A dozen thanks to LiveJournal user lmd84 for taking a look at this and giving me some early feedback :-)

This story will be broken into several chapters.

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The Black Room

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I get all kinds of clients in my office. It doesn't take as much advertising as you might think when you're the only wizard-for-hire in town. I've got the sign on my window, the ad in the phone book, and I get referrals. Now, some--okay, most--of the other PIs in Chicago think I'm kind of joke and take a certain delight in refer their nuttier cases to me. Sometimes the clients really are nuts, but more often than not, their cases are right up my alley. I always send a card and fruit basket as thanks.

"To be honest, Mr. Dresden, I feel kind of silly being here," the man said and then laughed awkwardly. He looked out of place in the room, his pressed black suit, neatly combed blond hair, and shined shoes clashing with Harry's more casual, second-hand lifestyle. But the man's pale face spoke of a troubled state-of-mind.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hart," Harry said and offered a chair. "I'd say the majority of clients that walk through my door feel a little silly about it at first." He smiled and added, "So how many private investigators did you consult before coming to see me?"

This time the man, Sean Hart, laughed, but this time with genuine humor. "Three. In fact, the last one suggested I call you."

"Oh? Who was that?" Harry asked and sat down himself.

"Jeffrey Smith. He said that you handle..." Hart searched for the phrasing, and then said, "More unusual cases. Personally, I'm pretty sure he thought I was crazy when his investigation revealed nothing."

"Well, I do handle more unusual cases, Mr. Hart," Harry said sincerely and then asked, "So what is it that brings you to me?"

"I'm being stalked."

"Who's stalking you?"

"That's the thing, Mr. Dresden, I don't know."

"Are they threatening you?"

"Not exactly. I mean, they've never said anything to me, never confronted me, but they're always there."

"Can you describe this stalker?"

Hart shook his head. "This is where I start to sound crazy. I've never seen anyone. It's more like a feeling, like something I almost see, but not quite, as if the stalker lives in the periphery of my vision."

Harry thought for a moment. "Do you have any enemies? Anyone you can think of that would be trying to scare you?"

Hart shrugged. "Mr. Dresden..."

"Call me Harry, please."

"Harry, I'm a private criminal defense attorney, a successful one. There are people who are not happy when I have won cases for my clients, but I've never had anyone target me for it."

"I see." Harry tapped the desk in front of him, thinking. "Are there times when you feel this stalker's presence more than others?"

"Yes," Hart said. "At my home. I swear from my office window, I have caught a glimpse of someone staring up at me, but I couldn't describe that person to you. I couldn't even say I really saw them, just a shadow."

"Well, maybe--"

"Is there someone else here?" Hart interrupted and stood up.

Harry glanced around. "No, no one else is here."

Hart looked around as well and sat back down with some hesitation.

"Would it be possible for me to go to your house and have a look around?"

"I'll be out of town tonight. You could take a look when I get back, or I could give you a key. I..." Hart looked around again, distracted. "Are you sure no one else is here? Do you have a roommate or--"

"Nope, just me."

"I could swear..."

"My... cat. Bob. Maybe my cat, Bob, is somewhere."

Hart looked at Harry and gave a wan smile. "I'm sorry, I guess I've been a little jumpy lately."

Hart reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a checkbook, but it slipped from his fingers, which trembled slightly.

"Do you want a glass of water or some tea or..."

"No, no," Hart said quickly, and pulled a pen and key from his pocket. He set the key on the desk and then scribbled onto a check, tore it out of the book, and handed it to Harry. "An advance," Hart said. "Let me know of any expenses you incur."

Harry glanced down at the check and exhaled. "I'm sure this will cover any expenses."

Hart glanced at his watch and said, "I should be going."

He stood and extended a hand to Harry, who took it.

"Harry, you are not able to get to the bottom of this, I really think I might be going crazy after all."

Hart's handshake was firm and strong, but his palm felt slightly clammy.

Harry put his free hand on top of the handshake in reassurance. "I'll start right away."

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Bob leaned over the desk, looked at the check that lay on the surface, and gave a low whistle. "Four thousand dollars as an advance? Better cash it before you start investigating, just in case it's too good to be true."

"Don't be so cynical."

"Where you and money are concerned, I think I've earned that right. How many nights in a row now have you eaten rice and beans for dinner?"

