There was a knock at the door. I looked up from the book I was reading. It was old, practically ancient. But you know what they say: Never judge a book by its cover. And in the case of this book, that was the holy truth. This seemingly insignificant pocket book had been written just over sixty years ago, at the end of World War II. From what I understood, the author had been Wiccan, with very little power. But he had enough to see the way technology sometimes behaved around him and other practitioners of the Art. Usually people like him, people without much power, live more in the mortal world than in the supernatural community. He'd been a scientist, specifically a physicist. A certified genius, he'd been at the head of all of Hitler's secret projects. And that was how he got the resources and experiments to write and sort his theories on how magic and technology weren't opposing forces so much as disagreeable toddlers. Even toddlers learn to work together if it means getting something they want. So he'd theorized that magic could be used in the manufacture of technology, and by doing so the technology would not longer react adversely to the "electromagnetic pulse emitted by Practitioners". It was a sound piece of logic, and very intriguing. I did not know of many people with the power who had thought this way, and of those few none were powerful enough to be wizards. I had developed the same kind of theories years back when I started my A Levels, and going to University had only added zeal to my thoughts. I had made some headway in the department, but I was neither the smartest nor the oldest wizard/scientist. The theories in this seemingly harmless book were amazing. The guy had been a true genius. Just thinking about putting some of the theories he'd had in practice made me smile evilly. Monsters, beware. Harry Dresden would soon have better toys with bigger bangs.

I put a bookmark on my page before going to answer the door. It was still one thirty, a whole hour before my client showed up. Judging by the shadow I could see from under the door, this person was male. It was probably the mailman, then. I opened the door to a young, strongly built man of average height. That basically meant I had to look down to see his face and he had to look up. I'm very tall. The man had a bunch of letters in his right hand. There was smile on his face. I sighed inwardly. I didn't even have to read his facial and body expression to guess what he was going to say. It was always like this, the first time. But then something supernatural happened (like a ghost haunting its former family or a ghoul or some other nasty being killing loved ones) and then they would call me. They wouldn't be laughing then, let me tell you.

"Harry Dresden?" the guy asked.

"That's what the sign on my door says," I said nodding. The guy looked at my sign, his smile widening. My sign read;

Harry Dresden - Wizard

Lost items found. Paranormal Investigations.

Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates.

No Love Potions, Endless Purses, or

Other Entertainment.

"Are you a real wizard?" the guy asked. I nodded again.

"As in magical disappearances and making bunnies appear?"

"No, that's stage magic," I said. I frowned. "Actually," I amended, "I could probably do that if I wanted, and if I was paid enough. Those kinds of spells aren't done lightly." He laughed an amused laugh and I could see him categorizing me as a charlatan or a lunatic in his mind, and I also knew he was going to tell some funny anecdotes about this brief meeting later tonight at the bar with his friend. Oh well. The price of advertising something mortals weren't really ready to buy yet, I guess. I made to take my mail but he kept a tight grip on them.

"Could you show me something?" he asked. I smiled at him.

"Of course," I replied. "I can make you disappear." The guy leaned forward slightly in anticipation. A laugh started building up inside me. How stupid was this kid? This kind of thing happens in movies and TV shows all the time. The real magician or wizard or warlock or genie or whatever-the-hell-it-is in the show does the same thing to the guy from next door or the pizza guy or whoever-the-hell-the-person-is in the show, and the results are always the same.

I stepped a bit closer, and the guy leaned in some more. I suddenly pulled my mail out of his hands. He may have been solidly built (most kids were these days, and personally I blamed all those TV ads for gyms) but I am by no means a lightweight. My life is proof of that. I grabbed my mail and suddenly stepped back. The guy was slightly off-balance and he started falling toward me. I saw his hands reach up to break his fall. I closed the door on him. I heard a dull thud and a groan, followed by a lot of dirty sailor-talk. Tut tut. I let out the laugh that had been building. It was good to be laughing again.

It had been a rough last month. On top of Morgan harassing me more than usual (which I would later give me pause to think as I worked on my next case), I'd been tied up with three different cases that had evolved into even bigger problems than first imagined (as they do), and most of my funds had been depleted due to Larry Fowler, the host of the Larry Fowler Show, suing me for property damage. I'd been tied up so much I'd barely slept. But Morgan seemed to have taken a vacation for the moment, I'd solved my cases, I had received a substantial amount of money for my cases and I'd quashed Larry Fowler's law suit, with a little help from my frequent employer. All in all, I had every right to be happy.

