First Time for Everything
I stood quietly in the doorway, looking at the room around me. It wasn't anything special, really. It was small, the linoleum was stained, and the walls were worn. The florescent bulbs overhead were just a bit too bright. Against the back corner was a dark wood desk with a new computer gleaming on top. They looked out of place in the worn little room.
But it was mine, and it was beautiful.
I'd finally made Sergeant after years of hard work, earning myself an office. The only catch was that I was Sergeant of Special investigations, where careers came to die. I had earned myself such a punishment by having an unforgivable lack of political skills. I had no intention of letting my career perish, but I also had no idea how to save it. Almost every single case that had been pawned off on my division in the past few weeks was still unsolved. None of us – my officers or I – could make heads or tails of them.
With a loud huff, I crossed the small room in a few steps and plopped myself down in my chair. I stared blankly at the large stack of unsolved cases and wished desperately that I could close them all and file them away as solved.
"Did you really have to take my bla- stick?" a loud baritone voice woke me from my reverie. Though it clearly came from downstairs, the man's words were still clearly heard. Another quieter voice answered him, but I couldn't hear what this one said.
Stick? Why would a man want to keep his stick? I wondered briefly. Then I shook my head and looked back at the case files, reaching out to open one up. Skimming over the words, I felt the familiar frustration creeping over me. With a grunt, I closed the file again and rose from my desk.
At least I can solve one mystery, I grumbled to myself as I started down the stairs.
Peaking around the corner, I saw a man standing by the front desk. He was literally the tallest man I'd ever seen, easily clearing six-and-half feet. A long black duster hung to his calves, exposing only a bit of his black jeans. A mess of dark brown hair covered his head, clearly in need of a comb. From my spot on the stairwell, I could only see his back, but I could see the face of our receptionist, Margie. She looked bemused for the most part, but I could also see the attraction in her eyes. Apparently he was handsome.
Even more curious now, I stepped down from the stairs and began to cross the lobby. "Margie," I said with a nod. "There a problem?"
The man turned when he heard my voice. His features were angular and sharp. A two-day beard gave him a bad-boy charm, and dark brown eyes glittered under his furrowed brow; he was clearly annoyed. But then his mouth broke into a wide smile upon seeing me. My breath caught in my throat for a moment; he had a smile that lit up a room.
"Officer Murphy!" He greeted me, that smile still plastered across his face. "Long time no see, eh?"
"Srgt Murphy," I corrected him automatically. Then I paused and looked at him more closely. How did he know my name?
He held up his hands in surrender and shook his head at me. "You don't remember who I am, do you, Sergeant Murphy?" There was the barest trace of mocking in his tone as he emphasized the "sergeant".
I stiffened a bit, but he continued to smile; only now it was closer to a smirk. It took me a moment to realize that he had yet to meet my eyes. Instead, he was looking at the tip of my nose.
"Your… stick, Mister Dresden," Margie's quiet voice broke the almost-staring-contest. In her hand was a slender piece of wood; I couldn't tell from all the way back here, but it appeared to have carving covered every inch of it.
I tried to remember where I'd heard his name as he turned to thank Margie and grab his bizarre stick. It clicked for me just as he was turning to go.
"Sergeant," he gave me a mocking salute as he sauntered out of the station. I only nodded silently.
It was years ago, I told myself as I turned to go back up the stairs. The memory was a strange one, and I'd convinced myself that I must've been tired and the adrenaline had made me see things that weren't real. Still, I remembered his name, now.
"Harry Dresden," I murmured as I walked back into my office. I sat down in my chair and chewed on the inside of my cheek as I looked at my computer screen. With a sigh, I pulled up Google and typed in his name.
There weren't many results, but I didn't find any that were even slightly relevant. I huffed as I closed out the window and turned to glare at the stack of unsolved cases again.
Might as well check 'em out, I thought with a grimace as I began flipping through the first file on the stack.
After hours of poring over the case files, a throbbing headache had formed between my eyebrows and most of the other SI officers had headed home.
A quiet knocking made me glance up, meeting the gaze of my partner, Carmichael. He always had food stains on his clothes, and his stomach hung over his belt. Just looking at him, he looked like some schmuck off the street, but I knew him, so I knew that he was one of the best cops in Chicago.
"Murph, I'm gonna head out. You might want to do the same."
I sighed and nodded as I stood, reaching behind me to grab my suit jacket off the chair. "Thanks, Carmichael."
He nodded, making his chins wobble. "See ya in the morning." He called out as he headed downstairs. I listened to his shoes hit the stairs as I gathered up a few more files to bring home.
