Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Productive working relationships are valuable in my chosen field. Criminals span a broad range of humanity; some understand the importance of a shared code of conduct, others are animals in the service of their appetites. Recruiting and allying with the former while directing and mitigating the latter has been key to the Outfit’s success under my purview.

Little changed after I joined the Accorded Nations. The supernatural world, bizarre and varied as it was, contained a similar range of monsters. Those who understood the value of keeping their word, and those who understood only immediate advantage or appetite. Mab, the centre of order, had been a pleasure to work with.

The night Ethniu came and kicked Mab through a wall justified a decade spent in preparation. The peace talks nearly fell into chaos as LeChaise tried to slink from the hall, but I spoke of obligations and the Accorded Nations listened. They looked to Mab. They fought Ethniu and Corb’s armies clear of the city.

I’d stockpiled weapons, built staging grounds, and coordinated rival factions. But no matter how carefully I’d prepared, there was no obvious endgame without Dresden. That was part of the reason I’d ceded the eye to him; Dresden wouldn’t have forfeited the thing without forcing me to kill him. A strong breeze could have finished him off, but what would I do the next time Chicago needed to fend off an immortal power?

Everything I’d seen since meeting him seemed to indicate Dresden was a fulcrum to move the world with. There was some mystical nonsense explaining why he was always the eye of the storm, no doubt, but I trusted my instincts: I knew an asset when I saw one.

So too did Mab, who bound Dresden well enough to direct him to useful ends. But Winter clearly hadn’t touched the core of him, judging from the dramatic heroics involved in throwing himself off the roof to rescue his former neighbors.

That stubborn streak of virtue was the main reason he caught me off guard after the battle. Dresden could be cunning, but devious political manoeuvres had never been his style. He proved himself adaptable because just as soon as he acquired political capital by binding Ethniu, he leveraged it at a Ministry meeting.

The Accorded Nations had unanimously agreed to declare war on the Fomor in the aftermath of the battle. Aphorisms about barn doors and horses sprang to mind. Nevertheless, the first Unseelie Accords Executive Ministry meeting was intended to address the situation in Chicago. As host, I’d identified a suitable location in Oldstown for which attendance and security were tightly controlled, and the meeting began without fanfare. Queen Mab, Lady Sarissa, Evanna, Lara Raith, Donar Vadderung, the Archive and myself were present, standing in a circle in a room without shadows

The Archive was in the middle of her update when the doors swung open. No interruption was scheduled. The arrogance required to gatecrash such a meeting left me unsurprised to see Dresden framed in the doorway with a small pack of werewolves at his heels. He dismissed his retinue before striding in like he had an invitation, taking the position of a trusted lieutenant behind Mab. She shot him a look that would have withered lesser men, but he returned it calmly. Something passed between them before Mab asked the Archive to continue her update.

Dresden waited patiently as she did so. The marks of pain and exhaustion were clear on him, the lights in the room doing nothing to hide the shadows under his eyes. But those eyes were sharp and his stance was steady as he scanned the room taking everyone in. What was he doing here, other than distracting me?

The Archive concluded her report with confirmation that mortal authorities had decided to obfuscate the existence of the supernatural rather than confront it, and I dragged my attention back to the discussion. There was no consensus on whether the deception would hold, only a practical conclusion that delaying any mass revelation of our existence was wise. The topic seemed to agitate Dresden, who began to frown and lean forward.

Mab announced him before he could register his objections.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, my Knight requests audience. In light of his recent service to the Accorded Nations, I believe it right and proper to grant it. Will anyone here gainsay me?”

Only a fool would, but the look Dresden shot me was so full of weaponized glee that I was nearly tempted. I felt an adrenaline spike kick in, as if there was a rifle pointed at my head instead of a smile. Whatever this was, I wasn’t prepared for it.

Dresden moved carefully into the centre of the circle, and I noticed he’d somehow jammed his leather duster on over a cast. The scent of medicinal ointment came off him as he moved. He was vulnerable, and the attention of all those Powers seemed to subdue him for half a second, until he turned and locked gazes with me. Somehow, that helped him summon his usual bravado and launch into whatever left-field stunt he’d decided to inflict on me this time.

“The Summer and Winter Courts care about balance,” he began, “and what the Accorded Nations have done to Chicago has created a terrible imbalance. More than just the political and military consequences of our conflicts, we have violated the spirit of laws so old that they have never been written down. We were guests in Chicago. And we brought our troubles to their home.”

It was a surprisingly good speech, clearly practiced, and he hit his target. The invocation of guestright got a reaction from the audience. I made a rapid survey of concerned expressions and caught Raith doing the same. Dresden then threw in what must have been some rapid improvisation based on the previous discussion and framed his proposal as a response to the looming threat of the Librarians. He suggested that the Accorded Nations put on a good show by rendering humanitarian aid and assistance. It was a reading of the unwritten laws of Xenia so expansive it bordered on the ridiculous. My lawyers would have been proud. And yet the idea wasn’t without merit, a grander version of the philanthropy that burnished my public image on a local scale.

When I made a token point against the proposal to gauge Mab’s response she backed Dresden. Interesting. But she did so with the sensible proviso we recover the reparations from the Fomor. So when the proposal came to a vote, I voted in favor. It was unanimous.

But Dresden wasn’t done.

“There is also the matter of personal debt. Ethniu was my kill, before all the Accorded Nations in defence of the demesne of Baron John Marcone of Chicago.” He turned to look at me once more. “Acknowledgement of that debt is due.”

My demesne? As if he hadn’t been a Regional Commander of the White Council’s wardens with explicit responsibility for Chicago, living here with everyone he cared for? He’d have fought me to the mat for his rights in this town, and I knew damn well he wasn’t about to walk away from them either. But he knew damn well I wasn’t about to lodge a protest undermining mastery of my own territory. We stared one another down as everyone else in the room set their eyes on me.

“The Eye seems ample reward for such a deed,” I countered. But Dresden had the gall to look around with wide eyes and pretend he had no idea where it was. Dresden was generally a bad liar - had he deliberately mislaid the Eye of Fucking Balor in order to pull this off? This was my reward for letting him leave the beach alive.

“Are we to believe that you just left a weapon like the Eye lying upon the ground?” I asked. Surely, surely he didn’t plan to paint himself an idiot in front of the assembled powers.

He broke with the tone of the meeting. “Dude, there was an apocalypse on. The earth shaking. Giant waves. I almost drowned, you know, in this giant stupid concrete teacup some fool made. It’s all kind of blurry.”

Giant stupid concrete teacup. As if he could weave concrete out of its component elements. As if he could do more with what he’d call earth magic than splatter the people stupid enough to stand still in his blast radius. I could throttle him.

I throttled my anger instead, Dresden’s access to my emotional responses always disconcerting, and felt Mab’s gaze on me.

“Surely you don’t believe him?” I asked of her and Raith. Vadderung seemed, if anything, fond of Dresden, the svartelfs had been hosting him, Summer had been the most persuaded by his previous proposal and he’d once saved the Archive from perdition.

“The last I saw,” Raith pointed out with a provocative smile, “you were the one running off with the Eye, Baron.”

“Queen Mab?” I tried, fully aware I was losing ground.

“He has given me no reason to disbelieve him, Baron,” she said, a typically sidhe answer. She was letting this threadbare deception play out, and if Dresden outmanoeuvred me, she wouldn’t overrule him.

“I know you have it,” I said to him quietly, making space to think. Dresden didn’t afford me any, and drove the dagger home instead.

“Prove it, Sir Baron.”

Mab caught the addition to my title, allowing surprise to show on her face. The Knights of Hell might sound like a rock band, but it was one of the names the Denarians were known by.

“Much is explained,” Mab said, and my position was clear.

I no longer considered Namshiel a secret. I’d held his presence in reserve for years, and it paid off to catch Ethniu unawares on the beach. Nathan Hendricks had died to let me play that hand, God rest his— or no, there wasn’t much rest in Valhalla. But he’d died to let me win. I wouldn’t rely on that reveal again, but operational security was still prudent. I wasn't about to start broadcasting Namshiel’s presence. Unless I gave way on this issue, Dresden would do that for me. Even without that consideration, if I claimed my part in the final fight I’d be caught in a clumsy lie, and increase suspicion I might possess the Eye.

“Very well, Sir Dresden,” I conceded. “What is it you wish of me?”

Dresden leaned down towards me, all twelve miles of him, closer than was warranted. Close enough I could feel the heat from his body, close enough to slip the point of a knife under his chin if I were so inclined. He held my eyes for a second, making me wait, and finally said with obvious delight, “I want my lab back. Move your stuff.”

The castle. He wanted the castle because it was on top of his basement? As if he had some claim to the little patch of the city he’d been renting? The patch that burned to the ground? This was insufferable. Ridiculous. That had been an investment running into the millions— and Dresden was watching me, smile full of teeth. The Accorded Nations watched me.

I packed away the emotional turmoil Dresden was so adept at inspiring. “I’ll make arrangements,” I said.

Damn him.

Dresden inclined his head to me. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the debt is settled.”

Namshiel stirred himself. I’ve unearthed but a fraction of the castle’s secrets. We don’t know what we’re giving away.

You’ve had months to study the place, Namshiel, and millennia of experience. If there are magics there you cannot access they may not be accessible at all.

I had the mental sense of a sulky grumble. Namshiel was put out at having his research interrupted, regardless of whether that research could bear fruit.

Well, don’t come crying to me if he unleashes the questing beast in Chicago. Or becomes the Fisher King. Or—

Come now. He’s barely 40, and too busy fighting his way out of corners to hone his craft. How likely is he to succeed where you failed? I knew even as I formed the words that I was tempting fate.

Ah, wound my pride too, will you? Some magics are the domain of mortal men. He’s done stranger things, John.

He had, but there was nothing I could do about that at the moment. I shrugged Namshiel off and ordered my thoughts. There was still business to be done.

***********************************************************

I had the castle clear within 24 hours, and a rendezvous with Dresden to hand over the keys. I knew, rationally, that bursting into an Accords meeting and unleashing a little inspired extortion was how the game was played. And I wasn’t entirely unwilling to admit that Dresden was due a reward for his efforts. His insolence was a small price to pay for the fact most of the city was still standing, and he’d proven himself a suitable custodian for the castle. Having it pass out of my control wouldn’t weaken the city’s defences.

It should have been easier to stop thinking about strangling him. But Dresden had a unique capacity to irritate me.

Strangle away, please. It’s more tolerable than your other daydreams.

My atypical response remained, and some element of my frustration must have been evident at the Ministry meeting, as Mab herself manifested beside me when I pushed open the castle door.

I didn’t jump.

“Your majesty. Are you here to supervise?” I asked, lightly. Dresden was stripped of the support of the White Council, worn down by the battle, and despite his gleeful persecution of me, likely emotionally devastated.

And I was annoyed with him.

“Lady Molly indicated feelings might be running high,” Mab noted. “Lady Raith suggested she courier the keys for you.”

Yet Raith was nowhere to be seen. “You turned her down?”

“There are matters I would speak about with both of you.”

“I’m sure,” I said, and closed the door behind us. We stood in the entryway, and I withstood Mab’s scrutiny.

“So. A denarian.” Mab observed.

I inclined my head.

“Which?”

Dresden hadn’t given her the detail then, but doubtless he would if pressed. “Namshiel,” I said, and the queen’s eyes narrowed. Frost curled across the stone beneath her feet, and her clothes shifted into blackness. “Namshiel has not wronged you, to his knowledge,” I continued.

“No?” she said, and considered me. “And how sure are you of the truths told by a creature of Hell?”

“There’s no profit to him in lying to me about this.” I said. Is there, Namshiel?

Whatever this is about, I didn’t do it. I have more interesting things to concern myself with than antagonising Winter.

I knew how Namshiel defined interesting, and deliberately provoking the Winter queen of his own initiative didn’t fall into the category. I was inclined to believe him.

Mab tilted her head and let the silence stretch. I offered no further protestation of innocence, but held myself ready. “Very well,” she said, eventually. The hallway brightened, and Mab’s clothing shifted into women’s business wear, grey suit and pale blue shirt. Whatever that had been about, she clearly had suspicions but no evidence.

“I believe your knight should be in the main hall,” I said, and offered her precedence. She led the way.

We found Dresden there in the company of the Winter Lady, both staring up at the hole in the roof.

“And do you need a basketball court?” the Winter Lady said.

“It’s an idea,” he replied, then sensed our approach, turning to face us. It looked like he hadn’t rested or run a comb through his hair since we’d last met. “Wow. Molly to distract me and my boss to keep me in line? I swear I wasn’t going to punch him in the nose.”

He could try, I thought, and offered a small smile instead.

“I prefer not to test your restraint,” Mab said. “There has been enough fighting.”

“Amen,” Dresden said. “Guess I’ll just have to be gracious in victory.” He shot me a grin, just in case I’d forgotten how much he was still enjoying this.

“Should the utter lack of grace in our previous encounters indicate victory is a rarity for you?” I asked, instead of indulging in the desire to launch the keys straight through the teeth of his smile.

“Awwww, don’t be a sore loser, John,” he said, then held out his hand and twiddled his fingers. I took a mental three count before dropping the keys into his waiting palm.

Dresden bounced them up and down. “Great. Now get ou—”

“A moment, Knight,” Mab interrupted, somehow surprising us both. We turned to look at her.

“The Baron Marcone has long sought closer alliance with Winter,” she said. “He has proven himself a worthy ally. We shall formalise the alliance tonight.”

An alliance. I’d thought such a thing a good decade off, but war was a catalyst, and I had rallied the Accorded Nations to Mab’s side.

“Uh… ok,” Dresden said, with no indication he understood the importance of such a thing. “You need some pageantry from me for that?”

“You know how the sidhe seal agreements,” she said, as if he was missing something obvious.

“You’re kissing him?” Dresden asked, his confusion at his presence in this discussion mirroring my own. Mab had never brought him into our negotiations before. “Great. With all due respect and as your host I politely request you do that in your own castle.”

Mab sighed. “Alliances are traditionally sealed by marriage, Knight.”

Marriage.

“Oh. Wow. Good luck,” Dresden said, turning back to me with wide eyes. Marry Mab? I’d understood the necessity of being a junior partner in any alliance with Winter, but marrying a queen at my current rank would codify that lack of seniority permanently, and in areas outside the scope of any alliance.

“It is not the Queen’s role to marry,” Mab said, as if to a particularly dull student. “You need not look relieved, Baron,” she continued archly. I’d kept my feelings off my face but Mab, like Dresden, was difficult to hide from.

Dresden and I traded reluctantly confused glances, neither gaining illumination before he said, “You’re going to have to be less sidhe about this, my Queen.” Then he paused, blinked, and said, “Wait. No. Molly is not marrying a Denarian. Her mom will turn Arctis Tor upside down.”

“A WHAT?!” the Winter Lady yelped, one hand held out in a warding gesture. Wonderful. If that news hadn’t already reached the ears of the Knights of the Cross, it was one step closer. “Wait, I can’t marry, that doesn’t work.”

“Indeed it does not,” Mab confirmed. “It is the function of the Knight.”

Dresden blinked again. His eyes met mine. We stared at one another in mutually horrified silence for a long beat. This time I broke first.

