Prologue: Never Go by Boat, Part I

Despite the fact that the sun had fallen hours ago, New York City still languished in a hellish July heat. The price of ice had skyrocketed, and most businesses shifted their schedules to operate in the slightly cooler hours after nightfall. The City's teeming streets emptied during the day, but at night all but a few were packed with people buying, selling, and praying for a cold snap.

Two figures walked side-by-side down one of the few empty streets, arguing philosophy. One, a pale old man with a wide, floppy hat, said in heavily-slurred tones, "Mr. O'Connell, you know as well as I that everything must start somewhere. What better place for the chicken to start than the egg?"

"That's just it, Kenta," replied his tall, dark-haired companion, who appeared just as well-oiled. "What laid the egg? Where would the egg come from, if not from a chicken?"

Just as the short man opened his mouth for a rebuttal, he was grabbed and pulled into the nearby alleyway by a pair of thick arms. Rather than being surprised by this, the tall one seemed…pleased. Spinning his cane, he ignored the ripping sounds coming from the alley, looking up and admiring the full moon.

The short one emerged from the alley after almost a minute looking slightly mussed and carrying three metal cages. Inside of each cage was a head with green-glowing eyes, fanged mouths still moving and spitting. "You were correct, Mr. O'Connell," the old man said, all trace of inebriation gone. "These are yōkai, monsters, from my own country. Three Nuekubi, likely feeding on the drunk and those travelling alone. Some of their kind are actually rather honorable: one or two were even my friends, years ago. These three, however…" he looked down at the loudly-cursing monsters.

Flynn nodded. "Alright, so decapitation didn't work. What actually kills them?"

Kenta loosed a deep laugh. "Ne, ne, Mr. O'Connell, these are actually their true forms: their bodies are merely disguises to fool their prey." Flynn looked mildly disgusted. Kenta shrugged. "As for how to kill them? Keep them away from their bodies until daybreak. Without them, the sunlight will turn the Nuekubi into dust." The heads stopped cursing and began pleading for their lives.

"So, just keep them in their cages?"

"I would bury their bodies as well, or throw them in a lake. They cannot swim, and they will dash themselves against the ground trying to dig up their bodies. Failing that, simply destroying the head will do." To demonstrate, Kenta held up one cage and tapped it. With a sharp squealing sound, the cage began to shrink, the creature inside screaming until, with a horrible crack, the shrinking cage crushed its skull. Flynn winced, and the other two monsters began beating against their cages and screaming.

"That…won't be necessary, Kenta. We can simply keep them at the Bureau until dawn." He covered his ears as the disembodied heads sent up another wail, begging for mercy. Glaring down at the monsters, Kenta's eyes narrowed, and the cages transformed into boxes as the bars flattened and connected. The noise level dropped significantly, though a tinny screaming continued.

Flynn uncovered his ears and nodded his thanks to Kenta. He frowned as he looked the two boxes. "They've killed three women and two men just this month, but the moment they're caught they begin pleading for their lives. Just like human criminals."

Kenta passed one of the metal boxes to Flynn. "The thing I admire most about your kind is your versatility. I have seen humans become saints to rival the Buddha himself, and I have seen them become monsters worse than any born to that title: demons who know neither honor nor mercy." He shrugged as they began walking back to the Bureau of Investigation warehouse. "It is ironic how humans often make the best villains."

Delilah wove her way through the crowded speakeasy, greeting each of the guests with a warm smile and a touch on the shoulder. Arriving on the bar, her calm and level tone somehow managed to pierce the good-natured din. "Anthony? How are we doing on stock?"

Behind the bar, her head employee deftly passed off three glasses of something amber-colored and bubbly before turning to face her. "Looks like we got about enough for the rest of the week, ma'am. Any longer than that, and we're gonna be scraping the bottom of the barrel. So to speak," he added with a smirk, pulling out a bottle of champagne with a flourish and passing it over to the waitress, Sara. She, in turn, carried it over to a well-dressed older gentleman and his young escorts. "Business has never been better, though."

Delilah's full lips curved into a smile. "I do so enjoy hearing that, Anthony. I shall go order more product immediately. Mr. Rothstein should have no trouble supplying us fully by the weekend."

Anthony leaned over the bar conspiratorially. "And boss? Could you sing something lively tonight? Last time you sang something sad, we went through most of our stock of the hard stuff before the night was through."

At that moment, Clarke the doorman opened the heavy front door and admitted someone rarely seen at the bar. Someone who made Delilah curse under her breath.

The man was short, barely five-foot six, but every eye in the room turned to watch him strut past. His looks were what one would call 'classically handsome', with a chiseled jaw, a Roman nose, and strong cheekbones. As he passed, men and women alike found themselves breathlessly staring at his wiry frame. The band stopped playing to stare, and no one noticed. Stepping up to the bar, he winked and said, "I believe I'll have some wine. Oldest vintage you've got. She'll pay for it." He waved in Delilah's general direction.

Anthony paused, caught between wanting to please this strangely compelling man and his desire to keep his job. He directed a pleading glance at Delilah, who rolled her eyes but nodded. The bartender carefully pulled a dusty bottle from behind the bar and passed it over to the handsome stranger. "Thanks, handsome," the man said, running a finger along Anthony's jawline. The bartender shuddered as the man strutted over to the back rooms and into Delilah's private office.

The shaken bartender turned to his boss. "S-s-so you know that guy? Boyfriend?"

