Marcone had a thing for me. Okay. That was… that. It was certainly that. And it was… um… something. Yeah. I uh… I think maybe I'm broken, now. Marcone broke me. I always knew this would happen. I always knew that eventually Marcone's obviously already fragile mental condition would shatter, and he'd do something totally stupid and insane and weird and I would go totally mental as a result. Goodbye, cruel world! I must now shut down, and for the rest of my life consider the fact that John fucking Marcone has a… a crush on me. I vaguely saw Thomas waving his hand in front of my face. I blinked slowly, and realized, oh, yeah, he's talking.

"Harry. Harry, come on. Is it really that surprising? Geez, man, don't go all catatonic on me." I stared.

"Thomas, this pretty much destroys everything I thought I knew about that guy. It's… are you sure we're talking about the same Marcone? Is there another one that lives down the street or something?" He smacked the back of my head. I huffed.

"You're an idiot."

"I know, and apparently I'm really oblivious. Or… there's some ulterior motive behind all this! Yeah! Ulterior motives fit more with the Marcone I know!" He started bashing his head against the back of the couch and stared longingly over at a wall. I, yet again, had a serious thought about investing into some sort of padding for them. You know, for in case anything broke in and wanted to throw me around. Then the joke would be on them! I was distracted, somewhat, by a half-formed thought of a big slavering green slimy monster slamming me against the wall, me bouncing off harmlessly, and then laughing as the monster fled in sheer shame, probably blushing a little.

"No, you're just really goddamned oblivious. Stop trying to rationalize," he grunted, finally before he punched me at least sort of gently in the sternum. I grunted back, because that's how us men communicate. I was about to comment that he was the one attempting to rationalize the complex mind of John Marcone into something that was actually understandable to someone else on this planet when my phone rang. Huh. I wasn't expecting any other calls, today. Maybe Murph had already found out something about the bugs for me. I stretched over Thomas' lap and grabbed the old rotary job. The voice on the other side was unexpectedly expected.

"Harry, how are you?" came the smooth, urbane tones of Marcone. I gaped, because I really wasn't quite ready to deal with this.

"Uh," I managed, because hey, I'm a pretty smart guy. He laughed, and it was really… nice, I guess is the best word. I realized suddenly that I'd never really heard him actually laugh. I wondered why I thought he sounded so good happy.

"No insult for me calling you by your first name, Harry?" Oh yeah. I hadn't noticed.

"Stop it, scumbag. You know you're not allowed." Another laugh.

"Now how could I stop, when you're calling me by that little pet name again? And that refusal was horribly insincere anyway. Was there something wrong with my gift, by the way? If they weren't the right size I can, of course, have them replaced." I choked a little. This sounded so… normal. Normal is weird, for me. It makes me feel like something's about to blindside me. Marcone's good at blindsiding.

"I don't take gifts from mobsters. And I don't need new clothes anyway, asshole. Mine are fine." I could almost see his fatherly, indulging smile, as though he were dealing with a petulant toddler. He got that look a lot, around me, so often that I could visualize it without a problem.

"Indeed? Well, I had thought that perhaps you'd like to spend at least a week not looking like the spokesperson for dumpster diving. Besides, I rather like the thought of you walking around town in nothing but what I've bought you." His voice got low, husky. I'd never really understood what the word 'dulcet' meant until he spoke like that. The shiver was entirely involuntary, I swear.

"Uh," I tried again. Thomas was glaring holes in the wall, his fist digging harshly into my spine from where I was still stretched across his lap to get at the phone.

"Well, now that I've gotten you sufficiently speechless, I suppose it would be wise to make my request. Would you like to go out to dinner with me this evening?" If my brain was broken before, it had fallen right through the floor and into another dimension, now. John Marcone. Asking me,of all people, out to dinner. It was like the entire universe was caving in on itself. I mean, really, he could probably do a lot better than the scraggly wizard who lives in a basement. But still. Ulterior motives. Maybe he thought this would get him in good with some supernatural powers. He probably had some sort of big plan in the works, likely one I should know something about. Yeah. So going out with him would probably be a pretty good idea, so I could figure out what he was planning. Thomas was mouthing 'say no' over and over again. I shook my head at him.

