Things had slowly balanced out and settled. Not in a manner that could be called peaceful or serene, but Harry felt like he could finally breathe more easily, a huge weight he hadn't been really aware of off his shoulders. Nothing was ever routine, but there was a kind of normalcy. He enjoyed the days when he didn't have to chase something out of the Nevernever, a sorcerer, warlock or megalomaniacal mundane with visions of grandeur. He got more consultant work from the police department, Murphy thawing more and more. They were on talking terms, and there was some occasional banter from Harry's side and heavy scowling from Murphy's.

Just as before.

John ran his organization as smoothly as always. There had been a meeting with someone from New York, but Harry hadn't asked. He still didn't get involved in that side of the Freehold and Marcone didn't tell him anything either. Crime was under control and the few attempts by rival gangs were neatly squashed. When one of his cases coincided with something of Marcone's less than legal ventures, their cooperation went smoothly and professionally.

Marcone's men knew their resident wizard, didn't take potshots at his friends, even waited for Harry to give the order that yes, they could shoot at the latest interference of a supernatural kind. The newbies either quickly learned or were replaced. Harry knew that Hendricks and Gard did some serious job interviews when it came to new men and not everyone made it to the second round or the third.

What had become absolutely normal was living together. Harry had very quickly become accustomed to having someone share living space, just like John had adjusted to him. It had been so very new for the both of them. Neither had had another soul in such close quarters on a permanent basis who wasn't a bodyguard or a spirit of intellect, or had four paws. Harry no longer had his own place to use as an excuse, but the large house enabled them both to have their freedom and not fall over the other wherever one turned.

Sometimes, Marcone didn't see his wizard for almost all week when Harry was deeply ensconced in something magic-related, working in his lab, trying out spells, tweaking potions, or just discussing something with Bob. The same was true for Harry when it came to John himself. He had meetings, late night video conference calls, and sometimes he forgot the time when he was reading over papers. There had been a two week period when Dresden had wondered whether Marcone had moved out all of a sudden or had simply managed to never be around when Harry was there, because there had been not a single hair to be seen of him.

Weekends had no meanings, nor holidays or any kind of festivities. There were not even a handful of exceptions. Valentine's Day had never been important to Harry, until Thomas Raith. The day had turned into something special, but not because of the commercial value. It was Thomas' birthday. Dresden usually dragged his brother to Mac's, treated him to the most perfect steak and as much beer as they could stomach, then they hung out at Harry's until one of them fell asleep.

"Valentine's with a vampire," John had teased. "A White Court. If I didn't know any better I'd be very suspicious of your activities."

Harry had stared at him. "What? Thomas isn't…" Then he had caught up and just thrown a pillow at the other man. "Ass."

xxXxx

No, they were quite an unconventional couple.

Couple.

Harry still couldn't wrap his head around it. The relationship with John was so normal and still so extraordinary, but he had never thought of them as a couple. Like Michael and Charity. Okay, they weren't married and they had no kids, aside from a dog that doubled as a woolly mammoth, a cat the size of a small pony, and a spirit of air and intellect with a questionable moral compass. Harry might call them dependents.

But they were… a couple?

Bob might call them a couple of idiots. He could almost hear that sarcastic tone of voice, too. They were connected; magically bonded, sure. But…

Huh.

Harry had never been one to label things, unless it concerned lab ingredients on Tupperware containers, but to put a label on people was too straight-forward. And trying to describe him and Marcone was… almost impossible.

Currently John was dozing against him, loose-limbed, pliant, and with tousled hair tickling Harry's chin. His breathing was slow, deep, almost meditative. He had been in some soul-sucking business conferences lately, some of them concerning his Hold, some of them rather mundane and yet absolutely mind-numbing. Today was the first day in weeks they were sharing living space, the couch, a meal, and had alone-time.

Harry was enjoying it immensely, especially since Marcone was a world-class cuddler and the make-out session had been very satisfying.

The weather had changed from the first sunny spring days to rain coming down in sheets. The world outside was gray and unwelcoming.

Yes, John Marcone had been in one harrying business meeting after another, doing his savvy political maneuvering, acquiring companies, or tearing down abandoned ruins to build apartment complexes or office buildings. There had been several charity fundraisers, some kind of grand opening and reception, a few shake-hands occasions, and other mundane stuff. Harry hadn't been aware of the Unseelie Accords meeting, only after it had run its course, and he had been surprised that Marcone hadn't dragged him along to fortify his position.