Now, you hear people saying this. After so long in the business, I would have to agree with the advice. When things are going good, do not, under any circumstances, jinx it all by challenging Lady Fate. You won't win. She's a temperamental mistress, and I should know. But I, lost in the giddy depths of my happiness, had just looked the metaphorical gift horse in the metaphorical mouth. I had come out of a bad situation – or rather situations – with all my limbs attached (especially my head) and still didn't know enough not to go around giving the finger to the universe. The universe doesn't like me much, in case you didn't know. Just goes to show you that no matter who you are or what you've been through, if you are human then you are bound to make a tiny mistake that could ruin everything.

The phone rang. I went and picked it up.

"Dresden," I answered.

"How quickly can you get to the Madison?" an authoritative female voice asked.

"It's only a few blocks from my office," I replied.

"Get here now."

"Am I on the clock?" I asked.

"Definitely." That wasn't good. I mean, the prospective of getting money wasn't the bad part. The bad part was that the person signing my paycheck wasn't usually so … agreeable.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I said and hung up. I frowned down at the phone. I had that kind of feeling that always seemed to manifest when things started going wrong. I hoped I was wrong – which to be truthful I rarely am – but I had a feeling I was getting myself into a horrendous situation. Again.

XXX

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. My father, Malcolm Dresden, named me after three of the greatest stage magicians to set foot on this earth; Harry Houdini; Harry Blackstone, Senior; and David Copperfield. In my opinion, my father named me after four of the greatest stage magicians to ever set foot on this earth. My father was a stage magician himself, a very good one, and that's not a son's pride talking. Go to any library (or the internet if you are a child of this technologically advanced generation) and look up Malcolm Dresden. He was a certified genius. When it came to amazing an audience my father had an almost supernatural flair for it (and once again I should know). The tricks he could think up simply stunned many an audiences into silence. But, like I grew up to be, my father was a hopeless Quixote. He saw people in pain and wanted to help. So instead of going to Vegas like so many others in search of fame and fortune, he became a road magician. He went to hospitals and orphanages and the like, performing for the sick and the less fortunate. To him, a child or an old man with no happiness in their lives and no discernable future, making them smile and see the good in life was worth more than a heap of money. As a child I'd mostly disagreed with that notion. Screw those people, what about me? But as time moved on I started to see the good my father was doing, and I think some part of me wanted nothing more than to be like him. Cliché, I know, but you just had to see him at work to see he was brilliance and philanthropy in a jar.

The Madison is an expensive looking hotel. You know the type you see in movies? All glossy floors and shiny surfaces and hotel staff that all look like they could have been models. Murphy was waiting for me at the front entrance. How does one describe Murphy? Well, she's five foot nothing, a hundred pounds nothing, a deadly marksman, a fourth degree black belt in karate and aikido, intelligent, a lieutenant in the Chicago Police Department Special Investigations division, has blonde hair, has baby blue eyes, has a cute nose, has a killer ass, is very independent and determined, and will break several of my bones if she knew I even thought of her like this. I went to her and she beckoned me to follow without a word. I took it in stride and started for the swinging doors. After having to fight her way up a male dominated ladder, she did not appreciate being treated like she couldn't take care of herself. But I, always the perfect gentleman, wouldn't have any of that. I like treating women like ladies. It's in my quixotic nature. We raced to the doors, our old ritual. But I am very tall and very fast. Despite all her skills, Murphy had no chance against a naturally faster opponent. I got there first and opened the door for her with a small bow. She spared me a glare before walking into the hotel.

The crime scene was in the penthouse suite. The entire place was crawling with coppers and forensic investigators. Murphy gestured toward the open door and I walked into the room.

"See what you make of this," she murmured. Something was horribly wrong with this scene, I knew. The first clue was Murphy's attitude. She was way too subdued for this to be a normal crime scene. I gave a nod and took out a pair of glasses from my jacket pocket. They were circular, the lenses were heavily tinted with yellow, wire rimmed and they had wraparound metal caps on the outer edges. I put them on. These weren't normal glasses, as you might have guessed. Very few people go around wearing such strange spectacles without good reason. I made these glasses myself. It had taken me a few months to gather the materials and ingredients I needed to make them and enchant them but it was worth it. First and foremost, these glasses prevented me from initiating or being trapped in a soulgaze.

