Fic: Burninate, part 1

[windfallswest]

Title: Burninate (or, Will Someone Please Put Daddy in a Corner?)
Author: windfallswest
Fandom: Dresden Files
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Quotes from the book belong to Jim Butcher. Quotes from various movies belong to their creators. Quotes from the Bible belong to the big guy upstairs. Blame for disturbing things can be spread pretty equally, including to me.
Word Count: 39K (what)
Notes: Also at AO3.
So this started out being a short couple of alterna-scenes to illustrate, briefly, where this AU turns off of Blood Rites and set up the thing I actually wanted to write when I started all this, which is Harry/Marcone. But then it kind of kept on going, and when it finally lumbered to a stop it had ballooned into this huge, structurally-unsound monstrosity. Oops. Also, I know what about babies?
Summary: It's a TRAAAAAAP!


"No, don't take out the-"

"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"-pacifier."

Michael frowned. "Harry, you didn't-"

Molly's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?" She stuck the pacifier back in. The siren stopped. "Awesome."

"It's for unexpected gunfights, okay?" I said a little defensively. Actually, the charmed pacifier was about the best thing anyone had given me, ever. It was a gift from one of the small-time practitioners I'd gotten to know a little better over the past couple years. I tried to use it responsibly, though.

"Am I given to understand that someone has been shooting at you?" Michael's wife, Charity, sounded even more disapproving than her husband.

"Look, there's only so much I can take in one day. She's not hungry, she's not wet, driving hasn't helped-"

Michael interrupted. "Harry, you're not still driving her around in that car, are you? It isn't safe."

I crossed my arms. "That harness I rigged up is more secure than most car-seats. It's a better shock-absorber than what they put under Volvos. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I lost my office."

"Well, I don't know what you expect when you don't pay the rent." Charity sniffed.

"I pay-I paid the freaking rent. They've condemned the building," I said.

"Well, I can see how that's much better."

The thing was, it was kind of weird. Look, the problems with the elevator, they weren't my fault. I'd gone on the thing once in six years, once, and the scorpion started it anyway. But a cranky elevator wasn't enough reason to demolish a whole building, and the new owners had done some serious renovations just a few years ago.

"In any case, I refuse to have this sort of thing in my house," Charity continued, removing the charmed pacifier.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Molly cringed, jiggling the teething baby hopefully.

"Oh, just give her here," I told her, resigned.

Sometimes I could tell what was bothering Maggie if I extended my magical senses. It hadn't worked so far today, but it was always worth a try. Maybe she was picking up my pissed-off vibes. Mostly, I figured it was the teething, and I started rooting around for a non-enchanted pacifier with one hand while I tried to reclaim Maggie from Molly with the other.

I'd been hoping it was just that she was bored, which I think in retrospect was why she'd been so cranky for the first few weeks of her life. In which case Sunday dinner with the Carpenters would be just what the doctor ordered. No joy.

"Oh, no, don't worry, Aunt Harry; I can-" Molly started to say.

"No, really, I've got thi-" I said at the same time, reaching for the Scamp. My hand bumped Molly's and I felt a buzz like brushing a live wire. I jerked, startled, and met Molly's eyes.

Between us, we almost managed to drop the baby; I looked away just in time to prevent a soulgaze. I had already found out more about Molly Carpenter than I think she wanted me to know.

I recovered first. "I think she needs changed. C'mon, Mols; give me a hand," I said pointedly.

Molly followed me meekly, not doing a very good job of not looking like she was scared out of her mind.

"How long?" I asked once we were alone.

Maggie continued to scream like Fran Walsh. I let Molly keep hold of her, not for distance from the noise but because as long as she was holding my kid, she was less likely to just bolt.

"Couple weeks," Molly mumbled.

I finally succeeded in locating a vanilla pacifier and handed it off to Molly to try and shove into the beast's gaping maw. "How'd it happen?"

"Last month?" Molly said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the task at hand. "The van wasn't out front when I got home from school and it was raining, so I just assumed Mom had taken the Jawas out to run errands and came in the front door."

"Let me guess: you didn't stop to take out the body-jewellery."

Molly was Michael and Charity's oldest. She'd equalled her mother in height a year or so back, but she was just now starting to fill out. If you caught her at home, she looked a lot like Charity: blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, just shy of six feet; that same look of stubborn determination. As soon as she was away from the house and out of sight of the parents, her face sprouted about four times its usual number of little gold hoops, most of them not in her ears. Her clothes suddenly looked as though she'd pulled them out of some sort of industrial machinery, and the hem of any skirt she was wearing rose several inches. I maintained my status as Cool Aunt Harry by looking the other way. Hey, I was a young idiot too once. Now I'm just an idiot. Age has destroyed any illusions I once held of being fashionable.

Molly blushed. "Yeah. Except Gran had taken the little ones out because Mom was sick, so Mom was still at home. And I was standing there in the middle of the living room, just wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. And then she...didn't see me."

"Really?"

"I heard her coming and I closed my eyes; I wanted to die. But she came in and turned on the TV and didn't say anything. I mean, at first I thought she was in shock or something; but she really hadn't seen me. So I walked out really, really quietly and snuck up to my room and changed my clothes. She never even glanced my way once. I almost had a heart attack."

"Wow. I'm impressed," I told her truthfully.

"Yeah?" Molly looked up for the first time.

"H-uh, heck yeah. You called up a veil on pure instinct; I can't do a reliable one on purpose, half the time." Also true, alas.

"Why not?" Molly asked.

I shrugged. "Why does Leech have a killer fastball and Matthew can't hit the broad side of a barn? It's just something I don't have."

"Like subtlety?"

"Hey, watch it, munchkin, or I'll kick you out of the Lollipop Guild," I threatened.

Molly continued to smirk unrepentantly.

"But hey, no kidding: it's a rare talent. Which brings us to some other stuff," I said seriously.

Molly's face went panicked. "Please, please don't tell my parents!"

"Wasn't planning to," I said.

Molly slumped in relief.

"You're going to," I continued.

Molly's mouth dropped open in the picture of horrified teen betrayal. It was kind of funny, actually.

"You can't hide it forever," I pushed on relentlessly. "If nothing else, you're going to start blowing out the lights and TV. And your cellphone, and-"

"Okay, okay!"

"You need the basics, at least. That way you don't keep making things happen without meaning to."

"Yeah, but do we have to, like, tell my parents? Really? Couldn't you just give me lessons or something on the DL?" Molly wheedled.

"Mols, your parents have done way too much for me. Not just with the," I made a poundy gesture in Maggie's direction, "your dad has literally put his life on the line for me. I owe 'em. Big."

Molly's head fell back with a groan. "They are gonna flip."

"Eh."

"Aunt Harry!"

"Look, I'm gonna give you the basics. I'll talk with your parents and try to explain things. Again. But you," I pointed at her, "need to start thinking about more than just how grounded you're going to be, because you're going to have to make a decision."