My mind was jumbled and full of worries and frustrations as I walked down the SI stairs. Margie was long gone, and most of the lights were out in the building. I guessed that I was the last person to leave. I lifted my wrist and jerked my coat sleeve back to check out my watch. The hands read that it was just past ten; the only people that would still be here would be the night staff.
I shivered a bit as the Chicago chill hit me walking out of the building. My car was around the back of the building, and I walked slowly around the building, listening to the rush of cars and the steady bass coming from a club a block or two away. Chicago made its own kind of music, especially at night.
I smiled when I saw my little motorcycle all by itself in the parking lot. It gleamed appealingly as I stepped up to it and picked up my matching black helmet. It tucked it under one arm so that I could tuck the files into the saddlebags. I tugged the helmet down over my blonde curls and swung one leg over the seat. I grabbed the key out of my jacket pocket and twisted it in the ignition. Twisting the throttle, I took off. I smiled in exhilaration as I felt the wind tug at my clothes, swinging my jacket out behind me. I didn't usually ride my bike to work, but I'd forgotten to fill up my car the night before. Besides, the helmet hair was worth the feeling of freedom that came with riding a motorcycle. It felt like flying. I swear, if it weren't for the drugs and the violence, I might've been a biker.
I felt a little disappointed when I saw my house come into view; the ride always seemed too short. I pulled up into the driveway and switched off the engine, kicking down the kickstand. I tugged off my helmet and reached over, grabbing the files out of the saddlebags. I smiled only a little sadly as I looked at my house. It had been Grandma Murphy's house, and she'd left it to me. It suited her more than it suited me; there was a garden growing out front, but I lacked her green thumb. Instead, I hired some guy my neighbor had recommended to come by every few days to weed and water and whatever it was that gardeners did.
I hummed to myself as I walked up the steps and pulled out my house key to unlock the door. It didn't even creak as it swung open; I had a habit of oiling all the hinges of doors in my house.
I need a shower, I thought as I walked through the hallway.
I'd never redecorated after I moved in. The tables were still covered in lace doilies and the couch was made of some flowered fabric. None of it suited my sense of style, but they reminded me of my grandma and my childhood. In my head, this was still her house, and I couldn't bear the thought of changing it. The only things I'd added of my own were a gun cleaning kit and case as well as a pair of Japanese swords hanging over the mantle.
I dropped my helmet and files on the doily-covered coffee table and walked to the master bedroom. I sat on the bed and took off my boots, letting them fall softly to the carpet. I sighed happily as I wiggled my toes gratefully. I rose and padded over to the bathroom to turn on the shower, shrugging out of my jacket as I walked. I stripped quickly as the water warmed. I sighed again when I stepped into the warm spray. A hot shower at the end of a long, repetitive, and frustrating day felt like heaven. The shower took longer than strictly necessary because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my little personal slice of heaven behind. I turned off the water with a grimace and wrapped a towel under my arms. The mirror was fogged up from the steam. I shivered a bit as I stepped out of the warm bathroom. Quickly, I dried off and pulled on a too big shirt. I wandered back into the living room, frowning as I looked at the files. I was about to pick them up when I saw my phonebook resting beside them.
I didn't know why, but I was incredibly curious about this Dresden character. Partially because of our brief encounter when I was still a beat cop, and partially because he just seemed… interesting I guess was the best word. I mean really, who carried around a stick and wears a coat from the set of El Dorado? And who may or may not have killed a troll…. That last thought went against my sense of reason, but he'd done something that day. Besides, if I remembered correctly, he'd worked from Ragged Angels, and they were in the phone book. It wouldn't hurt to see if he still did.
I made a face as I gave into my curiosity and flipped open the book to the R's. I was still a little unsure of why I was doing this as I dialed the number.
"Ragged Angel Investigations, Nick speaking." A gruff voice answers, the words slurred a bit. Drinking, I guessed.
"Yes, is there a Harry Dresden working there?" I asked, being sure to keep my doubt out of my voice.
A loud guffaw surprised me and I almost dropped my phone. "Lady, you're a few months slow. Dresden started up his own business."
My curiosity reared its ugly head again. "Oh, really? He started another lost children business?"
Another guffaw. "No," he chuckled. "He's wizard and a private investigator. Check the phonebook – he's even listed."
I felt my jaw drop. Wizard? I felt a bubble of laughter gather in my own chest, and I quickly shoved it back down. Still, I couldn't help but snort. "Under what, Wizards?"
"Actually, yeah." The laughter was gone now. "Why'd you want to know, lady?" I could hear the suspicion and defensiveness creeping into his voice. Apparently Dresden was worth defending.
