Wrong Place, Wrong Time

I shook my head and took a bite of my steak sandwich. It was heavenly, as usual. Mac, the owner/operator/brewmaster/miracle worker of McAnally's Pub had outdone himself. I eyed my old teacher, Ebenezar McCoy, across our small table in the corner of the best eatery in Chicago. "Sir, it's just not a good idea," I said quietly. "And even if it was, I doubt I'm the best man for the job."

The old man wore a patient look under his thin white hair and beard. "I can't think of anyone better, Hoss."

I shook my head. It was as a tempting offer, I had to give him that. A chance to try something new, at the very least. I put down my sandwich and shrugged out of my leather duster. It was hot in McAnally's today, just like the rest of the city. Summer's last gasp was making everyone uncomfortable. The place was virtually empty, with only one other table occupied on the other side of the building, but Mac was standing behind the bar, polishing glasses, wearing a spotless apron and not a drop of sweat on him.

McCoy himself was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I couldn't remember him wearing anything but overalls even back in Missouri. "I'm just not the man for a finesse job, Sir. I get a little blind when it comes to details."

"Hogwash. You stitched the Archive back together with no trouble."

"That was the spell I was working. I combined my power with Kincaid's eye for detail."

McCoy grunted and made a face. I'd almost forgotten how much animosity there was between the two assassins. No, animosity was the wrong term. Furious, writhing, hatred was closer. "Your power. Heard all about that."

I froze with my sandwich halfway back to my mouth. "Oh?" I said. Damn I'm sharp.

He fixed me with a penetrating stare. He'd soulgazed me on the day I'd arrived at his farm in Hog Hollow, so I had no fear of it ever happening again. But the man had a few centuries worth of experience giving penetrating stares, and I instantly became uncomfortable. "Soulfire ain't exactly a common gift, Hoss."

I put down the sandwich and grabbed a bottle of Mac's homebrew. It was even better than the steak, and that's saying something. It would have been nice if Mac would serve it cold sometime. I'd made the suggestion once. My steaks were burnt for a month. I downed half the bottle, trying to think. When I put it back down McCoy was still staring at me. Ah, hell. "I know, Sir. It's a tool I use sparingly. I don't want to burn my own soul to dust any more than the next guy."

He almost laughed. "Burn it? Harry, do you have any idea of the depths of the human soul?"

"Sir?"

"Look, I only know what you and Ivy and… her bodyguard told us. But Soulfire won't kill you fast, Hoss. And it's the kind of power we're gonna need to make this work."

"Seriously? I thought…" In truth, I'd thought using Soulfire to power my spells would kill me if I wasn't careful. It was a great tool, and damn powerful, but using my own soul as fuel for my magic was… dangerous. "I thought I had to be careful."

"Oh, you have to be careful, Hoss. But a soul like yours… it'll take a lot to consume it."

"A lot, huh?" I leaned in and lowered my voice still further. "Like a time travel spell?"

He checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was close. "Not quite."

I shook my head. "It's the most dangerous magic there is. I've done a little research into it. I mean, very little. I'm all for hitting the establishment below the belt, but destroying the universe doesn't really appeal."

He chuckled. "Not to me either, Boy. That's why you do it very carefully… and with a person you can trust." He subtly emphasized the last word.

I knew he trusted me. Hell, he probably trusted me more than I trusted him, but he's older and wiser, and my work as a wizard P.I. has made my paranoia second nature. And truth be told, trust was a precious thing in the magical community at the moment. "Have you ever even done it before, Sir?"

He nodded. "Twice. And both times, it was a similar situation. There was just nothing to be learned in the here and now, and the Council needed information. And didn't care how they got it."

They'd have to not care. Time travel was against the Sixth Law – Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time. It was also a Law I agreed with very much. The consequences were just so… universal.

As the Blackstaff, the White Council's black ops magical commando, McCoy had tacit permission to break the Laws – with the standard Mission Impossible caveat. I took another bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly.

"I don't have to remind you, Hoss, that there is still a conspiracy against us. You did us a great service by exposing Peabody. But until we know who he was answering to, we're stonewalled."

The conspiracy against the White Council of Wizards had been going on for some time – our enemies were too well organised, and the occasional traitor in our midst wasn't helping. Someone out there wanted the Council destroyed – and had the influence to make it happen. I'd dubbed them the Black Council, and somehow the name had not only stuck, it had become a by-word for all things anti-wizard.

I popped my last bite into my mouth, wiped my hands on my shorts, and crossed my arms, while Ebenezar waited, quietly. He recognized my thinking pose. He knew he didn't have to remind me of all the victims the Black Council had already claimed. The war with the Vampire Courts hadn't helped, but I'm now pretty sure I'd been manipulated into starting that war by the conspirators. That, coupled with all the attempts on my life over the last few years, and all the bodies that had been stacked up in my stead, made me want to find out who was behind it very, very badly.

