"Sir?"

I took another pull of the beer in my hand. Blackout or not, Mac still provided an excellent beer. I didn't even bitch about it being warm any longer. It was miles better than the swill found in other bars.

"Excuse me, General?"

"I think he's talking to you," my brother said laconically from across the table.

I frowned and turned in my seat. Standing there was a young man in a Monroe Militia uniform. I didn't care for Monroe and his goons, they were a fine collection of assholes like most governing bodies. Maybe I'm a bit of an anarchist at heart, or maybe I just don't care for anyone above the rank of alderman. Power tends to change people. I should know. I fight with myself on a daily basis to try and remain the sane, rational, caring and humble man that I am.

That there was a Militia soldier in MacAnally's would have been unheard of in his old location, but when the power died the pumps that kept the lakes and the waters out and Chicago had failed. Mac had been forced to relocate to above ground. The supernatural community of Chicago had made it a project, right down to moving the thirteen wooden pillars with scenes from various stories of folklore to the new location. Given the chaos and fear that had come about after the lights died, you needed a place where you can get a good beer.

However, the above ground location was more visible than the little basement joint that used to be our refuge. Greater visibility meant that vanilla mortals were more likely to notice Mac's. Most of them didn't return, no matter how good the food and drink were. People like us made most of them uneasy. And the ones who could take it were usually okay folks and didn't cause any trouble. There were a lot fewer of them than you'd think.

Oh, right, the soldier was talking to me. "Sorry, Kid. You got the wrong guy."

The soldier frowned. "Sir?" He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, General, but President Monroe was looking for you."

I heard my half-brother cut off a snort and mutter 'General' under his breath. I made a mental note to kick him later. "I ain't a general to anyone, Son. Let alone to Monroe. If someone sent you my way telling you that I am, I'm afraid they're just yanking your chain."

The door opened and another soldier came in, this one in a slightly more pretentious uniform. He gave what sounded like a relieved sigh and came over, two other soldiers coming in just behind him and taking up positions inside the door.

MacAnally's is supposed to be Accorded Neurtral Territory. Meaning that you were supposed to keep your nose clean and not cause any trouble, or risk the wrath of the signatories of the Unseelie Accords. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Monroe was not a signatory of the accords, so the 'neutral territory' part didn't really apply to them.

Damn it.

"There you are. Someone reported that they saw some guys jump you. Are you all right, General?"

Thomas tried to cover up a snigger with a bite from his sandwich. I went ahead and kicked him anyway. "As I was telling your guy, here, you have the wrong guy."

The man frowned. "Miles? Seriously, are you all right?" He tilted his head to one side. "What are wearing?"

Thomas leaned back in his chair. He was enjoying the show. "I wonder that every day. I told you, Harry. You need a fashion consultant. STAT."

I flipped my brother the bird and turned my attention back to the officer. "Look, sorry for any confusion, but my name isn't 'Miles', I'm not a general and I don't know President Monroe. I don't even wanna know President Monroe. No offense, but your boss comes across as a bit of a jerk."

The soldiers looked confused, and a little edgy. Thomas sat up a little straighter, his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute. Miles? As in General Miles Matheson? You think he's General Miles Matheson?"

The blond officer who had come in stepped back a bit. "Could you stand up, Sir?"

I rolled my eyes and stood up. The men backed up a bit more. Okay, I get it. I'm tall. Almost freakishly so being just a few inches under seven feet. I usually have a good half of a head in height over most men and it can sometimes make them edgy.

The officer muttered an oath under his breath. "Sorry for the misunderstanding, Sir. The face...you're a dead ringer for him, but you've probably got a good six inches on the general."

The earlier statements clicked in my head. "Wait... you said someone reported that he got jumped. So he's missing?"

The man looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't like that bit of sensitive information being general knowledge. From the table Thomas groaned. "Hell's Bells, Harry. Tell me you're not going to try and find the guy."

I tapped my fingers against my staff. "It's Chicago, Thomas. What are the chances whoever grabbed him was actually going for him and not me?"

"It's Miles Matheson. I'd say the chances are pretty damn good. He's not exactly Mr. Popularity. And even if they were making a play for you and nabbed the wrong guy, so what? Luck worked out in everyone's favor this time."

It must be nice to be a nigh immortal vampire who can say things like that in front of General Matheson's own men without fear. My brother, ladies and gentleman. Blunt-R-Us.

The officer cleared his throat. "Sir...Harry, is it? Can you point us in the direction of who might be attempting to do you harm or kidnap you?"

Thomas snorted. "Who isn't? The only reason they don't usually try is because they like breathing."

"It could be a couple different parties. Sorry your guy got caught in the middle of it. I'll do what I can to help, but I'll need to start wherever he's staying here in Chicago. There might be something there that might help point me in the right direction."

His head hurt.

His back hurt.

He flexed his hands and winced as sharp, biting things cut into his wrists. You guessed it. It hurt.

"Ah, Mr. Dresden. So nice of you to rejoin us."

Huh?

Miles opened his eyes and blinked against the light from several dozen candles. "What?"