“To be clear,” I said, turning back to Mab. “I have no relative or vassal suitable for this purpose. You intend Dresden to marry me?”

“No,” the Lady breathed. “Oh no. Your majesty, that’s like gluing a dog to a cat and hoping it turns out well.”

Quite.

Then Dresden chipped in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, in a quiet and reasonable tone that caused me more concern than his usual dramatics, “but he’s a guy. I’m a guy. Nothing against that generally, for people who aren’t me, but no, two guys getting married is not how alliances are typically sealed.”

Mab ignored him. “Baron?” she said, as if Dresden’s cold and mounting fury were beneath her notice.

“You honor me,” I said calmly, frantically sorting through the implications and repercussions. Refusing would be politically disastrous. I didn’t want to refuse alliance with Winter; it was the cumulation of several long term plans. But the Winter Lady’s assessment had been accurate, and Mab was asking me to embrace a ticking time bomb in the form of Dresden’s eroding restraint. Time, I needed to play for time. “But I think the timescale poses difficulties.”

“Your problem is the timescale?” Dresden snarled, and I revised down my estimate on the half-life of his patience.

What do you expect me to do about this? I wanted to snap at him but settled for a speaking glance instead. Dresden opened his mouth again before flinching when the Winter Lady clamped a hand down on his arm.

“Yes, Harry. The timescale is unsuitable,” she said with significant emphasis. It clearly bounced off Dresden who simply glared at her until she made an exasperated face, which was somehow more persuasive. He shut his mouth.

The Lady turned to the Queen. “Our knight has lost his lover, and the Baron a dear lieutenant. They are owed a morning period, by the customs of their people.”

“Yes,” I said. Duty, obligation, reputation. Mab understood such things. I sent Nathan a mental apology at using his death for one last advantage. “My people would think I spend his life cheaply if I arranged a wedding right on the heels of his sacrifice.”

“Thrift, thrift, Horatio!” Dresden muttered nonsensically, but it clearly meant something to Mab who gave pause.

“Indeed? Your council is appreciated, Lady Molly. Very well. A period of a year spent in mourning.”

A year. Many things could happen in a year, I could work with that. But Dresden flared up. “You can take your year spent in mourning and shove—”

“Agreed!” Lady Molly said over him, with another familiar look. Something passed between them and whatever colorful defiance he’d been brewing stayed out of Dresden’s mouth. The leather of his coat creaked under the strength of her grip.

But Mab wasn’t done. “With the proviso that they make regular public appearances together. War does not wait for the mending of broken hearts. We must project the image of improved solidarity at once,” she decreed.

Dresden didn’t have the sense to bow his head. “No-one looks at me and Marcone and thinks of solidarity,” he growled.

“Oh? And what did Ethniu think when she looked upon you both, my Knight?” Mab asked.

“Mostly that we’re really annoying,” he retorted.

Hah. Dresden wasn’t wrong. The titan had been almost petulant at Namshiel’s appearance.

“Long may the enemies of Winter deem you both so,” Mab said with a smile. That smile grew sharper as she turned it on the Lady. “Lady Molly, you shall see to the details of the courting period.”

It hit the Lady like a gut punch. Carpenter had been in Dresden’s orbit for a long time, and from an impressionable age. Perhaps she carried a torch for him. But she swallowed whatever pain that caused her and simply nodded.

Mab surveyed us all. “The world we have been building is at risk. Defy me on this issue and you hazard much beyond my displeasure,” she cautioned.

Dresden wasn’t swayed by that either, continuing to scowl his defiance directly at Mab. She gave in to the inevitable need to let him air his concerns in a private forum before he offered her a public challenge. Wise, as he didn’t look physically capable of withstanding the punishment such insolence must bring him. It would be wasteful to break him now because he lost his temper.

“Lady Molly, Baron Marcone. Thank you for your time. I would speak privately with my Knight.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Queen Mab,” I said, and gave the exaggerated nod which was as close as I cared to come to a bow.

I offered my arm to the Winter Lady and she hesitated, conflicted eyes on Dresden.

“It’s okay,” he told her gently, as if he had any say in the outcome of a private discussion with his queen. “I’ll see you in the car.”

She gave her own nod to Mab and took my arm almost absently. I led her out, pondering the power dynamics between a Knight and Lady who had been master and student.

When we reached the entryway, and were nominally out of Mab’s earshot unless she chose to mark us, the Winter Lady announced. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“Indeed,” I agreed.

Lady Molly seemed to remember my presence and snatched her hand back. “A Denarian. Did you lose your freaking mind?”

“So speaks the former Rag Lady. I’m sure that’s not your concern, Miss Carpenter,” I said. The question had clearly come from the apprentice, the girl who’d never fully emerged from Dresden’s shadow before Winter swallowed her up. I wondered how much of her was left.

“He’s my Knight too,” she snapped. “Held in full esteem of his merits. And you aren’t worthy of him.”

Catty. I really did not want to be embroiled in high school histrionics about who got to take Dresden to prom.

“Your opinion differs from the formal position of your court,” I noted, which disconcerted her for a moment. She rallied.

“Treat my knight well, and treat him carefully, John Marcone. Or it will not be Winter you answer to,” she said. Then she vanished, leaving me uncertain as to who she intended to stand in judgement.

Dresden? The Knights? God? A little late for that. Or a little early, depending how you looked at it.

Well. It seemed I was facing a seismic shift in the nature of my working relationships with both Dresden and Winter.

I set off to make arrangements.

Chapter Text

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. I’m the Wizard of Chicago and, due to some desperately ill-advised decision making, the Winter Knight.

My boss had lost her goddamn mind.

Molly and Marcone left the castle, and I tried to pull together whatever protests wouldn’t get my skull bounced off the wall. If I took another beating parts of me might start falling off. But this was insane, and I’d had a long damned week.

And Murph was gone.

Grief possessed me, and minding my manners suddenly didn’t matter any more, because nothing mattered. I opened my mouth, phasers set to kill.

Mab raised her hand, forestalling me. Her voice was tired and uninflected. “Yes. You defy me. Obviously. You always do. In the interests of efficiency, let us assume you have uttered some mystifying reference to mortal popular nonsense, I have glared at you and reminded you of the power I hold over you, you have confirmed that you continue to understand the circumstances that require me to tolerate your insouciance, and we have both agreed to continue this ridiculous dance in the future, presumably for the remainder of time.”

I blinked. Meta-commentary on the nature of our relationship was new. It took me a moment to get my objections back in order.

“Marcone? Marriage? I’m not a Ken doll, you can’t just crash me into another action figure and shout now kiss.”

“I can do exactly that,” she said, unmoved. “Or will you deny what you surrendered to me at the table?”

I shut my mouth. Mab had me there. She’d had me in every way, staking her claim to my life in an unmistakable fashion. And I’d agreed to it, in an equally unmistakable fashion. My life was Mab’s to spend, and if marrying me off resulted in a more stable and secure Winter, she had both the right and the duty to do so.

But that just brought me back to why the entire idea was insane.

Mab turned away from me to gaze up through the hole in the roof. Raindrops turned to hail as they passed her and bounced across the stone floors of the castle.

I couldn’t deny Mab’s right, or her duty. But I could point out that her means were unlikely to reach her ends.

“Why him? Why not… Lara, or Evanna, or literally anyone else?” I asked.

Mab looked back to me, hail increasing the tempo at which it rattled across the floor.

“The Baron has garnered the lion’s share of respect among his elders by surviving a storm this violent at all, much less proving to have prepared for it, seizing the initiative, and fighting for his territory successfully. Yet you have claimed a choice prize of him, and he has the grace to yield it to you. He fought beside you. He sheltered the rabble you brought to his door. Tis meet. You are well suited.”

That was true from a really twisty point of view — one I didn’t agree with — but it reminded me there was something I wanted to say. I moved closer to Mab. She was a little shorter than me today, in the form she used to move amongst mortals unremarked.

“It did mean something to me,” I admitted. “Marcone didn’t have to let everyone in. It made tactical sense not to. But he did when I asked.”

When push came to shove, Marcone always gave me what I asked for. Sometimes for a price, sometimes because our goals aligned, maybe sometimes because he just couldn’t be bothered arguing with me.

Mab inclined her head.

“And he was ready for the fight. When the city needed him, he was here. I won’t forget that,” I continued. Then I paused to make sure I had her full attention. “But so were you. Thank you.”

Mab looked puzzled. People probably don’t thank her often. Not sincerely. “Thank you,” I repeated. “You fought for my city. My people.” I said it for the third time, intent and will in my words. Repeat something three times and you make it more real. “Thank you.”

Mab shivered at my gratitude. She closed her eyes. And for a moment, rain fell around her instead of hail.

“Child, you are welcome,” she said, and opened her eyes. When she looked at me, it was the gaze of Winter’s Queen. Whatever moment she’d just spent being a person was tucked away once more.

“I have a question,” I asked.

“Go on.”

“Why don’t you do it? You seem to like him.”

Amusement quirked her mouth. “Like him… child, if it were simply a matter of bedding him, I need not call on you. I would spare you this if it were something I could do myself.”

I believed her, which raised some questions. “Why can’t you?” I frowned, remembering Molly’s protest that she couldn’t marry because it wouldn’t work. What the heck did that mean?

“Certain aspects of my power have to do with choices I made when I was mortal,” Mab said. “There would be… compatibility issues, with a marriage. This is part of the task the Knight was designed for.”

We were back to speaking different languages again. “I’m a person, not a design,” I pointed out. “I might not be fundamentally incompatible with marriage, but I sure as hell am with Marcone.”

Mab looked amused again, the faintest sign of humor in her eyes. “No. You are not incompatible at all. You deliberately set yourself at odds with him because you imagined how terrible a creature you might become if you grasped after power the way he does.”

Ouch. That was maybe… not wrong, but also a fantastic reason not to marry the guy.

“That’s just incompatible with more words,” I protested. “And if you think I’m going to put on a black hat and start twirling my moustache because you marry me off to a gangster, you’ve got another thing coming.”

She sighed. “Assuming I’ve parsed that correctly, you’re being tiresomely obtuse.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m rubber and you're glue,” I retorted, prompting Mab to reach up and flick me on the ear before I could get out of range. “Ow!”

“Manners, child. I have no plans to alter you. Have you not proven to be of great value as you are?”

I stared at her in disbelief. “You hung the mantle round my neck! I have to fight to be who I am every goddamn day, and if I slip—” the burn across my arm itched. If I slipped, and I was lucky, I had friends to call me back to myself. “If I slip it’s going to be no fun for anybody if I do it in Marcone’s company.”

Mab shook her head. “Still your vision is clouded. I admit you needed to be at odds with the Baron to grow. The power you have taken, bite by bite, hasn’t devoured you. You have mastered the mantle. You may master more. But the time for playground rivals has passed.”

Apparently Mab thought of my precarious detente with Marcone as existential training wheels. I had no idea what the hell kind of bike she wanted me to ride.

“If I ask you to explain any of that you’re going to say something infuriatingly cryptic, aren’t you?” I tried.

“The time has not yet come.”

“Goddamnit!” I yelled. I may even have stamped my foot. I’d been promised answers and I wasn't in the mood to wait a year for them.

“Our world has become infinitely more uncertain and dangerous. We must become stronger and more stable to face it, securing both the appearance and fact of a secure alliance with a competent partner.”

“Great. Super rational, makes sense,” I agreed. “But that’s not how relationships work, Mab! It shouldn’t be forced!”

She was unmoved, staring me down with glacial certainty. “You have a year to persuade yourself of his merits.”

I knew she couldn’t understand, was maybe incapable of understanding, but I kept trying. “There’s not a switch I can flick in my brain that’s going to make me want to marry John Marcone!”

Her look was cold. “Your wants are immaterial. There is no margin here for you to dance within. Bend, wizard. Or I will break you.”

I drew in a breath and let it out again. “I guess we’ll see.”

Her eyes glinted. But she looked like someone who had heard what she expected to hear. She inclined her head to me in an opponent's acknowledgement. “We will see.”

And then I walked out of that one-to-one with my boss to hop in a car with my other sort-of boss to see her folks for Sunday dinner. And break the whole Winter Lady deal. Which it turned out they already knew.

There was a lot of hugging. And some crying. And heaps of good food.

And I held my kid and my dog and knew no matter what was coming, I had steady ground to face it from.

************************************

I had a lot of building to do, and a lot of breaking down. Crazy as it was, I couldn’t turn my attention to the marriage situation straightaway.

It’s different, grieving as a parent. Grief is all consuming, it fills your heart and your life, it’s all you can see, but at the same time… you make room.

Because Maggie needed me. She needed her dad to be there for her, doing dad things, loving her.

So even though I spent my nights swamped in dreams, haunted by Murphy’s pale face and her dark blood, come morning I got up.

I had things to do.

My brother was trapped on Demonreach. I had no idea how to free him without his hunger eating him alive. His lover was being puppeteered by the adversary, taking his future child along for the ride. My future niece or nephew. Maggie’s cousin. Every tracking spell I tried fizzled out. I didn’t stop trying.

But some problems have obvious solutions. You laid stone on stone, hammer to nail. You asked a friend to lend a hand.

Michael went with me to survey the hole in the castle roof. We measured a few things. Michael wrote things down and I tried to wrap my head around how renovations would interface with the castle’s defences. That was definitely a question for Bob.

Michael and I were in the middle of debating a skylight when someone stuck their head into the hall with a hesitant “Hello?”

We turned to see a vaguely familiar man come into the hall, followed by a relaxed and wolfy Will Borden who’d been guarding the castle door. He’d evidently allowed the man to pass. I belatedly recognised him; medium build, brown wavy hair, a pair of glasses now held together by tape over the nose - it was the father from the first house where River Shoulders and I fought the Huntsmen. The man with a wife and child who’d trusted me because he’d remembered my dog.

“Harry Dresden?” the guy said in surprise.

“Yeah,” I said, managing a smile. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Velasquez. Luis Velasquez. I didn’t expect anyone to still be here,” he said, looking around and offering Michael an equally strained smile of greeting.

It felt clumsy, making introductions in the wake of something as transformative as the Battle. Like we should already know one another properly. But we fumbled through.

“There’s been a change of ownership,” I explained. “Welcome to Castle Dresden, Mr Velasquez. Can I help you with something?”

“Ah, perhaps?” he said, scanning the hall once more. “We cleared out in a hurry when the fighting stopped. Have you seen a toy rabbit?”

I blinked. Chicago was still in turmoil, the streets still full of hazards, transport difficult to source — Velasquez had made his way here from wherever his family were sheltering, for a toy.

“A rabbit?” I questioned.

He resettled his glasses on his nose, where the poorly mended break was clearly starting to rub. “My little girl, Sophia — she sleeps with a toy rabbit. Mr. Hopps. It’s the only thing left from— from before. She held onto him until we got to the castle, but we haven’t seen him since.”

Michael and I traded looks of paternal understanding. Yeah, that was the kind of thing a father might hazard the streets for.

“Got your cell?” I asked Michael.

“Powered off, but yes.”

I fished some chalk out of my pocket and drew a circle round him. “I haven’t seen any toys, Mr Velasquez. But I’ll find out if anyone picked it up during the clear out. Michael, call this number for me, put it on speaker.”