"Um. Yeah, okay. Sure. What time?" See? I can be cool too. I could feel Marcone being all amused and shit again.

"I'll be by to pick you up at eight. It would, perhaps, be better if you made sure your… guardian has made himself scarce by then." He hung up. My guardian? Mouse? Why the hell did he want me to make sure Mouse wasn't around? Mouse liked him. I shook my head and settled the phone back into the cradle. Thomas smacked my spine and sent me sprawling over his lap for real. I glared.

"Why the hell did you say yes? Do you have the slightest idea of what he's going to do to you if you go near him right now?" I cocked my head and laughed.

"Reveal his master plan for why he's pulling all this right now?" Thomas looked ready to throw me into a wall. Good. He deserved to be annoyed. No, I don't know why he did, but he just did, okay? So shut up. I know better, and I'm probably bigger than you anyway, so there. If you are actually bigger than me, then please, forget all that. I don't need to be broken anymore right now, thanks. Same goes for if you're smaller than me, but a badass like Murphy.

"There is no master plan, damn it! If you go somewhere with him, and he gets you alone for five minutes, he is going to fuck you! He is going to remove your clothing, bend you over, and put his dick in your ass! Do you not understand what I'm saying? Do you no longer speak English? Should I try Latin? Etruscan, maybe?" I blinked.

"Thomas. I'm a wizard. We can do this thing where the forces of nature do what we say. If Marcone tries something I don't like, I could get rid of him easily. I just want to find out what he's planning, okay? And I know he's planning something. This is probably just some weirdly elaborate plot to get me on his side. Maybe he's planning some kind of supernatural coup and needs me as back up. I mean, he's Marcone, you know? He never thinks with his dick." Thomas actually did shove me off of his couch, but I don't think he actually meant for me to hit my head on the coffee table. I did, though, which is an offense worthy of me yanking him into the floor with me and wrestling for a while. He won, of course, what with the whole vampire thing. It really is sort of unfair, but then, I've long stopped expecting my life to be fair in any way, shape, or form.

"Harry, come on. You liking it is a pretty big part of what I'm worried about. He's dangerous, and when you get attached, you give every little piece of yourself to the person you're attached to. I don't want someone to step all over you again, and he would." I hugged him, and he pressed his nose into my neck. If he were Red Court, if he weren't my brother, I might've been a lot more worried, but as it stood, I just ran my hands through his unfairly soft, luxurious hair, even as it tickled my cheek and mouth.

"Get up, man. This floor isn't exactly comfortable." He stood slowly, and dragged me up with him. "Now look. I don't have a thing for Marcone. Since you're my brother, and since you probably know anyway, I do find him somewhat attractive. You know, when he's not scumbagging all over the place. Me finding someone attractive, though, does not mean I immediately jump into bed with them, especially not when that someone is Marcone." He rolled his eyes and shoved me, which, by the Law of Brothers, meant that I was forced to shove him back, and so on and so forth until one of us (me) got shoved off the couch again. I did manage an 'accidental' kick to his ankle, though, as I was getting back up onto the couch.

"Yeah, like I don't know that about you already, Harry. Hell, if you jumped the bones of everyone you found attractive, literally all of your friends and companions, including me, would have been in bed with you at least once, by now." He said it so nonchalantly that it was almost more disturbing than it would've been if he'd been freaked out about it. I just shook my head and decided it was better not to comment on that.

"Whatever, Thomas." He laughed.

"Can't you call me big brother for once?" I grinned.

"Just because you like flaunting that you're older by called me little brother does not mean I'm going to indulge you too. Oh, yeah, and when Marcone hung up, he said something about getting rid of my guardian before he got here. I don't know what he meant, since Mouse actually kind of likes him." Thomas just gave me a sweet smile I didn't believe for a second.