A soulgaze happens when a wizard looks into your eyes. As the name suggests, both parties must have a soul for it to work. Once a wizard looks into your eyes, just for a couple of seconds, the two are instantly trapped. They view each other's souls. There is no hiding who you really are in a soulgaze. Everything is laid bare. Soulgazes, although they feel like they last forever, only last about two or three seconds in real life. When you are battling a ghoul or some other supernatural monster, three seconds can be the difference between life and death.

The second thing I'd enchanted these glasses to do was to see past any veil. Of course, there is no such thing as a tool that can pierce any veil. Some creatures are made to veil. But that's not the point. The point is that when I made these glasses that had been my intent. That was what I wanted the glasses to do. That had been my belief. In magic, belief is everything.

Thirdly, these glasses improved my own natural sight. This was a two way thing. First of all, the glasses themselves allowed the wearer to be able to see further than normal and to be able to see in greater detail. They also worked on my eyes, actually altering their biological makeup. I naturally have twenty-ten vision so it's safe to say I don't need glasses, but these glasses altered my eyesight so that it was better than normal. This was dangerous magic. Altering the human body is a tricky business. You need the right kind of know how and skill for this, which I thankfully have. But it was a slow process, if it was to work properly. I didn't want to blow up my own eyes or end up with mutated ones. It would probably be a decade before my vision transcended human. You might ask why I would do such a thing. My answer would be that if you knew anything about my life, about my business, you wouldn't need to ask. I constantly tangle with creatures of the other. Anything that can improve my chances of surviving dangerous scenarios is welcome to my arsenal.

I looked around the room. I could tell forensics hadn't touched anything. Everything seemed like it was naturally there. I walked in and started looking through every inch of the front room and the bathroom. I didn't want to see the bodies yet so I left the bedroom out. I looked at everything for ten silent minutes before I started putting things together.

"A male, around forty years old," I said out loud. "Well built. Just over average height … and an enforcer of some kind, possibly military. A female, around thirty years old … average height … slim. She was an escort… But they both knew each other. Now that's strange," I murmured. "They got here at around ten, ate a meal, set the mood with some music and then hit the sack for about twenty minutes before … whatever happened to them happened."

"And how do you know this? Your wizard powers?"

"You don't have to be so negative about it, Carmichael," I replied as I turned round. Ronald Carmichael was Murphy's partner. He was overweight, in his thirties, always wore the kind of suits and a trench coat you saw in detective TV shows, and had permanent food stains on his flamboyant ties. All of this served to hide a razor sharp intellect. Carmichael was no one's fool. "And to answer your question, no, it's not my wizarding powers. It's just simple observation. The clothes told me about what they looked like. The woman's blouse has a logo I recognise. Not from experience, that is. I just recognised it. It was in the papers! … Oh, whatever, Carmichael. Anyway, the way everything is set out in here, it feels like how a couple would live. They knew each other very well. Also the CD player's stuck in a loop. The CD case says the tracks lasted half an hour and yet it loops back to the beginning after every ten minutes. That's when the magic happened, literally." Carmichael rolled his eyes at that. He was a skeptic.

"Good," Murphy said as she closed her notebook. "Now let's take a look at the bodies."

They were on the bed. Naked. The woman was on top. The guy had his hands around her hips. Both of their faces were clouded over in complete lust and utter pleasure. Sheesh. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been like that. I blinked. I looked closer at their posture. The way she was straddling him, she'd have to have fallen over when they died. Something was propping her up. I blinked again and looked at Carmichael, who was firmly looking away, and then at Murphy, who was also looking away with a faint blush. I couldn't believe this. The guy was still hard. I coughed and concentrated on the scene.

The female and the male had big holes where their hearts had been. It looked like their hearts had simply exploded. Spontaneous human combustion. Absolutely impossible. Not without help, at least.

