Strange Devices 7 and 8
+Title - Strange Devices chapters 7 and 8 (Was called Untitled. Prequel: Abandon, Chapters 1 and 2, Chapters 3 and 4, Chapters 5 and 6).
+Author - Shiplizard
+Pairing - Harry/Bob established relationship
+Rating - PG-13
+Book or TV-verse - Book
+Summary - Harry gets unpleasant surprises and an equally unwelcome visitor. Can You Spot The Plot Twist? Harry can't.
+Warnings - Spoilers for White Night.
+Word count - 3863
+Betas - edana_ni_emer and gehayi
7.
It never rains but it pours. The weeks after the attack on my apartment were filled with one ugly surprise after the next, from all sides. One after another, dropped into my lap, some of them from people I considered friends. Even in my own damn lab.
It wasn’t a good week.
On Monday, it was Murphy, stopping by my office with a folder of evidence.
Meghan, winner of America’s Next Top Henchmodel, had cracked like thin ice. She had spilled everything she knew; it wasn’t much. But there was a little sheet with the bullet-points of her confession.
Item one: Word of Keebler?
I almost threw something through a window. Not demonically induced rage; I controlled the impulse. I controlled my frustration at myself. I’d told him, dammit, that they wouldn’t try anything...
The rest of the list was useless. She had been contacted through e-mail, met a man once. She’d done it for cash, for excitement, and mostly because the man had told her to. She couldn’t describe him, and had been visibly and (Murphy thought) genuinely distressed by her inability to describe the man.
"A glamour," I said tiredly. "Maybe a compulsion on top of that."
"I had someone I trust go over the coffee shop where they met," Murphy said, looking up at me, sympathy on her face. "No prints. No left items. The staff remembers her but not him. He didn’t order anything. No leads-I’m sorry, Harry."
"It’s not your fault. He knew what he was doing. And he threw her straight to the wolves, he had to have known..." I smoothed my hands across my face.
"Do you know who it is?" Murphy asked. "What did he want?"
"It was Cowl. Or someone who works for him, maybe Greycloak."
"Cowl was part of that group-Halloween, the storm, and the blackout, right?" There was a definite growl in Murphy’s voice.
"Yeah. He wanted my research assistant." I stared at the desk. "Bob was a spirit. He kept notes for me. He was a friend. And he knew more about Cowl’s magic than anyone else on our side than I know of. Cowl was using him, because he knew so much-and he stopped him. He stopped the whole thing, he saved Chicago. And he just destroyed him."
"Harry-" Murphy looked appalled. "I can’t get her with a murder charge. They won’t accept that."
"Hell’s bell’s, Murphy, she didn’t know what she was doing! She didn’t even know that he was in there. She didn’t understand."
"She tased you. She understands that!" Murphy shook her head shortly, sparks snapping in her bright blue eyes. "You could press assault charges. Trespassing."
"How rich are her parents, Murph?" I asked wearily.
"...very," Murphy admitted.
"I might be able to afford the lawyer. Thomas would help if I asked. But I don’t have the time." I shook my head, and Murphy almost snarled. She looked so frustrated. How often did she see this? Rich kids. Doing stupid things because they could, and getting off. And some dark part of me wanted Meghan scared and punished for what she’d done.
I knew better. I had to. "She may be in danger at this point, too. See if you can talk her into community work-Saint Mary of the Angels."
Murphy nodded, her face tight. "I know where you’re coming from. But Harry, what that kid did-"
"She didn’t know." And I wasn’t the White Council. "I scared her pretty badly."
"Not enough." Murphy took a deep breath, recentering and focusing herself. "Harry, this is a bad time, but I have to ask."
"The circles. No leads yet. Um, if it’s a priority, I could start working on a potion to remove the paint-"
"There’s another one." Murphy nodded at the folder. "There’s the address and some more photographs."
"On it, boss," I said, giving her a determined, chin up smile that didn’t quite come together.
Murphy looked at me for a moment, and then came forward and hugged me, tightly. I wrapped my arms around her back for a moment, trying not to lean on her. "I’ll work on that potion. So the city can remove the circles."
"I’ll tell our wanna-be actress about the church."
"America’s Next Top Henchmodel," I said darkly, and we shared a mirthless smile.
That was Monday.
Wednesday I spent in my lab. Swearing at little Chicago. I’d set up markers where Bob had seen ghouls surveying. Seen from above, they formed a circle, with one point missing.
Then I’d put on markers for the two graffiti circles that Murphy had told me about. Guess what? The first circle, the one that had already been there when Bob went scouting, filled in the missing point. The second circle, that had come afterwards, was directly on one of the survey sites. So much for harmless graffiti.
I was brewing a potion as I worked-the most powerful cleanser I could find in any of my books. This wasn’t teen dabbling, it wouldn’t be a simple charm or spell that I could undo with a little finesse and a little magic. And it was more important than ever that these things get scrubbed off the streets.