"Don't worry about it. You've said yourself that he's weird. Now, what time is he coming here?"

"Eight o'clock." He checked his watch, a cheap, old model that I was far less likely to break than his Rolex.

"That's an hour from now. Go get dressed." I glanced down at my clothes.

"What's wrong with these?"

"They're old and disgusting. I know you have something a little better than that, so go put it on." I rolled my eyes and did what he said, because I knew he wouldn't shut up unless I did. I found an old midnight blue button down Michael had bought me for my birthday a few years before, the only one I had that was actually tailored to fit me, and a pair of dark blue jeans from Thomas that also actually, real-life fit. The fact that these things actually fit me, though, was the reason I didn't ever wear them, since I was always scared I'd mess them up somehow if I was optimistic enough to go out in them. It was then I recalled that Marcone had neglected to tell me where we were going. Damn it. Oh well. He could deal with me being my version of dressed up. I left my room and plopped down on the couch beside Thomas as he looked at me appraisingly.

"What?" I finally huffed out, annoyed. He grinned.

"I see why you always wear those baggy things you attempt to pass off as clothes, now." Oh, yeah, of course he needed to make a crack about my scrawny ass body, the dick. I opened my mouth to return fire, but it seemed he wasn't done speaking. "You look hot. Go change into something else, I won't have the bastard jumping you in the doorway." Stones, what was he talking about? I looked like me. Me isn't 'hot'. Unless I was using fire. Then, yeah, I was hot, just not how Thomas was using the word now.

"Thomas, I thought I told you about those drugs. They're not good for you." We bickered back and forth about that for about a half an hour, at which point I heard a knock on the door.

"I guess he's early," I mumbled, forcing myself up and stretching. My spine popped in a couple of places as I did, but that wasn't exactly what anyone would call unusual. I grabbed my duster and slung it over my shoulder, then picked up my staff. You know, just in case it wasn't Marcone. It took me about five minutes to work the door open, and on the other side I was met with Marcone's softly smiling face. Thomas had ducked into the kitchen, for some reason. I sat my staff back into the popcorn tin, and gave him a wave as greeting.

"Hello, Harry," he said, and I noticed that he'd dressed up too, even more than usual. His suit was a dark silk and probably cost about three months of my rent, plus it fit him impeccably just like all his others. It kind of annoyed me. I wondered if he had all the problems I did when suit hunting. Probably not. Suits were made for men like him, men who were tall and broad-shouldered, strong and demanding. I was one of those things, and too much of it. I walk into a suit shop; the employees cringe and attempt to pawn me off on one another. Marcone walks in, they all clamor to serve him.

"Don't call me that." He smirked; his predator eyes lidded, and reached out to settle a hand on my hip bone. It was warm and depressingly large.

"Sweetheart, we're going out on a date. I should think I'm allowed to call you by your first name." I sighed.

"Don't call me sweetheart either. I hate pet names. This isn't a date, by the way. This is me going out with you so I can find out what you're up to." His thumb rubbed circles into the bone and pulled me slowly closer to them.

"You'll have to choose which you despise more, I'm afraid: your first name or a pet name. I will not go out to dinner with someone I care for and proceed to call them by their last name the entire evening." I sighed.

"Harry, then, you asshole. I don't feel like fighting with you about that. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Morton's," he said, his fingers slipping from my hip to curl around my hand and drag me to a dark sedan that looked exactly the same as every other one the man owned. How the hell could he possibly say that like it was nothing? Morton's was expensive. Like, you could buy a month's worth of groceries for what you'd spend on one meal there. I stared blankly at Marcone as he pulled me into the backseat of the vehicle beside him. A goon I only sort of recognized was driving, and he ignored his passengers with a practiced type of ease.