"They were killed with magic," I murmured. That kind of spell isn't easy, let me tell you. First of all the killer needed some hair or nail clippings or blood to make a connection to the victims, and then he would need major mojo to complete the spell. It was possible to do it without a focus, but very difficult. Even I would need some preparation time for that. While I knew I was strong enough to have done something like this, very few people in the world could. So either someone out there had major juice or else had gotten the power from someone or somewhere else. Scary thought. Things that usually grant mortals power aren't interested in our well being. I told Murphy as much.

"Isn't this against your magic laws?" Murphy asked. I nodded. It looked like I had a warlock on my hands and what's more, a powerful one.

"Aw, come on Murph," Carmichael said. "You possibly can't be buying into this horseshit. He's jerking' our chain."

"My job is to protect this city, Carmichael," Murphy said, her eyes boring into his. "Even if it means I have to chase down shoddy leads, I'll do it."

"But come on, boss…" Carmichael pleading, his tone less pleading and more resigned. They'd had this argument before, and always with the same results. Murphy ignored him.

"Go on, Harry," she said as she led us out of the bedroom.

I put my hands in my trouser pockets and gave her my evaluation, completely ignoring Carmichael's skeptical ad libs. There was only one way someone had done this; Thaumaturgy, as in voodoo dolls kind of stuff. Make something happen on a small scale, feed in some power, and hey presto! It would happen on a larger scale to your intended target. The killer would have needed something from both of them in order to commit the murder, like blood or nail clippings or hair. I had noticed that the woman's hair was darker at the roots, so she'd had it dyed. Wherever she'd gone for her styling was a good place to start looking for more clues. Lastly, because of the way magic works, the killer knew both victims. It simply wasn't possible to work this kind of magic without any kind of connection between killer and victim. And from experience and my gut instinct, the killer had to be female. The kind of power needed for the spell, specifically the emotional strength i.e. hatred for the man, the woman, or both, was something witches were simply better at than wizards. Trust me on this, witches are just plain meaner than wizards. And for her to have picked a moment when they were having sex and charged up with lust, she'd definitely had to know the victims. And to be able to reach inside the man and woman and kill them in that fashion … yep, it was definitely a personal vendetta. I was thinking a scorned lover, maybe.

"You keep saying "she"," Murphy commented, glaring at me. "Why the hell would you think that?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I told you. Witches are meaner than wizards. Women are able to hate more, and are able to let it go easier. It just feels like a female thing to me."

"A man could have done it though?"

I shrugged again. "Well," I hedged.

"You're such a chauvinistic pig, Dresden. Let me rephrase: Is this something only a woman could do?"

I paused before replying. "I guess not," I finally replied.

"For fifty bucks an hour that's the best you can do?" Carmichael said.

A slight scowl formed on my lips. These two were pushing me in a direction I did not want to go. "I haven't exactly worked through the specifics of heart explosion, you know, but I assure you the first instance I have the occasion to do so, you'll be the first to know." My voice dripped with sarcasm. Murphy ignored it.

"When can you tell me something?"

"I don't know," I said, and before she could ask another question I explained. "You can't time this kind of stuff, Murph. I don't know if I'm even able to do something like this, let alone how long it will take." I carefully kept my expression static, unchanged.

"This is bullshit," Carmichael growled.

I ignored him and looked toward the bedroom. "What I'm interested in is how Tommy Tomm's boss will handle this." The room went stock still. Carmichael's eyes narrowed and Murphy's body went rigid. They hadn't expected me to know.

"How do you know?" Murphy asked. I knew what she was thinking. If I knew Tommy Tomm and someone gave me enough money, I could be the potential killer.

"Don't get trigger happy, Murphy," I said. "I've met Tommy Tomm before. Ran into him with that double homicide you wanted my help with."

"And you didn't tell me because…?"

"He had nothing to do with it. The idiot tried to muscle me off the case and keep my mouth shut. He didn't want to be associated with the case. He was keeping a low profile. No one wants an enforcer who's had a run in with the law. Draws too much attention. I showed him his error in judgement." As I said that I smiled. Tommy Tomm had been expecting a soft target he could lean on. I'd been anything but. Murphy took one look at my smile and looked away. I stopped smiling. I can't help that sometimes I naturally behave like a predator. I'd learned to either hunt or be hunted. I guess it still showed in my personality.

"Go and get me a coffee, Carmichael," Murphy said. She looked hard into his eyes, her posture hard. Carmichael threw his hands up in frustration and walked out of the room. Murphy sighed and turned back to me. "He's a good cop," she said.