It was going to be a pain. It was going to be dangerous.
It was going to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
I summoned my blasting rod and force-rings as I ran up the subbasement steps, slipping them on before I opened the door with an almost manic smile. "HI."
The man at my door-older, square-jawed, tight-face and as exhausted as me-did not so much as blink. "Warden Dresden. May I come in?"
I glared. "Warden Morgan. You may not."
Morgan glared at me. "Very well."
"Are you just here to yell at me? Because I don’t have time," I said bitterly.
"I am here because of the circles that have been appearing on the city streets."
"I didn’t put them there," I snapped.
"No," Morgan said quietly. "I do not have your freedom to associate with the city’s police department. But the Council is not blind. We have examined them. I do not recognize them, and though several of the Wardens have tried, none of us can remove them. I don’t believe that you’re capable of that."
"...Oh."
Morgan almost smiled, I think, just to see me that off balance. Just a grim, smug little twitch at the corner of his tight, lined mouth. "You did not create the circles. The homunculus, on the other hand-did you think I wouldn’t find out?"
"The what?" There. The universe was back in order. Morgan was accusing me of something completely ridiculous.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed and he glared into my face, and his face settled into that sour, resigned look he gets when he can’t pin something on me. "Someone has made one."
"Good to know."
In happier days, I don’t think the White Council even would have been involved in this. Yes, homunculi can be very dangerous. Look up the Golem of Prague sometime. But more often than not, they’re cute, harmless little vanities. Vainer, more established wizards sometimes keep them for odd jobs.
Make a humanoid form. Bind a spirit to it. It moves. They can be magical servants, they can be decorations-singing harps made it into a few fairy tales- or they can be weapons. Tireless, merciless, brutally strong constructs. That’s IF the body you’ve made is made right, and if the spirit is strong enough to control it. It takes a really delicate touch to make anything better than a shambling hulk.
Fantastic. What a mess waiting to happen. And I didn’t have time to track it down.
"Assuming for a second that I have nothing to do with this," I said to Morgan, "What are your odds that it’s not connected to the circles, the war, or both?"
"I don’t gamble," Morgan said shortly. He frowned, and admitted, "but I’m not optimistic, either."
The rest of Morgan’s news was the usual-depressing and enraging. Wardens being attacked, cars bombed. Homes burned. No casualties this month, at least. He gave me the fish-eye the whole time.
Friday started with Thomas calling before I was out of bed.
"I have a guy you could talk to. He’s, um, White Court, but-not really, he’s-he could help you. His name is Robin-- he’s been around a while, he could help you with your research-"
Replace Bob. With a White Court vampire.
"Goodbye, Thomas." I hung up and went back to sleep.
Thomas waited until I was in the office to call again.
"No, Thomas," I said shortly, but didn’t hang up on him.
"Listen, Harry," he said firmly. "This guy could really help. Don’t even think of him as White Court. He’s a throwback; he’s never killed, I don’t think he can, he’s just old and experienced. He’s a bookworm; he probably knows about Kemmler and those circles. Give him a shot, Harry."
"Forget it. I don’t know this guy from Adam, I’m not letting him waltz into my house and feed me information," I said, shaking my head.
Thomas paused; I heard a low voice speaking to him. "It’s personal for him, Harry. He wants to help."
"That’s convenient. Him showing up right now."
"He’s here because I brought him here!"
"I hope you kept the receipt," I said coldly. "Send him back for a refund. I don’t buy this for a second."
Thomas’ voice heated up with honest indignation. "No. I know him and I trust him. He isn’t a plant-"
"Sorry, Thomas." I hung up on my brother for the second time that day.
Then I glared out the window for a while, hoping for a customer to distract me. I was careful not to use my Will; that’s a pitfall for a wizard. You can influence people passing by, and then you get confused people wandering inside.
Not that that happened to me my first year with the office or anything.
I watched the passers-by and imagined them stopping. I got so into the people-watching that I was surprised when one of them actually DID stop.
He was tall-not as tall as me, but stately-and graceful. The way he paused outside the window, half-posing, made me think dancer. He didn’t look more than mid-thirties, but his hair was prematurely and vibrantly white. He wore a sharp, simple black jacket, simple knit shirt, simple loose pants; they served to emphasize the clean, athletic lines of his body.
I don’t generally notice the clean, athletic lines of other men’s bodies. I REALLY wasn’t used to my eyes lingering on certain parts of their anatomy. But I had to pull my gaze away from the curve of his ass, and it was an effort not to linger on the charmingly imperfect line of his lips and jaw...
By the pricking of my thumbs (or other, less cooperative parts of my anatomy), a White Court vampire this way comes. Thomas’ bookworm, looking about as pleased to be here as I was to see him.
I collected myself before he saw me looking, and was sitting straight up at my desk with my hands laced in front of me when he came through my door.