"Marcone, you know I can't pay for that. Can't we go to, like, IHOP or something? I like IHOP. I can pay for IHOP without filing for bankruptcy." Marcone laughed, his hand settled on the upper part of my thigh. I stared at the limb blankly, wondering why it was there in the first place. The thing slipped slowly to my inseam, where it continued to creep upwards. I picked it up with two fingers and dropped it back onto his own lap. I thought I heard the driver mumble something that sounded a little like 'tease', but I had to have been mistaken. Marcone looked vaguely annoyed.

"I invited you out, Harry. I plan on paying." I raised my eyebrows, crossed my arms, and did my best to relax into the soft leather of the seats. I supposed I may as well not complain. It wasn't like I'd ever get to eat there again anyway, I supposed. I shrugged.

"Okay, I guess. You're rich anyway." He hummed, and stretched his arm out over the back of the seat, the movement looking smooth enough that it almost could've been accidental. It really is unfair, how some guys can do that and look all cool, while others, like me, have to look painfully awkward no matter what. I stuck my tongue out at him. He smiled, and once again projected indulgence everywhere. "You're a condescending dick, you know that?"

"Perhaps so, and yet you agreed to come out with me this evening. The hand that had stretched over the seat moved to settle across my shoulders, and he lounged back, his legs crossed at the knee. If there ever was a time that he looked like an actual mafia don, it was then. I'd always known what he was, known he was dangerous, but he'd never really looked like it, before that one moment there, and it was gone in a flash. There was still something strange, proprietary, in the way his hand felt on my shoulder, though.

We pulled up to Morton's, and Marcone insisted on helping me out, just like he insisted on me giving my coat to the guy at the door. I felt naked and vulnerable without it, especially since everyone in the place seemed to be staring at me. Marcone stretched up to whisper in my ear coolly, and his breath was hot and fluttering against it.

"Don't worry over them. They're looking at me, not you. It isn't often I bring a guest like you here." I smirked.

"True enough," I began, as a skittish looking waiter settled us at a table and made a show of fussing over my seat, as though I were some kind of princess. Marcone smiled at him for it, though, so I guessed he was probably working for a tip or something. Although, Marcone's smile had had a few too many teeth in it for it to be strictly friendly. "They're probably wondering what happened to your taste. I assume I'm the first person who's come in here with you that wasn't either a busty blonde model type or a business associate." His hand reached across the table to grab at mine, run a gun-calloused thumb over the thin skin of my knuckle. I felt like I should've been making a joke, but I couldn't think of one. The tables all around us were suspiciously empty, even though the rest of the place was packed. The guy who'd seated us shifted around nervously.

"What, uh," I heard him mumble 'oh god' under his breath, "What would you two like to drink?"

"Coke," I said, thoughtlessly. The guy looked confused.

"S-Sorry, sir, we don't serve soft drinks here." I stared. No Coke? What kind of hell was this? He spared me a nervous glance, before he looked over at Marcone and turned it up to full out frightened, even though to me it looked like Marcone was just being his usual scumbag-y self and wafting amusement all over the place. It stayed like that for about five minutes, the area silent but for the shuffling of the waiter's papers. It was Marcone who broke down and took pity on the poor kid first, though.

"We'll both have a glass of red wine, please. The finest you have." The boy scribbled it down and ran off gratefully. I kicked Marcone's shin from under the table. He hardly bothered to wince.

"I hate wine, scumbag." He rolled his eyes.

"Must you really use that ridiculous name in regards to me, after all the time we've spent together? I'll admit, it was cute, at first, but now it's just getting a bit annoying." I crossed my free arm over my chest and stuck out my lower lip. See, it's not pouting, if you don't call it pouting.

"Good. I like annoying you." He sighed.

