Title Blood's Anchor
Summary: Tragedy has struck and Thomas is left to uphold his brother's mantle of heroism in the face of the worst possible dangers. Now Thomas must work through grief, betrayal, deception, and old friendships to find Harry's killer, unknowingly getting more close to his brother than he could ever fathom.
Rating: PG-13, some violence, some sexual reference, some language
Timeframe: After Proven Guilty, before White Night, but minus Molly (though she may make an appearance)
Book/TV verse: Splicing of both, references to both. I use pretty clear distinctions between the two though other than I use TV-verse apartment/office. The rest will be addressed throughout the story.
Spoilers: The books, except for WN, and just a feel for what the TV episodes are like
A/N: I love Dresden Files and I try to be as true as I can. Voice is a little hard, especially when using a secondary character that's pretty mysterious. Jim Butcher's style is also a little hard to replicate, but I'll try and work hard. I hope you enjoy. REVIEW DAMMIT!
-o-O-o-
The dingy little apartment was close to one million degrees. There was nothing but suffocating, sticky, sweaty heat and overwhelming, mind-blowing pleasure. I trailed kisses down her swan like neck, feeling her shudder under the feather light touch of my lips against her shining translucent skin. Her name is Meredith, the name currently flowing from my lips as I moved against her and the name I would cry out once we reach completion. She works as a manager at the big shopping mall across town. She loves her job, loves having power and influence. She's very organized. She even arranges her groceries by size, shape, and food type. Her fondest memory is of going to Disneyland with her father when she was eight years old. Her parents went through a hard divorce and her mom had never quite been the same. Her small two bedroom house is about two blocks down from mine. She's decided to start running past here before work.
That's how she ended up here…literally. I was getting mail and now here we are. The only reason I know any of this stuff about her is because I'm feeding off of her life force right now. Yes people, that's right. I'm stealing bits of her life energy, including memories and perceptions, by having sex with her. Pretty sweet, huh? Don't worry though, I won't harm her. She's enjoying it just as much as me. She can't resist in fact.
If you haven't guessed already, I'm not quite human. My name is Thomas Raith. I am a part of the White Court of Vampires, belonging to the ruling House of Raith…or did, anyways. I was kicked out recently. Nasty business about my father killing off all of his previous sons and even if he was currently a puppet ruler enslaved to my sister, my mug was just not pretty enough to keep in the family. So anyway, with my type of vampire, our Hunger comes from, not blood, but the life energies that drive the mortal race. We're also highly addictive. Red Court has the whole spit thing, whatever. I suppose I'm prejudiced, but I think White Court's methods are more sophisticated and less…gross. Of all the Courts, White is the most human. In fact, in our earlier stages we have the ability to become mortal too. Yeah, that didn't exactly happen with me. So here I am screwing a total stranger blind like it's a natural part of life, which, as I have just explained, it is.
The pace was quickening. I can feel her. All of her. I feel alive through her. It feels good. She really likes her new boyfriend and hopes he will be the one. Favorite color--No, I need to finish up fast. I'm feeding too far. Strongest impressions are the easiest to withdraw, it's the little things close to the heart that are hard to extract. I won't do that to her though. See, what did I tell you? I'm as human as vampires go. At least, that's what my brother says. I can feel the climax building and I am so close. Nearly there. At the height of emotion, I'm practically breathing in her energies.
The phone rings from my pitiful excuse for a kitchen, prominently trumpeting through the lust filled haze. I howl in frustration as the moment is broken. I quit feeding, but my physical needs are still screaming to be fulfilled. The phone rings again and again and again and holy crap JESUS MUST HATE ME.
"Thomas? Yo, Thomas!"
Speak of the devil. Well, wizard technically.
"Hey bimbo! Get your ass off my man. That's right bitch, Tommy boy bats for both fences and I can tell you long dirty stories to prove which one he prefers."
Brothers suck. I collapsed to the side of Meredith, allowing her the courtesy of a hasty retreat for the door, pulling on jogging clothes as she went. She gave a flushed faced good-bye and left. Annoyed and thoroughly unsatisfied, I considered not answering the phone, but anger won out and I decided to tell that scourge of a little brother off. I lumbered into the kitchen and put the phone to my ear.
"Harry, you don't have enough dirty stories to fill a teacup, much less for gay sex."
I can almost see his shrug. "I've had sex with a tied up half-vampire."