The bell dinged, and I smiled. It didn’t make it up to my eyes. "Robin Raith, I assume?"
"Wizard Dresden." He fixed his eyes on my face, but didn’t meet my gaze; it’s a trick wizards learn, and anyone who deals with them for long.
There was a quality in his voice that felt instantly familiar, and friendly. It made me want to trust him, to go and smooth the harsh worry off his face.
I hate White Court vampires.
"I was in Thomas Raith’s apartment this morning. I got a pretty good picture of your attitude from the half of the conversation I heard," he said, quirking a white eyebrow. He had distinct accent-somewhere in the Appalachians, I guessed.
"And you showed up anyway," I noted. "I hope you’re not expecting bus fare back."
"Oh, no. Your brother drove me."
I stiffened.
"Oh, yes, Wizard Dresden. I know that Thomas Raith is your maternal half-brother. I know lots of things. Including the details of Ms. Lara Raith’s little muppet show. Like Sesame Street, but more incest." His eyes flashed, and his jaw set. "Knowledge is my stock in trade, after all."
"Is this a threat?" I asked, a cold anger starting somewhere in my stomach.
"It’s just information. Gratis, me to you-so you could make an informed decision." He stood straighter, nearly meeting my eyes. "The way I see it, you pretty much have two options. You can let me help you, or you can kill me. But you can’t let me walk out of this office pissed off."
8.
I was going to throttle Thomas. For inviting this jackass to my city, for suggesting that he contact me, for allowing me to get put in this position. Blackmailed, in my own damn office, by a member of the White Court.
"Option three," I suggested coolly, facing down Robin Raith, keeping my temper firmly in check. "I can tell Lara Raith about the ‘information’ you’re using as leverage, and let her take care of you. I guarantee it’ll be much more interesting than if I did it."
"Oh, I know you can," Robin said, matter-of-factly. "I considered that part of option two. That’s the destroy-me one? Either way, nobody’s going to get too hot and bothered about it. I’m not powerful enough; White Court doesn’t want me, won’t claim me. Won’t revenge me, not even to take a potshot at you."
I blinked. I’d been expecting him to hold the White Court over my head-if I killed a member of house Raith unprovoked, it could destroy the fragile peace attempts that they were sponsoring. Maybe the situation could be salvaged if the White Council offered me up for judgment, but either way, it wouldn’t turn out well for me.
And he’d just admitted that that chamber wasn’t loaded. And since he was still technically not human, the White Council wouldn’t come down on me for violating one of the Laws of Magic if I killed him.
"What’s the catch?" I said, keeping up my confident façade while I puzzled it out.
"No catch. I’m nobody in particular," the vampire said, keeping his chin up. "Not very powerful. Stayed alive this long by collecting enough knowledge to be useful, now and then."
"So what’s stopping me from wasting you right now?"
"You are," he said quietly. "The last Heir of Kemmler-Cowl, he calls himself- tried to kill me not so long ago. In fact, he thinks I’m dead, or he’d still be trying. I’m safe, as long as I keep myself quiet, but someone I care about is still under attack. I can’t bring him down alone. But I’m not stopping until he’s dead, gone, and damn sure not coming back.
"This is me, trying to protect someone I care for. You can destroy me, if you think you have to. You can take that protection away from them. But I don’t think you will."
My eyes narrowed. Meghan had played on my chivalry, too. She’d attacked me-hurt me badly enough that all I could do was watch as she destroyed a friend.
"Cute story. Show me."
I met his gaze.
He immediately ducked his head, lunged forward, and pressed his hand over my eyes.
I smirked under my impromptu blindfold, readying a blasting ring on my finger.
"That’s not suspicious at all," I said sarcastically. Refusal to accept a soulgaze wasn’t proof of guilt-him throwing a punch, or trying to feed would be. And boy, he wasn’t going to like what happened when he tried.
His hand pressed against my face, but he didn’t move at me otherwise. No energy flowed between us, no power; just the heat from his skin.
"Cowl thinks I’m dead, Wizard Dresden. My life depends on my anonymity. The less you know about me, the safer I’ll be," he said, his accent deepening as he emphasized each word.
"I know your name already, that should be enough to start searching by-" I stopped, my lip twisting. I knew the name he’d given Thomas. That didn’t mean I knew his name. "Robin Raith isn’t your name."
"No," he said softly.
"You are House Raith, though."
Now there was power, just a tickle of it between his skin and mine-for a sudden, wild moment I wondered if throwing him to the carpet and ripping his clothes off wouldn’t be the best way to vent my anger.
I hate White Court vampires...
"What do you think?" he asked, and the feeling of lust subsided.
I took his wrist and shoved it away. "Sit down. We’re going to talk."
When I looked up at him again, his eyes were shut in an expression of relief. He sat, sprawling gracefully in the chair in front of my desk, and looked at the woodgrain.
"Who are you protecting?" I asked sharply. "Don’t lie to me."