"What decision?" Molly asked, a little intimidated

"Once you've got some control, you can go further. Keep studying, make this a real part of your life. Or you can choose not to use it, and eventually, it'll go away," I told her.

"Go away?" she said, sounding puzzled.

"The power dwindles if it's not used," I explained. "If you really don't want it, it'll fade, and you can have a normal life. Your dad's job will keep you safe; you won't have to worry about all the weird stuff."

"Yeah, but can't you tell them?" Molly circled back around to what she felt was the most important point.

"Look, trust me: it's better coming from you. They're going to go postal for a little bit, but in the long run what's going to count is the honesty." Having learned that with Murphy, the hard way, which involved me getting punched in the face. "Your parents are good people, and they love you. And I'll be right there with you. Promise."

I went out to the Beetle and rifled through the box of pamphlets I'd gathered from my office. I still didn't know what I was going to do about my furniture and files. I had a little less than a week to figure it out.

Michael and Charity took it about as well as Molly predicted. To be fair, Charity did most of the yelling. Michael's face just got kind of grey and set in this where-did-I-go-wrong? expression I tried not to take personally. I did not entirely succeed. For well-meaning folks, Michael and Charity can still be closed-minded about certain things.

I was really proud of Molly. She stood up in front of Michael and Charity and spoke her piece, even though she was obviously scared half to death. Kid had inherited Michael's guts.

She flinched when Charity started laying into her. I bit my tongue and made myself not interrupt immediately. Molly's face grew crumpled as anger fought it out with the building tears. I had witnessed several different rehearsals of this argument since I started spending more time with the Carpenters, so I knew all the road signs. The subject-matter was usually largely incidental; but in this case, I wanted to break it up after Charity had had a chance to let off some steam but before Michael got pulled in, because I was pretty sure he'd wind up pissing me off, at which point nobody would be thinking rationally. I stepped forward, putting a restraining hand on Molly's shoulder to draw her back and interposing myself into the line of fire.

"I think that's about enough."

Charity rounded on me. "And you! Don't think I don't know this is all your fault."

I glanced at Molly, having a feeling. "I think that's a conversation you want to have later."

Charity flinched and, remarkably, shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise.

I continued. "This isn't something you can make go away by shouting at it. There's no reason to make it into this huge, horrible thing."

"Isn't it?" Charity retorted

"Charity, she's right. Yelling won't change anything. We should hear her out," Michael said quietly.

"Look, I know what the Bible says, and I don't pretend to know what's going through god's mind. But I do know magic. I believe in it. This is my thing, okay?" I said.

"It's unnatural," Charity maintained stubbornly.

I controlled a sigh. "I've tried to explain this to Michael before. There is nothing unnatural about magic in its purest form. It's-it's the energy of creation. Magic is generated by life. It comes from nature. It's not separable. Just because everybody can't see it and manipulate it directly doesn't make that any less true." I waved a hand at the window. "Look-out there. You can see the seasons turning, the leaves changing, the trees going to sleep. There's energy in all of that; big, slow power. Bigger and slower than the power in people, but essentially the same."

"If it's all so natural and pure, then why are you always dragging Michael away to help you fight sorcerers?" Charity shot back.

"Power can be misused," I said levelly. "Even when you don't mean to. That's true of any power, not just magic. But magic is worse; misusing magic wounds your spirit. Do it once, and it's easier to do it again. To do more, worse, because through your spirit, it will start to effect your mind, how you think and how you feel. Who you are. What you're capable of." I took a deep breath. "And that's why it's important that Molly gets some instruction and isn't just left to blunder along on her own. This isn't just going to go away. Power uncontrolled is dangerous. I know Molly doesn't want to hurt anybody, and I know you don't want that either."

I was uncomfortably reminded of some of my own bad decisions. Some of which Michael had to be thinking of too-for instance, the coin I'd handed over to him winter before last, the one with the fallen angel inside it. It was one of thirty, the Knights of the Blackened Denarius. They acted through hosts, people dumb or weak enough to pick up a coin and be tempted by the admittedly formidable power the Fallen bound inside offered. I'd grabbed it to protect someone else, true-the Carpenters' youngest, in fact, my namesake-and I'd entrusted it to the church once I knew I was having Maggie.

But that apparently wasn't enough. As soon as I touched the denarius, the Fallen housed in it had left an annoying mental photocopy on my brain. Lasciel's shadow had been trying to tempt me to the dark side for over a year. I could understand Michael's hesitation in allowing his daughter to mould herself off my life choices. Do as I say, not as I do? I was the only wizard in Chicago, though; if they wanted someone with a better track record, they'd have to ship her off.

"There's another reason, too. Michael, you know about the White Council. You know they have laws, and what the penalty for breaking them is."

Charity looked at Michael. Michael looked like he'd just swallowed something he didn't much like the taste of. Molly looked at them, then at me.

"White Council?" she asked. "Anybody want to clue me in? Or are you just going to keep dropping cryptic hints over my head?"

"The ruling body of wizards," I told her. "It's sort of like a union: they take a dim view of scabs. Believe me, you don't want to cross their picket lines."

A little line formed between Molly's eyebrows while she processed that. "So if you use magic, you have to join up?"

"Sort of. It's complicated," I said. It hadn't escaped my notice that when I mentioned the White Council, Charity went still, too. "You see where I'm going with this. Nothing's decided yet, except that Molly needs instruction. Just because you know how to do something doesn't mean you have to. How much do you guys use calculus in your daily lives?"

"She-can't she just ignore it? Why does she have to learn at all?" Charity protested.

I spread my hands. "Magic starts out as just stuff happening because you want it to. You have to learn how you're making it happen before you can locate the on/off switch, or it'll just keep happening like that, randomly, and not always at the best of times."

"That does make sense, Charity," Michael told her softly. Charity wheeled, looking ready to lay into him next.

Oh, great. "I've talked with Molly, and I've agreed to give her lessons in exchange for babysitting when I need her to in the evenings and on weekends." Molly gaped betrayal at me again; I returned her a look of wide-eyed innocence. Well, we'd agreed before we engaged the enemy that I would do the talking-and by extension, the drawing of the parental fire. "Learning responsibility is as big a part of wizardry as the actual technique; my old mentor used to send me to sleep with the sheep at lambing."

Charity sniffed disbelievingly, but looked somewhat mollified by the proposed disruption of conventional Dating Hours. In due course, I trusted, the cautionary tale/object lesson element of single-parenthood would occur to her. Molly would surely be extra-impressed by the glamourous life of wizardry as demonstrated by my three-room apartment. I was just thrilled to have a reliable someone I could plant with Maggie behind my wards. Not that I'd actually leave Molly alone, in danger.

"Well," Michael said at last, "this obviously isn't the last we'll be discussing the matter. But right now we need to agree what to do next. Charity?"