"Curiosity. Thanks for all your help." I hung up quickly, before he could ask for my name.
"Wizard, eh?" I muttered to myself. I smiled and shook my head. I guess that explained that weirdness. In a town as big as Chicago, there were bound to be a few freaks. Briefly I considered looking up his number and calling him tonight, but then I glanced at the clock. The numbers read that it was 11:30. I guessed it was a little too late to call wizards or to look at those files.
Still shaking my head at myself, I walked off to my bedroom and settled down to go to sleep. I didn't think I was tired, but I was out almost as soon as I pulled the covers over myself.
KMKMKMKMKMKMKM
The shrill sound of my alarm clock shocked me awake way too early. I groaned as I shoved my face back in my pillow, trying to hide from the sunlight leaking in from the window. A minute later, I threw my pillow at the clock in an attempt to get it to shut up, but succeeded only in knocking it off the bedside table. Muttering to myself about cops having to wake up too early, I threw the blankets off my legs and shuffled into the bathroom.
When I looked into the mirror, I was created by a small face ringed by a mess of curled blonde hair. Dark bags hung below my eyes, and my lips were chapped. I wasn't ugly, but I wasn't beautiful. My nose tilted too far upward and my lips were a bit too full for my face. Not to mention the whole height issue. Men like to have women shorter than them, but not so short they literally have to bend over to kiss her.
I shook my head and set to work and rearranging my hair into something a bit more professional. Half an hour later, I looked presentable and professional in a gray pantsuit and white button down shirt paired with silver studs and black high-heeled boots. I was just strapping on my badge and gun when I saw the phone book sitting on the table from the night before. I bit my lip as I meandered over the table and stared at the yellow pages.
"God, Karrin, what are you doing?" I muttered as I flipped the pages to W for Wizards. Shockingly enough, there he was.
HARRY DRESDEN — WIZARD
Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations.
Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates.
No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties or Other Entertainment.
I guess that Nick was being serious last night. Without really knowing why, I tore the page out of the phone book, folding it up and shoving it into my pocket.
Today, I opted for my car instead of my motorcycle, using a gas can from the garage to top it off until I could get to a gas station. I switched on the heater and pulled out of the driveway, steeling myself for Chicago traffic. It was stop and go, but not as bad as it could be. I got into the office a little past 7, and there were already a few officers at work. Margie smiled at me from behind her desk as she typed away, and I nodded at her as I passed, coffee in one hand and files in the other.
I walked up the stairs quickly, eager to set down the hot coffee and get rid of these files. I got to my office and snorted at the name plate on the door, if you could even call it that. Really it was just a piece of notebook paper with my name, rank, and position on it written in black Sharpie. Shaking my head, I tugged open the door, careful not to spill my coffee.
I set down my things and plopped down in the swivel chair, rolling my neck and mentally preparing myself for a day of frustration. Half an hour into the stack of files, I shrugged out of my coat. A soft crinkling sound came from the pocket, and I paused, remembering how I'd shoved the page from the phone book into it this morning. Absently, I reached in and unfolded it as I set it down on top of the file I was currently examining.
According to the file, the store owner reported that "the thief just disappeared after snatching all the jewelry off the counter". The case had gotten pushed off on SI after the other division had decided that disappearing jewelry thieves and senile store owners were beneath them. I couldn't make heads nor tails of it. I glanced back at the ad. "Consulting."
"Aaaaand I have officially lost my mind," I muttered as I picked up my office phone and began dialing.
"Dresden," the same baritone from yesterday greeted me, and I heard him stifle a yawn.
"Ah, yes. Your ad says you do consulting?" Even though I tried to hide it, I heard my doubt creep into my voice.
He chuckled quietly. "Yes, ma'am. What would you happen to need me to consult on?" Static blurred the words, but I could understand him.
"A case of mine."
"Oh? How very specific of you, Miss…?"
I ground my teeth and forced myself to answer. "Murphy. Sergeant Murphy."
I heard him choke back his laughter, trying to hide it with a cough. "Well howdy Sarge! What can I do ya' for?" He drawled through the static-y line.
I breathed out through my nose. I was frustrated at him because I was embarrassed at my own ineptitude, I knew. I mean really, what kind of cop calls in a wizard?
"What do you know about…dissappearing?" I had no idea what to call an invisible thief.
This time the static was so bad, I couldn't understand a word and had to ask him to repeat himself.
"Isn't that your area of expertise? Missing persons, that is?" He was practically shouting, but I at least understood what he was saying.