"He’s a human," ‘Robin’ said. "I’m not giving you his name."
"What’s he to you?"
"A friend. First one I’ve had in a long, long time."
His voice was insidious. You wanted to believe it. To sympathize with his exhaustion and his fear, to join in his righteous anger.
You just had to resist it. "Does he know what you are?" I demanded.
Robin’s eyes flickered with what might be guilt, and he shook his head. "No. He doesn’t. I’m going to tell him, though, if we both make it."
"Why didn’t you bring him to me to protect?"
"I don’t think you can protect him," Robin said a little sharply, then added, "With respect, Wizard Dresden."
My eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"For one thing, he’s stubborn. He wouldn’t take the help," Robin said, and I couldn’t hear a lie anywhere. ...of course, I hadn’t with Meghan, either.
"What can you do for me?"
"I have information and plenty of it. I’ve lived a good long while, done a lot of traveling and a lot of listening. Hell, I was around Europe while it was still Kemmler’s stomping grounds; I collected anything I could find about him. Knowledge is the only power I’ve got, after all."
"Bullshit. You’re White Court."
"No influence, Wizard Dresden. I’m an embarrassment. I got a little attraction and some longevity-that’s about it. I’m not able to pull off the control you need to make it in that world."
I considered him, and realized that that made sense. He did have an undeniably Raith effect on me, but it was nowhere near the level of other White Court vampires. He was attractive, but in a very down-to-earth way. He definitely wasn’t one of the flawless beauties that the Raith family seemed to turn out. At least, not the dangerous ones.
He reminded me of Inari. She’d been unaware of her nature, very human, pretty but not angelic. She’d been supposed to turn, to awaken her Hunger, by feeding on me. True love had stopped her; she’d never changed into one of those beautiful, deadly creatures. Not like her sister.
Robin wasn’t completely human, but he seemed stuck somewhere half between.
Lara Raith had kissed me, and it had been unquestionable, inexorable bliss. I’d wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her; wanted to stand tall and defend her; wanted to be hers. She’d started to take my soul, and it had been cold, sweet cold...
Robin Raith had touched me, and it had been like the touch of an old, favorite lover. I’d wanted to tumble into bed with him, laughing, maybe hit him with a pillow if he got fresh. He hadn’t fed, and his influence over me had been warm and comfortable. His touch was a suggestion, an invitation, but not strong enough to be a command.
Lara would have chewed him up and spit him out. He’d have been a Robin-muppet, serving mindlessly. That if she didn’t just eat his soul. So maybe I believed him on that score.
If he was telling the truth, someone was in danger.
If he was lying, who knew what he could do to me, if I started sharing my research?
He wouldn’t let me soulgaze him.
Thomas trusted him.
I made my decision.
"Be here at eight in the morning, tomorrow. I have something to show you."
Robin showed up at eight the next morning, red-eyed and exhausted looking. He slept in the Beetle as I drove him out to the warehouse where the first centerless circle was drawn.
Even while he was asleep I couldn’t quite shake his influence. There was something familiar and comforting about his presence that soothed some of the hurts I’d been accruing lately. I wasn’t about to trust it. I certainly wasn’t going to reach over and brush a lock of white hair back up behind his ear. Nope.
I braked a little hard into a parking space, jogging him awake. Petty of me, maybe, but I don’t like being manipulated.
He jerked awake, looking startled and a little frightened, but he regained control quickly. "Are we here?" he asked, voice husky with sleep.
"Yep. Out of the car," I said mercilessly, getting out of my door.
Special Investigations hadn’t had anyone to spare on a graffiti case; the Chicago PD wasn’t about to officially credit the potential threat of a magical bomb. And the warehouse was unguarded. I ducked through the police tape, waiting for Robin to join me.
He maneuvered through the criss-crossing tape with entirely too much grace for someone as tired as he was. I rolled my eyes.
"What do you think?"
Robin opened his mouth-and then closed it.
"...gimme a minute," he decided, and moved closer.
I waited while he traced the outer circle, reading the runes off. Then the next one. Then the next one. I don’t think he blinked once, and he didn’t have to go back and re-read anything, either. Circle by circle, the look of confusion on his face grew.
Then he started reading the symbols around the third circle from the middle, and his eyes flared wide.
"Hell," he whispered, but it echoed through the empty warehouse. "Damn me for an amateur. Why didn’t I see?"
"What is it?" I asked, and he held up a hand without looking up.
He read to the center, his naturally fair face going paler. "It’s dynamite."
"I knew it might be a bomb, but I thought they were useless," I said, moving closer, trying to see what he’d seen in the symbols.
"It’s not supposed to destroy something. Not on this plane, anyway." He gingerly prodded the stone in the center of the circle; it didn’t react. "It’s supposed to blow a hole in reality."
"To the Nevernever?"
