Chapter 1- Of Dogs and Men.
I tapped my fingers on the top of my desk. A lazy, arrhythmic cadence that was more to keep my lagging brain awake and less to signify annoyance or boredom. Although those were certainly present as well. Along with a healthy dollop of brooding wrath. As a wizard, I am not only entitled to this attitudes and feelings, they are expected of me.
My appointment was late. Very late. Ok, 12 minutes, which was not yet late enough for a starving and nearly homeless wizard to write the client off as a no-show, but is was certainly late enough to be irritating. Especially since the client had insisted, adamantly that the appointment be after dusk. In May in Chicago, dusk didn't happen till nearly 8:30. Which was why at 8:42 I was still sitting in my nearly stifling office, tapping my fingers and fighting sagging eyelids to stay awake long enough to figure out if I had any hope of meeting my quota of unsolvable and extraordinarily violent cases for the month.
There was a loud clap of wood on wood as the door to my office slammed. I jerked my head up off the desk, where it had obviously landed; I checked the clock on the office wall, 16 minutes ago. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and tried to focus on the figure that had walked in the door.
She was tall, dark haired, and she did not look impressed. In fact, she was looking skeptically and not a little disdainful. What can I say, it's sort of hard to make an impression when you are drooling on Formica, but you know, I manage.
"Thank you for coming," I stated my voice rough from the nap. "Please, sit down". I gestured at the empty wooden chair that was pulled out in front of my desk.
She looked for a few minutes as though she would simply turn and walk out, but finally, she sighed, slung a medium sized leather nap sack from her back and settled into the chair. I took a moment to size her up more thoroughly.
She was tall, maybe a few inches shorter than me, which put her above 6 feet. She was wearing black jeans and a black tank top, with a black canvas jacket on over the top. It was the kind of jacket that looks like a cross between a biker's and a strappy one you might find in a mental institution. Her shoes were the black and white canvas ones that you see on high school kids all over the country. But she didn't exactly fit that profile. She had a face that would have been more comfortable on a kindergarten teacher or a yoga instructor; with an attitude that should have belonged to the biker she may or may not have killed for the jacket.
She interrupted my silent cataloguing by clearing her throat.
"The drool and the legal pad line on your face make me reasonably sure that you aren't really the one to help me with my problem."
I couldn't deny that I hadn't exactly wowed her with my witty sense of timing and you know, consciousness, so I let the slur slide and instead, I used a line that I had said so much lately, I should have just printed it with my add. "Why don't you start by telling me what it is you need help with, any if I think that I am the person who can help you best, I will, if not, I will help you find someone I think can help you better." I paused for a minute, hoping that she would agree at this point and not just stare pointedly at my empty desk. I sighed before adding, "No charge."
She straightened up, took a deep breath and suddenly looked a lot younger, a lot more helpless, and not a little lost. She said, "Spike died."
I stared at her. I have had lots of weird requests, believe me. But my brain was having trouble with what I was pretty sure she wanted me to do.
"I am very sorry about that. It's always hard when someone or something close to us dies." I paused, hoping she would interject, but she just looked at me. Eyes not only wounded and full of sorrow, but haunted and scared as well.
"Listen, I know that you're probably still grieving a lot, but…" I paused, not sure how to be convincing with my argument, but understanding and comforting as well.
"Re-animation" I started slowly, "or bringing something back from the dead, it never helps. And not only that, its dark magic, and not something a responsible person does."
She started to cry, silent tears running down her face, she averted her eyes. I saw another emotion flit briefly across her features. Shame?
She looked back up at me, and whispered; "I didn't do it on purpose, and now I can't get him to… to…" she looked back at her hands.
My own hands trembled briefly. Necromancy is not something that wizards do on purpose, like ever. Not only because it's dark magic and bad juju and all that jazz, but also cause its hard as hell. To think that someone could do that kind of thing by accident…. It wasn't an idea that I wanted to ponder to hard. It meant that if this girl was on the level. She had not only pulled her dog back from the dead… but that she had given it enough power to stay raised. Granted, bring a dog back from the dead doesn't require quite the same level of power as something larger, with more of a consciousness, but still. I chose my next words carefully.
"Miss, are you telling me that you raised your dog from the dead, and now he is…haunting you?"
That got her attention; she even stopped crying, her eyes meeting mine fleetingly, but for the first time. They were incredibly blue through the tears. I had enough time to think about that, how pretty they were, before she floored me with,
"I've never had a dog, Mr. Dresden." Her voice fell back down to that tortured whisper, " Spike is…was…my boyfriend."
A/N: When this was dancing around in my head, it seemed a lot more lighthearted…On paper its kind of…well…dark. Gonna let it play itself out though… Read and review, and stay tuned next chapter for more of our favorite characters!!!