"I know," I replied. "Why do you think I tolerate him? So who's the woman?"

Murphy raised an eyebrow. "Jennifer Stanton."

"And she worked for the Velvet Room," I murmured. "Interesting." The Velvet Room was run by a vampiress named Bianca. She had a lot of influence and power both in Chicago and in the Nevernever. Could she be involved? Possibly. I looked at Murphy. She looked more worn out than usual. I told her as much.

"I am tired," Murphy said. "The world seems to have gone crazy. No one at the station looks me in the eye anymore. Even Carmichael thinks I've gone over the edge. But I get so frustrated with those people who think we've learnt everything in the past century, and all those cops who are either too blind or too scared to see what's happening in front of their eyes. No one wants to believe."

"And do you believe?" I asked neutrally.

"Me? I don't know. My world seems to be falling apart at the seams. If no one wanted to believe in sorcerers and elves and whatnot, it's just like people to close their eyes and rationalize their existence away. I can buy that we're just now starting to see the things around us in the dark again. It appeals to the cynic in me." We both laughed at that.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you lie to me about not being able to find out how this was done?"

I managed to keep my facial expression the same. I'd hoped she hadn't noticed my little side-step. The truth is that I'm not really good at the lying thing. I just can't carry it off the way other people can. Sometimes I can do it, and rest … well. I sighed inwardly. Ever since Justin's death I'd had the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, ready to fall the next time I broke one of the Laws of Magic. Virtually no one on the Council liked me. If they even got a hint of what I was up to that sword would fall quickly and cleanly.

"Murphy," I said. "I can't try to figure this spell out. I can't go putting together the ingredients for a spell like this one. You don't understand."

Murphy's eyes turned to steel. "Oh, I understand. I understand that I've got a killer loose that I can't stop and catch in the act. I understand that you know something that can help, or you can at least find out something. And I understand that if you dry up on me now, I'm tearing your card out of the department Rolodex and tossing it in the trash."

I sighed. Shit. How could I explain it to her?

"Harry, I need your help on this. Please." Oh, now that just wasn't fair. The classic lady-in-distress routine. And I knew I was going to fall for it.

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth and walked out of there.

XXX

It was only a twenty minute walk minute walk to my office but I decided to jog there and have time to prepare for my client. People always expected something when dealing with wizards. Lights, lots of smoke and a lot of mysticism. I set off at an easy sprint. That's the benefit of having long legs and a lean, muscular body. I imagined that I looked cool, my duster flowing behind me in my wake and my wide-brimmed fedora rippling on my head, covering most of my features. I think I spend too much time in my own company. Or Bob's, for that matter. It's much easier to blame something very few other people can converse with.

I noticed them after a minute's running. When it comes to being fit, very few people are in my league, and that's no boast. Years in the business have ensured that I can run away on demand, for long periods of time. Added to my natural height, it makes it very easy to spot anyone trying to follow me when I'm on the move. There were two of them. They were wearing casual jogging clothes, tracksuits and sneakers. I could tell from the way they were huffing and puffing that they'd been struggling to keep me in sight. I quickly reviewed my memories from when I came out of the hotel and realised they had been waiting for me. That didn't bode very well. I kept on running but slowed my pace. I was within three blocks of my apartment before they finally caught up. They were panting heavily and one of them even leaned against a wall for support. I looked at them with a curious expression. Because of my fedora hat and glasses, the most anyone can see of my face, at most times, is my mouth, and since I love smiling so much, my teeth. I'd learnt long ago that smiling usually disturbs your opponents. It communicated that you know something they don't. A car pulled up beside me. I didn't turn to face it but continued to look at the two gentlemen.

"Can I help you?" I asked politely.

"Get in the car," Goon number one growled. Goon number two growled the affirmative, although it sounded more like a wheeze with the way he was struggling to breathe.

"I'm sorry?" I asked again, ever the polite gentleman.

"Get in the car," a new voice growled, and this one oozed with command. I looked left and saw that the driver for the car that had pulled up had gotten out. He was nearly as tall as me, which is saying something, and he looked like he was three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He had red hair, in a crew cut, and cold calculating eyes. Taking him out would prove a little more difficult than taking out the average thug, I assessed. He looked like he knew how to handle himself, probably an ex-commando of some sort. I cocked my head to one side and gave him a small smile.