"Further." Robin looked up, meeting my gaze for a startled second before he jerked his eyes away. "Harry, we have to destroy these things now."
+Author - Shiplizard
+Pairing - Harry/Bob established relationship
+Rating - PG-13
+Book or TV-verse - Book
+Summary - Harry gets unpleasant surprises and an equally unwelcome visitor. Can You Spot The Plot Twist? Harry can't.
+Warnings - Spoilers for White Night.
+Word count - 3863
+Betas - edana_ni_emer and gehayi
7.
It never rains but it pours. The weeks after the attack on my apartment were filled with one ugly surprise after the next, from all sides. One after another, dropped into my lap, some of them from people I considered friends. Even in my own damn lab.
It wasn’t a good week.
On Monday, it was Murphy, stopping by my office with a folder of evidence.
Meghan, winner of America’s Next Top Henchmodel, had cracked like thin ice. She had spilled everything she knew; it wasn’t much. But there was a little sheet with the bullet-points of her confession.
Item one: Word of Keebler?
I almost threw something through a window. Not demonically induced rage; I controlled the impulse. I controlled my frustration at myself. I’d told him, dammit, that they wouldn’t try anything...
The rest of the list was useless. She had been contacted through e-mail, met a man once. She’d done it for cash, for excitement, and mostly because the man had told her to. She couldn’t describe him, and had been visibly and (Murphy thought) genuinely distressed by her inability to describe the man.
"A glamour," I said tiredly. "Maybe a compulsion on top of that."
"I had someone I trust go over the coffee shop where they met," Murphy said, looking up at me, sympathy on her face. "No prints. No left items. The staff remembers her but not him. He didn’t order anything. No leads-I’m sorry, Harry."
"It’s not your fault. He knew what he was doing. And he threw her straight to the wolves, he had to have known..." I smoothed my hands across my face.
"Do you know who it is?" Murphy asked. "What did he want?"
"It was Cowl. Or someone who works for him, maybe Greycloak."
"Cowl was part of that group-Halloween, the storm, and the blackout, right?" There was a definite growl in Murphy’s voice.
"Yeah. He wanted my research assistant." I stared at the desk. "Bob was a spirit. He kept notes for me. He was a friend. And he knew more about Cowl’s magic than anyone else on our side than I know of. Cowl was using him, because he knew so much-and he stopped him. He stopped the whole thing, he saved Chicago. And he just destroyed him."
"Harry-" Murphy looked appalled. "I can’t get her with a murder charge. They won’t accept that."
"Hell’s bell’s, Murphy, she didn’t know what she was doing! She didn’t even know that he was in there. She didn’t understand."
"She tased you. She understands that!" Murphy shook her head shortly, sparks snapping in her bright blue eyes. "You could press assault charges. Trespassing."
"How rich are her parents, Murph?" I asked wearily.
"...very," Murphy admitted.
"I might be able to afford the lawyer. Thomas would help if I asked. But I don’t have the time." I shook my head, and Murphy almost snarled. She looked so frustrated. How often did she see this? Rich kids. Doing stupid things because they could, and getting off. And some dark part of me wanted Meghan scared and punished for what she’d done.
I knew better. I had to. "She may be in danger at this point, too. See if you can talk her into community work-Saint Mary of the Angels."
Murphy nodded, her face tight. "I know where you’re coming from. But Harry, what that kid did-"
"She didn’t know." And I wasn’t the White Council. "I scared her pretty badly."
"Not enough." Murphy took a deep breath, recentering and focusing herself. "Harry, this is a bad time, but I have to ask."
"The circles. No leads yet. Um, if it’s a priority, I could start working on a potion to remove the paint-"
"There’s another one." Murphy nodded at the folder. "There’s the address and some more photographs."
"On it, boss," I said, giving her a determined, chin up smile that didn’t quite come together.
Murphy looked at me for a moment, and then came forward and hugged me, tightly. I wrapped my arms around her back for a moment, trying not to lean on her. "I’ll work on that potion. So the city can remove the circles."
"I’ll tell our wanna-be actress about the church."
"America’s Next Top Henchmodel," I said darkly, and we shared a mirthless smile.
That was Monday.
Wednesday I spent in my lab. Swearing at little Chicago. I’d set up markers where Bob had seen ghouls surveying. Seen from above, they formed a circle, with one point missing.
Then I’d put on markers for the two graffiti circles that Murphy had told me about. Guess what? The first circle, the one that had already been there when Bob went scouting, filled in the missing point. The second circle, that had come afterwards, was directly on one of the survey sites. So much for harmless graffiti.
I was brewing a potion as I worked-the most powerful cleanser I could find in any of my books. This wasn’t teen dabbling, it wouldn’t be a simple charm or spell that I could undo with a little finesse and a little magic. And it was more important than ever that these things get scrubbed off the streets.
It was going to be a pain. It was going to be dangerous.
It was going to be interrupted by a knock on the door.
