Chapter Seven: New Complications

Back in the Faradays' kitchen, Bob watched as Harry prepared the tracking spell. Nothing to it, really: You mixed together a few potions ingredients and heated the concoction until it resembled a brown goo, then added something that belonged to the person you were looking for. Harry picked up the tarot card he'd taken from the crime scene, ripped it to pieces and tossed them into the pot. Add a little will and a magic crystal and voilá: The crystal should lead them directly to the killer.

"We've got him, now. Seeya, Bob!"

"Seeya?" Bob repeated. "You mean you're leaving me behind while you go off half-cocked, not knowing who or what you're up against?" Harry picked up his staff. To others it might look like a hockey stick, okay, it was a hockey stick, but Harry had converted it into his staff, which he used to channel his energy. Along with the shield bracelet he wore on his wrist, it was an essential tool when Harry was…well, not so much looking for trouble as confronting it head on.

"Well, I can't bring you with me! This guy's a serial killer. He's not going to come quietly, which means there's going to be a fight. The last thing I need is to worry about protecting your skull…!" Currently, the skull was in the Faradays' guest room, where Harry had placed it after returning from Reese's apartment.

"If that's your attitude, why didn't you just leave me behind in Chicago while you were at it?"

"What's going on?" Trip staggered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Sometime after his return from his friend's home, he had changed into his pajamas. The boy looked at the pot full of glop on the stove and wrinkled his nose. "Are you trying to cook something?" His tone indicated that if they were, the men were failing miserably.

"What? No, that's just… Bob will explain it. Bob, why don't you see that the kid gets back to bed?" Harry knew Bob was good at that.

"I'm too old to be tucked in," Trip huffed.

"He's not going to tuck you in, just see that you get to sleep. Rumor has it you like to stay up after your bedtime and read comic books," not to mention talk to a certain comic book hero.

"Like you never stayed up past your bedtime," Bob folded his arms. Trip gave him an inquisitive glance.

"How long have you two known each other?" the kid asked. Harry considered this.

"Bob's known me since I was about your age. It's how I know he's better with kids than you might think at first. Anyway, I'm out of here."

"Harry," Bob called as the wizard headed for the door, hockey stick in one hand and crystal in the other. The ghost followed him. "Harry!" he repeated.

"Goodnight, Bob!" Harry left the house. Bob tried to follow him, but he'd gone as far as he could. He had to remain near his skull. The door shut in his face.

"Dresden!"

"I'll be alright!" Harry shouted, before hailing a taxi. Bob groaned and turned to the child, who had followed the two out of the kitchen. Trip studied his expression.

"You know, that's what my mom's face looks like when my dad goes to work," he commented.

"Oh? Isn't she used to it by now?" Bob asked. Trip shook his head.

"Not since he…" The preadolescent trailed off, then ploughed on. "You're not from around here, so I don't know how much you know, but there was an explosion awhile back, while my dad was on duty. We thought he died in it. Things never really went back to the way they'd been before.

"What about you? You're not used to Harry going to work by now?" Bob chose to ignore that.

"So, where is your father?"

~HD~

Harry tried to concentrate on the crystal so he could give the cabbie directions, but the cab's radio was distracting him. The driver kept fiddling with it, even though more static than music had been emanating from it since the wizard had entered the vehicle. The static died down for a moment and lyrics poured out.

"No; I can't take one more step towards you…Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?"

Harry scowled in the direction of the radio and it abruptly fell silent. Eh, magic had that effect on gadgets. (The meter was still running properly, though, but that was just by chance, probably.)

He stared down at the tracking crystal. Bob was pretty upset about having been left behind, but he'd come around…

"Stop; pull over there!" he called to the driver when he realized they had reached his destination.

Harry paid the driver, got out of the cab and stared up at the skyscraper before him. The crystal insisted the killer was somewhere in there. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that it had led him to ARK Tower. Whoever was behind this had some kind of a vendetta against ARK or at least its CEO. Now he just had to find out what part of the building the perp was in. Sure, no problem.

Now he knew why Vince and Dana had both insisted there had to be room for him at ARK. It was the tallest building in Palm City and Harry was willing to bet it was taller than the buildings in Chicago, too. But maybe that was his imagination. Hadn't he read something about the Cape once climbing a tightrope to get into the building? (Strange; if his boss owned the building, why couldn't Vince have just used the front door? …Oh. That must have been before Vince's name had been cleared.) He'd have to ask Vince about that later. If the story was true, the man clearly didn't suffer from a fear of heights.

~HD~

This was it. The crystal indicated that the man he was searching for was behind this door. Harry gritted his teeth, pocketed the crystal and threw the door open…and was greeted with the sight of Peter Fleming sifting through files. The engineer turned billionaire straightened up as the wizard entered the room.

"What do you want?" Fleming drawled. Harry blinked.

"I was following up on a lead…"

"You're a reporter? How on earth did you get past security?"

The man didn't recognize him. Either Fleming had come down with a serious case of amnesia since Harry had left the latest crime scene earlier this evening or that wasn't Peter Fleming. Harry had a sneaky suspicion it was the latter and plastered a fake smile on his face.