Vasquez looked at the circle in confusion as Michael dialled Marcone’s number. It rang three times before he answered.

“Who is this?” Marcone said.

“Hey, honey,” I said. “When your people cleared the castle, was there a toy rabbit?”

“A toy…” Marcone sighed. “Good afternoon, Dresden. Anything I didn’t have claim to was crated up in the gym. Try there.”

“Great. Oh, hey, what do you want me to do with your mail?”

There was a beat of silence in which I grinned to myself. “Dresden, I’m busy. If you’d like to discuss something serious, make an appointment.”

“Well that just doesn’t sound very romantic, John. A boy needs spontaneity in his life, you know?”

Marcone hung up. I took a moment to enjoy my powers of long distance irritation.

“Was that who I think it was?” Velasquez said warily.

“Previous owner of this castle,” I confirmed. “Follow me. Will, you still good guarding the door?

Will dipped his head and padded back out. Velasquez followed after me while Michael returned to jotting down measurements.

“So, you, uh… You really think it’s smart to talk to him like that?” Velasquez asked.

“For me? Yeah. Keeps him on his toes.” I said. Before Mab’s announcement I’d fully intended on taking a more reasoned approach to dealing with the guy. I didn’t have the institutional weight of the White Council to back me up when I threw my weight around, and I was under no illusions about how the Battle would have gone without him. He was due my respect. But the suddenly engaged! aspect of our relationship had tripped me into familiar habits.

“Probably not a smart hobby for people who can’t blow up monsters with bits of wood, though,” he mused.

“Maybe not.” I could feel Velasquez considering me. Chicago hadn’t been too friendly to the supernaturally inclined since the battle. “You got any questions about that?”

“You can do magic,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I said, taking note of our relative positions on the stairs, and how easy it would be to push him down them with a shield if he turned on me. “It’s a gift. And a lot of hard work.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re still here. I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

Sometimes, if you let them, people can surprise you. “What are neighbors for, right?”

“Most neighbors can’t do what you do.” He paused on the steps. I looked back down at him to find the colour washing out of his cheeks. ”It was like a nightmare, Mr. Dresden. Monsters came for my family and I couldn’t do anything about it. We’re alive because of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, which sounded kind of inadequate.

Velasquez clearly felt the same. He shook his head and said, “We owe you. Everyone from this block owes you.”

Those weren’t words you should throw at a guy with a faerie mantle wrapped around his life. I shrugged off the mantle’s stirring interest.

“Pay it forward,” I said instead, focussing on the work of being human. “Times are going to be tough. People are going to hurt. For a long time.” Murphy, on the pavement, bleeding out. I closed my eyes and swallowed it down. Later, I could go to pieces later. “Next time you can help, help, and we’ll call it even.”

“I like your philosophy,” Velasquez said. “The world needs more of it.”

We traded shaky smiles and got moving. When we got to the gym I spotted a couple of crates against the back wall I’d overlooked on my brief survey of the castle. I unclipped the lids and gazed down at a random assortment of items. Was that einherjarr laundry? Surely Marcone could have sent that back via Monoc -- was I obliged to now? I poked around hesitantly until I caught sight of a long floppy ear, and then fished out a plump pink rabbit holding a fuzzy carrot. “Ah hah. Mr Hopps, I presume?”

“That’s him!” Velasquez’s face lit up. Mission accomplished. “Sophia will be so happy.”

Something else caught my eye in the box, and I reached in to pull out a backpack. If it was anything like the bugout bag I packed for Maggie… I unzipped the front pouch. Passports.

“Oh man. Those are going to be a pain in the ass to replace right now.” I realized.

“Anyone we know?” Velasquez asked. I checked.

“Jim and Alice Caziel.”

“Weren’t they at number 23? The nurse and teacher with the Labrador?” Velasquez had a good memory for dogs.

“Oh yeah. Mouse liked her.”

“Hang on, I think they’re still on the street Whattsapp group,” he said, pulling a cellphone out of his pocket. “Not everyone’s managed to replace a phone yet but I’m sure my wife mentioned they messaged about finding space in the Wrigleyville shelter.” He was tapping away at his cell as he spoke and I moved away, round the other side of the crate. There were a few other things in there that didn’t look like laundry. I frowned.

“Did everyone leave in a hurry?”

“No one wanted to cross Marcone’s men. When they told us to clear out to the shelters, we cleared out.”

“This isn’t Marcone’s castle any more.” I said, with immediate and total conviction. The Mantle agreed with me. “This is your neighborhood. No-one has to leave unless they want to leave. I have space enough for everyone.”

Velasquez looked up from the phone and blinked. “That’s— an incredible offer, Mr Dresden. We’re lucky. My sister's house wasn’t touched, but we’re crammed in like sardines. Some of our neighbors… not all of the shelters feel safe. But are you sure? You’ve already done so much.”

“Not enough,” I said, voice choking off as I remembered a bloody cradle on its side. There could never be enough. The city had bled and bled and bled. But after the bleeding, all you could do was keep moving. “This place is too big for just me. What’s the point in having a castle if you don’t use it to protect people?”

As soon as I finished speaking, I heard a bell ring. I knew, without knowing how, that it came from within the castle, and I felt like I’d stood there before, spoken the same words, and heard the chime.

The last time I’d felt that way, I’d been standing on Demonreach.

Velasquez gave no indication of having heard anything. So far as I knew, the castle didn’t even have a bell.

“I can pass the message along, Mr Dresden, and I’ll speak to my wife,” he said.

“Call me Harry,” I said, rather than raving about mysterious bells. Another question for Bob.

“Thank you, Harry. Luis.” We shook hands again, and the scale of what I’d proposed started catching up with me.

“There’s going to be rules,” I said. “Briefings. A lot of information - things people need to abide by to keep us safe.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “After what we saw… if you’re willing to teach, I’m sure people will want to learn.”

************************************************************
Before my displaced neighbors could arrive, I looked to my defences.

Marcone had overlooked the real key to the castle - it required a spirit to interact with the majority of its functions, like Alfred did for me on the island. That wasn’t where the similarities ended: The spells woven into the stones were ancient and still functional, and they bore a startling structural resemblance to those that had been used to create Demonreach. It convinced me the castle was the work of the original Merlin or one of his students.

And now, like Demonreach, it belonged to me.

I made my way down to my lab and set Bob’s skull down on a shelf Michael had fixed for me. It was the first room in the castle to be fully furnished, and it felt good to be back. I set a candle to either side of Bob’s skull and lit it. Then I set a pile of racy reading material beside him.

“Welcome to your new home, Bob. You have my permission to explore the castle and configure the defences. Raise the drawbridge!”

Bob’s eye lights flared before he floated out from the skull, drifting back up to the trapdoor. I scrambled up a stepladder behind him, and watched as Bob sank into one of the stones of the wall. It started to glow blue.

“Whoah! It’s big in here,” his voice said. I don’t know why I expected it to echo; he sounded the same as always. “Kinda lacking in drawbridges.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, flapping a hand at him. “Figure out how to stop all the things that want to take a swing at me from getting in.”

Without the backing of the White Council, picking a fight with me wouldn’t drag anyone into a war. It’d only piss Mab off if they made their move at the stupidest of moments. Open season on Harry Dresden.

“Oh, hey. Gargoyles!” Bob said in delight. “Just what I always wanted.”

I smothered a smile. I knew Bob had enjoyed his time with Butters, gaining exposure to the internets and Butters’ unexpected love triangle— triad? What was it called when everyone was happy about it?— but Butters wasn’t a wizard. He didn’t own a magic castle. He couldn’t give Bob strange and ancient magics to explore. I got the feeling Bob was going to like this place.

“Huh. Boss, there’s something pointed at the Nevernever too but it’s… complex. Like, complex in more dimensions than I’m confident I’m perceiving. Not sure I should mess with it.”

“Right. Maybe leave that until last. My godmother will have it covered anyway.”

“Also, there’s someone at the door,” Bob said casually. “Redcap. Oh, hey— cool, I think we can wipe out glamor and illusions down the whole block. Whooeee this is a whole lotta fun!”

“Redcap?” I asked, suddenly glad I’d prioritized the defences. “A redcap or the redcap?”

“How many do you know?” Bob asked in confusion.

“One too many. Why the hell is he knocking on my door?”

“I can ask him?”

“Uh, no.” I did not want Bob coming to Winter’s official attention. I suspected Mab already knew about him, but that was different to knowing about him.

I jogged along to the front doors and slid open the viewing panel just as the Redcap knocked again. “Go away,” I said.

He peered in at me with a resigned expression. “Such gracious welcome, Knight,” he sighed, and lifted an envelope into view. “My lady cannot bring you this herself. So I am come at her bidding.”

An errand from Molly. I understood her picking someone I knew, but considering what I knew amounted to him being a merciless double agent, I’d rather she’d entrusted it to the postal service.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Apparently? A marriage contract.” A lightning smile flickered across his face. It kind of made me want to punch him. “You and the Baron? A formidable match.”

Then he paused to invite a reply, peering in at me like I was a particularly interesting animal at the zoo. The fae were drawn to the emotional complexities of mortal lives, even if they didn’t fully understand them. This was probably the Redcap equivalent of a soap opera.

“Are you here for gossip?” I growled.

“But of course,” he smiled again. “Our courtly knight will be taking a man to wed. Will you pull back his chair? Defend his honor?”

“He doesn’t have any,” I snapped, but immediately knew myself a liar. Marcone had plenty, if you knew where to look. It was part of the reason he was so infuriating.

“Ah, so he’ll be defending yours?” The Redcap asked. “Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about this,” I said, and hauled the door open to discover the Redcap was dressed as a mailman. Except his hat was red instead of blue, and he’d done nothing to hide his otherworldly beauty. It left him looking like a lithe, dark haired mailman with a sideline in modelling. He was enjoying this far too much.

The Redcap rested one hand high on the doorframe and leaned in towards me. Arrogant, giving me a clear shot at his torso. But he was here at the Winter Lady’s bidding and stabbing him through the solar plexus with an icicle would probably inconvenience Molly. I refrained.

“Come now,” he purred. “Surely the wedding night will arouse some interest?”

I froze. My brain had been so filled with outrage at the idea of being married to Marcone that I hadn’t considered the details of getting married. To accept a knighthood, I’d had to give all of myself to Mab. To bind Winter and the Barony…

What was I obliged to do?

Whatever was happening on my face caught the Redcap’s attention. “Is that a maidenly blush?” he asked. “If you’d like to get some practice in—”

I snatched the envelope off him. “Redcap, thou hast fulfilled thy mistress’s command!” I snapped. “Begone, begone, begone!”

It hardly counted as a banishing, but the Redcap flinched, and I felt something like a pressure flow past me from the open door of the castle. Huh.

“I go, Knight,” he said, and disappeared from the street. I slammed the door.

I had a contract to read and a criminal to talk out of marrying me.

Chapter Text

The state of Chicago left me unable to address the issue of marrying Dresden for several weeks. There were fallen buildings, disruptions to power and water, and outbreaks of sickness. The powers that be proclaimed Chicago at large had been the victim of a terrorist attack using a chemical agent. It supposedly caused hallucinations and had long lasting neurological effects. Such effects, such as memories of supernatural monsters slaughtering the citizenry, had been dubbed the “Heebie Jeebies” by the tabloids.

Despite the president declaring a federal emergency, federal aid was slow to materialize, beyond the presence of the national guard looking over the shoulder of potential rioters. That proved both a challenge and an opportunity; power abhors a vacuum.

I instructed my people to lay low. Much of the profit that could be made at street level at a time like this from the weak and vulnerable was likely to suppress profit generated over the longer term. Instead, those that were suited to the work were directed towards the distribution of water and supplies. Demolition and construction required a healthy workforce and I won contract after contract by laying down plans for towers taller than those the titan had torn down. My town had been nothing to Ethniu. It was convenient scenery for her to chew on as she pursued ancient grudges. And now it would grow taller to mark her defeat.

But the question of marriage was very much on my list, and I picked at it in hypotheticals between budget meetings and planning consultations and putting the fear of god into any punk who thought this chaos meant they could buck my authority or make a play for their own turf.

Mab and I had similar philosophies when it came to planning for the future. It was important to plan for all outcomes, not just the ones I preferred.

Alliance with Winter was optimal for my long term ambitions. Marriage to Dresden was not. Refusing the alliance would antagonize Mab in ways that would make it difficult to thrive, potentially even to survive. So, assuming a future where the alliance couldn’t be had without the marriage, what then?

It would be tricky, keeping Dresden close enough to respect a marriage but distanced from the less savory aspects of my business. Others in my position clearly managed to strike a balance, but they didn’t marry men like Dresden. Didn’t marry men at all, even if they kept boys on the side. A quixotic, professionally curious wizard with a tendency to flambé the things he found morally repugnant could throw my operations into chaos without much effort. Assuming a wizard’s duel cum mob war wasn’t Mab’s intended outcome for Chicago, would she exert herself to keep him in line? Could she, over the long term, if he turned over enough rocks to find something he wouldn’t tolerate?

I needed more information. Perhaps there were circumstances Dresden would tolerate. The right combination of stick and carrot. Even increased proximity might do something to move him -- he found allies as easily as he made enemies, and the connection between us was strong, if fraught. Perhaps it could be built on.

No way out but through, I thought, something Nathan had said the night before we hit the Vargassis.

I could address the logistics first. We were obligated to be seen in public together. The Winter Lady had been instructed to see to the details, but she was hardly an expert on Chicago’s social scene, and I’d want to manage the potential blowback.

I made an appointment with my PR people.

***********************************************************

I welcomed Charlotte Montgomery into my office with a handshake that turned into half a hug and a tight squeeze of the hand. It wasn’t the first business greeting I’d had since the battle that escalated into something more intimate. There seemed to be a great deal of sentimentality floating around at seeing people still alive. I shepherded her over to my desk.

“Charlie, I’m glad you’re well,” I said. “I believe your family are all safe?”

“We were out of state on a holiday, thank god,” she said, seating herself. “I haven’t moved them back yet.”

There was a pot of peppermint tea waiting for her, with a tiny jar of honey. She poured the drink then spooned it all in rather than the usual half a teaspoon.

“Have I dragged you in before you were ready?” I asked as I settled myself.

Her smile was impeccable, no sign of strain in her expression or the way she’d presented herself. Her copper hair was coiled up in its usual bun, and her dress and jacket still looked freshly pressed. My own businesswear already showed signs of my day. “Of course not,” she said. “The work’s here, isn’t it, John? Where else would I be?”

I’d always approved of her work ethic, and apparently she wasn’t going to let a little thing like supernatural warfare slow her down. “Quite. To business?”

“Please,” she said, and took a sip of her drink. “What have you got for me?”

I turned over a couple of photos on the desk. “Harry Dresden. My fiancé.”

One was a picture of Harry from the memorial service at Graceland cemetery, looking pale and forbidding. And a second from a few years prior when he was looking down at his overgrown dog, a crooked smile on his face. He was a difficult man to photograph, and my surveillance on him was largely passive, my people tasked with noting when he moved about the city. But there had still been a couple of photos available to show Charlotte.

To her credit, she only widened her eyes very slightly, and darted a quick look at my face to check I wasn’t joking.