There was a portly man with ruddy skin peering at him through thick glasses. His lips looked swollen as though from an allergy or bee sting. Must have been the one he clocked with his fist when he'd been attacked. "A bit disoriented, are we? I'm afraid we may have been a bit overzealous when we captured you." He reset the glasses on his nose. "I must say I am surprised to see you in that uniform. I wouldn't think that Monroe would be looked upon by the White Council with any favor. And Mab does not strike me as the kind of monarch who would tolerate you having split loyalties."

What was the guy talking about? "I think there's been a mistake."

The man sighed, casting his eyes upwards. "Is this the part where you start spewing sarcastic repartee and threaten to exterminate myself and anyone working with me?"

Miles blinked. "Well, yeah. That's usually how it goes."

"Do not bother, Mr. Dresden. Unlike those who have so foolishly tried to secure you in the past, I have taken great care in my research. Right down to procuring those thorn manacles. Difficult to get them made of iron, but I did have to ensure that I was taking the Winter Mantle into account as well as nullifying your usual talents. I would apologize for the discomfort, but I understand that you are not one to appreciate false sentiments."

"I can honestly say I haven't a clue what you're talking about. I do know, however, that even now my men are looking for me. You let me go now, and I might be convinced not to drag you in front of a firing squad."

The toad, he really did look like a pink skinned toad, gave a brief chuff of laughter. "Amusing. Am I to be afraid of a mob of dew drop fairies? They might be useful in gumming up locks and sabotaging your enemies, but I have taken steps to prevent them from being able to enter this sanctum."

Fairies? The guy had clearly left the station on the way to Crazy Town. "All right, you got me. What is it that you want?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Dresden. The word is that you are in possession of some rather potent artifacts with historical importance to the Christian faith. One of those items is the blade from Longinus, the Spear of Destiny. I desire that artifact."

Okay, not just crazy but a religious crazy. Nice. "Sorry, I must have left it in my other uniform."

The puffy lips pulled in a tight smile. "Amusing. Obviously you have stored the items on that island of yours. However, one does not merely walk onto that island."

"Yeah, Mordor is like that. Maybe you could look up Gandalf. See if he can whistle you up some giant eagles to help."

Toad's eyes narrowed behind the glasses. "I see that what is said of your lack of respect is quite true. I warn you that my tolerance for such only goes so far." He removed the glasses and polished them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Now, I cannot walk onto your island without it taking defensive measures against me. Even if I did, I would not know in which part of that delightful prison you have stored Longinus. Therefore, I require that you escort me onto the island and take me to the blade."

Oh yeah, this guy was crazy. "Seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about. Fairies? Longinus? Do you realize how insane you sound? And who the fuck is 'Dresden'?"

Toad guy stood up. He didn't look tall. Maybe only five foot three. His belly jiggled and sloshed as though filled with water instead of fat. "You require persuasion, then, Wizard? Very well. It isn't something I enjoy, but it is a necessity from time to time." He waddled over to the one door in the room and opened it to speak to someone outside. "Bring me my case."

It took a moment or two for whomever was outside to bring the case. It was an old style black doctor's bag. Toad set on the table in the one spot not covered by candles and open it. With thick fingers he removed something that looked like a large clam shell with barnacles scattered on one side. "I had hoped you would be more cooperative than this. I am afraid this will be painful."

Miles clenched his jaw. He was good at reading people, and his instincts told him this idiot would not believe that he wasn't this 'Dresden' person. The guy believed in fairies for crying out loud! He would have to either find an opening to escape or hope that his men would find him and come in guns blazing.

Toad approached him with the shell. The barnacle things were starting to glow with a sickly green light, though he had no idea how that was happening. His started to itch the closer the shell was brought to him, with a subtle burning that seemed to sink into his skin. Miles centered himself, willing himself not to show any discomfort or fear. He wouldn't give this nut job the satisfaction.

And then there was a loud, booming crash that sounded as though it came from somewhere above them. Toad stopped, his bulbous eyes looking up at the ceiling. "What was that?"

Miles felt his lips twist in a grin. "My guess? That would be my men coming for me. They're loyal like that."

Toad jerked his head down towards him. "Wardens?"

He almost felt sorry for this dick. "Militia. You did kind of abduct the commanding general."

His would-be torturer frowned. "General?"

Oh for the love of... "The name isn't 'Dresden'. It's Miles Matheson, as in General Miles Matheson of the Monroe Militia." He shook his head. "This just isn't shaping up to be your day, is it, Pal?"

Toad's jaw dropped open, the fleshy lips flapping like a gaping fish. "You...You're... No!" He shook his head. "You're Harry Dresden! I know you're Harry Dresden. I secured photos from before the Blackout to confirm your identity!"

"Sorry. You got the wrong guy."

Toad took a breath, looking like he was gearing up for a vociferous round of denials. Only he didn't get to. From the other side of the door a baritone voice bellowed "Fozare!" and the door flew off its hinges into the room, the guy outside flying along with it. Both smashed into Toad and pinned him down against the far wall.

And someone tall walked into the room, ducking slightly so as not to bang his head on the door frame.