"I am not using you as a pawn, Harry," had been a calm answer, the voice like steel. "You are not my trophy. Nor are you needed as my bodyguard."

"Uh-kay…"

It had been a surprise. A big surprise. Harry would have bet good money on it that Marcone would want him along; they were connected. Then again, Harry wouldn't want Marcone along if the White Council sent their less-than-cordial invitation. Something he had been dreading for a while now and something that hadn't happened.

Yet.

It had him on edge.

"Still with me?" he softly broke the silence that had comfortably sat between them for hours.

It got him a soft hum.

"So you want a ring?" John asked sleepily.

"Hm?"

Strong fingers threaded between Harry's, resting on Dresden's flat stomach. "If you want a ring, I can arrange for that."

Dark eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"We could shape it to be like your kinetic rings."

Harry groaned. "I don't want a ring, John!"

"You brought it up."

"I didn't!"

"You talked about us being a weird couple," Marcone teased, moving to kiss him.

"I did?" Damn, he had been thinking out loud.

"Yes. So, no ring?"

"Nope." Another kiss. "I love you. My magic loves you. That's enough."

"You say the sweetest things, Harry Dresden."

"That's me. Smooth talker par excellence."

"Have you been reading the dictionary again? You know that's tough literature."

Harry punched his arm lightly. "Asshole."

They lay together, enjoying each other's company. There was no frenzy, just a peaceful calmness, filled with gentle explorations.

John fell asleep after a while and Harry watched him with a fond smile, carding his fingers through his hair, tousling it gently.

They had the whole day. No appointments, no cases, no need to be anywhere. Just the two of them, unless an emergency intervened.

Thankfully, there was none.

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

"Mr. Dresden."

Harry turned around, surprised that he hadn't heard or felt the man approach. Dark blond hair, looking to be in his early thirties, dressed like he was on his way to a business meeting, the guy was as unassuming as they came. About 5'10'' and a little on the pale side, but not every blond guy could pull off the sunburned surfer-dude looks. Especially in Chicago.

"Yeah?" Harry said carefully, noting that the man hadn't even formulated the address as a question.

They were on an open street, people passing by, ignoring them. It wasn't a bad part of the city, also not one of the busy touristy areas or the financial district. There was a hot dog vendor not far away, a newspaper kiosk, and the storefronts were all open and lit up.

"My name is Lennart Graine," the man introduced himself.

Didn't ring a bell. The guy sounded British, but in a way that suggested he hadn't been among his fellow Brits for a while. He had a decidedly American inflection. He wasn't in a business suit, wearing more of a leisurely attire. It was clean, he was well-groomed and though he featured a two-day scruff, it didn't appear involuntary. All in all not a man he would have looked at twice and one he had never seen before.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked, frowning. His magic tightened inside.

"No." Graine smiled neutrally. "We have never met before. May we talk?"

"Do we have an appointment?"

He was sure he had no clients or potential clients meeting him today. And why was something niggling at the back of his skull?

Graine looked briefly amused. "We don't have an appointment, but I would like to talk to you. And Mr. Marcone."

Alarm bells started shrilling. Lots of them. The unassuming stranger just continued to give him that mild, harmless smile.

"Who are you?" Harry hissed through clenched teeth.

"Not an enemy. Actually, you could call us likeminded."

That didn't help to ease the tension creeping through his body. Harry felt the magic whisper underneath his skin, at the ready.

"Okay, what are you?" Harry rephrased his question, mind racing as to what the man might be.

"An interested party. Please. There is a reservation for us at Macanally's."

Neutral territory. Nothing would happen at Mac's pub, or whoever started something would have to answer to the signatories of the Unseelie Accords. Not something to look forward to.

"Didn't know Mac made reservations."

Graine smirked. "He does. For old friends."

How old? Harry wondered, the tension doubling now. And friends? Plural? The guy wasn't alone then.

"What's this about?"

"I'd prefer we meet Mr. Marcone at Macanally's and I will answer your questions."

"You and who else?"

Graine's expression was almost approving. "I'd rather not discuss this on the street. Too many eyes, too many ears."

He ground his teeth. Finally, Harry made up his mind, stupid as the decision might be. Then again, Dresden had never been known for very smart first moves when it came to some situations.

"Alright. After you, Mr. Graine."