Charlotte Montgomery was a public relationships specialist I’d worked with over the years. Many of the strategies she’d proposed to rehabilitate my image after coming to power had born fruit, and she was difficult to shock. I’d thought this might manage it.

“How lovely for you,” she said without missing a beat. “Congratulations!”

“I understand this is likely to cause a stir. I’d like to minimise any counterproductive fuss and leverage any positives. I assume you have some observations?”

“Hmmm, well, he’s certainly striking and I can of course see the appeal but — he’s not polished, not pretty, and John, he looks like a brawler. People are going to think you’re marrying a thug and we’ve spent a great deal of time convincing everyone that’s what you’re not.”

“Noted. Is there anything we can do about that?”

“It’s possible to soften his image, concealer for the scars and so on,” she said. I was not about to be the one to suggest Dresden wear make-up, but I didn’t contradict her. “Body language counts for a lot — I’m sure he could be coached to look approachable…” she trailed off thoughtfully and I disguised my reaction with a sip of coffee. Coached. Dear lord. “Yes,” Charlotte continued, tapping the photo of Dresden and his dog, “that smile can do a lot of heavy lifting.”

It wasn’t an expression Dresden had ever turned on me. All the smiles I’d seen had been fierce, a warning expression. In the photo, the smile reached his eyes, and they creased at the corners. It did a lot to undercut the threat of his stature, and softened the strong lines of his face. He was unlikely to produce that kind of warmth on cue, but it was something that could be leveraged for his public image, given the right circumstances.

“You’ve been a bachelor for so long, there were rumors. You’re announcing this on your own terms and as a serious commitment — in some ways this has the potential to be very good for your image.”

Interesting. I had never married or publicly dated any women, and my lack of romantic connections had raised eyebrows over the years. I’d found the speculation tiresome, and now it could finally be laid to rest by presenting Dresden as a Happy Ever After.

“Overt bigotry is currently unfashionable and you’re too influential to cross lightly, but some people are…” she paused to find a corporate euphemism.

“Invested in their stupidity?” I suggested.

“Deeply. Now, I’d advise ignoring the stupidity if it’s levelled at you directly. We can let proxies deride the behavior and avoid the risk of appearing combative.”

“There are very few people in Chicago willing to insult me to my face,” I said. Dresden was one of them. “The risk should be manageable.”

“The real difficulty is loss of connection or influence with certain parties. There’s very little to be done about that, I’m afraid.”

I considered the religious-political activist Grey had recently assassinated. Someone like him would likely pull away if not incentivized otherwise. The fact dating a man might cause me greater friction than being a vice lord was a little ridiculous. But as I was a vice lord, I had other ways of getting what I wanted where influence failed. “I consider myself advised.”

“The local press are going to dig, at least initially, so if there are any skeletons in his closet we want to get ahead there.”

“I have a file,” I said, pulling it out of my desk drawer. It thumped down between us. Charlotte eyed it warily.

“It’s awfully thick, John. What does he do?”

“He was a private investigator who advertised as a wizard and consulted for the police. Currently... I suppose he’s setting up a refugee centre in the former HQ of the Brighter Future Society.” I’d had reports that many of the civilians I’d cleared from the castle after the battle had since moved back in at Dresden’s request. It sounded like a security nightmare, and I could only hope his altruistic instincts were tempered by appropriate caution.

Charlotte smiled brightly. “You gave him a castle as an engagement present? John, that’s fairy tale romance material! We must get it in the papers.”

I pictured Dresden’s face and took another sip of coffee. “Yes. We must.”

“Well. There’s a reason you're my favorite client. I do like interesting work.”

“And my money,” I said, with a smile to indicate I was teasing.

“And your money,” she agreed, with a reciprocal smile. “Now, how do I contact your Mr Dresden?”

“You don’t. I want to run this without his direct involvement for the time being.”

That almost got me a frown, but she turned it into a thoughtful expression and a decisive nod.

“That’s your prerogative of course, but in my professional opinion it’s going to limit how well we manage this,” she warned me. I trusted her judgement, but I knew Dresden. He’d welcome his image being managed as readily as a stray welcomed a muzzle.

“He’s allergic to public relations. If you try to get him on message he’ll do the opposite.”

This time it was Charlie’s turn to disguise her smile behind her tea cup. “Well, I see you have your hands full. But if he’s becoming part of your life he’ll have to get used to this.”

“Gradually. Very gradually.”

“Very well, I think that’s everything I need from you.” Charlie scooped up the file and placed it in her laptop bag. “I’ll get back to you with a comms plan. The events scene hasn’t started back up yet for obvious reasons, but I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“Thank you, Charlie. If you could prioritise finding something suitable for our first public appearance in the next few weeks, I’d appreciate it.”

I saw her out.

There. I had plans in motion for John Marcone, Chicago business magnate. Now to work through the fallout for Gentleman Johnny…

*************************************************************

Before the Battle, explaining my unexpected engagement to the outfit would have been Nathan’s problem. People with the right or wrong connections in the Midwest knew that when Nathan Hendricks bothered to speak, it was with my voice. I had years of instinctive reliance on him to relearn, and contemplating this situation framed his absence at the forefront of my mind. Churning through these problems by myself without his unshakeable critiques was notably slower. Inefficient.

If I was marrying literally anyone suitable for the role, this would have been a non-issue. The various groups that made up the outfit, who abided its rules and paid their cut, could find out from the papers with the rest of Chicago.

But there were standing orders regarding Dresden, whose previous employment had dragged him through enough outfit adjacent spaces— empty warehouses, docklands, particular bars— that he was an occupational hazard to many in my employ. Those orders were to observe, placate, and report. Hopefully he’d be too busy with Winter business to sprint through the operations of mine. He’d largely been absent from street-level business since returning from the dead, but I couldn’t count on that.

So. How to explain that I was marrying the man but those orders remained in place? Disseminating this information without triggering different parts of the outfit into accusing one another of starting a smear campaign to destabilize me was giving me a headache.

I needed a sounding board.

I called in Childs, who was one of a small number of people fully briefed on both my mundane and supernatural interests, and outlined the situation to him. Childs was a capable man; he’d been doing well for himself working up the ranks in New York, until he’d been contracted to take out a rival the New York families had been unaware was a Red Court vampire. His unsurprising and spectacular failure to complete the job had resulted in his exile from New York, and a quest for answers had eventually brought him to my door. I offered him a job.

If I’d broken this news to Nathan, he’d have had a long laugh at my expense before pulling himself together and getting down to business. Despite his competence, Childs stared at me in blank disbelief until I managed to convince him I was being serious. Between the two of us, we concluded that to be believed, I’d need to work my way around the various neighborhood captains myself. That was unusual, but not unheard of, and I could reinforce the continuing understanding of how business was done in Chicago at the same time.

That left Winter and Dresden himself to deal with.

**************************************************************

Talvi Inverno delivered the treaty and marriage contract.

Inverno was an employee of mine, seconded from Winter. Mab had offered his services in exchange for establishing Inverno’s mortal identity and hosting him in Chicago.

Gard had identified Inverno as a demigod of strife and conflict. Which had raised the question as to whether he was offered as an asset, a test, or a threat. I had assumed all three, and now wondered if I should be thinking of Dresden’s hand in marriage in the same way.

Establishing a paper trail for a demigod had posed an interesting challenge, not to mention the credentials needed to set him up in the legal profession. I’d suggested the law as a constructive channel for strife, and it had been the right call. Inverno proved a quick study and clearly enjoyed the work. His performance in court was unparalleled.

I welcomed him into my office. “Good afternoon. You have the contract?”

“Oh yes. Quite the interesting document,” he said, taking a seat. No one would pick Inverno out of a lineup as a demigod. He was tall and slim, with neatly cut black hair, and had adopted standard business dress. He had a preference for dark suits, always well fitted, with only an occasional splash of colour from his tie. Today it was a midnight blue.

He opened his briefcase and retrieved the papers. “I’ve highlighted several clauses that might interest you, and provided commentary,” he said, sliding them across the desk towards me.

I accepted the papers and flicked through them. There were several highlighted sections, and more than one word choice jumped out as something I’d want to challenge. “Thank you, I’ll consider the document and come back to you with any questions. Did you have anything else for me?”

He nodded. “Yes, actually. It came to my attention while looking over the Gregory case that the government are sniffing around some of your revenue streams.”

Again. “How predictable.”

“Not the FBI. The Librarians. They’re taking particular interest in payments to Monoc and weregild received through the Accords,” he said. That was new.

“Those all have appropriate legal pretexts,” I noted.

“Yes, legality isn’t the traditional purview of the Library of Congress. They concern themselves with researching the supernatural and maintaining the separate spheres of mortal and supernatural existence.”

“I’m aware. They haven’t expressed an interest in my business before.”

“So far as you’ve noticed,” Inverno said with a sly smile. Vadderung had made a similar observation at the Ministry meeting. I was accustomed to obscuring my activities from official notice and had taken the same approach to my Accorded dealings. At the time I hadn’t realized there was a branch of the government that might care about them, but the caution had paid off.

“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll invite them to ask me any questions directly.” A secretive government agency was unlikely to enjoy an invitation to discuss my business dealings with my lawyer present. But that would require a contact, unless addressing mail to the actual Library of Congress could get their attention

“Not an approach previously taken by the supernatural set,” Inverno noted, with a light of anticipation in his eyes. They were the only things that occasionally gave him away. They were too bright, too intense, a vivid green that caught the attention.

“Isn’t this where you’re supposed to advise caution?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged, “if this were technically a legal matter. There are no laws governing the interaction of mortals and the supernatural.”

“Not yet,” I said. “But perhaps that day is coming.”

The mood on the street was ugly toward the occult, which had mostly translated to the unnecessary persecution of people making alternative fashion choices. Those with some genuine spark or knowledge in Chicago were mostly linked into the network Dresden had helped nurture, and the Fomor had already taught them harsh lessons on how to move unnoticed and band together in self defence.

Except Dresden, of course, who was still openly walking around Chicago with a staff and pentacle, flanked by werewolves. But any mob trying to take a bite out of him was likely to lose a tooth.

But if the Heebie Jeebies nonsense put about by the authorities didn’t hold, then eventually there’d be a reckoning, and mortal institutions would have to account for the existence of the supernatural.

It was a waiting game.

“How does Tripp Gregory’s case look?” I asked.

“Winnable. Though whether he’ll actually gain anything by winning is questionable,” Inverno said, with a dismissive flick of his hand. I read scorn in his features. Gregory had left an impression.

Tripp Gregory was an ignorant but loyal pimp fresh out of Pontiac, who’d sold product on commission from St Louis and failed to get them their cut. His loyalty earned him access to certain services, such as legal assistance. He wasn’t making best use of his privileges.

“And he’s been advised as much?” I checked. Inverno was dutiful, to the letter of his contract, but wasn’t above throwing someone as irksome as Gregory into a loophole if sufficiently antagonized.

“Yes,” Inverno said, with a cold smile. “He seems spectacularly immune to advice.”

“Very well.” Some people insisted on pissing away their advantages. Gregory couldn’t be helped out of a paper bag, never mind his current circumstances. But he’d earned the right to burn through his options. “Thank you for your time. Please let me know if you notice any further activity from the Librarians.”

Talvi rose and bowed, taking his leave with a respectful, “Baron.” He restricted himself to normal business greetings when in company, which I greatly preferred, but I had no way of doing away with the fantasy novel courtesy without undercutting my station. I resigned myself to dipping my head in turn.

**********************************************

Approximately an hour after the contract arrived, so did Dresden. He had his own stack of papers, and wonder of wonders, had actually phoned ahead. He took a seat on the other side of my desk.

Despite the time he’d had to heal, Dresden still looked worn thin. His face was pale and he held himself carefully. But he’d gone to the effort of wearing a suit, which moved him closer to charmingly dishevelled than he might otherwise have managed. There were no werewolves with him, and it didn’t speak well of Borden’s judgement that Dresden had come here alone.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

It was uncharacteristically polite. Dresden had manners, I was reliably informed, he just didn’t polish them off for me. Or wear suits. Considering how Mab had left things between us, I’d expected a more bracing opening salvo.

“Oh, please,” I said.

“I know,” he said, like he’d bitten something unpleasant. “It doesn’t sit right with me either. Can we just…” he trailed off and seemed to go somewhere else for a second before shaking it off and focussing on me. “Aren’t you tired, man?” he asked, so quietly I leaned forward to hear him better. “The world fell apart and you’re one of way too few people putting it back together again. Can’t we just be straight with one another?”

Hah. “Not if we’re getting married,” I observed.

Dresden let out a startled bark of laughter so ridiculous I nearly echoed it, before shuffling his papers and scowling at me. The plea that we conduct ourselves as responsible adults was intriguing. It was a footing I’d frequently tried to move our relationship towards, and if I could navigate these rapids without him kicking and screaming the whole way…

“I’m willing to try candor,” I said. Dresden reacted well to honesty. There was some I could afford to give him.

He relaxed back into his chair, posture fairly open, and considered me. “Great. So. There’s no way in hell you wanted this.”

“On the contrary. I’ve wanted a more permanent alliance with Winter for a long time,” I told him. The difficulty of doing business with the fae was the need to balance each individual transaction to avoid incurring debt. Providing the balance in one overarching agreement gave Mab and myself greater flexibility to act on matters of mutual interest without constantly calculating the flow of favor.

“Sure. But the price is being married. To me.” He spread his arms, indicating what was on offer. I carefully didn’t look him over. I might have plenty of practical and interpersonal objections, but none of them were aesthetic. The increased proximity of our required dates increased the risk Dresden would finally notice.

It would be better to volunteer the information before Dresden jumped to any conclusions about why I accepted the marriage. But that was too much candor for today.

“As… frustrating as you are, weighed against mutual protection with Winter, you become tolerable.”

He stared at me. “You aren’t worried we might end up killing one another?”

“I understand this will be difficult for you. I believe we can find an equilibrium where you won’t feel compelled to do anything rash.”

Dresden scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. “Hell’s bells. You and Mab. It’s a marriage, not a business partnership. You should marry someone you love, Marcone.”

Ah. Somehow, despite all his losses, Dresden was a romantic. “Some do. Marrying as a political statement to seal an alliance is as ancient a tradition as any other.”

He stared at me, and then muttered, “No wonder she likes you.” Then he shuffled his papers again, tugged out a piece from the bottom of the stack and squinted at it. It was a list of handwritten notes.

“Did you come with bullet points,” I asked, somewhat incredulous.

“Yeah. Didn’t think I’d get this far down the list. Objection four. I’m a guy. You work in kind of a conservative sector.”

I did. But so far my regional briefings had only resulted in one person being stupid enough to insult me in a forum I couldn’t afford to ignore. His death seemed to be keeping everyone else focused, but that was unlikely to find a favorable reaction from Dresden. He was squeamish about such matters.

“I’m sure it’ll cause a temporary fuss. Again, nothing that outweighs the benefits of alliance.”

Dresden clenched his fists, crushing the list. He shot me a foreboding look and said, “Five. I’m sure this is the kind of thing you notice, but I have a daughter.”

The declaration hung in the air between us as I calculated my response.

“Yes,” I admitted.