"Great, well I'm prettier than you are by far."
"Sure, in that Legolas elf kind of way."
"Uh huh, what do you want?"
"Help," his voice lost the easy tone and all trace of humor it held previously, "I have this case--"
I cut him off. "Look, you were the one relieved I moved out. I know we're family now, but we're adults too and I have my own life to lead," knowing my brother's armor through and through I put the right amount of weariness and remorse, making the excuse sound less like the lie it was, "Harry, I've managed to stay with this new gig for over a week and a half."
As expected, my brother caved. See the thing about his armor is that it's about as strong as frosting.
I could hear the trace of a sigh that he tried to suppress. "Alright Thomas."
Score! Turning my gleeful relief into well placed guilt, I offered my services on Friday.
"Can't wait that long," he grumbled, "You're a working man now Thomas. You know how it is."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't take time to mosey around," I answered, hoping to somehow purvey my handsome toothy leer through the phone.
It apparently did because my brother sighed long-sufferingly. "Hell's bells, to think my mother is responsible for unleashing you upon the populace."
I chuckled and said my goodbyes, telling him about some anecdote about groceries and promptly hung up before he could say something that could really make me guilty. Next order of business, Katie from down the street.
-O-
I didn't make my way over to his place until well after midnight on Friday(Saturday), but knowing my brother he'd be wearing that ridiculous bathrobe and doing some voodoo or another. Besides, I've brought pizza and beer. He can't complain. Balancing pizza and beer in one arm, I fished around my pocket for my 'house key'. It was carved from what I suspected was bone in the shape of a fleshless fish, its bones bare and eye sunken. It hung on black cord that was tied in a reinforced braid with littler pieces of bone carved into smiley Goldfish cracker shapes woven in and a convenient little loop to hook it onto my keys or belt loop. It was one of Harry's best works, even if it was just a talisman to bypass his wards. He gave it to me as a present for my birthday when I was first living with him.
It was a touching gesture, but at the moment a monumental pain. Stupid designer jeans, made so tight I can barely shove a hand in my pocket. The beer began to slip off from its precarious position on top of the pizza box and I pitched forward slightly to keep it atop its perch, using the door as leverage to stop the pizza box from flipping because of the sudden weight unbalance. I barely had the creaking of the door as warning before it began to push forward. Whipping my hand out of my pocket trap, I managed to save the beers, but my primary concern had shifted quickly to the open door.
Harry once told me, 'A wizard's door is always locked unless a door to a wizard has been forced open.'
A thrill of fear shot up my spine as I pushed inside, dropping my load by the door.
"Harry?" I called hesitantly.
None of his customary candles were lit and the room was dark with enough cliché eeriness to make a movie, but Harry had always been right about his life movie being on a cheap budget because the blood spread periodically around the floor, furniture, and walls didn't look great at all. It looked disgusting and horrible and made my insides twist and burst.
Following the trails of dried blood and faint tang of its metallic scent, I started screaming my brother's name at the top of my lungs. At the moment I didn't give a shit if all was fine and dandy and my brother would never let me live it down. At this exact moment I would rather have smug Harry, than dead Harry.
A bloody handprint was smeared across the handle of the trap door, its customary rug it was hidden under flung unceremoniously into the corner. I slipped in and had all my hopes dashed away in a single instant. No okay Harry, no dead one, but certainly a dying Harry.
He lay in the middle of the room, sprawled awkwardly as if he had been in the process of curling up, but his muscles had failed him midway through. His face lay in a puddle of his own blood, his hair matted with perspiration. He wore no shirt underneath his duster, revealing a torso molted by bruises. His hands were covered in what appeared to be dirt, but was actually hundreds of little scratches clumped together. He lay in the middle five candles, which I knew, if connected, would cross to form a pentacle. Only one, the closest to his head, remained lit.
"Dammit Harry," I muttered, crouching down beside him and scooping him up into my arms.
His eyes fluttered open and although turned toward me were unfocused and glazed. I felt the sobs begin to build in my chest and the tears springing to my eyes. In the last moments of his life, my brother did not seem to recognize me. I held him tight, desperate to feel what little life he still had in him. I could feel each shallow breath threading through his chest. No beautiful last words, no peace within his eyes, no last touch of comfort before he died. Just a body that lost its fight, a soul unable to remain, a mass of failing organs. An ending.