But despite our best efforts, Ebenezar, myself, and whoever else he had harangued into joining our 'Grey Council', we just couldn't find anything new. The bad guys were covering their tracks very well. We needed a new tack.

But Ebenezar didn't have the fundamental understanding I had of myself. Power was bad. Far too often, I had thought about what it would be like if I could just smite my enemies down, take what I wanted, and enjoy the high life. I mean, who hasn't wanted to smack the jerk who cut them off in traffic with a baseball bat?

Now imagine traffic as your whole life, and the baseball bat as fire and lightning, and you see why I have to be cautious.

I shook my head. "I understand the situation, Sir. But I honestly don't trust myself with that kind of power. The temptation to reshape history is just… beyond."

"Beyond what?"

"Just… beyond. Beyond me, my self-control, maybe."

"If that's your answer, I'll respect it, Hoss, but remember that I'm allowed, and supposed to kill anyone I think has or will violate the Laws. And you're still here." He smiled pleasantly behind his wispy white beard, but a chill went down my spine.

"I know, Sir. And believe me, I know how many people you've, uh, mistrusted over the years. But I'm telling you…" What, exactly? You're telling the man who was charged with killing you if you ever practised black magic that you are tempted by black magic? Hell's bells, that would be brilliant. "I don't know the first thing about how to handle myself in another time. I can barely handle myself now."

"You handle yourself by not talking to anyone, or doing anything, Hoss. Not attracting attention. Just go, listen in on your target, and get back. Pretty simple."

"Oh, sure, when you put it like that. Easy as setting the table. Except when you drop this plate, the universe shatters." McCoy chuckled at that. "I was recently called a bull in a china shop, Sir. I'm afraid I'd make you drop your plate."

McCoy gave me an amused look. "That was the weakest metaphor I've ever heard, son."

"It's the best I could come up with." Silence hung between us for a moment. Then another. "Sir, I'm a magical thug. I make thing happen by forcing power into them until they work. Even that healing bit with Ivy, I was using – uh, someone else's concentration inside the circle."

"From I hear, Kincaid was a little off that whole trip. Emotionally compromised. Wasn't thinking or acting with his usual flair." McCoy's lips seemed to curl up a bit, almost in a grin.

I sighed. "Can I think about it for a bit?"

He nodded slowly. "All right. I'll be in town for the next 24 hours," he said, standing up. "Keep this in mind, though." He leaned down near my face, and lowered his voice still further. "I don't want to go far. 8 years, that's it. Little less, in fact. And I want to stay in Chicago."

"To a time and place when I was already practising in the open? Gee, that couldn't possibly lead to a paradox."

McCoy smiled, but it was a fatherly expression. He took a business card out of his breast pocket and stood up straight. "Here's the number. Call me if you change your mind, Harry."

I looked him in the eye. He almost never used my given name. Before I could say anything more, he grabbed a staff leaning against the table that looked a great deal like my own, turned, and walked out.

I sat there for a while, trying to think. I didn't get very far. Part of me wanted very badly to pick up the card. To take the old man up on his offer. Even to just know what it was like to have my own private Back to the Future…

The other part of me didn't want to know. Didn't want to know what it was like, didn't want to know how it was done… for fear I'd like it.

Oh, if Lash could only see me now. The carbon-copy of a Fallen Angel had lived inside my head for three years, tempting me with power, and the whole time I'd kept telling her I didn't want or need it. How she would laugh.

Well, maybe not. In the end, I think I got through to her. She basically died to save my life, albeit by causing me minor brain damage. But lately, I was getting signals that maybe she was still in there, somewhere, floating around.

I shoved that thought aside and looked a the card again. The power, the danger, the possible benefits all warred for attention in my mind. There was such a risk involved. I could really screw up time itself. I could hurt people I knew… or save people I once knew, completely re-writing the way their lives had gone… or mine.

But, dangerous as it could be, time travel just sounded so cool.

I picked up the damn card and headed home.

*****

The boarding house where I live hasn't changed much in the last century, except for the door to my basement apartment. I've replaced it twice after massive bad guy-inflicted damage. The second time, I actually got it straight in the frame. I carried my duster and staff to the door, laid my left hand on it, and performed the mental movements that disable my protective wards. As I did, Mister, my 30 pound tailless tabby sauntered down the stairs. "Hey. Kill anything small and defenceless today?"

He gave me a look that on a person would have led to a smile, and threw himself against my legs. I lost my balance and fell against the door, tripping over the one-inch threshold and falling flat on my face.

