Disclaimer: I don't own anything and you all know it! Don't try and sue me because you probably have more money than I do. The characters in this story were created by Jim Butcher.
Summary: I'm not sure where this is going yet, but I promise that it will evolve into an actual plotline.
Spoilers: Very few. Mostly just references to the first eight books.
A/n: I don't write very often so I would love any criticisms and help you can give me. I even welcome flames if you truely think that my writing is that bad, although I perfer helpful comments. As I am kind of flying by the seat of my pants as far as this story is concerned at the moment, I would appreciate any ideas you guys could give me!
Not a Chance
Chapter 1
The loud report of Murphy's gun echoed loudly in the empty warehouse. Her face was a mask of determination, her blue eyes narrowed in concentration as she emptied her clip into the chest of the figure before her.
Today's monster of the week was a demon of slightly humanoid shape, but built like a WWE wrestler. Its eyes glowed red with malice and, as it charged in rage at Murphy, its scale-covered muscles rippled. Murphy dodged to the left of its swinging arm but the demon's knife-like claws caught and tore into her Kevlar vest, barely missing the delicate flesh that it protected.
Before it could take another swipe at her, I planted my staff firmly in the ground and called up Hellfire.
"Forzare!" I bellowed.
The runes that ran the length of my staff suddenly glowed a deep scarlet and a large beam of light exploded out of the tip. It hit the demon full in the face and flung it across the room. Its enraged shriek was abruptly cut off as my spell crushed it against the wall.
As the demon slid down to the floor, I could see that its neck has snapped at an unnatural angle and that parts of its body were adorned with smoldering holes.
I spared a brief glance for Murphy, assuring myself that she was alright, before cautiously approaching the body, my staff firmly in hand and still glowing with Hellfire. Before I had taken three steps, the still smoking remains disappeared, leaving only clear, jelly-like ectoplasm in its wake.
I sensed Murphy come up behind me and turned to look at her. She was eyeing the pile of ectoplasmic goo suspiciously and holding her gun ready as if expecting the demon to suddenly rematerialize.
There was a gash on her forehead that, while not life threatening, was going to need stitches. Her short, blond hair was matted with blood and dirt and her jeans had been torn sometime during the fight. My gaze rested on the large tear that marred her Kevlar vest. The demon had slashed all the way through the Kevlar, so that I could see Murphy's T-shirt peeking out from underneath.
I swallowed. Hard.
A few millimeters more and it would have been Murphy's chest that had been ripped open.
All in all, she looked like the bad ass cop chick that she was.
Murphy looked at me.
Police chick. Sorry.
"You okay?" I asked her
"Just peachy, Dresden, thanks" she growled before finally holstering her gun.
I grinned at her and started to take inventory of my own injuries. I had a small, shallow cut on my forearm, multiple bruises, and I was, if it was possible, even dirtier than Murphy.
I shrugged off the rather minor injuries and walked out of the warehouse with Murphy close behind me.
"You should get that cut looked at, Murph," I told her, my concern evident.
"I'm fine, Harry," she said and then sighed. "I'm just tired."
I nodded and dropped the subject, knowing that any further argument would just irritate her more. I managed to fold my large frame into Murphy's economy car (my Blue Beetle was in the shop again) and the two of us sat in silence as Murphy drove me home.