Charity left off glowering at me to frown at her husband. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Michael said, taking her hands. "But we have to deal with it anyway. Harry's right; this isn't something we can just pretend away."

Charity turned her face away, so I couldn't see if she was crying. Her voice was thick when she spoke. "Oh, Lord. Something bad will come of this; mark my words."

"Not if I can help it," I said.

Charity rounded on me angrily. "You can't promise that."

"Charity-"

"She can't, Michael."

"I can," I said, "promise to look after your daughter as if she were my own. As you have done."

"Harry," Michael said.

Charity made a sound like oh. She looked about twenty years older.

"Guys, it's not like I'm dying or anything." Molly rolled her eyes. "Chill out."

"I'm with her," I said.

"Something very bad," Charity repeated.
__ __ __

I was spending the morning packing up my office, dumping my files into cardboard boxes while I kept one eye on Maggie, who'd been hanging onto things and cruising around upright for a while and-far too early, I was certain-showed signs of wanting to try this walking thing freestyle. She was burbling happily, anyway, but gnawing on one of her toys in a way that made me think her teeth might be bothering her again, when the phone rang.

"Hi, Harry. How's the Scamp?" Karrin Murphy greeted me when I answered the phone.

"Scampering. What's the word?" I asked, flipping my braid back over my shoulder.

"You're not going to like it." Murphy sounded grim. Then again, even though she looked like a cheerleader, Murphy was not usually what you'd describe as perky. It only stood to reason: I haven't met very many perky cops. Being head of Chicago PD's Special Investigations department would have put the peppiest Cheer Queen on prozac.

"Murphy, come on. No one's going to knock down an entire building just to piss me off," I said.

Murphy snorted. "Really, Harry?"

"Yeah, yeah. But who's going to get it notaris-son of a bitch. It was Marcone, wasn't it?" I thumped my fist down on the box I was folding. Maggie turned her head at the noise and I hastily unclenched my hand.

"You do anything to offend him lately?" Murphy asked.

"I may have been peripherally involved in this thing where some of his stuff got partially disintegrated," I muttered.

It had gotten the Beetle, too, or I wouldn't have been sitting on a one-by-six and strapping Maggie into what looked like the bastard child of a spider-web and a sea urchin and taking safety flak from Michael. Well, okay, Michael hadn't thought the Blue Beetle was kid-safe before; but the number of times you have get smacked in the face by an airbag for no damned reason before you get the message is unsurprisingly low.

"Only you, Harry." Murphy's tone was wryly amused.

There was a knock on my door.

"Hey, look, thanks, Murph. I've got someone at the door," I said.

"Harry, try not to do anything stupid," Murphy cautioned me.

"Who, me?" I asked innocently, and hung up.

It was a puzzle: maybe Marcone was pissed off by my continued rejection of his really very transparent bribes. I'd have liked to think we'd gotten past that part of our non-relationship. Oh, well. Deal with it later.

"It's open!" I called to whoever was on the other side of the door.

A little asiatic bald man in an orange robe peeked his way hesitantly in. "Hello. You are Wizard Dresden?"

I looked up from the files I was cramming into a box, piled up on top of other boxes. "That's me. What can I do you for?"

"I Brother Wang. We great need your help."

"You have got to be kidding me," I said to the ceiling.
__ __ __

I'm afraid I was giving Molly more babysitting duties than magical instruction; but if I was going to replace my office, I would need Brother Wang's money and this was a bitch of a case, a lot of really tedious legwork. I felt a little guilty about it, but she did have schoolwork to focus on.

Besides, I was getting hints that Molly's magical strengths were in wildly different areas than my own. I had bought some time by handing her a copy of my old teacher Ebenezar's book, one of the only purely theory-based texts on magic-a lot of them tended to lean pretty heavily on religion. It's kinda like the difference between teaching evolution versus creationism-yeah, that's right: I just called magic science. Want to make something of it? Science means looking at things rationally and systematically. It's defined by method, not content.

I was eating lunch with Maggie at Mac's and complaining about losing my office-it still stung, and I still hadn't had time to look for another, and my files were all in boxes and blocking access to the bottoms of my bookshelves while my office furniture had ended up so much rubble in the wreckage of my former office building.

About halfway through my diatribe, Thomas Raith walked up to the bar from one of the back tables and sat down next to me. Someone else-no one I knew-had been sitting with him when I came in, but whoever it was had left. Mac nodded greeting and served him promptly, then vanished down to the other side of the bar. Traitor.

Thomas listened to my griping for a few minutes, then started sassing me about it. Thomas was a sometimes pseudo-ally of mine, a White Court vampire from their ruling family but seemingly on the outs with it. He'd helped me out a couple times in the past, usually with an eye to his own self-interest or some kind of backhanded counting coup. Thomas was at least moderately reliable-not an automatic enemy, but difficult to pin down.

White Court vampires are the closest to human of all the vampires I've encountered. They're born, not killed and turned, and they are unaffected by garlic, sunlight, and even the articles of faith that will hold off members of the Black and Red Courts. Although probably not beheading. In lay folklore, they aren't even grouped in with other vampires: ever heard or succubae? Vampires of the White Court feed on emotions, not blood. Thomas had an unusually monogamous and consensual relationship with a beautiful but volatile young woman who preferred to manage her condition via sex vampire and not drugs. It still skeeved me out quite a lot.

I let him talk me into giving him a ride home. Hey, if he wanted to sit on a box while I stole back puppies from flying purple monkeys, that was fine with me. I'd been killing time at Mac's so I'd arrive while the flying-monkey-summoning sorcerer would be out picking up his Mu Shu Pork when I got there; but you never know, and I'd learned not to say no to backup. Besides, it was a school day and I needed someone to hold Maggie.

That turned out to be a wise idea, when I found myself sprinting out of a burning building (not my fault!) clutching a box full of puppies eager to flop out and scatter and dodging flaming monkey poo (told you the fire wasn't my fault). I was glad I'd started running with Maggie in the stroller for more reasons than being able to fit into my pants again.

I tried to decide which were worse: mould demons, or flying purple flaming-poo-flinging monkeys that could smush together into flying purple flaming-poo-flinging giant gorrillas. The flaming poo was definitely a more deadly immediate hazard, but the mould demons had them beat for long-term consequences. They had, after all, not only cost me my office by eating Marcone's property, but also completely gutted the Beetle's cab, if I hadn't mentioned that already. Hence Maggie's web-harness contraption and the ghetto bench Thomas and I were sitting on.
__ __ __

The next morning, I woke up paid, employed, with a puppy in the sub-basement and a Black Court vampire somewhere in town, gunning for me. And a cat standing on my face. Five seconds later, Maggie opened her eyes and started crying. I stubbed my toe on one of the cardboard boxes spread around my living room on the way to let Bob and Mister out. Something told me it was going to be one of those weeks.