"You really are terribly frustrating, honey." The little name seemed to slip out almost thoughtlessly, in that sweet, simple way that I thought was reserved for couples like Michael and Charity. I recalled more than once, how Michael greeted Charity when he wasn't stressed. It was always the same. He'd stride through the door, tall and strong, and sweep her up in an all-encompassing hug, settle a kiss on her cheek, call her sweetie. It made me long for what I couldn't have, sometimes, when I wasn't happy enough to be happy for them. I thought about the scarf Thomas wore, the one he could touch no more than he could touch the girl who made it, the girl I'd once heard him call 'darling'. I must've drifted off, because Marcone shook my arm lightly. "Still," he continued, as though I'd never gone off into space, "For what it's worth, I like you far more than I could ever like any of those 'busty blonde model types'. You're far more intelligent, as well as not being thirty years my junior and interested only in my money." I could feel my face heat up as his thumb shifted to play around with my ring finger thoughtfully, twist the force ring I had there. I tried to slip it away, but he held fast. The waiter came and sat two glasses of wine on the table, then put the bottle in the center, by our joined hands.

"Are you guys ready to order?" I noticed that it was a different guy this time, this one seeming a little older, maybe more experienced.

"Steak," I said, "Medium. And potatoes." This guy seemed to be no less confused than the first. I wondered if maybe rich people spoke a different kind of English.

"What kind of steak, sir?" I felt a little lost.

"There's different kinds?" The waiter suddenly looked at Marcone with that 'did you find him under a rock' look that I was growing depressingly used to.

"He'll have the Ribeye, Mr. Wells. I'll have the same, medium well." The guy nodded and wandered off. I just shook my head, and he took a sip of his wine, continuing to fiddle with the ring around my finger.

"Different kinds of steak. What the hell? It all comes off the same damn animal. I don't get it." He smiled gently at me, but couldn't quite hold back the laugh.

"It's cut from different places, Harry. I ordered what I assume your pub serves."

"Mac's? Oh, yeah. Mac serves the best steak ever. Plus I've got a tab there. Mac hasn't made me pay it since I moved to that neighborhood, either. He's a nice guy."

"Seems bad for business, to allow a customer to do that," Marcone mumbled, half distracted. Apparently my ring had become the most fascinating thing around. "Are you going to drink, Harry?" I rolled my eyes.

"Mac's my friend. I'm not just your average every day run of the mill customer. Plus I helped get his bar accorded neutral status, and I helped him out of a bad spot he'd gotten into, the week I moved into my apartment. And no. I told you, I don't like wine."

"Have you ever tried it?" I looked away. He laughed. "Just take a sip, Harry. I swear it won't kill you." I looked at it distrustfully, raised it to my lips and took a tiny sip. It was a little bitter, with soft, oaky earth undertones, and maybe a little cherry licorice. It wasn't… bad, per se, just… different. Expensive. I pulled the glass away, and saw that Marcone's eyes were fixed on my lips. I licked them self-consciously, and his stare took on a sharp sort of hunger, the kind I'd only seen once before, when Susan had accidentally drank that lust potion, and yet it was sort of different from that. Harsher, more predatory. It made me shiver, a little. I wondered when our food would get here. The twisting of my ring became almost soothing.

"It's good," I said, and my voice was too soft. A person with less info on what a badass motherfucker I am would have called it breathy.

"I'm glad," Marcone mumbled, his voice taking on that same husky tone it had had on the phone earlier, "Now, what sort of problem did you get this Mac out of?" I shrugged. Good, this was easy, this was work. I could talk about that without issue.

"It wasn't much. He'd gotten in with some recently turned members of the Red Court. They were pretty young even by human standards, though, maybe a year or two older than I was at the time. If I remember right, I'd just gotten my job with Nick, and I wanted a drink, to celebrate. I looked old enough that people never carded me, even though I was still technically underage. Mac was trying to get them to leave when I came in, and they tried to drink him. I did a little light show and scared them off, so Mac gave me a free Coke, because of course he could tell I wasn't twenty one yet, seeing as how he's Mac and he knows everything." Marcone looked confused. He'd worked my ring up to my knuckle, but I wasn't really paying attention.