"Dammit, what is wrong with your phone?" I snarled. I was already in a bad mood, and having to call a wizard with a bad connection was not helping.
"Magic," came the cheerful reply, colored once again with static. "Listen, Sarge, I-" the line went ka-put this time and I was left practically strangling my own phone and listening to a dead tone.
"Gah!" I slammed down the phone and threw my hands in the air. "If things keep going like this, I'm going to end up like every other SI Director."
And apparently now I'm crazy now, too. I thought to myself. Talking to myself out loud, calling wizards. Jesus, next I'll be seeing fairies in the streets.
I needed to get out of my office, so I grabbed my coat and went to go get Carmichael. If I was going to be pissy, at least I could be pissy out on a case instead of stuck in my office.
We spent a few hours out 'investigating' the red-bear-thing case and came up with jack shit. We stopped for lunch on the way back. Carmichael wanted donuts, but I talked him into Subway. I got turkey while he opted for a Meatball Marinara, slopping the sauce onto his jacket.
My mood had marginally improved by the time we got back; I even managed to crack a smile at one of Carmichael's awful jokes.
My half-smile froze on my face when I opened the doors to the SI building and found none other than Harry Dresden sleeping one of the lobby chairs, his head lolled back with his mouth half open and his insanely long legs . There was a long pale stick propped up beside him, thicker around than my fist and covered in bizarre markings, much like the ones I saw on his other stick the day before.
"Fucking wizards," I muttered under my breath.
I walked up to Margie, mouthing "What the hell is he doing here?" motioning to the sleeping man.
She shrugged her shoulders and motioned for me to come closer. Leaning up to my ear she whispered, "He said you called him, but the phone quit. When I told him you weren't here, he said he'd wait. He's been here for almost two hours." Her warm breath blue across my face, and I suppressed a tremor.
I rolled my eyes and walked over to stand in front of Dresden, crossing my arms with my feet square. I examined the softly snoring man before, really looking at him now, while he was still asleep and wouldn't know about my examination.
I realized I was right about my earlier assessment; he was easily over six and a half feet tall, probably about 6'8. He'd probably shaved this morning, but I could already see the stubble forming over his chin. His facial structure was lean and angular. Sleeping, I realized just how young he was – probably not even twenty-five yet. His coat had fallen back from his torso, and I realize just how thin he was. I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't eat enough or because, like many tall men, his metabolism was off the charts. Looking at him again, I decided it was both. Seeing him sleeping, I saw a tension I hadn't seen before disappear. He was kind of… adorable when he was asleep.
Suddenly, he shifted in his seat, knocking the huge stick beside him to the ground with a loud clattering sound. He jerked upright with a start, reaching back to rub his neck. Sleeping in a position like that, it was no surprise he had a kink in his neck. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and retrieved the stick from the ground before he realized that I was standing in front of him. When he did, that atmosphere-changing smile stretched across his face. I didn't understand why he smiled like that when he saw me, but I couldn't help but return the smile, if only briefly.
Quickly, though, I had the smile behind a professionally blank expression. "Mister Dresden."
"Sarge," he said with mock professionalism, carefully wiping the smile off his face as he greeted me with a salute.
"Jesus, stop calling me that." I said with a roll of my eyes.
He looked me up and down, leaning back in the chair with his stick resting between his legs. Amusement danced in his eyes as he pursed his lips. "Well, Sergeant Murphy is a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"
"No, I don't. You are neither a friend nor a colleague, so please call me Sergeant Murphy." I tried to keep my voice cool and even, but I could hear the heat in the words. Dresden seemed to already be forming a habit of making me smile then pissing me off.
The amusement died in his eyes at both my tone and my word choice, his warm brown eyes hardening. "As I recall, Sergeant Murphy, you called me to see if I would consult on a case with you." He didn't bother to hide the heat in his own words.
I saw Margie perk up behind the desk when she heard him, but I carefully ignored her. Still, I felt all the hot air leak out of me. He was right, I knew, and I was being unfair. My shoulders sagged, and I closed my eyes.
"Yes, I did. If you would follow me, please." I turned to the stairwell without opening my eyes or checking to see if he was following me. I heard the chair creak a bit as he rose, though, and the thunk of his staff, I guess I could call it. He followed me all the way up the stairs without a word, and I found his looming presence to be mildly disconcerting.
I only turned to him when we were actually in my office and I'd sat down in my chair, the desk safely between the two of us. I missed the familiar hum of my computer, but I'd turned it off when I'd left with Carmichael. He was still standing in the doorway, examining my 'nameplate'. He snorted before turning back to me. He regarded the small chair in front of the desk with a raised brow before plopping himself down in it. He tried to let his legs stretch out, but they'd barely managed to unfold before his feet knocked into the desk.