I summoned my blasting rod and force-rings as I ran up the subbasement steps, slipping them on before I opened the door with an almost manic smile. "HI."
The man at my door-older, square-jawed, tight-face and as exhausted as me-did not so much as blink. "Warden Dresden. May I come in?"
I glared. "Warden Morgan. You may not."
Morgan glared at me. "Very well."
"Are you just here to yell at me? Because I don’t have time," I said bitterly.
"I am here because of the circles that have been appearing on the city streets."
"I didn’t put them there," I snapped.
"No," Morgan said quietly. "I do not have your freedom to associate with the city’s police department. But the Council is not blind. We have examined them. I do not recognize them, and though several of the Wardens have tried, none of us can remove them. I don’t believe that you’re capable of that."
"...Oh."
Morgan almost smiled, I think, just to see me that off balance. Just a grim, smug little twitch at the corner of his tight, lined mouth. "You did not create the circles. The homunculus, on the other hand-did you think I wouldn’t find out?"
"The what?" There. The universe was back in order. Morgan was accusing me of something completely ridiculous.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed and he glared into my face, and his face settled into that sour, resigned look he gets when he can’t pin something on me. "Someone has made one."
"Good to know."
In happier days, I don’t think the White Council even would have been involved in this. Yes, homunculi can be very dangerous. Look up the Golem of Prague sometime. But more often than not, they’re cute, harmless little vanities. Vainer, more established wizards sometimes keep them for odd jobs.
Make a humanoid form. Bind a spirit to it. It moves. They can be magical servants, they can be decorations-singing harps made it into a few fairy tales- or they can be weapons. Tireless, merciless, brutally strong constructs. That’s IF the body you’ve made is made right, and if the spirit is strong enough to control it. It takes a really delicate touch to make anything better than a shambling hulk.
Fantastic. What a mess waiting to happen. And I didn’t have time to track it down.
"Assuming for a second that I have nothing to do with this," I said to Morgan, "What are your odds that it’s not connected to the circles, the war, or both?"
"I don’t gamble," Morgan said shortly. He frowned, and admitted, "but I’m not optimistic, either."
The rest of Morgan’s news was the usual-depressing and enraging. Wardens being attacked, cars bombed. Homes burned. No casualties this month, at least. He gave me the fish-eye the whole time.
Friday started with Thomas calling before I was out of bed.
"I have a guy you could talk to. He’s, um, White Court, but-not really, he’s-he could help you. His name is Robin-- he’s been around a while, he could help you with your research-"
Replace Bob. With a White Court vampire.
"Goodbye, Thomas." I hung up and went back to sleep.
Thomas waited until I was in the office to call again.
"No, Thomas," I said shortly, but didn’t hang up on him.
"Listen, Harry," he said firmly. "This guy could really help. Don’t even think of him as White Court. He’s a throwback; he’s never killed, I don’t think he can, he’s just old and experienced. He’s a bookworm; he probably knows about Kemmler and those circles. Give him a shot, Harry."
"Forget it. I don’t know this guy from Adam, I’m not letting him waltz into my house and feed me information," I said, shaking my head.
Thomas paused; I heard a low voice speaking to him. "It’s personal for him, Harry. He wants to help."
"That’s convenient. Him showing up right now."
"He’s here because I brought him here!"
"I hope you kept the receipt," I said coldly. "Send him back for a refund. I don’t buy this for a second."
Thomas’ voice heated up with honest indignation. "No. I know him and I trust him. He isn’t a plant-"
"Sorry, Thomas." I hung up on my brother for the second time that day.
Then I glared out the window for a while, hoping for a customer to distract me. I was careful not to use my Will; that’s a pitfall for a wizard. You can influence people passing by, and then you get confused people wandering inside.
Not that that happened to me my first year with the office or anything.
I watched the passers-by and imagined them stopping. I got so into the people-watching that I was surprised when one of them actually DID stop.
He was tall-not as tall as me, but stately-and graceful. The way he paused outside the window, half-posing, made me think dancer. He didn’t look more than mid-thirties, but his hair was prematurely and vibrantly white. He wore a sharp, simple black jacket, simple knit shirt, simple loose pants; they served to emphasize the clean, athletic lines of his body.
I don’t generally notice the clean, athletic lines of other men’s bodies. I REALLY wasn’t used to my eyes lingering on certain parts of their anatomy. But I had to pull my gaze away from the curve of his ass, and it was an effort not to linger on the charmingly imperfect line of his lips and jaw...
By the pricking of my thumbs (or other, less cooperative parts of my anatomy), a White Court vampire this way comes. Thomas’ bookworm, looking about as pleased to be here as I was to see him.
I collected myself before he saw me looking, and was sitting straight up at my desk with my hands laced in front of me when he came through my door.
The bell dinged, and I smiled. It didn’t make it up to my eyes. "Robin Raith, I assume?"
