A/N: Prompt #4 of the Blue Skies day by Drabble Event on Live Journal.

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."

(Bern Williams)

These are not my characters. Thanks, Jim Butcher! (Set immediately after Ghost Story.)

Ice Skulls

You know that saying, make something foolproof and they'll make a better fool? I, Harry Dresden, am apparently that fool. Death is supposed to be foolproof. I mean, how hard can it be? Idiots die every day. It's senseless. As luck would have it, and my luck usually does, it didn't matter that I had perfectly a good reason for dying. It just didn't work out. At all.

Hells bells, irony really does blow.

Last night I was minding my own business by meddling in the affairs of dead necromancers, a ghost myself, no pain except not being able to help my friends, and now?

Now I was trudging through the snow, cold, sore, and entirely too connected to my physical pain. In short, I was feeling and moving like a reanimated corpse. Since that's precisely what I was, that made total sense. I still hadn't made up my mind whether or not I was happy about Mab's endearing (creepy) devotion (obsession) that kept my body alive and (generally) preserved for six months. In hindsight, I probably should have figured out a way to not get shot over the icy cold waters of Lake Michigan, also known as Mab's domain. Awesome.

I know I make it look easy, but it's really hard work being this dense all the time.

I took my attention off of the ground in front of me just long enough hook the toe of my boot under a skull that looked like it was made of ice. Down I went, ass over teacup, and couldn't get my hands under me fast enough to keep my face from leaving an impression in the snow. Ow and cold. You know, you'd think that, since ice is good for reducing pain in injuries, injuring a part of the body that was already frozen would be proactive. Apparently not.

Again with the irony.

"Harry Dresden, what are you doing?" came Mab's voice, frosty as her Queendom. Her shadow fell over me, long and dark in the dimness of this realm of the Nevernever.

"Making snow angels," I replied, hauling myself back to my feet.

Mab had her hands on her hips; the expression she seemed to be going for was regal yet annoyed with a pinch of psychosis. Oh yeah, she nailed it. "I am not amused, Winter Knight. We've still another hour till we reach the heart of the Winter Court. You will keep the pace."

My first instinct was to plant my feet, cross my arms, and throw back some snarky retort, but death taught me to think before you act, so I settled for a grunt and belligerent pout before trudging along again. Who says I can't learn new tricks? This one is called Not Pissing Off The Evil Sidhe Queen Who Now Owns My Soul.

Careful to watch my step, acutely aware of how cold I was, I focused on thinking warm thoughts. Oddly enough, the first one I had was a memory from the June before my sixteenth birthday. It was a balmy evening, just before the summer solstice, the moon was waxing full. I was walking through a field that was interspersed with oak trees, crickets singing, tall grass rustling; stars thinly veiled overhead, the moon haloed. The fingers of my left hand were gently tangled with the fingers on Elaine's right hand. Her palm was warm against mine. The breeze that tossed her hair smelled like summer, humid and green.

We'd gone out for our evening jog and ended up strolling along through this field together, not speaking, simply enjoying each other's presence and time alone, away from Justin. We came to a tree and sat down in the grass between the roots, our backs resting against the trunk. I put an arm around Elaine and she leaned into me, warm against my chest. She kissed me, chaste at first, then anything but after that. Her lips were warm on mine as we kissed slow and deep. We were just two kids that summer, exploring the world and each other. As I thought about that temperate June evening, I felt a shadow of phantom warmth in my chest and I was momentarily relieved of the cold.

I thought of Elaine and wondered where she was, how she was, if she was. And then I tripped over another freaking ice skull and face-planted in the snow again. Ow, dang it.

"Honestly, child!" Mab didn't even slow or turn around this time.

Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.