If the collapse of the Red Court hadn’t been sufficient notification, it was the only thing that made sense of Dresden selling himself to Mab. Following the appearance of another girl in the Carpenter household, I’d planned to politely ignore Margaret Dresden’s existence until she reached her majority and actively made herself a nuisance.

Dresden’s eyes flickered over my face, searching for something. I remained deliberately calm.

“Men like you get married, don’t they?” he said, like he was working something out. “That’s part of the image.”

I dipped my head, conceding the point. It was in fact one of the strategies Charlotte had originally suggested and I’d vetoed.

“But you didn’t bother playing happy families when you built your empire. You don’t want kids near your business.”

Dangerously perceptive, when he chose to pay attention. It was one of my many reservations about this mess. But it could be managed.

“Outfit business won’t touch her,” I promised.

“Oh I know it won’t,” he said, flashing me his teeth. “Because you know exactly what will happen if it does.”

Yes. No treaty or marriage vow would hold him back. Ordinarily, I’d consider something like that a threat, and discourage the person stupid enough to make it. But this required a lighter touch.

“I do. Dresden, I don’t break my own rules.”

He held my gaze then, and I could see he believed me. But he didn’t settle.

“Six,” he called out instead with a sonorous voice, like he was working magic rather than holding a meeting, “I don’t want a Denarian near my child.”

Gooseflesh prickled up my arms.

An understandable stance, and dangerous ground. If there was anything that might set Dresden off, it would be this.

“Namshiel abides by the house rules.”

Dresden didn’t move, or blink, but somehow gave the impression I’d failed a test. “John, if you give him time to change you, he will,” he said. His tone was almost gentle.

I sighed internally. Dresden was going to be insufferably earnest about this. My solutions to the problems that surrounded us never met his standards.

Still, I made the attempt. “We have an understanding. You’re already aware there are partnerships among the Fallen.” I wasn’t about to name Anduriel and risk drawing his attention.

Dresden shook his head. “There are people who think they’re in partnerships. Nic sacrificed his daughter at the gate of blood. They loved one another and did it anyway. You think that’s something he came up with all by himself? Or something Shadowy Ann dripped into his ear over the years?”

“Nicodemus has no rules. His priorities aren’t mine.” And Namshiel was no Andurial. Charming. “There’s no comparison to be drawn.”

“You arrogant—”

“You’re going to call me arrogant? Look in a mirror, Sir Knight.”

Dresden slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair. “Enough. I didn’t come here for an argument,” he said, despite the fact he’d arrived with a list of them.

“Then perhaps we should draw this discussion to a close.” I said. Clearly we’d failed at being civil.

“No, not yet,” Dresden said, and placed his papers on the desk. Then he shifted his gaze from my eyes to my forehead. “What do you have to say for yourself, Thorned Namshiel?”

Namshiel stirred at his name, and Dresden’s gaze felt inexplicably heavy on me. Stay back, I cautioned Namshiel. This won’t be a productive discussion.

“Well? Are you nice and cosy in there, Namshiel? Getting the lay of the land?”

“Dresden, you’re clearly—”

“I wasn’t very impressed with your work on the castle, Namshiel. You missed everything interesting.”

Namshiel moved forward and I felt thorns ready to stab through the surface of my skin.

No.

I am due and overdue lab time which you have done nothing to make back since we abandoned the castle. I have been more than patient while you put your city back together. I am owed.

He was, and we had an agreement. Even knowing it would be a disaster, I let him forward. Thorns bristled from my body and I ruined another shirt.

“There you are,” Dresden said, with the wolfish smile that meant he was about to start deliberately stepping on landmines.

“Your perspective is finite. Limited.” Namshiel said. “Whatever you achieve in that castle is the output of an ape bashing at a typewriter.”

“Whereas you were created by the word of god for a purpose complex and fundamental,” Dresden said, with the cadence of a man quoting from memory. “You were around when all of creation was spun into being. Saw it all, knew it all. And now you help a thug make concrete tea cups.”

I was on my feet, the desk between us. I hadn’t meant to be. Dresden wasn’t slowing down, he just looked up to hold Namshiel’s gaze and continued firing words.

“Everything I do is testament to human creativity. Everything you do is a shadow of what you were. The raw force of creation funnelled through John's computer of a brain — is it like trying to drink the Atlantic through a straw?” He raised his right hand without calling any magic. What exactly was this provocation intended to achieve?

“You had soul fire once,” he said, then clicked his fingers. A halo of white fire danced around his hand, casting flickering shadows across the manic grin threatening to split his face. “You could really create, couldn’t you? Do you miss it?”

“You don’t even know what you’ve been gifted,” Namshiel hissed. “Showing it off like a toy.”

Dresden came to his feet. “Poor Thorned Namshiel,” he said, reaching forward with that burning hand. “Phenomenal cosmic power, itty bitty living space.”

Hold, I commanded, keeping us still. It was a bluff, he wasn’t stupid enough to attack us unprovoked. Dresden pressed his finger between my brows, over Namshiel’s mark. The fire flickered out a half second before he touched my skin.

Rage boiled up inside me.

It wasn’t mine.

No, I said. But black strings of power flickered between my fingers in frequencies Dresden would struggle to block.

“No!” I said out loud, but the magic reached towards Dresden.

I pictured dragging Namshiel from the driver's seat of the first car I’d ever owned. I clenched my fists and the strings frayed away to nothing. But my right hand fastened around Dresden's arm, dragging his hand away from my face.

If he wants an illustration of cosmic power we can give him one.

Namshiel, that is more than enough.

He’s overdue, John, he said and pushed forward again.

I ripped the coin from my throat and dropped it on the desk.

“He need a timeout?” Dresden asked, looking innocent. It was all I could do not to tighten my grip.

“Do you have a death wish? Or is it just a hobby?”

“You said it was a partnership. I was just checking,” he said, with a bright smile. I found my grip tightening until Dresden let out a sharp breath of discomfort. “Plus, if you can’t keep him in his box, you’re no fit ally for Winter, are you?”

I played that out mentally. Mab hadn’t announced the alliance yet. If I let Namshiel flay her knight, technically unprovoked and to no good purpose, she’d have cause to doubt my control.

“Very clever,” I said, and dropped his wrist. “If you ever try anything like that again—”

“No point,” he shrugged. “You wouldn’t walk into that a second time.” Then he sat back down, as if we were still having a civil discussion.

I considered him. “I was almost convinced you’d brought your manners with you.”

“Oh, I’m willing to afford you the respect you’ve earned,” he said, despite all evidence to the contrary. But then he had worked through that list of his first, trying to find common ground. He’d had a purpose other than insolence. “Let me know when Namshiel does something worthwhile and I’ll play nice with him too.”

“He helped you on the beach,” I said, and sat. “He helped us save Chicago.”

“Not because he gave a damn about it,” Dresden shrugged.

I sighed. “May I assume you’ve finished your list and any attempts to nullify the treaty?”

“One last thing,” he said, and reached out to tap my copy of the marriage contract. “You read this yet?”

It’d be easy to grab his wrist again, pull him off balance over the desk. Maybe teach him some proper manners. “Certain key sections,” I said instead, brushing those thoughts away.

“Well, you might want to try the final paragraph. I’ll see myself out,” he said, and stood. I half expected the door to slam behind him but he closed it gently as he left.

Well. That had been bracing.

I looked down at the papers and turned to the final page of the treaty. Inverno hadn’t highlighted it, so his opinion of what was notable clearly differed from Dresden’s.

Enactment of the treaty

The above clauses come into effect upon the consummation of the marriage between Freehold and Court.

I flipped back to the terms. Consummation wasn’t defined. Of course not.

Hell.

Chapter Text

My name is Mouse, and I am a Good Dog. Everybody says so. My Friend is Harry Dresden, and I watch over his daughter, Maggie.

One day My Friend had to suppress an ancient evil that tried to destroy all the peoples of Chicago. He came home safe, but Karrin Murphy did not. My Friend loved her, and she loved him, so her passing hurt him badly.

Sadness wrapped itself around him, but My Friend did not turn away from it or let it fester into resentment. He let his sadness have its time and space.

My Friend moved us into the castle he had won from Criminal Bad Man. Maggie and I were very excited. Maggie liked castles because princesses lived in castles. I knew the castle was built upon the footprint of our old home.

I am a guardian. Most guardians draw their power from a threshold, though of course because I was raised by a wizard, I cheat. Still, it was exciting to know My Friend was building a strong home.

I came to realise the castle was a place of Power well suited to My Friend and his energies, which immediately began knitting themselves into the patterns of the stones. I knew he could thrive here.

He was not thriving yet. He had bad dreams and kept hours unhealthy for humans. But I knew he would be well again, because all he shared with Maggie was love, and he opened the castle to the people we had once lived beside. And his friends gathered to him, to help him build and keep him safe.

I did what I could in asking for pats and belly rubs. I kissed his face in the way that made him laugh and pretend to fight me. And I worked a very little energy that might help him heal, finding as many moments as I could to bring him together with his friends and have matters turn out well. A perfectly mixed pizza dough, an exciting turn of the cards on Game Night. But mostly these things take time and working energy cannot speed along the need to feel pain.

So while My Friend worked on piecing himself together again, Maggie and I explored our new home. We found the castle an excellent playground. There were halls to run around in, kitchens to raid, and even a roof where you could chase pigeons.

One day we were playing on the roof after promising My Friend three times that we would not go near or under any circumstances fall through the hole Michael Carpenter was working on. Maggie was throwing a ball up into the air and I was leaping to catch it. She would try to be tricky, but she kept laughing every time it was a feint. My Maggie is good, and quick, and clever, and brave. But she likes to find the truth of things and is not a very good liar.

My Friend came bounding up the stairs. “Good news, Pumpkin! You got in!” He waved a letter and Maggie raced over to read it. She knelt down and held it so I could read too. It was an acceptance letter from St. Mark’s Academy for the Gifted and Talented.

My friend and Maggie had spent a lot of time deciding where she would most like to go to school before deciding on St Mark’s, which meant Maggie would have two homes. A home at school, where My Friend could come and visit us, and a home in the castle for the holidays.

I loved school, and I had not known it was possible to live in one. Maggie and I would learn so many new things. We were excited.

But Maggie is young, and has Anxiety. And sometimes even when she is happy, she does not trust that happiness, as if believing in it might get it torn away.

She held me extra tight that night. “Will they think I’m weird, Mouse? Will they like me? Dad says there are other weird kids there too. What if I miss my dad?” Her fingers tightened in my fur as she started taking deep breaths. I breathed with her. “I got this, Mouse. I want this. It’s ok if it’s scary. I’ve done scary.”

She had, and she had me.

I cuddled up with My Maggie to guard her sleep through the night.

Chapter Text

Life in the castle grew around me. The hole in the roof was repaired, and we set up guest quarters to accommodate my former neighbors. Will took a sabbatical from his job to look after little Holly Borden and help me run things which— maybe I should have felt guilty about, but at the time just seemed to make sense. I couldn’t do all the things that needed doing. I wasn’t OK. There were stretches of time where I almost felt normal, until I emotionally capsized. But the people around me picked up the slack.

Things started to fall into a rhythm. We had volunteer cooks, game night, a rota of corridor patrols and door guards. We still nearly all got blown up by gremlins before Bob got a proper handle on the defences, but Toot came through for us all.

There was routine, structure, familiarity. I was providing a good home for Maggie, and she’d be starting at a good school come autumn. It was a relief.

But Marcone didn’t back down from the alliance. I knew he’d be difficult to persuade, because I was asking him to actively antagonize Mab, which didn’t work out well for most people in the long run. Just ask Nicodemus. So Marcone hadn’t been convinced by any of my arguments, or let me goad Namshiel into a duel.

But still. A wedding night. With me. I’d thought that might inspire his Machiavellian tendencies into finding an alternative.

Instead his PR person sent Molly a list of suggested dates. A lot of them were high profile, and might end up in the paper.

Which led to me knocking on the door of Maggie’s room, right next to mine in the basement. I got a woof of greeting from Mouse and a distracted, “Come in!” from Maggie.

I opened the door and peered inside. One wall was plastered with posters of cartoon princesses, including the modern incarnation of She-Ra. It was a mysterious evolution of girl-child tastes from the previous cartoon ponies that I did my best to stay abreast of. At Maggie’s request, I’d rigged some gauzy material to hang down from a central point in the ceiling and drape around the head of her bed. Maggie had a habit of curling up in there with a book. It looked cozy.

“Hey, kiddo, you busy?” I asked. She marked her page with the dust cover and then pulled the canopy further back so she could see me properly.

“There’s a lot of descriptions of trees in here, dad. A lot.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” I came inside and perched on the side of the bed, giving Mouse a companionable scratch behind the ears. I took a deep breath. I’m more honest with my kid than you’ll find suggested in most parenting manuals, but it turns out there no right way to raise a wizard’s kid. My family had a shitty track record so far. I was trying something different.

“My boss has a new job for me that I need to tell you about,” I said steadily.

“Not fighting monsters?” Maggie asked, setting the book down beside her.

“Not this time. She wants me to marry John Marcone and seal an alliance between his barony and Winter.”

Maggie stared at me, her eyes impressively wide. “Marry you to a bad guy you don’t like?”

“Pretty much, and I haven’t figured a way out of it yet. So I have to go on dates with him.”

“Oh, dad,” she said sadly, and leaned forward to give me a hug. “I’m sorry.”

I wrapped my arms round her and tears prickled into my traitorous eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be about Maggie comforting me. I coughed and blinked the tears away. “I’m going to keep him and his business away from you. I’ll have to spend a certain amount of time with him, but you will always come first. Do you understand?”

“I know that, dad,” she said with conviction. There was no doubt in her; Maggie was loved and she belonged with me. I was doing something right. My heart did that thing it does sometimes when I look at her, when it gets too full of the fact I made an entire person. The everyday kind of magic. I gave her an extra squish for good measure and she started laughing and fighting me off.

Mouse scrambled onto the bed with a tail wag of enthusiasm and obligingly knocked me flat. Maggie started tickling my ribs. I squawked and flailed and tried to wrestle Mouse off to one side but he wouldn’t be moved. “I yield!” I shouted. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Mouse licked me across the face.

“Blaaaaaargh!”

Maggie laughed so hard she toppled over, and I grinned at the two of them. Goofballs.

“Let me up, you woolly mammoth. I need to get to the town hall.” Mouse rolled off me, and I propped myself up on my elbows.

“Is it just grown-ups tonight, dad?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to explain the Marcone thing,” I sighed. I wasn’t looking forward to addressing the residents of the castle on this particular topic. “Might be a bit complicated for some of the kids.”

“But not me,” she grinned, kind of proud. “Should we wake Bonnie up and tell her?”

“Oof, not tonight, pumpkin. I think she’ll have lots of questions.”

Maggie nodded. “Oh yeah. So many questions. I hope it goes ok, dad.” She gave me another hug for good measure.

***************************

Even though I'd put a lot of thought into explaining things to the people who needed to know, my first date with Marcone kind of crept up on me.

Molly knocked on my chamber door early one evening carrying a suit bag. “Special delivery for Harry Dresden.”

I huffed out my most put upon sigh as I accepted it from her.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “This sucks.”