It was barely dawn, but instead of going for a run I got both of us fed and dressed, forestalling Maggie's current favourite past time of chewing everything within biting-radius with a pacifier fresh out of the icebox. The puppy that had stowed away in the Beetle-missing, I was afraid, his ride back to that temple in Tibet with Brother Wang and the rest of his siblings-allowed himself to be tucked into one of my leather duster's big pockets.

My duster was a life-saver, sparing me the necessity of having to carry a bulky and awkward baby bag around with me everywhere I went, thus irreparably damaging my image and destroying my street cred. The long coat was more or less made of pockets: there were pockets for toys and pacifiers, pockets for baby wipes, pockets for ad hoc spell supplies and pockets for writing implements, pockets for spare baby clothes, pockets for small summonings and pockets for baby food, pockets for clean diapers, and even a pocket spelled to contain odours for dirty ones (the major downside of using cloth diapers instead of the disposable kind). My wallet, keys, and pen knife went in the pockets of my jeans-which, since I am so tall, are men's jeans and so have room for these things.

The baby bag got packed today anyway, since I hoped to pass the Scamp off to Molly at some point. Molly was still new enough to her driver's licence that she'd cheerfully drive the length of Chicago to buy you a pack of gum, so even though-as the oldest of seven-the shine had long since worn off babysitting for her, I wasn't worried about persuading her to do the legwork.

I convinced myself that I'd be well enough armed with my staff and blasting rod and I could leave my gun (another .44 revolver, like the one I'd lost in the same trainwreck of events during which Maggie was conceived) in the home-defense basket by the front door. My calls, I'd made while trying to convince Maggie to swallow her carrot mush (I swear, the only thing she wouldn't put in her mouth was food) instead of using it for face paint.

My first stop of the morning was Dough Joe's Hurricane Gym, where I doffed my coat and handed off Maggie to one of the cops taking a breather and heckling their fellows from the sidelines. Since having Maggie, I had discovered that all cops are secretly enormous softies, and even the ones who think I'm an attention-hungry charlatan bilking the Department and conning the public will melt as soon as I wave the baby in front of them.

I kicked off my boots, watching Murphy thrash some poor rookie who didn't realise that the fact he and John Stallings were double-teaming her ought to outweigh the fact she was only five feet tall in his calculations. I've always had a bit of the stereotypical hopeless straight-girl crush on Murphy, which has in recent years faded away to an immense spiritual satisfaction whenever I see her kicking ass and taking names.

"You make any of 'em cry yet?" I raised my voice to get Murphy's attention over the general hooting.

"You volunteering?" Murphy shot back.

What felt like a particularly sharp grin stretched itself over my face as I stepped onto the mats, waiting for Murphy to grab a stick. "You're welcome to try." I was feeling the need to express some aggressive tendencies this morning.

"Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," Murphy observed as we warmed up. "You've been skipping."

A couple months ago, I'd asked Murphy if she'd help me infuse some technique into my deplorable hand-to-hand. Because my most trusted babysitters were still in school, I usually came down on the weekends to practice. I'd been thinking of bringing Molly with me, but she had a lot on her plate right now. Maybe next summer.

"Had a case."

"It go south?" Murphy asked, matching me easily as I pushed for a faster pace.

"Got paid and everything. Hell's bells!"

"Ease up," she said curtly as I put too much weight into a blow and she almost disarmed me. As it was, I stumbled and spun before I found my feet again. "Then what's eating at you?"

I grunted, suppressing frustration as Murphy took us back to the beginning of the exercise. "Black Court jumped out at me last night. Maggie was in the car."

Murphy sucked a breath in sharply. I don't know if I can explain the strength of the protective maternal instincts still present in the human animal, or at least in this one. I had been about half a second away from taking off after that vampire last night and flambéing it; the only thing that had stopped me was that Maggie was strapped into the back. By the time I got her out, the vampire would have been long gone, and no way had I been about to leave her with a debatable ally after that. If I'd've been able to convince Thomas to stay behind, which I doubted: human-like he might have been, but he was still a predator, and it's a predator's instinct to chase when prey flees.

That berserker outrage was still simmering, not too far beneath my conscious thought. These monsters had come into my territory and threatened my child. Maggie wouldn't be safe until I had hunted each and every one one of them down and rendered them to dust, doused in holy water and baked in sunlight. I'd recognised the vampire who'd attacked us: the last time I'd seen him he'd been alive. It was at the same party where I'd lost Hawk to Bianca.

So Mavra was in town, which meant this was personal. I'd stepped all over her plot and incinerated her protégé, Margravine Bianca Whups-You-Shouldn't-Wear-a-Dress-Made-of-Fire-Unless-You're-Prepared-to-Follow-Through St. Claire of the Red Court. Mavra was bad news: a Black Court vampire at least moderately skilled at magic, slick enough to have survived the decimation of that Court, and with three years to build her strength and grudge since our last encounter.

Which brought me to Murphy.

"You want me to track 'em down?" she asked.

"Wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on missing persons. But I was thinking of something a bit more proactive."

Murphy glanced around, making sure none of the other sparring pairs were close enough to hear us. "Like what?"

"Like killing them," I said, emphasising the words with a particularly forceful blow of my staff.

Murphy's brows rose. "You got a plan?"

"That is the plan."

"I like it."

"It's simple," I agreed.

"Like you," Murphy catted back, but her expression was intent and fierce.

I bared my teeth again. "Just like me."

"We going tonight or tomorrow?" Murphy asked a little too casually.

"Maybe tomorrow; I have to find them first. I want to hit them in daylight and as soon as possible. Black Court is going to start racking up the body-count fast. Unless you're busy." I frowned. I'd hoped Bob could track them down today and we'd be able to move on the weekend, when I could leave Maggie with Molly, safe behind my wards or at her parents' house.

"Absolutely free." It was Murphy's turn to slip up, and I left her with bruised knuckles. She frowned at herself and came back up to speed.

"We can do it another day if you've got plans."

Murphy huffed a sigh. "It's the annual Murphy family reunion, okay? I usually try to be working."

"Er...why?" I asked, caught a little off guard and then having to concentrate to keep up from getting my own knuckles whacked.

"Look, I know you're excited to finally have a family, and I'm really happy for you. But-"

"-You would rather spend the day force-feeding vampires garlic and pounding wooden stakes through their chests than sit down and talk with yours?"

"Garlic? Stakes? Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah. Stoker was a plant." I grinned.

Murphy laughed. "God, Harry. I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore." She sobered. "How many?"

"Don't know; at least two. Probably more."

"Backup?" she asked.

"I'm working on it. This is strictly off the record, you understand."

"I know some guys who that wouldn't bother."

"Thanks, but I've got some calls in," I told her.

"Who to?" Murphy asked.

I tried to hide a grimace. "That's an argument I'd rather not have until I know it's going to happen."