Graine smiled, still amused, and headed down the street.

xxXxx

It was a short walk and Harry surreptitiously studied the man, but he couldn't remember ever seeing him before. He didn't have the aura of a practitioner and he surely didn't belong to the White Court. Incubi vampires had a very special feel to them.

So, human?

He had no idea. And if he was human, how did he know Mac's? Not to mention that whoever they were meeting, they had somehow brought Marcone to the pub, too?

Because they were heading into the right direction and so far Harry hadn't picked up on anyone following them, any kind of spells or supernaturals trying to get the drop on him.

That didn't mean anything in his line of work, Harry knew. And the tension didn't abate.

xxXxx

The pub was mostly empty. Time never played a role when it came to occupancy. Mcanally's was always open and Mac was always there. Harry had never asked, tried to never think about it.

Mac only glanced at him, cleaning glasses as he took note of who had entered. Sharp eyes scanned over the two new-arrivals, then he went back to his cleaning. No one else so much as looked their way. The few patrons were either alone, nursing a drink, or talking to someone.

John Marcone sat at one of the more discretely located tables, one preferred by those who wanted to talk in peace and not be immediately approached. He was impeccably dressed in a suit that would buy Harry a year's worth of magical supplies and leave him enough for a good steak dinner twice a week. He oozed suave politeness, his expression so tightly controlled, Harry knew he was as tense as Dresden felt himself. They hadn't seen each other since last night. A night Harry had spent in the lab, going over a potion that was time sensitive, and Marcone had been in an early meeting.

Nothing new.

And John didn't look like someone had dragged him out of that meeting by force or had abducted him from under Henricks' watchful eyes.

He had company, but it wasn't Hendricks. It was already disconcerting to not see the man who was his Marcone's shadow on any given day of the week. The other man at the table...

Harry caught a whiff of something quite distinctive. Magic. Wizard. Really strong but dampened by whatever protective shield the guy had up. It was a guy who seemed to be the epitome of a middle-aged librarian, with glasses, neatly combed, dark hair, and dressed in last century's fashion. The seventies, to be precise. He was truly wearing a corduroy suit. Burgundy, with a pink and white striped shirt. Thankfully, no tie.

Okay, Harry Dresden would be the last person to play fashion critic, seeing how his dressed up. Apparently wizards tended to be eccentric.

Marcone looked at him, face blank and unreadable, unless someone who was very acquainted with the man, say, his wizard, knew him. He was in his CEO mode, coupled with a healthy dose of crime boss and not just a little bit of Freeholding Lord. And he was armed to the teeth and ready to use his very commendable repertoire of mundane and magical weaponry.

"Mr. Dresden," he said, voice cool and inflectionless. "How nice of you to join us." He radiated an air of detached interest, like he was only here to enjoy the beer. "Timely as ever."

"Marcone," he replied, keeping it just as neutral. "What's a scumbag like you doing in a nice place like that?"

For some reason Marcone's table buddy looked highly amused at the exchange.

Dresden flexed his fingers, then forced himself to relax. No need to call on his magic. Neutral ground. Nothing would happen here; nothing at all. The entire place was designed to diffuse and refract random magical energies. The only magic allowed was veils for privacy if needed.

Mr. Librarian raised his eyebrows as if he was quite aware of what Harry was thinking. "That's not necessary, Mr. Dresden. I assure you, we are not the enemy. Marlin Emris," he introduced himself as if in an after-thought.

Like Graine, he had a distinctive British edge to his voice, but just like Harry's companion it seemed he hadn't spent much time on the Isle. He had lost most of the inflection, but not enough to blend in with an American crowd.

"Not sure I can believe that, Mr. Emris. Whoever you really are."

That got him a quirked eyebrow. "Lennart and I were in your situation once. A long, long time ago." Emris smiled. "It took me a lot longer to find my counterbalance than you, Harry. And it took Lennart almost a lifetime to acknowledge our connection. Please. Take a seat."

His eyes tracked between the two men and while Harry didn't so much as glance at Marcone, he knew John was scanning them just as closely. The tension level was high and Harry had never been more relieved that Mac's was neutral. Nothing would happen, not even a kick in the shin, so whatever and whoever this guy and his friend were, they weren't about to turn Harry into a puddle of goo.

Dresden slid into the seat next to Marcone without a second glance at his companion, his eyes only on Emris and Graine.

"Who are you?" he repeated slowly, with quite a warning. "And what do you want?"