"Worse," answered Delilah, quietly sighing. "My father."

She turned and strutted over to her office, easing the hearts and minds of every nearby male. Anthony watched, but still seemed shaken until an idea popped into his head. Pulling a spoon, he dropped it on the other side of the bar.

"Hey, Sara?" The pretty waitress came over to the bar, still staring off at where her boss had just gone. "Could you get that spoon for me?"

Without thinking, the willowy young woman turned and bent to retrieve the spoon. Acting quickly, Anthony backpedalled away from the bar as far as he could. When Sarah stood and turned to hand it to him, he was just out of arm's reach grabbing for a high bottle. She leaned over the bar, stretching as far as she could, and handed it to him. "Thank you, Sara."

"No problem, Tony," she replied straightening her shirt, a knowing look in her eye. She headed back to collect more orders, an extra sway to her step.

Anthony sighed, watching the lovely young thing go about her work. "Thank you for restoring my priorities," he muttered, a lecherous grin crossing his lips.

Delilah stepped into her office, carefully closing the door behind her. She quirked an eyebrow at the handsome man with his rear planted firmly in her seat. Sighing, she seated herself on the opposite side of her desk and asked, "Is this just a social visit, Claude? Or did you have something to talk to me about?"

Claude Raith grinned. "Is it such a terrible thing to want to visit my daughter?" he asked, charm dripping from his tone. At Delilah's incredulous look, he barked out a laugh. "Alright, alright. Straight to business, then."

In an instant, he went from Claude the playboy, to Claude Raith, only surviving cousin to the White King. His shoulders went back, his legs swung down off of her desk, and his presence immediately went from relaxed to regal. "The Family has a task for you to do, Delilah."

Delilah straightened her own immaculate posture in response. "I live to serve," she responded primly, but not without a drop of cynicism.

Claude briefly cracked a smile. "Of course you do." His eyes locked onto hers as the smile vanished. "You are friends with Arnold Rothstein." It wasn't a question. "The King himself wants to know how much Rothstein knows about our world and the supernatural in general. If he knows too much, he could become a liability, in which case…"

"In which case, I will take care of it." A block of marble showed more emotion than Delilah's face at that moment.

Claude nodded briskly and stood. He paused in the act of walking around her desk, grabbing a small picture-frame. "Cute girl," he said, and suddenly Claude the playboy was back and grinning. He slipped the picture into his coat pocket and left the office.

Delilah followed him out and to the door. She watched as he winked at Clarke, who wordlessly opened the massive steel door.

Claude had just stepped out of the door, looking back to blow Delilah a kiss, when he walked face-first into something heavy. Stumbling back into the building, he recovered his balance just as a pale hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Kenta asked the man who had walked into him, tone friendly.

Claude recovered quickly. "Oh, I'm just fine." He looked this new kine up and down, going through his mental checklist. 'Broad shoulders, narrow waist, obvious muscle, love the color of his skin, but he's just too old.' "Just watch where you're going in the future, grandpa." Clapping the pale old man on the shoulder, Claude exited the speakeasy, singing a jaunty tune as he went.

Kenta looked over to his on/off employer. "Is there something I should know about?"

Delilah rubbed her exposed arms and motioned Clarke to close the door. "No, Kenta. Nothing you need to know about."

Out in the Bay, a grisly scene floated slowly into New York Harbor. Hauling of immigrants from Ireland, the ship had been scheduled to arrive a day earlier. Now the reason for its absence became clear. The boat was covered in dried blood: corpses lay everywhere, either riddled with bullet-holes or with body-parts missing. From the hold to the deck, every man, woman, and child had been slaughtered – save for three. A murderer and two future victims.

A man crouched behind a lifeboat, peeking up and beyond for a moment before ducking his head back under. "The coast is clear for now," he said to the light-haired man huddled beside him. As soon as he said it, a flash of green light ripped through the hull of the lifeboat and struck him in the side. There was a blaze of searing pain, and then the left side of his gut was simply gone. He screamed in pain and rage, somehow managing to push the lifeboat off of its mooring and onto his attacker, knocking him prone.

The pale- haired man stood and moved to help his wounded companion, but the dying man would have none of it. "Take this," he commanded, slapping a long metal object into his compatriot's hand. "Keep it safe until someone comes for it. Promise me!" The man could only nod.

A looming shadow was their only warning, and the sudden roaring of a revolver was the last thing the pale-haired man heard. The bullet pierced his head, running straight through his brain and out the other side. Wordlessly, the man tumbled off of the boat and into the Harbor.

The moon came out from behind the clouds, and the dying man saw his murderer's face revealed. His skin was pebbly, lizard-like, and his pupils were large vertical bars. In a hissing voice, the monster asked, "Do you really think that will stop us? The Sword will be found and destroyed. You have failed." There was another flash of green, followed by agonized scream.

Hundreds of yards away, the cold waters of the bay turned red around a pale-haired body as it floated toward the beach.

A/N

Merry Christmas!

Not much to say beside "Welcome to another story in 1920's Dresden". I'll be back to my usual once-per-week update schedule. Expect longer chapters, more characters, and (hopefully) improved writing. Ivory Tower may be done, but For a Friend is just beginning!

Also, I somehow managed to injure my back rather badly, so I'll be laid up for a few weeks. If you ask, I may be able to fit a few bonus chapters or whatever you ask for into my busy (empty) schedule. Vale te!

A/N 2

Sorry about the re-upload. I made a mistake and uploaded an older version.