“It sucks trolls’ balls,” I muttered, and carried the suit bag through to the adjoining bathroom. “Remind me what this shindig is?” I shouted through the door as I changed.

“It’s a fundraiser,” Molly called back. “The Chicago party circuit isn’t going all out at the moment unless it’s in a good cause. Poor taste, apparently.”

I rolled my eyes as I looped the tie around my neck and slid the material along until I had the correct lengths. It was a light, silvery blue, and came with a silver tie pin with a little snowflake on it. “If only there was a way for a bunch of rich folks to give money to charity without wasting it on a big party.”

I felt the knot and concluded it might be a little crooked, but also that I didn’t care. I started running a comb through my hair.

“Right? But the left hand really wants to gossip about what the right hand is doing, so, fundraiser. Marcone’s picking you up soon.”

I came out of the bathroom so Molly could see the face I was pulling. “Am I the girl here?”

“No, you’re the party with the more ridiculous car,” she said seriously. She was leaning against the wall by the door, sporting a familiar Molly outfit of jeans and T-shirt for a band I’d never heard of. “There, give me a twirl.”

I did a grumpy pirouette, and Molly nodded in satisfaction. “Very nice. Marcone should know the value of what he’s getting.”

“Uh huh, I don’t think the value of how I look in a suit is on his list of priorities.”

“About that—” Molly said, and bit her lip thoughtfully. “Look, I’ve not been around the two of you together much, and Marcone’s pretty emotionally buttoned up— like, worryingly buttoned up, the guy clearly needs a therapist— but he’s not just murderous about you.”

As a wizard, Molly was a sensitive, able to perceive the emotions and sometimes the thoughts of other people. However her magic interacted with the mantle of the Lady, it was a skill she’d kept.

“Yeah, at the right phase of the moon I can respect him too,” I admitted. “Still not a good basis for marriage.”

“No, I mean— damn it. You should probably work this through between the two of you. You remember the brief?”

“Solidarity, or Mab will skin me?” I guessed.

“Pretty much. Fuck— Harry, I—” Molly cut herself off and all of a sudden there were tears in her eyes.

“I know. I know, Molls.” I went over to her and set a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. If you could get me out of this you would.”

“It’s not fair,” she said, looking up at me, eyes wide and full of water. “This is too much to ask from you. You gave everything and now you’ve got to give this too.”

“Life isn’t fair,” I reminded her. “I don’t see you complaining.”

“I made my choices, Harry,” she said, lifting her chin.

“So did I,” I said, but we’d already had this conversation, and something else was drifting under the surface. “What else is bothering you?”

She looked aside from me.

“Come on, grasshopper.”

“Mab keeps saying I should let go of myself,” she said quietly. “Of who I was.”

Molly had changed. She could use cellphones now, she had sidhe eyes when she was concentrating on sidhe business. But when I looked at her, I still saw the girl I’d taught and the woman she’d become.

“She wants you to let go of who you are, Molly Carpenter,” I said, pulling her into a hug and addressing the top of her head. “Daughter of Michael and Charity, former student of Harry Dresden, master of illusion, defender of Chicago.”

“I’m not that any more— I’m—”

“Sure, now you defend all of reality. You can be more than one thing, Grasshopper. You don’t have to do it Mab’s way.” If I believed it hard enough, for the both of us, it might be true. Some things worked that way.

“Hadn’t planned to,” she said, pulling back to wipe her eyes and take a deep breath. “Ok. Let’s not cry on your nice silk shirt.”

“Why’s it silk?” I asked suspiciously, looking down at myself. “Am I going to get shot at?”

“Ideally not on the first date. Try not to start any mayhem.”

“It’s not a mayhem crowd. Except Marcone. Can you run me through the guest list again?”

By the time Molly had finished and I’d fired off a few questions, there was a knock on my bedroom door and Will stuck his head through to give a sharp whistle. “Looking good, Harry! Five minute warning, Andi says Marcone’s car’s been spotted on Reading road.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I said, hastily fastening my shield bracelet and putting on a couple of rings. I eyed my blasting rod. Could I jam it inside my jacket? Molly watched me try and shook her head.

“That’ll ruin the lines.”

I sighed and set it back down. Marcone would have weapons, stowed in ways that fit the cut of his outfit. Maybe I needed to look into that kind of thing for myself, if I had to go suited and booted more often.

“I better run,” I said to Molly, and she went up on tip-toe to kiss me on the cheek.

“Good luck. He’ll be on his best behavior or he’ll answer for it,” she promised, and that was not the direction I’d ever imagined any pre-date reassurance was supposed to run between the two of us. I shook it off and made my way up to the front doors. I wouldn’t be able to keep Marcone out of the castle forever, probably, based on the stipulations in the marriage contract about time spent together. But I could keep him out tonight.

I opened the main doors in time to see Marcone exiting his car. He was in a tuxedo jacket but no tie, which dressed his look down a little. Between the conventional good looks and the easy confidence he carried himself with, he looked pleasantly approachable. Unless you know what he was.

Marcone came towards me, stepping carefully around the puddles in his shiny party shoes.

“You’re driving?” I said in surprise. I was used to seeing Hendricks chauffeur him around.

“It gives us more privacy,” he said. “Also, good evening, I hope I find you well?”

I rolled my eyes at him and stepped outside, not bothering to avoid the puddles. Marcone took in the long lines of my suit.

“Well. My compliments to the Winter Lady and her tailors.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna embarrass you,” I said. I didn’t own a full length mirror, because of the occupational hazards of wizardry, but it was rare enough for me to wear something that genuinely fit. I knew it looked like I’d made an effort.

“Not with your dress sense, at least,” he said. Then he checked his watch, a silver analoge affair with a dark blue dial which was probably worth more than my car. “We should get moving.”

I stepped forward and Marcone moved as if he was going to open the car door for me. I shot him a look so murderous his hand halted in mid air, then he quirked a smile and got back behind the wheel without comment.

I strode round to the passenger side and slammed the door a little harder than intended once we got in. Marcone was eying me. “What?” I snarled.

“Are you going to have this out of your system before we get to the fundraiser?” he asked.

Anger flared up in me without warning. “Fuck you. I’ll publicly uphold Winter’s obligations, Baron,” I told him. Then I grit my teeth before I said anything that’d get me in trouble.

“Excellent. In that case, feel free to sulk. I won’t tax you with conversation,” he said, and pulled away from the kerb.

I immediately had about five different questions for him that I quashed, in favor of looking forbiddingly out the window. Unfortunately for Marcone, I didn’t consider Winter to have any obligations to put on a show for a bunch of rich people in Chicago. None of them knew I was a Knight and he was a Baron, or that what happened between the two of us had a bearing on Unseelie politics. It left me a little room to try and get some leverage. But to do that, I needed to get my temper in check. So I watched the city go by, and I breathed.

Marcone turned out to be a cautious, courteous driver, and he kept his eyes on the road. There were a bunch of detours around fallen buildings once we got closer to the venue, and he didn’t express any irritation at the people who failed to get in lane, despite some particularly asshole-ish manoeuvring.

Twenty minutes later we rolled up to the doors of the hotel. Marcone got out and handed his keys to a valet, looking back at me when I didn’t move. I tipped my head towards my door and raised my brows expectantly. If he was going to pick me up and drive me to our date, he could damn well do the job properly.

Marcone narrowed his eyes at me before coming round to open the door, and when I still didn’t move, offered his arm, gradually, as if he suspected I might bite. I smiled at him instead, showing my teeth, and settled my hand on his arm before exiting the car. Marcone looked up at me, and with barely any space between us I could see the faint alarm on his face before he smoothed it away.

“There are photographers near the doors,” he said. “Let’s keep this civil.”

I looked over to see two guys snapping shots of smartly dressed people on their way into the building.

“Hexus,” I whispered under my breath. The cameras pointed at the incoming guests sparked and smoked. Hah. Good luck boasting about your philanthropy now.

Marcone sighed quietly but led us towards the doors without comment.

“Mr. Marcone. Who’s accompanying you tonight?” one of the men called out. Marcone paused and turned us to face them.

“My fiancé, Mr Harry Dresden. We’d pose for a photo but you appear to be having technical difficulties.”

“Fiancé?” the man squeaked, then shook his smoking camera in frustration. His colleague fumbled a phone out of his pocket and started trying to snap photos on that. The flashlight turned on, it briefly blared the opening bars of Zadok the Priest, and then it started vibrating in his hands. “What?” he said desperately.

“Oh, gee. I hate it when that happens. Have you tried turning it off and on again?” I asked in as brainless a tone as I could manage.

The phone started shouting, “OÙ EST LA BIBLIOTHÈQUE?” repeatedly.

Marcone started to look a little pinched. “Have a good evening, gentlemen,” he said, and led us into the hotel.

The point of contact between us where my arm looped through his kept sparking persistent danger signals in my brain. My amygdala thought I’d casually laid hands on an apex predator, and I had to consciously shorten my stride before the desire to flee could have me accidentally dragging Marcone across the lobby.

Instead I managed to smile and walk like a normal person all the way up a sweeping flight of stairs to a set of double doors that opened into a grand hall. And then I stumbled to a halt.

The space was dotted with tall tables for people to rest drinks or plates on, leading up to a dance floor and stage where a band were currently playing at a restrained volume. A large screen above them scrolled through images of thankful looking people receiving donations of clothes and other items, intercut with artists' impressions of what Chicago’s new skyline might look like if we ever got round to building it.

I didn’t want to be there.

There were too many people. Too many shifting lights. The last party I was at got gatecrashed by Fomor. I didn’t even go to that many parties and two of them had kicked off wars.

“Problem?” Marcone asked lightly, shifting his hand to rest on the small of my back and angling himself towards me as if we’d just decided to have an inconveniently positioned chat in the doorway. There was a genial expression masking his face.

“Hope not!” I said brightly, and worked through getting myself under control. Marcone watched me carefully before deciding to take me at my word.

“Drinks then, and we’ll circulate. There are people I should introduce you to.” Then he used the hand on my back to propel me further into the room. I started to push him away, but got distracted by a server who came over with a tray of champagne flutes. Without missing a beat, Marcone took two glasses and handed one to me like I was his date.

Which I was. Gah.

I knocked the champagne back like it was a shot. “Weee, bubbles!” I said, and looked back down to find Marcone staring at me. “What?”
.
“I was wondering if your goal for the evening is to convince everyone I’m preying on a mentally compromised idiot,” he said in a low voice.

Huh. Would that count as leverage?. “Haven’t decided yet,” I told him honestly.

I got narrowed eyes again. It was starting to become a familiar look on him. “Need I remind you that your queen was quite clear on the need to present a united front?”

I shrugged. “Sure. But Mab doesn’t care about the opinion of anyone here.” I looked around at a room full of suited men and women in dazzling dresses. I was used to the inventiveness of a faerie court, so mortal glamor didn’t phase me much anymore. “This is a warm-up date. If we both make it home alive, I get a passing grade.”

This time it was narrowed eyes and a frown line between his eyebrows. Maybe he’d stick that way.

“We have mortal identities. So does Lara Rath. The svartelves occasionally attend social functions. How we conduct ourselves here matters.”

I turned my smile up to its full wattage and turned it on Marcone. “To you, sure. But Lara’s busy in Washington tonight, and Evanna’s got business with the Forest People. Swap,” I said, and swiped his glass, palming my empty off on him rather than setting it down on the nearby table.

Marcone looked at the empty glass in his hand as I took a sip of my stolen drink. I’m not much of a wine guy, but this was dry and kind of toasty. I could get a taste for it.

“Dresden,” Marcone said, stepping closer and leaning in towards me as if we were having an intimate conversation. “I thought you’d started taking a more measured approach to this kind of thing.”

“Oh, I have,” I said, furiously aware of his proximity. “What’s my best behavior worth to you?”

He set the empty down and reached up to make a show of adjusting my tie. I was acutely aware that I’d be in serious trouble if he tightened his grip. “Careful, Harry. I don’t respond well to blackmail.”

“You sure? It’s been working pretty well for me so far,” I said. People were starting to look at us. Which was what these events were for, but they were looking and then pretending not to look.

“There are many areas of your life where it’d be a simple matter to apply pressure,” he said, tightening the knot so it sat uncomfortably close under my Adam’s apple. “The little pub you frequent, for example, happens to violate a number of health codes.”

I swallowed. Marcone set about straightening my perfectly straight lapels. “Say that to Mac’s face. I dare you,” I croaked. Marcone’s hand settled over my heart, thumb smoothing over my pocket square, well inside any shield I could hope to raise.

“Oh, nothing would tie back to me. That’s the—”

Marcone cut himself off as his eyes locked onto something left of my shoulder. I half turned and spotted a woman cutting her way through the crowd towards us. She was black, probably in her mid forties, and a few inches under average height. She’d chosen a red suit that made her easy to spot, and her expression was determined.

“Friend of yours?” I asked.

“She was supposed to have a scheduling conflict,” Marcone said, releasing me. Then he pasted on the football coach next door smile he used to disguise the steel he was made of.

“Commissioner! So good to see you again,” he said, as she arrived next to us.

“Marcone,” she replied, with an expression like she’d discovered dog dirt on her sensible mid heel shoes. “You get where water wouldn’t.”

“Everywhere I need to be, Commissioner. Now, I believe you’re having trouble accessing federal relief funding for the Southside?”

“Discussions haven’t concluded,” she said, glaring at Marcone like that was somehow his fault.

“Private enterprise is capable of filling the gap,” Marcone said, pausing to snag himself another drink, which brought him up against me when he turned back to the conversation, shoulder pressed against my upper arm.

“Private enterprise can jump in the lake when it’s a euphemism for— wait, is this your date?”

“Harry Dresden, hi,” I said. “What did you think I was?”

“A goon,” she said, matter of fact. Apparently she didn’t play along with John’s gentleman act. It endeared her to me. But then she frowned and looked around us. “So where’s the red headed tank?”

“Don’t,” I said, quietly. Chicago had 60,000 dead. Where did she think a loyal bodyguard might be? Her eyes widened as she realized.

Marcone’s expression didn’t flicker. “As it happens, Mr Dresden is my date and my fiancé,” he clarified. It’d sound more convincing if he’d remembered to use my first name, but I wasn’t going to point that out.

The Commissioner looked suspiciously down at her drink and then set it on the table. “You. Are getting married?” she said, staring at him in disbelief before her attention flickered over to me. “And you’re stupid enough to jump in that shark tank?”

“What’s the problem with the federal funding?” I asked, instead of explaining marriage was a condition of my employment. There were too many fallen buildings still blocking Chicago’s streets. Someone needed to get their thumb out their ass.

“Hell knows. The reaction’s been all over the place at a federal level. You have any insight into that, Marcone?”

He shrugged. “I find incompetence explains a great many things.”

“Because I’ve started thinking it might be something to do with convincing the public of this Heebie Jeebies nonsense instead of admitting a giant woman with lazer eyes stomped the city flat.”

Ok. I hadn’t expected that. “It was just one lazer eye,” I corrected, which prompted Marcone to elbow me in the ribs. He was subtle about it so I ignored him. “Can’t they do both? Fund a cover up and build stuff?”

“Maybe, if they’d gone with something like a natural disaster instead of hallucinations and terrorism.”

