When I finally pulled into port, easing the Water Beetle into its usual spot, I took a good, long look at Chicago. I had spent so much time on Demonreach lately; giving my friends and family a break from the craziness that is, well, me, that I had hardly been back to the city. Following that debacle with Hades and the Denarians, I hadn't been back. Even when Mab decided there was an errand the Winter Knight himself had to handle, it had been outside of the state. In some ways, it was like seeing an old friend after a long time, a familiar comforting feeling washing over me as I looked out over the skyline.
"Alright," I called down to Lancelot. "Stay below and stay quiet. If you move, I will know. If you try to escape, I will know. If you so much as sneeze in a way I find offensive I will know it and you will regret it."
"I-I'm a prisoner?" he asked, ready to wet himself. Again.
"When you say it like that is sounds all…yes. You are a prisoner. For the time being. It's actually for your own safety, because the sorts of people that hand out magical trinkets and point you at the Winter Knight are not the type who care about your well being. They may take failure personally. So stay there, shut up, and let me go clean up your mess."
Without further argument, I stepped out onto the dock and headed out into Burnham Harbor, intent on heading to Thomas' place. I didn't even make it to the parking lot before I realized I was being followed. Now when I say I knew I was being followed I'm not talking about some supernatural ability, no wizard honed skill. This was more or less the result of spending a good portion of my adult life pissing off everything from those beings that go bump in the night to organized crime bosses. You don't end up making enemies like that and surviving without developing a good sense of situational awareness.
I kept walking without revealing I was aware of my less than experienced admirer, stepped quickly around the side of a large truck likely used by harbor security, and waited. Sure enough, my would-be tail rounded the side of the vehicle and tripped over my outstretched staff.
"Gotta watch your step out here. Pot holes," I said, standing as tall as I could over the fallen man.
He rolled onto his back, fear and shock in his eyes, giving me my first good look at him. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline streaked with silver he was eearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and a white mustache that Magnum would have been envious of. He looked out of his element. I don't just mean squaring off against a wizard in a darkened parking lot either, the dude looked like he belonged on a sunny beach sipping margaritas in a retirement community, not in Chicago during late winter.
"So you're him huh? You the Winter Knight?" he asked.
Hell's Bells! I thought. Was there a memo sent out I'm not aware of?
"No. I'm the fashion police. Aloha chique is out of season. Unless you are a member of the Beach Boys I'm gonna have to write you up for a violation of common sense," I replied.
"Yeah, you're him. She said you loved to hear yourself yap," the man.
She. Well at least we are getting somewhere.
"I resemble that remark. And for her information, whoever this she is, I do occasionally shut up. When I am knocked unconscious. Or die temporarily."
The guy grunted and got back to his feet. "We need to change that from temporarily to permanently."
I cocked an eyebrow at the threat and asked, "And who is this we?"
As of on cue, unearthly howls filled the night air sending shivers up my back. Glancing around I saw multiple sets of glowing, canine eyes fixed on me as if it were dinner time and I was a rare steak laid out just for them. I had seen eyes just like them plenty of times, minus the Hollywood eye glow of doom. Werewolves.
"Uh…nice doggies," said sheepishly, shaking my shield bracelet free of my duster.