"Wizard Dresden." He fixed his eyes on my face, but didn’t meet my gaze; it’s a trick wizards learn, and anyone who deals with them for long.
There was a quality in his voice that felt instantly familiar, and friendly. It made me want to trust him, to go and smooth the harsh worry off his face.
I hate White Court vampires.
"I was in Thomas Raith’s apartment this morning. I got a pretty good picture of your attitude from the half of the conversation I heard," he said, quirking a white eyebrow. He had distinct accent-somewhere in the Appalachians, I guessed.
"And you showed up anyway," I noted. "I hope you’re not expecting bus fare back."
"Oh, no. Your brother drove me."
I stiffened.
"Oh, yes, Wizard Dresden. I know that Thomas Raith is your maternal half-brother. I know lots of things. Including the details of Ms. Lara Raith’s little muppet show. Like Sesame Street, but more incest." His eyes flashed, and his jaw set. "Knowledge is my stock in trade, after all."
"Is this a threat?" I asked, a cold anger starting somewhere in my stomach.
"It’s just information. Gratis, me to you-so you could make an informed decision." He stood straighter, nearly meeting my eyes. "The way I see it, you pretty much have two options. You can let me help you, or you can kill me. But you can’t let me walk out of this office pissed off."
8.
I was going to throttle Thomas. For inviting this jackass to my city, for suggesting that he contact me, for allowing me to get put in this position. Blackmailed, in my own damn office, by a member of the White Court.
"Option three," I suggested coolly, facing down Robin Raith, keeping my temper firmly in check. "I can tell Lara Raith about the ‘information’ you’re using as leverage, and let her take care of you. I guarantee it’ll be much more interesting than if I did it."
"Oh, I know you can," Robin said, matter-of-factly. "I considered that part of option two. That’s the destroy-me one? Either way, nobody’s going to get too hot and bothered about it. I’m not powerful enough; White Court doesn’t want me, won’t claim me. Won’t revenge me, not even to take a potshot at you."
I blinked. I’d been expecting him to hold the White Court over my head-if I killed a member of house Raith unprovoked, it could destroy the fragile peace attempts that they were sponsoring. Maybe the situation could be salvaged if the White Council offered me up for judgment, but either way, it wouldn’t turn out well for me.
And he’d just admitted that that chamber wasn’t loaded. And since he was still technically not human, the White Council wouldn’t come down on me for violating one of the Laws of Magic if I killed him.
"What’s the catch?" I said, keeping up my confident façade while I puzzled it out.
"No catch. I’m nobody in particular," the vampire said, keeping his chin up. "Not very powerful. Stayed alive this long by collecting enough knowledge to be useful, now and then."
"So what’s stopping me from wasting you right now?"
"You are," he said quietly. "The last Heir of Kemmler-Cowl, he calls himself- tried to kill me not so long ago. In fact, he thinks I’m dead, or he’d still be trying. I’m safe, as long as I keep myself quiet, but someone I care about is still under attack. I can’t bring him down alone. But I’m not stopping until he’s dead, gone, and damn sure not coming back.
"This is me, trying to protect someone I care for. You can destroy me, if you think you have to. You can take that protection away from them. But I don’t think you will."
My eyes narrowed. Meghan had played on my chivalry, too. She’d attacked me-hurt me badly enough that all I could do was watch as she destroyed a friend.
"Cute story. Show me."
I met his gaze.
He immediately ducked his head, lunged forward, and pressed his hand over my eyes.
I smirked under my impromptu blindfold, readying a blasting ring on my finger.
"That’s not suspicious at all," I said sarcastically. Refusal to accept a soulgaze wasn’t proof of guilt-him throwing a punch, or trying to feed would be. And boy, he wasn’t going to like what happened when he tried.
His hand pressed against my face, but he didn’t move at me otherwise. No energy flowed between us, no power; just the heat from his skin.
"Cowl thinks I’m dead, Wizard Dresden. My life depends on my anonymity. The less you know about me, the safer I’ll be," he said, his accent deepening as he emphasized each word.
"I know your name already, that should be enough to start searching by-" I stopped, my lip twisting. I knew the name he’d given Thomas. That didn’t mean I knew his name. "Robin Raith isn’t your name."
"No," he said softly.
"You are House Raith, though."
Now there was power, just a tickle of it between his skin and mine-for a sudden, wild moment I wondered if throwing him to the carpet and ripping his clothes off wouldn’t be the best way to vent my anger.
I hate White Court vampires...
"What do you think?" he asked, and the feeling of lust subsided.
I took his wrist and shoved it away. "Sit down. We’re going to talk."
When I looked up at him again, his eyes were shut in an expression of relief. He sat, sprawling gracefully in the chair in front of my desk, and looked at the woodgrain.
"Who are you protecting?" I asked sharply. "Don’t lie to me."
"He’s a human," ‘Robin’ said. "I’m not giving you his name."