Not my smoothest entrance.

Made all the worse by the fact that I was seen by the person waiting in my apartment.

I brought my mental focus and left arm up at the same time, creating a shield between me and the intruder. It might not take every possible hit, but it was better than nothing and might just buy me a second or two to act.

"Wizard Dresden. It is good to see you."

The tall – and I mean roughly seven-foot – wizard in my apartment wore a very dark robe with the hood pulled up, in spite of the heat. He was facing one of my many bookshelves, holding an old paperback open in one hand. His voice was powerful but dry, as though he'd spent far too long in the desert. And he had an accent that made me think of the middle east.

I stood, dropping my shield. "Gatekeeper." I nodded politely at the most enigmatic mortal I'd ever met. I nodded at the book. "I didn't realize you were a Frank Herbert fan."

He nodded. "The man was almost prescient," he said, putting Dune Messiah back on the shelf.

"So," I said, still politely, and a little confused, "what brings you breaking into my home today?"

He bowed, a little. "I apologise. It was very hot outside. It is much cooler in here."

He had a point. Despite the candles burning at irregular intervals all over the place, it was several degrees cooler inside than out. I dropped the politeness. "That's true. But how did you get in here?"

"I have known your wards for some time, Wizard Dresden."

I got another shiver down my spine. So, two members of the Senior Council are in town, both wanted to see me, and both are acting like they know me better than I know myself. Grand. "Well, that's… creepy." Silence reigned for a moment. "Can I get you a Coke?"

"Do you have ice?"

"Yes."

"Then, thank you, yes."

Not sure what answer I'd been expecting. But hell, the man had taste. I closed my door. Mouse, my personal dogasaurus rex, was napping by the fireplace. "Some guard dog you are," I said, giving him an unhappy glare. He yawned and grinned at me, then got up and padded over to the Gatekeeper. The old wizard gave him a friendly scratch behind the ears. "Traitor," I grumbled.

I dug through the old ice box, grabbed a couple cans, then shovelled ice into a pair of glasses and filled them with liquid Ambrosia. Don't get me wrong, Mac's ale is second to none when it comes to alcoholic beverages. But Coke is the greatest pick-me-up yet invented by man. I handed a glass over.

"Thank you."

"So, dare I ask what brings you to town?"

He took a large gulp, then paused a second with his eyes closed. I think. They were hard to see, tucked back in his hood. Then he looked straight at me. "You already know why I'm here."

"You've never really gone in for straight answers, have you?"

I could have sworn I saw his good eye twinkle. "What do you think?"

I made a face and guzzled my own drink.

"I know why Wizard McCoy approached you today."

I wasn't completely sure what I was supposed to say and not say. The Gatekeeper may or may not have been a part of the Gray Council. I settled for, "Oh?"

"Yes. As Blackstaff, he may do whatever he wishes without fear of reprisal. Acting under his auspices, you would enjoy that same immunity."

"Yeah, I gathered."

"Unless of course, you were seen."

I lowered the glass. "Seen?"

"In the past."

"Right."

"By a past version of someone."

"Someone?"

"A wizard. Or a Warden. Or anyone with a mantle of power."

"What are you trying to say?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he guzzled the rest of his Coke and put the glass down on my coffee table. "I believe you should go, Wizard Dresden. Accompany your teacher. But you must also be careful."

I gave him an annoyed look before responding. "Well, thanks for that. I'm glad it wasn't too vague, or anything."

He smiled in the shadow of his hood. "Heed me words, Wizard Dresden. I take my leave, now."

He headed for the door. "Oh, sure," I said. "Thanks for dropping by. Next time, take off your hood, stay a while."

He turned back as he got the door open. "Perhaps I will."

Then he was gone, and I was left in my apartment, confused and a little shaken. The Gatekeeper rarely involved himself with… well, with anything. When he did, it was invariably a world-altering event. Usually with a lot of lives hanging in the balance. And he always had more information than he let on. Which meant he knew even more about the whole time-travel deal than he had said. And his advice had been straight forward, even if his reasons had not; I should go with Ebenezar.

I sat down, and Mouse lay his enormous head in my lap. I petted him absent-mindedly. The Gatekeeper's advice was also always good. I had it on fairly good authority that at least some of what he knew was obtained from the future, one way or another.

"He probably already knows what decision I'm going to make," I said to myself. "Which means he came here to convince me to make that decision."

"But if he already knew," myself replied, "why'd he have to convince you?"

"Good point, Precious. If he felt he had to convince me… ah. Right. Free will. What a fickle bitch."

I pulled the card out of my pocket, and stared at the number, then grabbed the phone.