From the look on her face, that didn't sit very well with her. It was going to sit even less well when I actually told her, but we'd just have to work that out when the time came.

"There going to be humans working with them?"

"Don't know. If there are, we disable them and move on. I want Mavra's scourge; if you want to play human rights advocate, go ahead."

"That's cold, Harry."

"Sorry."

Murphy made her last strike and we stood down, bowing properly. "No, you're not." She stood staring down at the staff in her hands, not looking me in the face. "Spar with me."

I shook my head. "I've got to leave for the new job soon."

"Three falls," Murphy insisted. "Come on."

I didn't need much persuading. I'd been itching to hit something since last night, and Murphy was safe, Murphy could hit back. It took her about four seconds to drop me the first time. I came back to my feet, because that part I'm good at, but my back hit the mat twice in close succession right after anyway.

Murphy stood over me with her staff hovering over my throat, ready to deliver the crushing blow. I raised my head, on the cusp of blurting out some pseudo-Latin and- "You're fighting angry," she told me. "And you're making stupid mistakes."

I glared up at her for a second, then closed my eyes and dropped my head back to the mat, making a conscious effort to release my grip on all that furious, murderous tension. I lay there, breathing, taking a moment to reconnect with my surroundings. There was the sound of bare feet slapping vinyl, mostly male voices rising in kiai and grunts, the muted smacks of flesh impacting flesh.

Hell's bells. I had almost just-

I opened my eyes. Murphy searched my face, then lowered her staff and offered me a hand up. She had to really brace herself to keep from being pulled down instead.

"Thanks," I muttered, looking a bit to the left of her eyes.

Murphy nodded. "I'll help you get the vampires, but I want you to tell me we won't break the law. I'll go as far as vampire-hunting; not vigilantism."

"Okay," I agreed.

We bowed again and I hurried over to put my shoes back on and reclaim the Scamp from the group of hard-bitten, sergeantly types who'd been handing her off between rounds on the punching bags, explaining the art in crooning falsettos.

I'm telling you: hearts of butter.

Murphy caught me trying to put on Maggie's sling and my duster while holding both baby and staff and helpfully confiscated two of them. I donned first sling and then duster, but when I reached for Maggie, I noticed a strange look on Murphy's face. I looked down to make sure I wasn't trailing diapers or something.

The expression on Murphy's face became even more painful-looking, like when you're trying to outmanoeuvre someone in thumb-wrestling, only Murphy was doing it with her lips. "You know, I think most acts go for the rabbit."

Oh. Other side. My stowaway had poked his fluffy little head out of my pocket and was currently looking around with much the same expression Maggie got in a busy new place. Oh, no you don't, I told myself.

I repossessed Maggie firmly and handed Murphy the puppy. One was quite enough. Murphy yielded my wizard's staff in favour of this more interesting object. "Good for you, Harry. Every kid should have a dog."

"What? Oh, no. I'm not keeping him."

"Uh-huh. What's his name?"

"I just told you, I'm not keeping him, Murph. But hey, if you like him so much, he's yours."

One of the puppy's ears had a notch on it; it flopped inside-out as the puppy wriggled on his back to expose a fluffy grey belly. "They take too much attention, and I'm gone at all hours."

"Tell me about it," I said, pointing exaggeratedly at Maggie. "Can you take him for the day, though?"

"Why?"

"Because I already have one to look after. And, you know, if you just so happen to run across someone who's looking for a dog..."

"I'm not keeping him either," Murphy said instantly.

"I never said you, Murph," I said, a little distracted because Maggie was rooting for my nipple and I was trying to locate a pacifier before she either ripped my shirt open or started crying. I flipped my braid back out of her range. Weaning was...interesting. Well, mostly I was weaning and Maggie was refusing to get the message and applying her food like Kabuki makeup. Kids.

"I'm not keeping him," she repeated. I found the pacifier, wiped it off on my shirt, and popped it in.

"Well, neither am I, so that makes two of us," I said inoffensively.

Murphy glared at me like I was making fun of her. Which, to be fair, I was. "Just for today. Because I'm doing deskwork anyway. And you'd better pick him up by five."

"Thanks, Murph. You won't even know he's there," I promised.

"Uh-huh. So, what's the new job?"

"I'm going undercover on the set of an adult movie. Someone's been targeting their employees."

Murphy did something I can only describe as cackling. "You know, you're betraying the sisterhood again."

"I thought porn was supposed to be empowering," I said defensively. "Own your sexuality and all that."

"Only if you have a penis, Harry." Something occurred to her. "You're not taking Maggie, are you?"

"Well, it's not like I can leave her anywhere. I called Molly, and she's going to pick her up once she's done with school."

Murphy just shook her head. "I can't believe we leave you alone with a baby."

"You're telling me," I muttered. "Hey, it's not like the kid's going to, like, remember any of this."

"Honestly, I don't even know where to start."

I gave her a dirty look and bounced Maggie a little, pointedly. "Don't you have some paperwork to do?"

"Five. O. Clock. Traitor."
__ __ __

I pulled into the parking lot with a few minutes to spare, so I took the time to inventory my pockets for the day's work- and baby-related supplies. While I was at it, I checked to make sure Maggie was dry and still generally in possession of all her parts. The string-charm I'd tied around her ankle with strands of my hair woven into it was still in place under her clothes, dispelling random energies that might upset or cloud her spirit (I'd take all the help I could get) and generally acting as a thaumaturgical lojack, not that literally every cell in my body wouldn't point due-Maggie the second you ran the suggestion of a tracking spell through it. The charm, because I'd made it, also retained a bit of the sense of my presence, which I hoped was comforting even when I wasn't right there with her.

I was hefting my old black nylon backpack over one shoulder-no one would think it was strange, what with Maggie hanging off me and everything, but it was actually stocked with some of the bulkier magical standards I thought might be useful on this job-when another car pulled into the space next to the Beetle. It had rental plates and was green and still shiny from the lot. Two guys got out of it, one fit and one built. I'll let you guess which was wearing the leather pants.

The fit one gave me a very familiar double-take. "First day?" he asked.

"Yup," I said.

He walked over and offered his hand with a friendly smile. "I'm Jake."

His friend re-hinged his jaw long enough to do the same. "Bobby. My pleasure-I mean, I'm looking forward to-that is, uh. Nice to meet you," he babbled.

I raised an eyebrow. "Harry. Nice to meet you too." I turned to unbuckle Maggie from her MacGyvered harness.

"You're going to like working with Arturo," Jake said. "He likes to make everything feel very comfortable and natur-woa."

"Holy shit, that's a baby!"

"Well-spotted," I said drily.

"But-you can't bring a baby on set!" Bob-the-Built objected.

I twitched my braid back over my shoulder. "Well, I wasn't going to put her on camera."

Jake cleared his throat. "Um. Are you really sure it's appropriate for her to see you...?"