"Light show? You didn't kill them?" I felt heat rise to my face again. I should've figured I'd eventually end up telling Marcone about how pathetic I once was, and, by the accounts of most older wizards, still was.

"I couldn't have killed them, back then. I could still use my fire, yeah, but my blasting rod wasn't very good, because I made it on the fly, by which I mean it was pretty much a twig I picked up outside the train station when I first came to town with some symbols carved into it. My staff was a lot better, but I'd left it in Nick's office. My rings were all I had, and they weren't force rings, like these; all they did was produce light. They worked well enough, though, at least for the time being. Scared off a troll with them, once, but I gave my best one to some little girl. Same case, actually. Kid named Faith, whose parents almost charged me and Nick with kidnapping her. That was when I met Murphy, too, but she was just a beat cop back then." Marcone sighed, shook his head.

"So you've learned a lot here, over the years?" I grinned.

"Yeah, trial by fire will do that to you. Like I said, back then I had a hard time taking a troll down at full strength. It's sort of funny, when I think about it; Murphy's been saving my ass ever since we met. That stupid thing would've killed me and taken the girl, if she hadn't come along, considering I'd been doing tracking spells all day when I met the damned thing. Of course, she also would've arrested me, if Faith hadn't told the truth, and then Nick would've been pissed at me, because he wanted to give the case up after he got the tip about what the parents were doing." My force ring slipped up over my knuckle, but still I didn't pay it much mind.

"Who is this Nick, Harry?"

"The provider of my first steady job. He runs a detective agency, Ragged Angel. He's who I did my three years with, to get my license. Real nice guy, once you cut through the fifty million layers of cigarette smoke. If I hadn't met him, I'd probably still be waiting tables and teaching senior citizens how to dance." Marcone seemed a bit curious.

"Indeed? How old were you when you met him?"

"Nineteen," I said easily, and it was only sort of a lie. I'd met him a month before my nineteenth birthday, the same day the hotel I was staying in had kicked me out for not paying my bill on time. He'd offered me a warm meal and a bed for the night. I'd accepted, and, when I was asleep, I'd had a nightmare of the night I killed DuMorne. I'd called up fire in my sleep. He'd been fascinated, made me explain what I was. When he found out I could do tracking spells, he offered me a job. It had pissed Morgan off, which, in the end, became a big part of why I'd accepted the work. That, and the fact that getting fired every weak did not make for a full stomach and a roof. Marcone nodded.

"This isn't an easy city for someone so young to make their way in, especially not alone." Our food came, was settled in front of us easily. I didn't even notice when my ring slipped off my finger when I pulled away, since I was so engrossed in carving up the gigantic steak settled in front of me. I ate as I cut it, and Marcone watched with the sort of morbid fascination you give to a vulture eating carrion. I grinned crookedly.

"Well, I wasn't exactly an innocent flower by then, Marcone. I'd already…" I trailed off, suddenly realizing what I'd been about to say. I shook my head. "Never mind. I was pure as a lily, all that shit. Corrupted by harsh city life, exposed to the cruel ways of the world far too soon, yadda yadda yadda." Marcone laughed.

"I find that hard to believe. Why did you choose my city, Harry? What happened before you came here?" I couldn't look into his eyes, right then, so I stared at my food and scarfed it down.

"My dad and I lived here for about a year. Longest I'd ever stayed in one place. He said it was because mom always loved this city. We ran out of money, though, so we had to move again. I always said I'd come back, when I could. My dad… he'd talk about mom all the time, enough that I felt like I knew her myself. He was a stage magician, you know? Magic in his own right. He was good, too, even knew David Copperfield before he got famous. Problem was, he hardly ever asked for payment for his shows. He was more interested in doing free ones for kids, generally. I always loved to watch him perform. He told me I could be his assistant, when I got older, but he died before I was big enough." Thinking about this always made me smile. I could remember his face clearly, always smiling, always happy. I remembered his silken top hat, which had gotten stolen from me at the orphanage, along with the one photo I had of he and mom. He and I had the same eyes, a brown dark enough to almost be called black. Thomas had gotten our mother's instead, hazy storm cloud gray. Marcone seemed thoughtful.