"That's not very polite," I said.

"I agree, Mister Dresden," a voice said from the open back window of the car. It was male, maybe late thirties. Smooth and commanding, with a hint of amusement. "Mister Hendricks and his associates are somewhat eager individuals. Please forgive them. I had hoped to catch you outside of the Madison but your abrupt exit made it somewhat problematic. Would you please allow me to convey you the rest of the way to your office, Mister Dresden?" I smiled.

"Since you asked so nicely," I said. I got into the back of the car, and goon number one and two got in the front, along with He-Man the driver. It was one of those mafia cars you see in movies, not quite a limo but resembling it. It was made with reinforced steel I noticed. I sat just opposite the only other person in the back, not looking at him. I surveyed the interior, once. Classy. I looked at the other passenger.

"Well," I said, "I expected to see you soon, but not this soon, Mister Marcone." I could instantly see that I had caught him off guard. To his credit he masked it well. But I was good at reading people. It wasn't that I recognised him – very few people in Chicago and practically the whole of the United States knew Gentleman Johnnie Marcone on sight. He was one of the biggest crime lords in the States. A few months ago the Vargassi family had fallen to infighting after the head honcho had snuffed it. From that little war John Marcone had risen and taken control. The crime rates in Chicago and the United States had fallen by sixty percent and ten percent respectively. Marcone fancied himself a gentleman, as the name suggested, and conducted business in a proper and civilized manner. He was still a scumbag, but a respectable one. No, what had lightly offset Marcone was that I had been expecting him. That meant that I knew why he wanted to see me. It meant that I knew the male victim was one of Marcone's men called Tommy Tomm.

"Really, Mister Dresden? I heard you were smart."

"So to what do I owe this ride?" I asked.

"A business proposition," Marcone said at once. "I will pay you a retainer and then a week's worth of wages."

"In exchange for what?"

"You walk away from this case. Stay home for a week. Relax. Enjoy a break. According to my sources you need it. It's been a very rough last month for you."

"No," I said.

"No?"

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Mister Marcone." Marcone's smile instantly became cold.

"I urge you to reconsider, Mister Dresden. One of my people was killed and I'm going to find out who is responsible. I wouldn't want anyone getting in the way."

"It sounds to me like you have just described Murphy and her SI division. We certainly wouldn't want anything bad to happen to them." I kept my voice calm and neutral, but the threat was there all the same. Marcone regarded me, his face still cold. I met his eyes. I instantly knew that he had wanted to engage in a soulgaze. That set alarm bells ringing. Most people knew weird things happened when you looked in a wizard's eyes, but very few straights actually knew exactly what happened. Marcone was no normal straight. He knew things. I could tell. But because I had my glasses on, no soulgaze started. I could feel it tugging, wanting to initiate but my glasses stopped it. Marcone was again caught off guard, and again masked it well. I took off my glasses and looked him straight in the eye. The soulgaze started immediately. What I saw in Marcone was a scholar, a fatherly figure, a gentleman, a survivor and a warrior. He was good to his word but crossing him was not advisable. Now I knew why he wanted me out of the way. Getting me out of the way would take away the only person who could help the police on this case. Without me, the police wouldn't be an issue to him. And then he could find the person who was disrespecting him and take them out. There was another interesting tidbit I learned from the soulgaze. Soulgazes are not like printouts that you can examine intently. There are more like flashes of emotion or visions. But I saw that Marcone had connected a new drug called "Three Eye" to Tommy Tomm's murder. One last thing before the soul gaze ended, I saw that Marcone had a terrible secret he kept. There was something in his past that motivated him to become what he was. Something that gave him strength. Very interesting.

Despite the fact that I had initiated the soulgaze, however, when I came out of it I instantly realised that Marcone had learnt more about me than I about him. I smiled as I put my glasses back on.

"You're an interesting man, Mister Marcone."

"You too, Mister Dresden." Marcone looked unruffled but I could tell that deep down he was unnerved. Whatever he had seen inside me during the soulgaze had blown away his usual calm. I couldn't blame him. My past isn't exactly all flowers and daisies. And personally, I wouldn't want to see my own soul either.