"See me what?" I asked, confused.

Jake and Bobby turned from white to red with a suddenness that would have been amusing if I hadn't just realised both of these guys had been assuming we'd be having sex today. In public. On camera. I must have been turning some interesting colours myself, because Jake at least was starting to look uncertain as well as uncomfortable.

"Murphy was right: the porn industry is totally chauvinistic," I said.

Bobby-the-built was suddenly all shoulders. "Fuck you, you're one of those damned evangelical-"

-obviously, I should have been wearing my pentacle outside my shirt-

"-prudes, coming here to tell us we're all going to hell!"

"Hey, pal. You're the one who assumed that just because I'm a woman I was automatically here to spread my legs for you. I'm sure there's no reason I could possibly be here that doesn't involve you getting a leg over," I said, staring down right into his left eyebrow and not giving an inch.

Jake got between us, holding his hands palm-out in either direction. "Woa, woa. Bobby, calm down a second. Ma'am, do you work here?"

I still wasn't sure how I felt about getting ma'amed, on principle; but I'd come to realise no one was going to call me miss when I was holding the Scamp. Maybe I should go for a doctorate or something, like Billy and Georgia. Doctor Dresden. Like I wasn't short enough on sleep already.

"Production assistant," I said at last.

"Okay." He gave Bobby a gentle push. "Just a little misunderstanding. Let it go; it's a shooting day. Go on in and drink some of Trish's springwater or something."

Bobby stomped off toward the building, avoiding both our eyes. Jake turned back around, giving me a few steps' more space in the process.

"Um, sorry about that. We shouldn't have assumed. But you've really worked in the industry without it coming up before?"

The guy seemed genuinely apologetic, and I decided to let it slide. "I wouldn't say I've worked in this industry before. Does that happen often?"

Jake glanced after his departing colleague. "What, Bobby? Don't mind him; he's under a lot of pressure."

"No, people harassing you about your, er, lifestyle," I said.

Jake shrugged. "Not so far on this shoot. Outside the established studios in California, sure, all the time. Security usually keeps them outside the gates, though. I guess they just don't know where we are yet."

I wasn't so sure.
__ __ __

I had some unexpected time off that afternoon. I'd kept anybody from dying, but the hospital visits and clean-up were going to take a while anyway. Emma-I'm-also-a-mom had melted like cheap wax in the face of my secret weapon, although I had to sit through another round of why-you-don't-bring-your-baby-to-an-adult-film-set.

Still, I'd gotten some potentially useful information out of her, not to mention a front-row seat to the malocchio. Which, while not actively good, at least gave me a better idea what I was dealing with.

I was just changing Maggie and debating the most efficient order of food, apartment, and puppy-retrieval when a dark green SUV with tinted windows turned into the almost empty lot. I sighed, a little annoyed but not surprised.

The SUV parked a careful few spaces away and sat there, idling passive-aggressively. I took my time buttoning Maggie back up and walking over. Marcone had already gotten out and was waiting for me with a politely interested expression on his face.

"I can't say this is someplace I ever expected to find you," Marcone said, meeting my eyes like it was a casual thing. Like that wholesome, paternal image was anything but a mask over the ruthless crime kingpin. Eye-contact with Marcone was as serious as a fucking heart-attack.

"A parking lot? I'd say your imagination could use some work," I told him blandly.

Marcone smiled condescendingly. "Although I must admit that the presence of emergency vehicles makes much clear." He looked down at Maggie and frowned. "Harry, you didn't really bring your daughter-"

"Hell's bells, do I really have to go through this again?" I groaned.

Marcone segued smoothly to the next node on his flowchart. "Then why don't you come have a seat out of the wind? I believe you said you had business to discuss."

Marcone held the door for me: they didn't call him Gentleman Johnny for nothing. Infuriatingly, it's one of his few good points. I got in, because it was true, I'd called him and there was business. I could argue with Marcone about his maladjusted acquisitive compulsions later-god knew he wasn't going to change anytime soon. I did, however, raise an eyebrow when I saw the car seat strapped in back. "Seriously?"

"I try to be prepared for contingencies; Mister Hendricks will drop you anywhere you like," Marcone assured me.

I spared a glance for Marcone's carrot-top gorrilla, who if given a choice would probably have dropped me over a cliff. Cujo and I have a very special relationship, but I think we would have both preferred it if Marcone would just leave me the fuck alone. "How about back at my car?"

Marcone heaved an understated but much put-upon sigh. "Very well. What would you like to discuss?"

"How about the fact that you got my office building condemned?" I suggested.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Petty, Marcone. Very petty. Just because I refuse to be bought off-"

"I offer nothing more than incidental aid to your capable efforts in raising your daughter, as any friend might," Marcone baffle-gabbed in his best corporate style.

"You are not her godfather, Marcone," I grated angrily. "Michael, Michael is her godfather. Fist. Of. God. Not jumped-up street tough."

Marcone refused to be ruffled. "I did deliver her, Harry. You can't blame me for taking an interest in her well-being."

"I delivered her, you overbearing jackass. You sat there swearing at a pregnant woman."

"Given the language you yourself were employing at the time, I hardly think you're in a position to throw stones."

I scowled. "I can look after my own kid."

"There's nothing wrong with accepting a little help, Harry," Marcone told me in an infuriatingly gentle tone.

"I told you not to call me that."

"I'm certain your friend Mister Carpenter doesn't reject aid when it is offered," Marcone continued blithely.

"Yeah, but his help usually comes via archangel. For some reason I don't really think that's your circle, John," I sneered back.

Marcone leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Perhaps not. But you didn't arrange this meeting to talk about urban renewal, or to criticise my areas of operation."

I bared my teeth in a cheerful grin. "Oh, yes I did. You owe me one, Marcone."

Marcone was suddenly paying a great deal of attention. "I take it you have something in mind. If you're interested, I could find you space in a building I recently acquired in the South Loop..."

"Ha. Leave the bad jokes to me, why don't you? I was thinking of something more along the lines of vampire-hunting," I told him.

"Really."

"How much do you know about vampires?" I asked.

"They organise themselves into four Courts: Black, Red, White, and Jade," Marcone replied promptly. "There is no organised Jade Court presence on this continent. The Black Court suffered heavy attrition following, I am given to understand, the publishing of Mister Stoker's book, from which they have not appreciably recovered. The White Court are schemers; they feed on emotional energy and operate on a high level and behind the scenes throughout the developed world. The Red Court consists of bat-like creatures who feed on blood and have some degree of vulnerability to most of the same banes as Black Court vampires: sunlight, holy water, and other articles of faith. They control much of South and Central America, and had been expanding northwards over the past few decades, although their advance has stagnated since the outbreak of war with your White Council of wizards. Local incidents identifiable as Red Court vampire attacks have dropped to next to nothing in the past two years.

I gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. "How about that?"