Ignoring the ghost, Harry turned and headed to his lab, Bob following. Once inside, Harry gathered ingredients for a spell and started adding them haphazardly to a small pot.

"Harry, really, sometimes I think you learned nothing from me. Spells require precision, you can't just throw things into a container and hope for the best."

"It's not a precise spell, Bob, I just want basic Indicare potion to tell me if something non-human has been skulking around my client's place."

Harry sat down at a table, lit the bunson burner under the pot, stirred the concoction together, and then leaned back in his chair.

"The problem with imprecise spells is that you never can be quite sure when they are ready," Bob complained. "You're going to have to sit here and watch that potion to get it right when it boils and turns clear, otherwise it will be useless."

"Is that a problem? I've got a four thousand dollar check and nothing else I need to do today. Or did you need to be somewhere?"

Bob sighed dramatically, but didn't say anything in response. The silence did not last long, however.

"I can't believe you told him I was a cat. Roommate would have been perfectly acceptable. Or respected elder perhaps?"

"You really wanted me to tell my client I live with a centuries old man who, by the way, is cursed and imprisoned?"

"It would have been better than being relegated to vaguely companionable lower life form."

"Bob, you're not any kind of life form, you are... a dead form. You know what, I'm done having this conversation."

"It is strange though," Bob said, "that he seemed to know I was here."

"He seemed pretty rattled, I don't know if he could tell someone was here, or his imagination invented someone here."

"Still, it might be worth inquiring into further."

"Yes, but first step, potion." He leaned forward and looked into the pot where the ingredients had become a swirling mass of yellowish goo. Harry turned the heat up a tad on the burner.

"You know what they say about a watched pot."

"Yeah, I know, Bob, I know."

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For a moment, it felt as if the room consisted only of darkness and heat, but then Harry bumped into something and startled at the clinking sound of glass. He reached into the darkness to steady himself on the edge of a table. He reached out, his fingers blindly brushing over the glass vessels he had just upset, but he found nothing useful. No candles, no matches, no wand.

"Harry..."

He jerked his hand back, knocking one of the glasses to the hard floor, where it shattered. His breath quickened, his pulse raced. He strained his ears, but heard nothing more. Had he even heard anything to begin with? Or had his mind filled in that whispered name?

Keeping his fingertips on the table to provide a reference point in the darkness, he took several steps forward, the shattered glass crunching under his shoes. He raised his free hand to his brow and wiped away a few beads of sweat. Why was it so hot?

"Harry..."

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"Harry... Harry!"

Harry awoke and raised his head from where it had rested on his folded arms on the table. He looked around, uncertain for a moment where he was.

"Harry, the potion is boiling!"

Cursing under his breath, Harry grasped at the nob of the burner, but his fingers, slightly sweaty, slipped over it.

"It's turned clear," Bob said urgently.

Harry rubbed his hands on his jeans and reached for the nob again, turning it to off. He grabbed a small, empty bottle from near the pot, jammed a funnel into the top, and then ladled off some of the potion into the bottle, filling it.

The potion in the pot suddenly turned black, but in the bottle, it remained clear. Harry looked at Bob. "Is it okay?"

Bob reached one of his hands to the bottle, a couple fingers flicking through it. The ghost nodded to Harry.

Harry noticed long formulae written in the air in golden letters, one of the projects Bob liked to work on. The runes and numbers formed a complex pattern.

"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked.

"You've been asleep a few hours," Bob answered. "It's starting to get dark outside."

Harry stretched out, yawning.

"You looked like you were having a dream," Bob commented.

Darkness and heat, the sound of crunching glass, a brief recollection in Harry's mind of the dream.

"It was nothing," Harry said.

Bob often took a keen interest in Harry's dreams, seeming to take an enjoyment in providing interpretations. Perhaps because the ghost could not have dreams himself. Harry generally found the interpretations cryptic, meaningless, and occasionally lewd.

"You were trembling in your sleep. Are you certain it was nothing?"

"Bob, I don't even remember what it was about." He stoppered the bottle and stood up. "Potion's ready. Get in your skull, I'm taking you with me."

Bob disappeared into smoke and then into a tiny ember of light that zipped into the ornately carved skull sitting on a small shelf. Harry grabbed the bottle of potion and the skull, and as he closed the door of the lab behind him, he could almost swear he heard the soft sound of his name being spoken.