He snorted again before saying, "An office fit for a midget, eh?" I felt myself bristle and was halfway to spitting out a heated reply when he let out a gentle chuckle and held up his hands in surrender. "Honestly, though, Sergeant Murphy, why'd you call me?"
I let out a heavy breath and steepled my fingers before I answered him. "As I asked early, what do you know about invisibility?" I felt incredibly stupid just voicing the question.
"Is that what you meant earlier? Actually, I know a pretty decent amount. You do know about my fee, though, right?" He was surprisingly professional.
"Before we start discussing your price, Mister Dresden, I have to know – are you for real?" I was shocked by how intense my voice was; I even leaned forward.
"Try me and see," came the simple reply.
I huffed and crossed my arms. "Fine, then. The witness reported-"
"$50 an hour plus expenses." He cut me off, his face carefully professional. "A two-day retainer is typical."
I tried to keep my eyes from going wide. The SI budget was smaller than the other CPD divisions', so we had very little money for hiring consultants. I cleared my throat, working to hide my unease. "If your information is useful, then I'll pay the hourly fee, Mister Dresden."
His smile widened and I saw relief flash across his face. Apparently he didn't think I'd actually hire him. I suppose he was used to doubt by now, though. "Excellent! Now, what do you need to know?"
I sighed slowly. "A thief robbed a mom-and-pop jewelry store the day before yesterday. The store owner claimed that the man simply… disappeared. We found a few hairs at the scene, but the system's so backed up, we won't know if he's even in the system for a few more weeks." I felt a little twinge of shame as I admitted to my own cluelessness. Dresden had nodded along to my words, but he seemed almost excited when I mentioned the hairs.
"I think what you're dealing with here is a veil." He waved me away when he saw me about to speak and continued his explanation. "A veil is… well, it can be the equivalent of being invisible. You kind of bend the light and shadows until people can't see you. They aren't a forte of mine, but I know a few people in the community who can pull off a pretty decent veil."
"Community?" I asked. I was surprised by how well I seemed to be dealing with his explanation of magic. Then again, the thought of something left unexplained by science appealed to the cynic in me.
"The magical community," he replied. "Most of us keep in touch with one another; have similar hang-outs - that sort of thing."
"So, the thief was a… magician?"
He chuckled softly. "No, magicians do stage magic. He was probably a practitioner, though. Somebody with just enough talent to either perform one trick really well – like veils – or to do a few mediocre things."
I'd taken out a notebook while he talked and started jotting down a few things. I glanced up after he finished. "You're a practitioner as well, I presume."
Dresden gave me a half smile and a wink. "Nope. I'm a wizard – just check the ad." He motioned to the slightly crinkled sheet on my desk.
I felt my cheeks redden slightly. "Well, what's the difference?"
He pursed his lips and carefully considered before he answered me. The ticking clock was the only sound in the room. "Wizards are like… we're like the black belts of the magic world. Wizards probably make up less than 10% of the magical community." He paused for a moment. "You said that your guys found a few hairs at the scene?"
I furrowed my brow, confused. "Yes, why?"
"Because I can track him using the hairs." This time he didn't wait for me to start asking the question to answer. "It's called thaumaturgy – making a connection between small things, like somebody's hair, and big things, like the actual person. The type of thaumaturgy I'm talking about is the equivalent of a tracking spell."
I closed my eyes and rubbed my hand over my face. "Jesus, I must be going insane. Wizards, invisibility, tracking spells."
He cracked a smile at that and winked at me. "By that logic, I must be completely nuts – totally off my rocker."
"You probably are, Mister Dresden." My voice was tired, and it sounded years older than I actually was.
He wagged his finger at me, his eyes dancing with amusement again. "I could be insulted, you know. But, if we're going to work together, you're going to have to let me call you something other than Sergeant Murphy."
"Fine, fine. Murphy it is, then, Dresden." I waved my hand at him dismissively. I don't know why it had bothered me so much earlier, his insistence at not using my rank and name.
"Alrighty, then. What now?"
"Still can't believe I'm actually hiring a wizard…" I muttered under my breath, low enough that I could barely hear myself.
"First time for everything, Murph. First time for everything." He said with a wink.
I didn't know how he'd heard me, so I just chocked it up to weird mystical-magical mumbo-jumbo. I prayed to God I wouldn't regret this. Naturally, I was a pessimist, but looking up at the man before me, I felt hope for the first time since I'd landed this job. There's a first time for everything, I suppose.