He drew one last shuddering breath before his chest stilled, eyes losing the last of their light. The candle burned low and then blew out, allowing the painful sensation of loss to engulf me. I wept long and hard, whispering broken apologies and unintelligible words of grief and sorrow. I had lost him after all those years of knowing, of standing aside, satisfied in quietly protecting him, feeling like the honorable man for not adding that complication to his life. Really, I was scared. Scared of what that could mean for me. Shouldering another life on my conscience, having to be responsible for him, not on the odd occasion our paths crossed, but all the time. When it came down to it, I still wasn't ready to take on that responsibility and he had gotten killed for it.
That's who I am. I look out for number one and even though we're brothers that was not the kind of person Harry was. When I had first told Harry I knew he had a problem with it, but not the one I thought it would be. His mother's escapades were nothing compared to the worry of having someone that he could lose and never be able to get back. All his other friends…he knew they'd be gone someday, his wizard's blood assured that, but we were family. We shared blood. He didn't try distancing himself from me, quite the opposite. He invested all that he could spare into getting to know me and forming a bond between the two of us. He felt that the tighter you hold on, the more you'll have left when a person leaves. Maybe it was just because he's lost so many people in his life, but he was still brave for doing that and Harry had effectively found a way into my heart. Accordingly, when I picked up the phone it was Murphy's number I dialed.
"Hello," she answered sleepily.
I'm so grateful she answers that I don't even stop to think about what next tumbles out of my mouth.
"My brother's dead."
"Who--Thomas? What are you--"
"He's dead, Harry's dead."
Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…
There was a pause and then, voice gruff with emotion she said, "I'll be there in a minute. I'm so sorry Thomas."
I knew she meant it. It was why I called her rather than anyone else, why when I picked up the phone it wasn't the police or a Warden's number that I dialed. It was because Murphy could understand the depth of the loss the world had just experienced. It was because Murphy cared.
-O-
I barely managed my way out of the trap door when I heard Murphy slip through the front door, a slight tingle sounding as her coat brushed past the bell chime. We didn't exchange a greeting or say anything else to each other. I merely stepped aside as she descended the steps to the lab.
Murphy's a strong person. Harry always joked she was his guardian angel. I left for the couch to give her some privacy as I heard her soft voice coming through the opening, saying the things she was unable to say when he was alive. Maybe she told him she loved him. I always thought there was something more between the two of them or at least the foundations for it. I always found that with love comes trust, not the other way around. I bet they would have been happy together. Guess she'll never know.
When she came up her eyes were clear, though she left the tear streaks shining upon her pale cheek. No shame. No façade that she was fine. It would be an insult to Harry's memory. You're supposed to be sad when good people die.
"Do you know who did it?" she questioned, determination momentarily replacing grief.
I didn't really think before answering.
"I did."
She stiffened, a hand rising to her belt.
"He asked for my help on a case and I told him I had better things to do. A few throw away women were more important than the son of my mother, the one who fought the most powerful of the White Court for my safety. I put myself before my brother and I killed him."
"Stand up Thomas," she commanded, cutting through my self-condemnation.
I wanted to ignore her, antagonize her. If she wanted hit me, I'd let her.
"Stand up!" she repeated, firmly this time.
I obeyed reluctantly. Maybe she'd shoot me, it wouldn't be more than I deserved. I sighed as she approached, shivering involuntarily. I imagined her aikido kicking my back to pieces and breaking my arm at the same time and shooting me in the gut as I fell. I imagined her calling the Wardens on me or revealing herself to be some practitioner as well and burning me to cinders.
Instead she drew closer and wrapped her arms around me, her head hardly reaching to the base of my neck. Surprised at the sudden contact my immediate reaction was to pull away, but she held on tighter. After a few seconds I stopped and I felt more than the crushing weight of death. The hug felt warm. Another living person had reached out to me, proving to me I was alive too. It was nice.
"Thomas, Harry loved you and cared about you with all his heart and knew full well that you did too," she said quietly, her voice rumbling softly against my chest, "You did not kill your brother Thomas."
"He didn't even say goodbye to me," I forgot to feel childish for saying it, "Didn't even know I was there. He practically died alone."
"But he wasn't."
Despite myself, I smiled. "Thank you."
Very reluctantly I brought up my arms and returned the hug, glad to return the comfort.
"Touch my ass and you won't be able to feel yours."