"Yes. I am impressed you left the structure more or less intact; it is a historical landmark, after all."

I twitched and resisted the urge to explain that I wasn't the one who had brought in the heavy artillery. Actually, the guy who'd brought the real firepower was next on my list of potential allies for this gig; but Kincaid was a mercenary and I hadn't exactly been rolling in dough before I started raising a kid. All things being equal, Kincaid might have been the better man for the job; but Marcone was a territorial bastard like no other when it came to Chicago. He did not tolerate poachers, mundane or supernatural, period. For once, we both wanted the same thing. His owing me a favour was just pretext, a way for me to keep him off me and for him to excuse not making the move.

Don't get me wrong: Marcone wanted me. He'd made no secret of that fact. But he wanted me the way he wanted Chicago-his to possess and control. If he wanted to fuck me, it was the same way Lea had, the way Mab did and Nicodemus, the way I'd have realised Justin wanted to if I'd known how to interpret the expression on his face. Well, I owned myself, thanks; my self-esteem still wasn't that bad.

"This nest is Black Court. There aren't a lot of them left, but the ones that survived the turn-of-the-century vampire-hunting mania are serious business," I told him.

"What is it, exactly, that you are asking me to do?" Marcone cocked his head inquiringly.

"I want to take them out; I need backup."

"I see. And how much of the city are you planning to level?"

"Ha, ha. That's where the backup comes in. I don't want this getting out of hand; what I need is a small group of people who are clued in and can keep their heads when things get nasty. So far I've got one thug and a wheelman."

"You have a plan then?"

"Find them. Kill them," I said.

Marcone twitched, like I'd caused him physical pain. "Ah. And have you found them?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Not yet; I want to be ready to move quickly, though. Black Court's going to be hell on the neighbourhood." Plus they were gunning for me.

Marcone grimaced. "Yes."

"Also, I'm calling the shots. Non-negotiable."

Marcone searched my face, then nodded once, sharply. "But I do hope you're open to suggestions."

I eyed him warily. "Suggest away-but the final call is mine."

"Acceptable. Tell me everything you know."

I filled Marcone in. After about a minute and a half, he pulled a pen and legal pad out of a briefcase and started taking notes. The urge to crack up was very, very tempting, but I was already pushing the guy. I could be the mature adult for once.

Marcone's face was intent. I could already see that big brain of his churning away. He asked a lot of questions, too, not all of which I could answer. I promised to check my sources (Bob), and get in touch when I (Bob again) found out where Mavra's scourge was holed up. Hendricks even unlocked the doors without being asked. It was almost civilised.
__ __ __

I drove back to my apartment and called around about Genosa and his start-up. I might as well not have bothered: all I got for my trouble was a laundry-list of internet addresses, which were about as useful to me as athlete's foot. Even the freaking Bible-thumpers; what is the world coming to? Annoyed, I packed back into the Beetle to pick the puppy up from Murphy at SI, since I didn't think I'd have another chance to swing by before her deadline at five.

I ran into Stallings in the outer office, nominally keeping an eye on the puppy from his desk. He also seemed to be doing paperwork. Oh, good. That always put cops in such a wonderful mood.

"If you came for a rematch, I'd rethink it," he greeted me.

"Says the man who tried to take her out by ramming her foot with his stomach."

I crouched down and scooped up the puppy, who had been savaging a familiar, stained Snoopy dog when I came in. Stallings stood up and stretched, coming around to lean on his desk.

"I was expecting her to go for a joint lock. Woman is a nasty infighter. Everyone tried to tell O'Toole, but he's still young enough to think he's invincible."

"Gotta beat that out of 'em early," I sympathised. "She around?"

"Depends," Stallings said. "You feel like getting beat?"

I pondered that. "Maybe I better leave these with you, then," I said, dumping the notch-eared puppy on Stallings' desk and unslinging the laden baby sling.

Stallings accepted Maggie with the casual competence of a man who's done a lot of baby-holding in his day. I cowboyed up and went to beard the lion in her den.

Muphy's office was on the far end of the SI bullpen. It was a post-construction addition, probably sectioned off when they created the Special Investigations department, I think ten or fifteen years ago. It was done a while ago, anyway, but it must've been done in a hurry, because the walls were unfinished plywood and they didn't hang the door right.

Murphy had had the job six years, which was about five and a half longer than any of her predecessors. Yeah. When the department set up SI, they weren't looking to handle supernatural crime in Chicago; they were looking to set up a revolving door of scapegoats for otherwise embarrassingly unsolvable crimes, while also setting up a mechanism to phase out politically inconvenient officers. They gave you a promotion and a department to run, then waited for an excuse to fire you or put you on psychiatric leave or whatever. You lost your job and your reputation, and the Department came out smelling like a rose.

Murphy's tough, but she's also smart. What she learned to do was get shit done and then lie all over the reports. She hated doing it, but it kept her in SI, which kept SI from being cannon fodder. And, incidentally, kept Chicago's only professional wizard in skittles and diapers.

"God dammit, I said not now!"

Yup, that was definitely Murphy doing paperwork. I wondered if I had better postpone our raid until after the weekend, as a mercy to the vampires. Of course if I did that, she'd have no one to kill but me when I broke it to her that I had brought Marcone in.

"It's Harry," I called through the door, knowing better than to open it before she had a chance to unplug things. "I'm picking up the dog."

"Oh, god. Back away from the door."

So paranoid. Fry someone's hard drive once or twice, I tell you. But I took a step back, because I was about to win the pissing off Murphy jackpot and there was no point in fighting out the penny-ante stuff.

Murphy stuck her head out and yeah, I was starting to think I maybe wanted to have this conversation not on police property because there was probably going to be a lot of highly incriminating yelling. She looked positively demented, and I found myself checking to see if she was armed.

"Get more away. I've been fighting this computer all day long. I swear, if you blow out my hard drive again, I'm taking it out of your ass."

I can't tell you what it cost me to pass up a straight line like that. Biting my tongue, I held up my hands in surrender and took another step back. "Right. I'll just be going now. I'll get in touch with you about the other thing later."

"Fine." Murphy all but slammed the door in my face-if she'd put any more shoulder into it, I wouldn't have been surprised if the badly-anchored plywood had fallen down.

Okay, that was a little extreme even to be explained by shovelling white coal into the bureaucratic steam engine all day. I tongued the chip in my tooth from the last time I'd seen her this upset and considered. On the one hand, Murphy was upset and I did not want to upset her more; I wanted to un-upset her. This, alas, was not my forté.

On the other, both Murphy and I are both very deeply not feelings people, which is why we have a relationship based on sarcasm and threats of anatomically explicit and often obscene violence that would be the envy of any two red-blooded heterosexual males. And, you know, the other way of looking at my situation was that Murphy was going to be pissed at me anyway, so I might as well give her the chance for some catharsis while we were at it.