"How sad," he said, quiet. I grinned.

"Nah. I've had a pretty okay life. Dad was… I relish the time I had with him. Yeah, sometimes I wish there'd been more, but there wasn't. No point in crying about it, because I'll always have the memories of him. He's still out there, somewhere. Mom too. Stars, if I ever want to reminisce, all I've got to do is pull out a deck of cards. He taught me how to do all his tricks." I laughed. The meat was good, flavorful, but if just didn't match up with Mac's. Maybe it was because his tasted homemade. This tasted like a chef made it. I never really liked that thought. Still, it easily ranked as the second best steak I'd ever eaten, and I've eaten a lot of steaks. Marcone smiled.

"Is it good?" I nodded, my mouth full. His smile turned to a smirk. "Perhaps I should've been bribing you with food this entire time. Where do you even put it all? There's hardly a piece of fat on you."

"Too late now," I grunted, "And it's the wizardly metabolism. Works wonders. Food goes in, gets digested, turns into magic. There's a reason you don't see many wizards that are all that much wider than me." I felt something cool slide up my finger, and assumed it to be some condensation off of one of the wine glasses or something. I didn't bother to check.

"You never told me what happened before you moved here." Damn him. I looked down at the plate again.

"Not much. I got some cash from my guardian, bought a train ticket, and came here."

"Did you have the same guardian your entire life?" I winced, and hoped he didn't see it. I knew that was a vain hope; Marcone caught sight of damn near everything. I could almost see that filing cabinet brain of his marking down my reaction, putting it in a folder marked 'for further study'.

"No. I had… a lot. The foster system is weird. My magic came in too early, because of my dad's death. I punched a kid in the nose, during my second week in the orphanage, and ended up funneling some force into it. I shattered his nose. After that… not a lot of parents wanted me. The ones who did thought they could fix me, and sent me back. I got diagnosed with all kinds of behavioral disorders. I was violent, and angry. Ended up accidentally starting fires a lot. Never meant to, but that didn't matter. All the families thought something was wrong with me. I still remember the one woman who thought I was possessed. Did three exorcisms on me before she finally decided that I was just a plain old demon rather than a kid with a demon inside him. She was the last one to send me back." Marcone nodded.

"I'll assume school wasn't much better for you?" I shrugged. He'd hardly touched his meal, while mine was all gone.

"I didn't go much, because of violence issues. I was always the new kid, and you know all the tough guys have to bully the new kid. I didn't take to it too well, always got into fights. I was so tiny back then, so everyone was kind of disturbed when I was able to bring down guys twice my size. I didn't hit by growth spurt until I was thirteen, you know? Before then I was actually always a couple of inches shorter than average. I stopped going altogether that year, but I went back later, got my GED." Marcone's eyes narrowed.

"You stopped going to school at thirteen?" I flinched, and wished I had more on my plate to eat. I gulped down a sip of the wine. Most people, I didn't have a problem avoiding conversations about this, but there was something about Marcone, something in his voice, his eyes, that made me want to answer. I'd have blamed it on the Soul Gaze, if I'd told Susan any of this, but I never had. She'd had enough of her own problems, had reacted so badly to the Soul Gaze, that I hadn't wanted to burden her further. There was no such compulsion with Marcone. I felt a weird urge to curl up into his arms and take a nap on his shoulder, even though that would look totally stupid because of our difference in height.

"Yeah. My Ma-," I stopped myself, because that word wasn't normal, wasn't used in polite conversation anymore, people always reacted poorly to it. "My guardian didn't want me to. My first long term one, the one who started teaching me magic. He didn't like me or Elaine being around vanilla mortals." Marcone's eyes were cool and inquisitive. His fingers were warm where they wrapped back around mine.

