this is no weirder than Harry's life usually is-- but worse is coming.
+Warnings - Spoilers for White Night
+Word count - 1399
It's the little conversations that are important. Of course, they're the ones you always forget. The boring, tiny, important little details.
I was repairing Little Chicago with Bob. Little Chicago is a scale model of the city-- almost perfectly accurate. The city changes-- I have to change the model with it-- but I do my best to keep it up to date. The giant hole melted through the center, that wasn't life-accurate.
If I'd been a little less lucky, it would have been a giant hole melted through my head. I'd had a run-in with a member of what I called the Black Council-- a group of warlocks, destructive magic users, who were trying to... what? Bring down the White Council, I knew that much. Summon ancient, horrible things to earth.
You know the type.
That was just a small fraction of the fun I'd had over the last few months. Another adventure had involved the White Court-- vampires that fed on emotion. I used to think that they were the most reasonable, the most humane of the vampire. They seem so friendly. They're well dressed. Appealing. Very polite as they snacked on your soul.
Lara Raith was the current power that was in the white council, through the puppet figure of her father Lord Raith. She was also my half brother's half sister-- don't ask-- and she had nearly killed me. She'd been trying to help, and she had failed to drain my soul, so I was trying not to hold it against her-- much.
But she shouldn't have failed.
"She said the last person I was with was Susan," I mused to Bob, who paused in his direction giving to roll his eyes.
"I know. I suppose not having sex for four years is worth not dying, but only barely. If I were you-"
"But Bob," I stopped him. "Susan's not?"
The skull swiveled, the orange light in the eyesockets flaring with interest. Bob's voice was a full of delight and reproach. "Harry! You got laid and didn't tell me!
"You were there," I said, my brow furrowing. "Every time."
"Oh." The eye-lights rolled in their sockets. "That. You got my hopes up. Harry, that doesn't count. Not as far as a Raith is concerned."
"Why not?" I asked, frowning.
"Goodness, you're a puritan when it comes to sex magic." The skull sighed theatrically. "Sex as a ritual involves two people. At least two," he corrected himself immediately. "A meeting of nearly-equals. A mingling of similar energies. A joining-" his tone was getting steadily more lavicious. I cut him off.
"And that didn't happen."
"Of course not. Our energies aren't similar at all-- you're a human, a combination of spirit and all four elements and a bunch of fiddly energies. I'm a comparatively straightforward air spirit."
"I don't buy it. If you were that straightforward, you'd get hot for gentle spring breezes, not trashy romance novels."
"Academic interest," Bob told me, not for the first time. Not for the first time, I didn't quite buy it.
"You're sure? You aren't the slightest bit jealous about mingling energies?" I teased him.
"This from a man who hasn't mingled in four years."
"At least I have."
Bob was quiet for a moment, then his eyes flared to life and he snapped "Careful with that sigil! Do you want this whole place blown up?" I inspected the symbol-- not that dire a mistake, I thought. But I fixed it, and went on with my repairs.
Two days later, something unsettling happened. I'd gone out for groceries-- we were out of catfood, and dogfood; I'd woken up with thirty pounds of grey tomcat sitting on my chest as Mister stared into my face, paws on the mattress on either side of my face. I'd managed to dislodge him and rolled over and right into Mouse, standing beside the bed and giving me a doggy look of hurt and confusion.
The dual attack disarmed me-- grumbling, I'd taken some of the cash from my last case (a blessedly simple cat tracking and retrieval) and gone shopping.
When I got back, the apartment seemed odd somehow. Things had been rearranged. I wrote it off to my brownie housekeepers; they always left a tingle of energy around. I should have trusted my instincts, but I was busy with new information from the white council. I let it go.
A month later, I'd almost totally forgotten the incident. I was puttering upstairs, working on a new force ring, when the phone rang.
"Harry Dresden," I said cheerfully.
"Dresden." Sergeant Karrin Murphy. She sounded tense-- this wasn't a personal call. "Need you to come look at something."
"On my way. Um, is this--"
"You'll be paid. The department actually wants you here this time." Something about the statement seemed to amuse her, in a dark way. I could understand that-- she'd been busted down to Sergeant for getting involved in one of my battles. But why did they want me around this time?
I followed her directions out to a warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago, and found her, a few other department members, and a black and white.
Behind them, inside the empty warehouse, a magic circle was drawn on the ground in what looked like red spraypaint. It was a series of concentric circles, actually-- each ringed with dozens of symbols. But it didn't have an open center-- the circles got smaller until the symbols were barely legible, and at the dead center of it was a flat black stone.
That wasn't right. Circles are for holding things in, and then releasing-- or keeping things out. That requires an open center to do the holding or the protecting. I'd never seen something like this before, and I didn't like it.
Someone was taking pictures of it-- a forensics officer was kneeling at the perimeter, scraping at and grumbling.
Murphy gave me a wry look. "The city called me when they realized it didn't scrub off."
I cursed. Someone was serious about their ritual being uninterupted. It hadn't been used yet--there hadn't been a discharge of energy through it. No, this was waiting for something. Someone. I had an ugly feeling that I knew who, too.
"And they'd like you to politely ask all your weirdo friends if they're drawing on city property," Murphy said, cracking a weary smile. "Not that anyone said weirdo friends. I believe the official term was 'Wicca-satanist potheads.'"
I allowed myself to feel offended for a second-- not just for myself, but for the city's Wiccan and witch population. The Ordo Lebes weren't satanists, or potheads, and they certainly weren't leaving ugly graffiti all over the place.
"I think this is a little bigger than some stoned kids, Murph."
She nodded, her smile fading, replaced by resolve. "So do I." She's cute when she's intent, and her little turned-up nose wrinkles. You could almost forget that she's a blackbelt, not to mention a veteran cop who's looked vampires in the eyes and fought at my side against ghouls and demons.
Well, maybe someone could. I couldn't. I'd rather have her by my side than a tank.
"What do you know?"
"Nothing yet. I've never seen something like it before," I admitted. "I'll get on researching it, though. Call you the second I've got something." A thought struck me. "Keep track of any of the pictures that are taken of it, okay?"
"Already done. I'm getting the originals and they'll have to sign out the copies through me."
Murphy's a shrewd woman. And she knows more about magic than most non-magic users.
"It felt like bad news," she said simply, and handed me a polaroid-- the circle. I tucked it with distaste into the pocket of my duster. "Be careful."
"Murph. Who are you talking to?"
"I know. Lost cause."
I started away from Murphy, to have a look around-- she stopped me. "Oh, hey. Did you know that your apprentice has been hanging around the morgue?"
Alarmed, I stopped dead. Okay, bad phrase. But: "What? No! What's she doing?"
This smile wasn't quite so weary. "Dating Butters, apparently."
I blinked. Center-less magic circles I could start to understand. Carefully, slowly, picking my way through the symbolism with the help of my books and my local spirit of intellect.
Molly Carpenter.
Waldo Butters.
Now that was just strange.