“I don’t follow,” I said, and she looked at me like she wasn’t surprised.

“Think about it. Doesn’t Heebie Jeebies sound more convincing the longer we’re unstable?”

Right. Look at Chicago, full of crazies muttering about armies of monsters. They can’t even get their water running reliably, the streets are full of rubble, god knows what they’re still exposed to. “That’s… cruel,” I said, at a loss for how else to judge it. No, I didn’t think unveiling the existence of the supernatural on a major scale was a good idea. But I didn’t want Chicago to pay the price of hiding it.

“Oh, and it compounds, Mr Dresden. While they delay, criminals are tightening their grip on the city, and coming out smelling of roses as saviors of Chicago. But I’m sure you’d know that, considering who you’ve decided to marry?”

I didn’t know people called Marcone on his shit in public. I blinked at her.

“Or are you kept at arm's length from business matters until you have spousal immunity to being subpoenaed?” she continued.

“Huh, good question,” I said, and turned to Marcone. “Am I? You can waive spousal immunity though, so—”

The question animated Marcone. “What an extraordinary question, Commissioner. If there’s some reason you’re uncomfortable with my relationship—”

“Oh don’t you even start, you snake! Relationship? How long have you even been ‘dating’ him?” She made air quotes around dating.

I choked off a laugh and tilted my head to see Marcone’s watch. “Approximately… twenty minutes,” I said. “Wow, how time flies.”

Marcone looped his arm through mine and patted my hand. “Very funny, Harry. We’ve been seeing one another— well, it must be over a decade by now. Excuse us, I should get him some food to soak up that champagne. It’s been a pleasure.”

Spoilsport. I debated digging in my heels, but that conversation had given me the perfect opening, so I let Marcone tow me away, waving goodbye and calling, “I’m going to vote for you!”

“So, She’s not your biggest fan, huh?” I said, as Marcone found the buffet table and started loading a plate with tiny burgers that he pushed into my hands. Possibly he thought I couldn’t say anything stupid with my mouth full, which was placing way too much faith in my table manners.

“She’s building an anti-corruption and anti-poverty platform with ideas about running for mayor in a couple of terms. It won’t work, of course, but idealists always have to find that out for themselves.” He brushed off the idea of actually making things better so casually that I couldn’t help but rise to the argument.

“Sure. Unlike the realists who think organizing crime is the best anyone can do.”

Marcone’s smile had bite in it. “Careful, Dresden. Your moral high ground isn’t as firm as it used to be.”

“Hey, I can condemn my choices and yours. But she’s got me thinking…”

“How novel.”

“Shut up,” I said, and girded my big boy political pants. The commissioner had put him in the right frame of mind for what I wanted out of tonight. So I tried a civil smile on for size and opened with, “Clause 8–”

“The mutual condition not to betray any secret of my Barony or Winter,” Marcone reeled off.

“Exactly. How about we add to that a little with our personal and mundane business secrets?” Wizards are secretive by nature. There were several things I had no intention of telling Marcone, but if he stayed close enough some of them might come to his attention.

“It’d make proximity easier,” he nodded, looking back to where the commissioner stood. It’d mean I couldn’t testify against him. Thinking about that made me feel kind of grubby, but I didn’t have much to negotiate with. “You’re proposing we form a parallel agreement?” he asked.

“Feels like we might need one,” I said. “Unless you want to ask Mab to include this in the contract?”

I wasn’t about to start proposing amendments to her, and I bet Marcone wanted to save his political capital to negotiate the existing terms.

“I think not. But I’m open to negotiations between the two of us.”

“Great,” I said, and threw in the thing I was really angling for: “I’ve got a second item. We give ourselves a fresh start. No repercussions for any act that preceded the marriage— uh, scratch that, the engagement.” I probably shouldn’t give him a free pass to antagonize me for the next 10 months.

Marcone’s attention snapped back to me. “Why, what did you do?”

I wasn’t going to slide this past him. But maybe I didn’t need to. “Try asking yourself what you’ve done that I haven’t found out about yet, John, and tell me you don’t want a free pass too.”

He had countermeasures, against magical threats in general and me in particular. Getting to keep them without risking an accusation he intended to break the treaty would be worth a lot to him.

He raised his glass to me. “You’re getting good at this, Harry. About time.”

“So you accept?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Come on, it’s not complicated.”

“Perhaps not. But I don’t want to get into bad habits.”

“Of agreeing to reasonable requests?”

“Of giving you whatever you want because you dress up pretty and smile,” he said, and then while I tried to figure out what the hell he meant by that, Marcone looked me up and down slowly. It was the kind of look a man might give his fiancé. A deliberately hungry look.

My brain screeched to a halt. I looked down at my formalwear. I looked back up at Marcone. I replayed the sentence in my head.

“Bwah?” I asked him.

Marcone raised a brow. “Should I compliment you more slowly? I can’t think of any shorter words.”

Compliment… me.

Because he liked the way I looked. He liked it so much it might screw up his decision making process.

What?

“Johnny!” a sycophant called out, and without warning we were catapulted into a round of social niceties. I spent the rest of the party too distracted to be a dick to Marcone, alternately staring at him to figure out if he was serious and shaking lots of hands.

*************************************************************

“So,” I said, as Marcone drove me back to the castle. “I look pretty in a suit?”

“Ravishing,” he agreed, without taking his eyes off the road. Dick.

I was not pretty. You could maybe argue handsome, in the right light, outfit, and haircut, on a week where no one had tried to kill me. Those things aligned so infrequently that it wasn’t how I thought about myself.

“This is payback for calling you honey on the phone, isn’t it?”

“Only the phrasing,” he said, refusing to look ruffled. “The underlying sentiment is true.” I believed him. He was serious.

Where the hell had I missed that? But then, when I thought about it— we’d soulgazed when we first met. That was an intense way to get to know someone. And then we’d never really stopped being intense around one another. I’d read it as Marcone’s tightly leashed predatory instincts because - I hadn’t looked for another explanation. I never expected a man like Marcone to express an interest in guys.

I filed that particular blind spot away for later.

“So… I have possibly been making some assumptions,” I realized. “About you.”

“Evidently.”

“I can’t figure out if this somehow makes things weirder.” Because while I touched Marcone and got the same adrenal spike you could imitate by petting a tiger, he… he thought I looked pretty in a suit. And we had to get married.

And do stuff.

The passing streetlights flickered over his features, bringing them in and out of shadow. He glanced over at me and then back to the city.

“Our personal preferences are still irrelevant to a political marriage.”

Evasion. Was he actually capable of feeling guilt over this?

“They seem pretty relevant to the wedding night,” I pointed out.

“Yes. I thought it was something you should be aware of before we discuss consummation.”

Discuss. Consummation. “Nope,” I said cheerfully, and crossed my arms before I could try and strangle him with his seatbelt.

Marcone threw me a look like I was having the temerity to be inconvenient. “Dresden, I’d rather not find out what you’re willing to do through trial and error.”

“Well I’d rather not litigate my sex life and get contracted to blowing you.”

Marcone accelerated slightly too close to the sedan in front of us before dropping back again. “I’m not about to— informally, then. We can at least establish the definition—”

“No.” I was not letting him lesser evil means to ends his way out of the fact he was apparently willing to sign on to an agreement that involved my boss forcing me to sleep with him. I might not be able to get out of it, but I could make him wish I could.

“If you’d prefer to play the part of an ill informed virgin—”

“Shhhh, no dirty talk, I’m staying pure until marriage,” I said, raising a finger to my lips.

“We’ll—” he stopped and frowned. “The more I try to persuade you, the more you’ll dig your heels in, correct?”

“Correct.”

He sighed. He looked tired, and that unnerved me slightly, that I’d been close enough for long enough to witness something like weakness. “I’m going to let this drop, for tonight. We have time.”

We rode back to the castle in silence.

Chapter Text

Charlotte Montgomery sent me over a brief report on the fallout of the fundraiser. Despite the lack of photo, the Chicago Chronicle named us in its coverage of the event; in attendance was local businessman John Marcone and his new fiancé, a Mr Harry Dresden, current resident of a Scottish castle transplanted over the Atlantic. It was reportedly transferred to his ownership as an engagement present. They’d chosen the castle for flavor, rather than the fact he’d worked as a private investigator or advertised as a wizard, but both items surfaced in the comments section. Apparently there was a fairly even split between those who found this charmingly eccentric and the ones who thought I was marrying a quack.

It was all noise, but I found the conviction with which Dresden was declared a fraud irritating. The people of Chicago held a variety of opinions on me, depending on what they knew, but they never doubted I had power. Dresden rarely got his due from civilians. The segment of Chicago who knew ‘wizard’ was a title to be respected had grown since the battle, but it was still a tiny fraction of the population.

It got worse. Charlie’s overview of social media coverage unsurprisingly touched on puerile speculation about my sexuality, and if I ever saw Dresden described as ‘a bit of rough’ again, it would be too soon. But the casual disrespect of anonymous strangers on the internet wasn’t something I could or should address. Not without a frankly irresponsible allocation of resources.

That aside, a few candid images of the event were linked from the profiles of other luminaries, including Commissioner Laurie Stanton. Charlie’s apologetic note indicated Stanton was scheduled to volunteer at a food kitchen, but it had unexpectedly closed due to flooding. In the background of one of Stanton’s photos stood Dresden, head tilted to scrutinize me, just out of frame.

He made quite a picture in his suit, cheeks a little flush with champagne. The Winter Lady clearly appreciated his advantages and knew how to flatter them. All that leg…

Again? The planning consultation was more interesting than this.

…was a distraction, and a worrying insight into matters to come. Attempting to discuss the definition of consummation had been unproductive, but at least I’d lanced the issue of my chronic physical attraction to him without any immediate fireworks.

I’d have preferred Dresden’s thoughts on how the fae understood consummation. He was familiar with their ways and likely shared some of my preconceptions on the matter. Inverno hadn’t thought to highlight that section for my attention. But as matters stood, Inverno was my best source.

After I’d finished the report and fired a number of observations off to Charlie, I gave in to the inevitable and called his office.

“Are you free, Mr Inverno? I have a few questions.”

“Baron. I can call at your office this afternoon,” he replied, professional and obliging.

“The phone is fine, this isn’t privledged information.”

“Very well. How may I help?”

I set my questions in order. Things I never thought I’d have to ask: “How does Winter define consummation in the context of a marriage?”

I heard the turning of pages. “Ah, it’s not defined in the terms. It’s commonly understood as intimacy between the betrothed, sufficient to mingle energy from their auras.”

“Sexual intimacy?” I pressed.

“Traditionally, yes. But only because sex is the easiest and most efficient way to transfer energies. Is that going to pose difficulties?”

“No,” I said. That sounded like a loophole. Though achieving any kind of intimacy with Dresden in his current mood would pose a challenge. “Thank you.”

“While I have you,” Inverno continued, “Tripp Gregory’s letter has gone to Ms Maya, he should have a response soon.”

“I see. Any further prying from our bookish friends?”

“No, perhaps they —ah. I beg your pardon, Baron, but I have to go,” he said, something like amusement sliding into his voice. The things a being like Inverno found amusing were worth noting.

“A problem?”

“To be determined. Your betrothed is on the street outside my offices threatening to blow the door down. I’ll get back to you,” he said, and hung up.

Inverno wasn’t Dresden’s contact for the marriage contract. What had led him there? I could intervene. But I couldn’t chase Dresden across the city every time he encountered my people. It wasn’t sustainable.

Let this one play out, then. And use it as a test case for future policy.

I put Ms Gard on standby and requested reports of any unusual occurrences around Inverno’s offices. Then I looked to the rest of my inbox.

Half an hour later my phone rang. “Hey, Honeybunch,” Dresden said with obnoxious cheer in his voice. Despite his gawping shock at my declaration, I clearly hadn’t scared him out of trying to irritate me with mock endearments. “Are you busy?”

“Always, but let’s assume I can make time,” I said and glanced out of the window. There was no smoke on the horizon and I’d had no reports of a mass mobilization of emergency services. “Should I assume you managed to avoid coming to blows with Mister Inverno?”

“Did he call you already?— never mind. I’m coming to you,” Dresden said and hung up before I could tell him where I was working. But the man had an army of invisible faeries and contacts in the organized crime division, so I was unsurprised to find him at the door of my office before I could finish fortifying myself with a cup of coffee.

He strode into the room without any pleasantries. “Tell Inverno to drop the case about Tripp Gregory,” he demanded. I looked him over. He’d arrived in full urban wizard gear; coat, staff and jewellery. He was armed for bear. It seemed disproportionate to the matter at hand.

“How, exactly, did you get mixed up in this?” I asked. “Gregory’s no concern of yours.”

“He’s a despicable stupid little pimp and he’s persecuting a woman who runs a tutoring service. He’s going to put her out of business.”

Of course. A woman had asked him for help. Dresden disapproved of my business in the abstract but was seldom confronted with the realities. The people I profited from had never been his problem because they didn’t call Dresden for help. But it was the fault line running through the treaty: as soon as someone turned to him and asked, he would help. He’d help with no regard for what stood in his way or who he was married to. It was in his nature, Winter and the big picture be damned.

And now he was smashing that fault line with a hammer.

But, as always with Dresden, the obstacle was the way. Perhaps there was something to be gained here.

“Your assessment is accurate, but misses the heart of the matter. Tripp is loyal. He’s fresh off an eight year sentence because he refused to turn state's evidence against me.”

Dresden rolled his eyes at me. “Is it really loyalty when you kill people who choose otherwise?”

I shrugged. Semantics. “He’s owed, Dresden. You understand obligation.”

That made him pause. Dresden quit looming and took a seat in front of my desk, expression serious. “Sure, but this won’t get him what he wants, John. It isn’t really helping him. It’s stupid.”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I wonder what on earth could motivate him to behave so irrationally.”

Dresden cocked his head like a dog on the scent. I could almost hear the rust grinding off the gears of his PI instincts. “Does Tripp have gambling debts? Addictions?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

“Right. Because he’s earned your loyalty.” Dresden sighed and ran his hands through his overlong hair, continuing to think it through. He had started consistently brushing his mop, but dashing around the city had him charmingly windswept. “But if he ran his mouth to his cellmate, that’d be fair game, right?”

“If he were stupid enough to do so and the information made it to your ears, then that would just be the natural consequences of his lack of discretion,” I agreed.

“Yay. Compromise. You gonna make his cellmate available?”

“Two conditions,” I said, steepling my hands. Dresden shifted.

“Oh yeah?” he said, bravado in his voice.

“We include in our parallel agreement that you try not to publicly embarrass me, no matter how mundane the audience.”

His grin let me know that he’d been illustrating exactly how well he could do that at the fundraiser precisely so he could use it in negotiations. “And?”

“We discuss consummation.”

Dresden launched to his feet, hands slamming onto the desk, and I very nearly pulled a knife. “I told you—”

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything,” I said, calmly, deliberately holding myself still and Namshiel down.

“No, but you know what I’m being forced into, and you won’t break it off.”

There had been a sense of strain beneath his performance at the fundraiser. I’d chalked it up to grief and battlefield trauma, but now I wondered if it was partly because I’d disappointed him. I didn’t know he held a high enough opinion of me for that to be possible.