"What’s he to you?"
"A friend. First one I’ve had in a long, long time."
His voice was insidious. You wanted to believe it. To sympathize with his exhaustion and his fear, to join in his righteous anger.
You just had to resist it. "Does he know what you are?" I demanded.
Robin’s eyes flickered with what might be guilt, and he shook his head. "No. He doesn’t. I’m going to tell him, though, if we both make it."
"Why didn’t you bring him to me to protect?"
"I don’t think you can protect him," Robin said a little sharply, then added, "With respect, Wizard Dresden."
My eyes narrowed. "Why not?"
"For one thing, he’s stubborn. He wouldn’t take the help," Robin said, and I couldn’t hear a lie anywhere. ...of course, I hadn’t with Meghan, either.
"What can you do for me?"
"I have information and plenty of it. I’ve lived a good long while, done a lot of traveling and a lot of listening. Hell, I was around Europe while it was still Kemmler’s stomping grounds; I collected anything I could find about him. Knowledge is the only power I’ve got, after all."
"Bullshit. You’re White Court."
"No influence, Wizard Dresden. I’m an embarrassment. I got a little attraction and some longevity-that’s about it. I’m not able to pull off the control you need to make it in that world."
I considered him, and realized that that made sense. He did have an undeniably Raith effect on me, but it was nowhere near the level of other White Court vampires. He was attractive, but in a very down-to-earth way. He definitely wasn’t one of the flawless beauties that the Raith family seemed to turn out. At least, not the dangerous ones.
He reminded me of Inari. She’d been unaware of her nature, very human, pretty but not angelic. She’d been supposed to turn, to awaken her Hunger, by feeding on me. True love had stopped her; she’d never changed into one of those beautiful, deadly creatures. Not like her sister.
Robin wasn’t completely human, but he seemed stuck somewhere half between.
Lara Raith had kissed me, and it had been unquestionable, inexorable bliss. I’d wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her; wanted to stand tall and defend her; wanted to be hers. She’d started to take my soul, and it had been cold, sweet cold...
Robin Raith had touched me, and it had been like the touch of an old, favorite lover. I’d wanted to tumble into bed with him, laughing, maybe hit him with a pillow if he got fresh. He hadn’t fed, and his influence over me had been warm and comfortable. His touch was a suggestion, an invitation, but not strong enough to be a command.
Lara would have chewed him up and spit him out. He’d have been a Robin-muppet, serving mindlessly. That if she didn’t just eat his soul. So maybe I believed him on that score.
If he was telling the truth, someone was in danger.
If he was lying, who knew what he could do to me, if I started sharing my research?
He wouldn’t let me soulgaze him.
Thomas trusted him.
I made my decision.
"Be here at eight in the morning, tomorrow. I have something to show you."
Robin showed up at eight the next morning, red-eyed and exhausted looking. He slept in the Beetle as I drove him out to the warehouse where the first centerless circle was drawn.
Even while he was asleep I couldn’t quite shake his influence. There was something familiar and comforting about his presence that soothed some of the hurts I’d been accruing lately. I wasn’t about to trust it. I certainly wasn’t going to reach over and brush a lock of white hair back up behind his ear. Nope.
I braked a little hard into a parking space, jogging him awake. Petty of me, maybe, but I don’t like being manipulated.
He jerked awake, looking startled and a little frightened, but he regained control quickly. "Are we here?" he asked, voice husky with sleep.
"Yep. Out of the car," I said mercilessly, getting out of my door.
Special Investigations hadn’t had anyone to spare on a graffiti case; the Chicago PD wasn’t about to officially credit the potential threat of a magical bomb. And the warehouse was unguarded. I ducked through the police tape, waiting for Robin to join me.
He maneuvered through the criss-crossing tape with entirely too much grace for someone as tired as he was. I rolled my eyes.
"What do you think?"
Robin opened his mouth-and then closed it.
"...gimme a minute," he decided, and moved closer.
I waited while he traced the outer circle, reading the runes off. Then the next one. Then the next one. I don’t think he blinked once, and he didn’t have to go back and re-read anything, either. Circle by circle, the look of confusion on his face grew.
Then he started reading the symbols around the third circle from the middle, and his eyes flared wide.
"Hell," he whispered, but it echoed through the empty warehouse. "Damn me for an amateur. Why didn’t I see?"
"What is it?" I asked, and he held up a hand without looking up.
He read to the center, his naturally fair face going paler. "It’s dynamite."
"I knew it might be a bomb, but I thought they were useless," I said, moving closer, trying to see what he’d seen in the symbols.
"It’s not supposed to destroy something. Not on this plane, anyway." He gingerly prodded the stone in the center of the circle; it didn’t react. "It’s supposed to blow a hole in reality."
"To the Nevernever?"
"Further." Robin looked up, meeting my gaze for a startled second before he jerked his eyes away. "Harry, we have to destroy these things now."