"Murph?" I leaned towards the door without stepping closer. "You realise the Dark Side doesn't actually have cookies, right?"

Murphy yanked the door open again and glared at me. "What do you want, Dresden?"

"Actually, now I kind of want a cookie."

"I'm really not in the mood-"

"Gee, I never would have guessed. Could it be you have something on your mind?"

Murphy continued to glower. "No shit, Sherlock. It's called paperwork."

"Uh-uh." I shook my head. "Not buying it. C'mon, Murph. Who was it telling me just this morning not to fight angry?"

Murphy leaned her forehead against the door and let out a long breath, visibly releasing her tension. Without it animating her, she looked suddenly very tired.

"C'mon. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

"Oh, god. You're not pregnant again, are you?" Murphy's eyes widened comically.

"Ha freakin' ha. I don't know what I was thinking: you're a regular riot."

Murphy rolled her eyes and came out, shutting the door behind her. We stopped to pour two little styrofoam cups of Joe from the department pot, and I stuck a bill in the fund jar.

"I look that bad, huh?" Murphy asked when we'd cleared the bullpen. It looked like she was headed for the vending machines.

"Only slightly rabid," I assured her.

"Christ, that's just what I need."

She punched the buttons a little viciously; I leaned back against the opposite wall, giving the machine as much space as I could.

"Murphy. What's up?"

"My mom called," she said at last.

"...Bad news?" I hazarded. It could hardly have been good news. "She let you off the hook?" That might account for this sort of schizophrenic frustration.

"What? No, no. I don't know." Murphy stopped staring at her Snickers bar and unwrapped it. "My sister, Lisa, got engaged."

She took a savage bite out of the candy bar. I imagined her white teeth biting off a little nutty-nougat head. Yowch.

"You have a sister?" I didn't know Murphy had a sister.

"I have a baby sister."

"I'm...sorry?" I guessed.

Murphy took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Harry, do you remember when you got first got pregnant and you were complaining to me all the time about how your friends the Carpenters were pressuring you to get married?"

Boy, did I. Hawk had been surprised but, you know, as supportive as you could be via mail. He sent me money when he could. We'd both made our choices, though, and I wasn't about to haul ass down to frigging South America, drag him to the altar, and give up my wizardly ways. Not to mention the half-vampire thing, which you'd think would eclipse bastardy and single motherhood on the sin-list. "Thank god they've given up on that."

"Now imagine thirty-three years of that," Murphy said. "Imagine you have a sister. Imagine she's twenty years old. Imagine, after thirty-three years of that, your twenty-year-old sister waltzes into the family picnic with her brand new fiancé. While you're standing around. Alone."

"So she's showing you up? But," I went on, confused, "weren't you like seventeen the first time you got hitched? That should count for, you know, something. You've got double husband quota. You're set."

Murphy pinched the bridge of her nose, a pained expression on her face. "The Murphys are Catholic, Harry. Two ex-husbands are twice as bad as one, and about four times as bad as nothing at all."

"Oh." I was kind of building my family from the ground up, so Murphy's degree of familial dementia was still alien to me, augmented as it was by nonsensical religious conventions.

"I grew up thinking I was going to...take over for my mom, I guess. Oldest daughter, become head of the clan. And now I'm basically the black sheep. There's a lot of my personal choices between us. Not to mention work."

"She doesn't approve of you being on the force?"

Murphy laughed, a bleak, hollow sound. "God, Harry; my mother doesn't know what I do for a living. It's changed me, and there's no way I can talk with her about it."

"But you can still talk to her about other stuff, right?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" I asked.

"It just doesn't." Murphy crumpled the empty candy wrapper and threw it in the trash.

"It's really scary. Being a mom," I said after a minute. "Sometimes, Maggie cries and I have no idea why, except maybe she wants to be in a heavy metal band someday."

That got a laugh out of Murphy, although it still wasn't a very good one.

"But it kills me, because she's my kid and she's crying and I can't do anything about it. I know your mom doesn't want you to be alone or hurting. She wants you to be safe and happy and fulfilled and all those other sappy, cliché things. But you know what really worries me? I look at you and your mom. Or Mols and Charity. And I know, I know that they act the way they do because they love you and they're afraid for you; but they are so willfully blind and deaf to what would in fact get you guys shitting rainbows. And I think, well, I may be clueless, but surely I'll never be that far out of touch with reality. And then I think maybe that's what Charity thinks too. And then I get vertigo," I added to lighten the mood.

Murphy jogged me gently with her elbow. She was blinking a little too fast. "You're a good mother, Harry."

I shifted uncomfortably. "Hey now; don't go having a moment on me just yet. I'd hate to screw it up."

Murphy's eyes narrowed. "What have you done this time?"

I looked around for anyone who might overhear us, but the hallway was clear. "Nothing. Just, you know, got us some backup."

"I can bring in some extra hands, if you think we'll need them."

I shook my head. "Your guys are good, but this is the big leagues. The vamp we're going after is the one who was working those binding spells a couple years back."

Murphy went quiet. She'd taken a spiritual beating at the hands of Mavra and Bianca's partner on that case. "O'Toole from this morning is Micky Malone's nephew," she said quietly. I assumed she meant the ox she'd been stunning in the gym when I got there.

I winced. "It's gotta be people who have already been through a serious supernatural shitstorm. SI isn't there yet."

"Your holy knight friend?"

"No," I said firmly. "I've asked enough of him already, not even counting how many times he's gotten hurt when I pulled him in on my business. Besides, I'd just as soon have someone backing up Mols and Maggie. Just in case."

Murphy nodded understanding. "So who did you have in mind?"

"Local guy; owes me a favour." I didn't know why I was bothering to try and hide the fact that it was Marcone; she'd find out sooner or later, and going by experience there was less chance of me getting punched if it was sooner.

"Anyone I know?"

"Nnn, sort of?" I cleared my throat. Hall was still clear. I was fairly confident I could outrun Murph: she was pretty short. "You've met. He's good with a knife."

I watched the pin drop. "Oh, hell no. I cannot believe-" I made frantic hushing motions. "-believe you!" Murphy hissed. "You promised me we wouldn't-" Murphy cut herself off with a snarl.

"Look, just because he's," I made a vague gesture intended to convey scuzzy criminal druglord kingpin, "doesn't mean everything he does is automatically, you know. This is my thing; he'll toe the line."

"Harry, it's the principle of the thing. I can't be seen-"

"By whom? The vampires? He doesn't want them in town any more than we do."

"And you honestly think it's not going to come back to bite me in the ass later?" Murphy snapped, crossing her arms.

"I won't let it. I promise," I tried. Murphy continued scowling, unmoved. "We'll do it tomorrow."

Murphy gave me a pitying look. "You really are pathetic, Harry." She pushed off the wall and headed back to SI.

"Does that mean you're still on-board?" I called after her.
__ __ __

part 2