"Yes, I'm a reporter for the… Times." Every major city had a newspaper called the Times, right? "If I could just have a moment of your time, Mr. Fleming-"

"I'm afraid I'm rather short on time Mr. …"

"Dresden," Harry supplied, holding out the hand that wasn't wrapped around the hockey stick. The other man grasped it. Fun fact: Wizards couldn't tell just by glancing at a person whether he could do magic. Skin-to-skin contact, on the other hand, is a pretty dead giveaway. As they shook hands, Harry sensed the man's power—power that the real Peter Fleming didn't possess. At the same time, the faux Fleming sensed Harry's abilities and Harry saw his eyes narrow.

And not narrow as in the shape shifter lowered his eyelids—narrow as in he narrowed his freaking pupils until they didn't look human anymore. Dimly, Harry remembered something about Chess' pupils were rumored to be slits, but the real Chess probably used cosmetic contacts, not magic.

Harry had found the killer and the man was a warlock. Hell's bells.

The wizard pulled his hand back.

"You know what? It was rude of me to just barge in here like that. How about I go talk to your secretary and set up an appointment for an interview at a better time?"

"Do you always bring a staff with you to an interview?" the warlock hissed.

"What, this thing? I was playing hockey with a few friends before I came over; completely forgot I had it with me. Okay, I won't take up any more of your time." Harry turned away from the warlock and headed towards the door only for the man to reappear in front of his path.

The killer could teleport as well as shape shift; neat tricks. Good thing Harry had a few of his own. The murderer pulled out a knife and came at him, but he was ready. The knife bounced harmlessly against Dresden's shield.

"Or we could have that interview now," Harry said as the warlock poised to strike again. "Question one: Who are you?"

"Call me Chess," his opponent snarled.

"Wrong answer," Harry lifted his hockey stick and aimed it at the other man. A burst of will sent the villain slamming into a wall. "See, I've met Chess. He's looking for you, by the way." The wizard approached the fallen figure, which was scrambling to his feet. "Question two: Why did you kill Reese?"

"Why don't you ask your boss that?"

"Okay, couple of things: One, Fleming isn't my boss. I'm just doing a little consulting work here. Two, if he knew why you were killing his employees, I don't think he'd have asked for my services," Harry twirled the hockey stick in his hands and prepared to go again, but held his power back for the moment. "Let me ask you again: Why did you kill Reese?"

"You should be more worried about who I'm going to kill next," the warlock replied. Harry sent another burst of power hurtling towards his adversary, but the man vanished before it could strike him. The private investigator glanced around the room and found that he was alone.

"Damn it!

"He had the last word!"

~HD~

Harry paid the second cab driver as he was dropped back at the Faradays' house. Putting his wallet away as the car drove off, he couldn't help but think that there would be definite advantages to being able to teleport. He yawned. Not that he had a problem with driving his Jeep, but he had had to leave that in Chicago.

He made it back into the guest room before being confronted by Bob. Then smoke billowed out of the skull and manifested as the old sorcerer.

"So, you made it back in one piece. Bravo." Harry frowned at his friend's tone of voice. He didn't like being on the receiving end of sarcasm, honest.

"You don't need to worry about me, Bob."

"Oh, but I have so few pleasures in my afterlife." The spirit crossed his arms. "Did you find him?"

"Yes."

"And you got away without any bruises? Did you hit him from behind or was he unconscious?"

"Neither… I had my shield bracelet. Anyway, he got away-" Bob snorted.

"That figures."

"Would you cut me a break? He teleported away. Turns out the killer is a warlock."

Bob dropped his arms and clenched his fists. Harry had faced a warlock on his own. He had been worried about Harry enough without knowing that little tidbit. Damn Dresden for taking unnecessary risks. He counted to ten.

"Did you get a good look at his face?" he asked.

"Sure did."

"And?"

"And it looked a great deal like Fleming's. Did I mention the guy's a shape shifter to boot?"

"That would certainly come in handy while he's trying to frame Fleming." Harry nodded.

"That's what I was thinking. Are the Faradays asleep?"

"Well, Trip drifted off after I told him some embarrassing stories about you."

"You didn't?" Bob grinned evilly at him. "Thanks, Bob. I'll get you back for this. Don't think I won't. Come on. We might as well give Vince a progress report."

They found Vince in the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee.

"Hey, guys. Want some coffee?" They shook their heads. "What's up?"

"Harry chased down your killer this evening." Vince's eyes widened. He turned to face the wizard.

"You did? Who is he?" Harry sighed.

"I don't know."

"Oh. Okay, then, where is he?"

"I don't know. Look-" Before he could explain, the doorbell rang. Vince frowned. He exchanged a glance with the others. The three were thinking the same thing: Who the hell could that be at this hour?

The cop headed to his door and opened it. No one was there; odd. He looked down. Something had been left on his doormat. He felt a chill go through him as he picked it up.

It was a tarot card.

Author's Note: Story got a smidge song-fic-y there. Christina Perri's "Jar of Hearts" was playing on the radio because I didn't think I'd be able to use the line for a chapter title.

Thank you to IronAmerica for beta-ing the chapter.

Thank you to my reviewers: EvilChick13 and Orwell.

What did you think of the chapter? Like the direction the plot is going in? Enjoying the shipping?

Fans of The Cape, I'd like to draw your attention to the fact that NBC has deleted the show's Facebook page. If, like me, you find this objectionable, I recommend writing the network, e-mailing them, tweeting them, what have you, to let the nice folks there know.

The term "warlock" is getting tossed around a bit in the story now. For anyone who hasn't been reading "The Dresden Files", according to Jim Butcher's "Proven Guilty", page 27, a warlock "has betrayed the purpose of magic. Gone bad, right from the start."