“It takes two to marry, Dresden. You break it off.”

“I can’t!”

“You could. You don’t want to pay the price for doing so, and neither do I,” I said. It was fair to say the consequences for Dresden were more direct and immediate, but getting to spend longer on the chopping block was no reprieve.

“Not much of a gentleman, are you?”

“I take no particular pleasure in the fact you have your back to the wall.”

“You sure?” he said, glaring down at me. “There’s nothing about the fact I finally can’t say no to you that has its appeal?”

He was incendiary, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d get myself burned. “What do you take me for, Dresden?”

“The guy who made me beg for his help in the deeps.”

Well. He had me there. I’d enjoyed the hell out of that particular exchange, and revisited it more than once over the years. But there were limits.

“That was years ago,” I deflected.

“Sure. So right now, you aren’t getting any kicks out of the fact I’ll have to dress up pretty, publicly swear myself to you, and then seal the deal in the bedroom?”

That was an image. It was suddenly difficult to hold his gaze. I’d been taught right from wrong as a child by people who gave a damn about me, and despite setting such notions aside as an adult, I still occasionally felt the reflexes they’d built into me.

But I didn’t have to scruple over whether what I wanted was wrong when it’d take an idiot to act on those wants in the first place. I didn’t need to feel shame when Dresden raked me over with his gaze.

Make me calm, I whispered to Namshiel, and I felt my heartbeat slow.

“How certain are you that the bedroom element is a requirement?” I asked, meeting his glare head on.

“I— huh,” he said, and frowned, drawing his hands back from the desk. “Maybe— but there’d still have to be something.”

“Is there an audit process? Some kind of check?”

He sat back down, looking thoughtful. “Room to dance,” he muttered, then looked back up mulishly. “Except I don’t want to share anything with you, John. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to be in the same room as you.”

“Your disdain for me is noted.”

“I don’t—“ he said, before cutting himself off. “Whatever. That’s consummation. I’ll agree not to embarrass you if you’re also agreeing to the terms I raised at the fundraiser.”

They were terms I wanted. Needed, in fact, if tying myself to Dresden was to have any functional dynamic. But it was good policy to let people think you were conceding something in negotiation, so I paused thoughtfully before saying, “I find them acceptable.”

“Great. Tripp’s cellmate?”

“Will be made available to you.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, John,” he said, sarcasm so thick it’s a wonder he didn’t choke on it. “Be seeing you.”

Then he strode back into the city to continue tilting at windmills.

I flattened my palms on my desk, ordering my thoughts. Dresden kept burning through them, images of how he’d looked, leaning forwards, anger brightening his eyes—

I had better get this out of my system.

Finally.

I made another call. “Rafi, are you free tonight?”

I got a thoughtful noise on the other end of the line. “Unsure. We’re still running evening surgeries to get on top of the elective backlog. I’m scrubbing in at five, might run long. Tomorrow any good for you?”

“It can be. The Streeterville apartment at 5, then?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

**********************************************************

The next evening, after another long day, I did my best to exorcise my frustrations with a warm and willing body. It took some time.

Rafi panted up at the ceiling and gave me a moment to untangle myself. “Well,” he said, sounding a bit winded. “That was vigorous. You… uh… doing ok, John?”

“Just fine,” I said. I’d learned an overdue lesson about the dangers of pillowtalk from Helen.

“Oh,” he yawned. “The papers say you’re engaged, I thought you might be bringing our rendezvous to a close.”

My phone started ringing. I scooped it up from the bedside table to find the number was unrecognized, which often meant Dresden.“Just a moment,” I said, and rolled out of bed. I moved into the living room to answer.

“What now?” I greeted him, sweat cooling on my bare skin.

“So!” Dresden said with what sounded like a smile in his voice. “Tripp Gregory just tried to car bomb me in an extremely incompetent fashion, and your boy Talvi let his retainer unleash a murderous spirit down Chestnut street. We need to talk.”

Dear god. “Yes. Not, however, on the phone.”

“I’m near the warehouse the White Council used to do business. You know it?”

That was an uncharacteristically cowardly euphemism for ‘stage executions’, but perhaps he was being discreet. I did know the place. I’d staged my own there. “I do. I’ll be forty minutes.”

I returned to the bedroom and started gathering my things. Rafi watched me thoughtfully, likely gauging my mood. “Well, now you look just as tense as when you got here,” he sighed.

“That’s no reflection on you,” I said, continuing to button my shirt.

“Oh, I know it’s not,” he said, pulling the duvet around himself until all I could see was a wave of brown curls and satisfied eyes. “But I’m back on a grand round in seven hours so if you plan to kick me out I’m going to sulk.”

“Would I do that to you, Rafi?” I asked, letting my satisfaction with him kindle into a grin. “You’ve earned the rest. There should be breakfast items in the kitchen and the money’s already in your account. If you see yourself out in the morning, the door will lock behind you.”

Rafi leaned back into the pillows with a contented sigh. “Considerate as always. Your future husband is a lucky man.”

“Tell him that,” I said, and set off to find out what chaos Dresden had unleashed.

*****************************************

To my surprise, Dresden had brought Gregory with him. They were both bruised, scraped, and covered in dust.

“What happened? Do you need a medic?” I asked, trying to assess Dresden’s condition from his stance. He wasn’t favoring a side or curled around an injury, but he could take a lot of damage before he went down.

“Killed the ghost bear with the car bomb,” he said blithely, which was a perfectly Dresden feat of environmental improvisation. “I don’t think Tripp’s actually in shock. But he’s not very mentally flexible, is he?”

“No,” I said. Tripp was gibbering on the floor. Mental flexibility didn’t confer survival advantages on a pimp. “To business, then. You tried to assassinate my fiancé, Gregory.”

He stopped rocking, and stared up at me. “What? You don’t have a fiancé.”

“You evidently haven’t read the society papers of late. Or caught up with any of your colleagues. Perhaps you’re the last in Chicago to know: Dresden and I are engaged.”

Gregory looked over to Dresden with wide eyes. Dresden gave him a little wave.

“Him? You’re gonna marry that?”

“Hey!” Dresden said. “I saved your life, you ungrateful little slimeball.”

“He didn’t say anything!” Gregory protested. “You— Christ, I’m sorry boss, but I didn’t know. I didn’t. And I stayed quiet for you.”

“Yes. But that loyalty cannot excuse assassination attempts on my partner.” I drew my gun, but Dresden immediately set himself in my line of fire.

“Whoah! I didn’t bring him here so you could execute him.”

“Oh? A strange choice of venue then. Take your leave if you’re squeamish, Dresden.”

“This isn’t proportionate,” he protested. Gregory covered his face with his hands and started to sob. A coward as well as a fool.

I eyed Dresden. He didn’t have his shield up, but that coat could take a bullet. Shooting Dresden might knock him out of the way and give me a clean shot at Gregory, but there were too many things that might go wrong.

Words, then.

“He tried to kill the man I’m engaged to on a public street,” I pointed out.

“I am the man you’re engaged to!” he objected. “This isn’t the restitution I want.”

“This isn’t really about you, Dresden, or what you want. It’s necessary to maintain order. Move out of the way.”

“No. Come on, Marcone. It was a poor effort and no-one really noticed. It was the ghost bear that caused a scene.”

He honestly seemed to think those were mitigating factors. I’d pity Mab her personnel issues if she hadn’t also made them my problem.

“Last chance. Move,” I ordered.

“No,” he said, and set his feet, raising his left hand slightly from his side. “I do have a valid grievance on more than one technicality. So give me restitution or I take this to my boss.”

Would he? This mess seemed beneath her notice and unlikely to endear us to her. “You weren’t on Winter business.”

“It’s a company car,” he grinned. “Your guy made it Winter business.”

The little shit, he would. “Except you apparently blew up a bear. Your car wasn’t actually bombed.”

“No, but Inverno’s retainer’s spirit smashed the hell out of it, and he’s—”

“Originally beholden to Mab,” I reminded him.

“Currently beholden to you, and your vassal by every definition and tradition,” he said. I started to object and he ploughed on. “Call Gard in if you don’t believe me.”

But I did. Dresden had me. Again.

I lowered the gun.

“So what is it you want this time, sweetheart?” I said, more of a growl in my voice than I’d intended to let through.

Dresden malfunctioned. He looked momentarily outraged, then stuttered, and I marked the reaction down for future reference: Harry Dresden, speechless.

“I am not your— Shut up. I want this to play out fairly in court. No mob money or intimidation tipping the scales. Just the facts before the judge.”

“And the strength of legal arguments. You realise it’s the better lawyer that wins, not the truth? There is no fairness in court.”

“I’m sure you have to believe that. And Maya has a good lawyer.”

“Fine.” I put my gun away. He could have asked for worse. This was reasonable by Dresden standards. “Gregory, get out of here. You have Mr Dresden to thank for your life a second time. If you insult him again in future, yours will be very short.”

“Sir,” he said, and scrambled out of the warehouse without rising from a crouch.

Then I attempted to reason with my fiancé.

“Dresden, you cannot carry on like this and expect your queen to believe we’re projecting an image of solidarity.” Or for the city to stay standing.

“Looks pretty solid from here,” he shrugged. “We used our words and everything.”

Give or take a car bomb and a bear.

Otso, most likely.

Not now, Namshiel.

“Do you really think provoking one of my people into an assassination attempt is sustainable?”

Before Dresden could reply a rune flared brightly in the air before me: A perimeter warning from Gard. I drew my gun to mark the door and Dresden moved with me, throwing a shield over us both.

A man came in. Black suit, off the rack, conservative haircut. I’d guess a fed, and Gard had let him pass rather than engage.

“Agent Biggs,” Dresden said, lowering his shield but not relaxing from his ready stance. “It’s been a while.”

“Dresden,” the man nodded. “You should introduce me to your fiancé.”

Dresden gave an extremely put upon sigh and then ground out, “John Marcone, this is Agent Biggs, a man who knows which end of a gun to point at a ghoul. Agent Biggs, this is John Marcone, who you probably know by reputation.”

A government agency tangling with the supernatural. The librarians had finally made an appearance. I holstered my gun as Namshiel shifted and began murmuring observations in my ear.

“A pleasure, Agent. Am I correct in thinking your agency has been taking an interest in my business dealings of late?”

“We take an interest in many things,” Biggs said, surveying the empty warehouse. His gaze fell on the old bloodstain on the floor. “Speaking of which, this is an interesting place to do business.”

“Oh, it’s not business,” Dresden said. “Strictly pleasure. John takes me to the most darling places.”

Darling. I shot Dresden a look I knew would do absolutely nothing to quell him, and he blew me a kiss in reply. Insufferable.

Biggs stiffened, perhaps uncomfortable with even the parody of affection between men, but didn’t let his disquiet show on his face. “That’s what I’m here for, Dresden. That engagement’s drawing quite a lot of attention to your profession. My agency has concerns.”

“This is about the engagement?” Dresden asked in disbelief. “Not the titan that stomped all over the city?”

“Is that what it was?”

“Hell’s Bells, If you’re less clued in than Special Investigations, what’s the point of you? Do you just wander around until you find something supernatural you can shoot without getting eaten?”

“The engagement, Dresden,” he said levelly. “You need to call it off.”

“Or?” Dresden growled, apparently contrary enough to argue against being ordered to do something he desperately wanted to do.

“Or maybe life in Chicago gets a little more difficult than it needs to be, for everyone.”

Well, Dresden wasn’t going to like that. Was there anything more likely to sway him to the idea of marrying me than The Man trying to bully him out of it?

“I hear that’s already happening,” Dresden said, voice quiet and dangerous. He was suddenly occupying more space. I decided to change the subject.

“Agent Biggs, perhaps you’re aware there’s a tacit agreement the feds stay out of my business?” I asked. It was payment for burying the details of the black ops I’d been involved with alongside my birth name.

That caught Dresden’s attention, and he toggled modes from brewing thunderstorm to attentive detective, sharp eyes flicking between me and Biggs.

The agent scoffed. “Whatever leverage lets you duck attention as a crime lord doesn’t hold when you’re mixed up in the occult.”

Dresden looked between us. “You’re leaning on him now? What were you doing when—”

“Dresden,” I said calmly. “Our parallel agreement?”

“Oops,” he said, and mimed zipping his lips closed.

“I think that decision is a matter for your supervisors, Agent Biggs. Perhaps you could put me in contact with them? After all, there’s no reason for this to be adversarial. We can help one another.”

“The U.S government doesn’t partner with criminals,” he said scornfully.

Dresden cackled and fired out, “Have you opened a history book?” The man was constitutionally incapable of being quiet.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. You’re welcome to reach out if you come around to my way of thinking. Now, I need to take Harry here somewhere a bit more scenic.”

“No you don’t,” he said, automatically contrary, and I reached over to take a firm grip on his hand. He stared at it in surprise, and I half expected to get punched in the nose.

“I’m counting this as public,” I said.

“Eh, debatable— ”

“You’ve already had your way this evening,” I tried. “Perhaps you could show me the courtesy of a little good will?”

To my shock, it worked. Dresden considered my words for a moment and then nodded. “Fine, I guess it won’t kill me. Lay on, MacDuff.”

I inclined my head to the agent and walked Dresden out to his obviously abused car. I couldn’t have people see him driving around in that. “I’m willing to pay for the damages,” I said. “Should you have driven it here?”

“Probably not,” he shrugged, then tilted his head towards the warehouse. “What do you think?”

“A little lacklustre.”

“Yeah. I’ve met those guys. They’re clueless. Is that really what’s getting Mab and Vadderung nervous?”

“Perhaps, if their concern is numbers and firepower,” I mused. “That can count for a lot.”

“They were semi-competent at killing ghouls,” Dresden said in an equally thoughtful tone. When had he fought ghouls with the feds, and why hadn’t I heard about it?

“I assume this was out of town?”

“Maybe,” Dresden said with a grin, then looked down at our joined hands. “Planning on keeping that? I might need it later.”

I let go of him. It was an oppressively warm evening, and the additional warmth of his hand should have been uncomfortable. It wasn’t.

“Dresden, just tell me.”

“In exchange for… ?”

“I’ll tell you what Namshiel noticed about your agent friend.”

That caught his attention. “Taylor, Missouri,” he said. “The LaChaise clan were murdering locals and a pack of Wolf Men were getting the blame for it. Me and another wizard convinced the Wolf Men and Biggs’ agency to kill the ghouls instead of one another. Now spill.”

Another type of werewolf? A question for later.

“Biggs had a source of magic on him. Likely fae,” I said.

Dresden frowned. “That guy really doesn’t strike me as the type to go cutting deals with the fair folk.”

“I thought the same.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Dresden said, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Here he comes.”

I looked back to see Biggs exit the warehouse, headed towards his own car.

“Hold still a minute?” Dresden said, and I looked back to see he’d turned the full wattage of his most obnoxious smile on the man. Then Dresden wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.

I held still for it, suppressing a jerk of surprise. His wingspan could rival Stretch Armstrong’s, so it was a rather thorough hug. Did it count as intimacy if his motivations were spiteful?

Clearly Namshiel and I were overdue a discussion of auras.

Dresden pulled away, and I looked down to find my suit was now covered in dust.

Typical.