Miles looked up and blinked as he watched himself straighten. Okay, it wasn't really himself, but still... son of a bitch. "Uh...I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark here, but you wouldn't be Harry Dresden by any chance?"

The taller man fought a smile. The resemblance was almost perfect except for a significant scar that ran from one side of of the forehead, over the eye and halfway down the cheek. A bit deeper and he would have lost that eye. "In the flesh. I'm guessing you're Miles Matheson."

"That would be me." He shook his head. "This explains a lot."

Dresden winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. The Villains of the Week aren't always the sharpest knives in the drawer." He stepped closer to examine the chains. "Thorn manacles. Nasty."

"Definitely not pleasant."

Dresden looked around, studying the table with the candles and the mounds of melted wax. "Ah, there it is." He dug a key up from where it had started to be buried by the wax runoff and used his nails to scrape it clean enough to work. That done, he unlocked the manacles and Miles lowered his hands. The 'thorns' inside the cuffs had bitten into his flesh, leaving little round wounds around the wrists. "We better get those cleaned up. Your guys brought a medic with them just in case."

Miles accepted an offer of a hand up, looking at Toad as he tried to wriggle out from under the door. "This has to be the strangest day I've had in a while."

"For me it's more like Tuesday."

He frowned. "Did you just make a Buffy reference?"

"Yeah. I do that sometimes." Dresden spotted his weapons belt where it had been discarded in one corner. "Those your swords?"

"Yep."

"Mind if I borrow one for a minute?"

"Nah, go ahead."

"Thanks." Harry pulled one of the swords out of its sheath and walked over to the fallen man. "Fomor. I thought I told you losers to stay out of my city."

Toad looked up at Dresden and Miles saw pure, unadulterated fear in his features. "Warden! We have a peace accord with the Council!"

"Yeah, there is a peace accord between your guys and mine, but then you tried to kidnap me."

"No! No! We kidnapped Miles Matheson! A mortal! He is not part of the accords."

Okay, his day was getting stranger. "He grabbed me, but he thought I was you. Kept calling me 'Dresden'."

"He lies! Surely you know of this one's reputation. He speaks lies!"

Harry looked over at Miles. Miles shook his head as he busied himself with wrapping his wrists with a strip of cloth he'd torn from his shirt. Just something to tide him over until the medics could drive him crazy. "He wanted me to take him to some island where he believes you're keeping the Spear of Destiny."

"Really?" Dresden looked back at Toad. "And why would you ever think that Miles Matheson would have that? That sounds like something someone like me would have."

"There is an accord! Killing me would start a war!"

"Oh, right...like that really stopped me the last time. Ask the Red Court...oh, wait... you can't ask the Red Court anything, can you?" Dresden gave Toad a cold smile. "And, the way I see it, if I kill you now, there's no one to report that I did so. Something tells me that the general here isn't likely to say anything about it."

Miles shrugged. "You can do it, or I can drag him in front of a firing squad."

"There, see? You're dead either way." And with that, Dresden ran the blade of the sword through Toad's eye. Miles watched as he twisted the blade before pulling it back out. He continued to watch as the squat man's body started to fall apart.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah, they do that. Makes clean up a bitch." Dresden dispatched the other creature and wiped the blade clean before returning it to the scabbard. He offered the weapons belt back to Miles. "We should get going. That president of yours is about ready to set fire to the entire city, which would defeat the purpose of trying to find you and get you back alive, but he's not thinking too clearly right now."

Miles sighed. "Yeah, he gets like that sometimes. It's not his fault." They walked out of the room and past the quickly disintegrating bodies of Toad's lackeys. "So...do you really have the Spear of Destiny?"

"Sorry, that's classified."

He considered that a moment, then shrugged. "I'm going to guess there's some freaky shit going down in Chicago."

"There's freaky shit going down everywhere. But there's a lot of it in Chicago, yeah."

"Warden...you some kind of cop for the freaky shit?"

Dresden gave a chuckle. "That's probably the easiest way to describe it."

Miles gave a nod. "All right, then. You handle the freaky shit and I'll handle the regular stuff."

"So...keep doing what we're doing now?"

"Yeah. Easier for everyone that way." They went up a flight of stairs and came out into the top floor of a dilapidated warehouse. Bass spied them and started walking over along with another person he didn't know but would have made a killing in modeling if there were still a need for such things. "And...if someone comes after you thinking you're me...you let your people know they can come to me and mine for help."

"Appreciated. And yours can come to me if this happens again. We doppelgangers have to look out for one another."

Okay, that was funny. Miles thought he might like this guy. "Excuse me, but I need to go calm Bass down before he has a coronary."

"Yeah, I should do the same for Thomas. He wasn't happy about me coming to get you."

"Why did you?"

Dresden shrugged. "You were grabbed because someone thought you were me. That isn't right. I'm not going to let someone get tortured or worse because of mistaken identity."

"Then you are a better man than I, Harry Dresden. I'm glad to have met you, although I would have preferred less painful circumstances."

"Heh. Amen to that." Dresden nodded towards the Militia members. "Let your guys patch you up, then you get your brother and I'll get my brother, and we'll show you two were you can get the best beer in Chicago."

"I like that plan."