Disclaimer: belongs to Jim Butcher and Scifi channel.
Rating: PG
Book or TV verse: TV with some bits of bookverse
Warnings: Language
Summary: Morgan hunts dangerous prey

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Carla was never really sure why she and her friends decided to break into the abandoned office building. She forgot who had first proposed the idea. The 5 couples had been drinking beer and eating pizza at a pub far away from the University of Maryland campus, taking a break from their normal frantic senior year schedules to enjoy the late fall evening. One thing she did know: she was the last one left alive.

Tommy found a door he could open with a little 'persuasion' and they all tiptoed in, the girls stifling giggles as the guys tried to spook them. When they got to the second floor her world changed forever.

Carla didn't see much, really. She was the last one up the stairs and only had a few seconds to see what happened. The man was in a circle of lit candles chanting. He was freakishly tall, had mostly iron gray hair and was wearing dark clothes. He carried a thin wooden staff that looked five feet tall. It was glowing. Strange dark symbols showed dark against the inner glow. Her friends were giggling and laughing at the man. Carla had just enough time to see a photograph in the center of the circle of candles when he started to kill her friends. An outthrust arm, strange words spat in a low growl, and a small ball of red light killed Tommy in an instant.

All was screaming and confusion and running then. They pelted down the stairs and out into the street but the deadly red balls of energy only followed them. Each followed one specific person. No matter how many turns they took, how many buildings they cut through, Carla and her boyfriend Jed could not loose the hellish thing. It finally caught Jed. Carla screamed but it was too late, Jed careened lifelessly into an electrical pole.

Carla did not know why a deadly monomaniacal light ball had not followed her. Perhaps the man hadn't seen her. She had seen him though. She had seen the familiar photograph of the African head of state that was in town to meet the president and attend a formal White House dinner. It had been in the paper and on television news for a week. Carla had a very bad feeling she knew what the man in the abandoned building was up to, impossible as it was.

She ran. She hit the Wheaton Metro station running through the tunnel and hurrying down the long escalator, scattering tourists dense enough to be standing to the left. The red line would take her into the district and – most importantly – to Union Station. She could not stay in the DC/Baltimore area. She could not go home to Nebraska. New York would be a good city to loose herself in. She purchased three tickets on her credit card: one for Miami, one for Boston and one for the next train to New York. Regional service was slower than the Acela, it was also more anonymous.

As the train crawled towards New York, Carla tried her friends' cell phone numbers. No one answered. When she got off the train at Penn station the first thing she did was to charge two more tickets to her credit card. One to Cincinati, Ohio and one to Bangor, Maine. She always had enjoyed Stephen King. She wouldn't mind seeing Bangor, but she would not be using these tickets.

As she emerged into the New York streets she tried to plan her next moves. She needed money, a place to stay, and a new identity. She didn't think the man knew her name, but he could kill with a few words and the wave of the hand. She wasn't going to assume he couldn't find out. She did use her ATM card several times. She needed to build her cash reserves. She knew it was risky but she didn't know what else to do.

The next day, she read in the newspaper about the unfortunate death a visiting dignitary in DC. The man had simply dropped dead at a White House dinner. The photograph in the story was the same familiar one she had seen in the circle of candles. Carla shuddered. With all the protection this man had he was still stone cold dead.

In a creepy cheap hotel room Carla tried to get at least one of her friends on her cell phone. She got nothing but voicemail – until she called Linda. Carla knew the dark low voice that answered instantly and it paralyzed her. Literally. He made suggestions; "don't hang up," and "tell me where you are." Before she knew it she had told him she was in New York. With an effort of will Carla never believed possible she hung up. Now she was close to mindless panic.

Ditch the phone, get out of town. Now.

She ran from the hotel room, tossing the phone in a trash can two blocks away. She withdrew her limit in cash using her ATM card. On the subway, she wrote her pin number on the card. She left it behind her in the car. She took a taxi to the nearest airport, chose an airline at random, and using cash purchased a ticket on the first flight that didn't go to National, Dulles or BWI.

She was going to Chicago.

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Morgan had his sword to Harry Dresden's throat. This wasn't an unusual thing for the head of the Chicago Wardens to be doing, really. Dresden was, of course, protesting his innocence.

"I don't summon demons, Morgan.

"Except the Hellspawn."

Dresden's shoulders drooped.

"Okay, one. I didn't summon THIS one."

Hrothbert of Bainbridge emerged in a swirl of smoke from his skull and chimed in lazily.

"Really, Morgan, even if Harry were stupid enough to summon a demon into the High Council Headquarters, he's not nearly powerful enough to call a demon strong enough to overcome your wards."

Dresden rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Bob."

"Anytime."

Morgan lifted the tip of his sword a little, forcing Dresden's chin up.

"If I find out – "

"FREEZE!" the command came from behind him. Morgan hadn't even heard the door open. Both Morgan and Dresden froze, the ghost backed and disappeared into a wall before he could be seen.

"Put down that … sword, now." It was Dresden's police friend, Lieutenant Murphy.

Morgan mulled over what to do. Dresden was mouthing something, a soft whisper at him, pleading.

"Please, please don't hurt her, Morgan, please."

The Warden sighed and slowly held out his arms, holding his sword pointed down. He felt Murphy take it, then he felt the handcuffs. He let her cuff him. He might as well let himself be taken to the police station. It was close to the High Council HQ and he could use the ride.

Dresden was still desperate.

"Murph, you can't… you don't know… don't –"

"Shut up, Harry," Murphy said as she awkwardly juggled Morgan's sword and kept one hand on Morgan's arm to steer him back to the office storefront. "Unless you want to explain exactly what is going on here."

Morgan glared Dresden into silence.

"I didn't think so." The Lieutenant led Morgan down the narrow hallway connecting Dresden's office and tiny apartment. Dresden hovered nervously behind them.

"Murphy." Dresden sounded almost frantic. Morgan knew it wasn't on his behalf. He stopped and turned as far as Murphy allowed him to.

"Find out who did it, Dresden."

"Did what?" Murphy was glaring at both of them.

Dresden just nodded at Morgan and kept his eyes down, avoiding Murphy's glare.