"Thanks for the ride, Mister Marcone."

"You're welcome, Mister Dresden. And think about my proposition." I got out of the car and went up to my office. Things had become interesting.

XXX

My client was a middle aged female. She was beautiful; her beauty only marred by worry the lines on her face.

"Hello, Mister Dresden," she said as I helped her into her chair. The perfect gentleman.

"Hello, ma'am. What can I call you?" she already seemed nervous, and no one goes and sees a wizard without finding out something. I saw debate whether or not to tell me her name. She was afraid of telling me her full name. To be fair, she had every right to be afraid. A name gained from the lips of the owner has power. Someone in the know, like me, could use that name against them almost as well as blood or hair or nail clippings.

"You may call me Monica."

"Very well, Monica. How can I help you?"

"I've lost something," she said, not looking at me. Typical straight behaviour.

"Finding lost items is one of my specialties. What am I trying to find?" Monica hesitated and her eyes flickered up to my glasses for an instant before going back to the bag she held in her lap.

"My husband."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I don't really handle missing persons, Monica. Shouldn't you have contacted the police about this?"

"No, you have to do it. I mean, I can't really contact the police … it's really complicated, Mister Dresden. My husband was in a very difficult situation when he left." I noticed she said left instead of disappeared. Interesting. "I don't want to get him in trouble with his work or advertise the fact that he went away. I just want him found and returned to me." Dammit. Did I tell you I'm quixotic in nature? A damsel in distress was asking for my help. I said, "Okay," even before I realised it. A pox on my good nature. I let out a slow breath.

"Okay, Monica. I'll find your husband. But if things get difficult I'll call the cops, understood?" I was quixotic, not stupid. Monica's eyes quivered in their sockets and I could tell she was debating whether or not to agree. She finally nodded. "Also," I continued, "I'm going to need something of his to track him down with." She nodded and reached into her purse. She pulled out … a scorpion. Not a live one. It was a skeleton. I blinked. There was something off about the skeleton. I couldn't place it, but something about it was definitely weird. She placed it on my desk. I made no move to take it.

"Was your husband a practitioner, Monica?" I asked lightly. She twitched slightly. It wasn't much but I saw it.

"A practitioner?" she queried. "A practitioner of what?"

"Magic," I replied. "The Art, the Talent, the Power. Call it whatever you will." She hesitated for a few seconds before replying.

"He started looking into that stuff a few weeks before he left," she finally said. "All that Wicca and magic stuff." I nodded and looked down at the scorpion. I gingerly picked it up and put it in a drawer of my desk. I looked up and saw her examining me. My face was calm. She looked down at her purse again. Wait for it.

"You're not what I imagined a wizard to be like," she finally said. There it was. I smiled.

"What did you imagine a wizard would be like?"

"I imagined more robes and staffs and wands and candles, I guess." I nodded. Everyone did.

"Robes are mainly used for meetings. Staffs and wands and other items like that are only used for actually casting spells. And candles are present in every wizard's house. I have a bunch in that cabinet over there in case I need to come here at night." She nodded and accepted that without comment. Very interesting. I just looked at her, my mind churning. Something was bothering me about all of this. I just needed to figure out what.

"Here is your retainer," she said and handed me an envelope. "There's also your wages for the rest of the week." I blinked. 3400 was quite a lot.

"I could find your husband before next week," I said. She just smiled nervously and stood up.

"Thank you for your help Mister Dresden." I stood up and walked her to the door. I opened it for her. She smiled, this time more naturally.

"Where can I contact you?" I asked. She reached into her purse of many pockets and took out a piece of paper. It had her name and address on it. I took it with a smile.

"Beautiful and smart," I said. Her smile became radiant. I don't know if I've mentioned this before but I'll say it again; I don't like seeing women in pain. I smiled back at her.

"Do you know anywhere he could have gone?"

"We have a lake house on Lake Michigan." She gave me the address and I memorised it. I closed the door behind her but not before I noticed what a great ass she had. So what? I notice these things. I'm an investigator, after all.

So I had to find a strong warlock who was on the warpath, I had to stay off Gentleman Johnnie Marcone's radar, I had to find out about the new drug called "Three Eye" and I had to find another practitioner who had put the disappearing act on his wife and kids.

It never rains but it pours.