As I said, Murphy is one tough cookie.
And a really good friend even if that friend isn't around to return the favor.
She stepped back and met my gaze with unwavering intensity. "Thomas, you may not have killed him, but it is sure as hell your fault Harry's dead. Nothing will change the fact that if you had been there, Harry would probably be sitting with us alive, maybe not well, but he'd be here and not a cold corpse downstairs. You know as well as I that he'd only ask for help if he really needed it."
She paused as if she expected I'd protest, I didn't. She nodded, satisfied somehow and suddenly produced a black nylon bag I had seen twice before and held it out to me before I took it. The weight and shape definitely familiar and definitely not in the good way.
"What you do now is find who did this and destroy him because you know if Harry was involved its going to be some kind of apocalyptic jerk off somewhere behind the scenes, ready to eat children or something equally terrible. You're going to do this and not blow your brains out in a fit of suicidal rage and you are not going to let anyone else do it because that would be way too easy. You need to fix this."
A spark of anger lit somewhere in the dimness. "You can't fix death Murphy."
"No," she glared, "but you salvage what you can. Come on, we need to do some clean up."
Over the next few hours we did our best to keep the supernatural aspects of Harry's death away from mortal eyes. After all, with Harry gone, no one would be able to investigate it anyways. They wiped down the blood leading to the trap door, replaced the stained rug with an extra from the closet, burned the other one and trashed the untouched pizza I had brought. The beers did not go forgotten however and the empty bottles were soon disposed of. The last thing we did was relocate Harry's body back toward his beloved couch, redisplaying his body like a typical murder model.
It was nearly dawn when we finished. I leaned against the ice box as I gulped down the last of the beer, while Murphy sat at the table, tapping her fingers against the glass.
"You leave any evidence from when you first got here that we may have missed?" she asked, the question clinical, concern overridden by my position as a potential suspect. Hey, I'm one of the best liars around and Lieutenant Murphy was not about to forget it.
I shook my head. "Nothing police can detect. Us Whites pay googoo bucks to make sure we're untraceable through mortal channels, especially when we leave our bodily fluids on our victims," I answered, but scowled accusingly at the nylon bag on the tabletop, "but I will definitely have some serious Warden problems if I take Bob."
She snorted, expression reading somewhere between humor and incredulous.
"The skull has a name?"
"Yeah, the magic skull has a name and as such let's get back to the wizards soon to be on my ass."
Bob the skull, air spirit of knowledge and wizard's aid. I had seen Harry employ Bob's many talents before, including directing us through Nevernever and had even worked with him myself to decipher some code some time before when zombies invaded Chicago. I had also recommended him some really good porn magazines. Bob contained several centuries of knowledge, without the restrictions of moral obligations and as such, classified as a highly dangerous magical object, hence my dilemma. Me not magic, Bob is magic, Wardens do magic, therefore there would undoubtedly be some kind of fail safe to find him.
Murphy shrugged. "Don't know, don't care, not my problem, but remember to keep me updated. I'll call you once Butters gets the autopsy and…once the funeral's arranged. Michael will probably do it. I don't think it will be big, so money won't be an issue and Harry's already got his grave taken care of."
I nodded. "I'll be there."
Damn the consequences. So what if the vampires and White Council were at war. Fuck it, I'm going to go to my brother's funeral and tell embarrassing stories. Everyone else can bite my attractive ass.
I shouldered the back pack and made my way toward the door, weak sunshine starting to shimmered through the windows. I looked back once more and flashed Murphy the best smile I could muster.
"Thanks again Murphy."
"Don't be a stranger Thomas."
"I won't be…especially if there might be some great comfort sex in the near future."
"Get out."
I did and made sure to avoid a few early risers before heading to my car. I'd need a head start. Wardens were the least of my problems and even then they could very likely be the death of me. What I was really worried about was that whatever killed my brother would be after me soon. I knew it because one of the first things I had noticed about my brother's body was that it was missing a key personal affect: his mother's pentacle necklace. That necklace linked a bond forged by our mother between the two of us, connected by our inherited silver pentacles, one of which hung directly over my heart and had been for the past several days. Ample time to tap through the connection. Oops.
I had now entered into an ever growing mystery, neck deep in trouble. As I drove away, I realized I had unwittingly taken my brother's place. I finally understood what it was like to live his life.
It sucked. It really, really blowed.
Here's to you little brother.