"Who is Elaine?" That I could answer.

"Another wizard. He adopted her three years after me. She was my first girlfriend too, though. We looked out for each other, figured out the birds and the bees together, all that stuff. She's still a good enough friend of mine, I guess, but she lives pretty far away, now." Marcone seemed to be putting together some puzzle pieces in his head. I could see things coming together behind his eyes, and couldn't help but smile a little. I wouldn't say a damned thing without a question, because then I could blame the fact that I kept answering on me being completely incapable of lying.

"What was this man's name?"

"Justin DuMorne."

"And what happened to him?"

"He's dead." I said that clearly, because it always brought me a strange sort of pleasure. He's dead. Dead and gone. Dead as a doornail. Dust in the wind. Just a bad dream, an ugly memory.

"How?" Hell's Bells. I stared at my empty plate again. Marcone repeated his question.

"I killed him. I set the house on fire, burned him alive."

"Why?" He didn't sound accusing. He didn't sound anything but curious.

"I hated him. He wanted to make me and Elaine into his personal defenders, his little army. He taught us magic with pain, because he always thought that was the best teacher. He was… the night he died; he was going to make me into a thrall. He'd already done it to Elaine, a lot. He had her bind me in a circle. I set the house on fire and ran, took Bob with me. Elaine wouldn't come with me. I'd thought she was dead for the longest time, until I met her again a couple of years back. He still managed to send one of the Walkers after me, but I killed it. Then the Wardens caught up with me, and I went on trial for violation of the First Law, thou shalt not kill with magic. I'd have died, but my other guardian, Ebenezer McCoy, spoke up for me." Marcone finally seemed to be looking at an entire picture, but unlike most people, I couldn't see a single trace of pity in his eyes. He squeezed my hand once, comforting.

"People can be monsters too," he said again, as he had in Lea's house. He said it with more conviction this time, though. I laughed quietly.

"Yeah," I said, and my voice was thick, wet. Huh. I hadn't noticed I'd started crying. I wiped my eyes clear quickly, and laughed again, this time more loudly. "Yeah, they can be."

"Do you want dessert? They've got a lovely chocolate thing. A bit too sweet for me, but I'm certain you'd like it." I grinned, crooked as ever, and nodded. Marcone called the waiter over and ordered it for me.

"Thanks, John." That, of course, was when Thomas marched in, and I realized that I'd completely forgotten that my original purpose here was to figure out what the hell Marcone was planning. Oops. Marcone's face displayed legitimate shock when Thomas strolled over and sunk into the seat beside me, leaned against my arm, separated our hands, and slid Marcone's plate over to him.

"Ooh, steak! Hey, man, thanks for ordering for me." He flashed his bright playboy grin.

"How did you even get in here?" Marcone snarled; low enough that I could hardly hear him. Thomas' grin turned feral and sharp for a split second, before it became harmless and unassuming once more.

"The hostess is real sweet. Told me where you guys were just like that." So my brother had seduced the hostess. Wonderful. I'd probably end up having to deal with the fallout from that. I wondered if she would buy that I was his boyfriend and that he was off the market, after she'd seen me come in with Marcone and, from what I recalled, make kissy faces at him all night. I really am an idiot, sometimes.

"Damn it. This is a private party, Mr. Raith. I didn't invite you." He shrugged.

"I'm pretty. I'm invited anywhere I want to go." He glanced down at my hand and saw something that made him gasp. He plucked the limb up suddenly, and oh, hey, something was there that didn't quite belong. A gold band was settled on my ring finger, starkly different from the silver that adorned my other digits. It was a pretty thing, inlaid with delicate, swirling patterns and an obscenely large, reddish gem. I recalled seeing it on Marcone's pinky, once or twice. "This is his," Thomas said, pointing at Marcone disgustedly, as though he were one of the sun tan lotion demons I'd accidentally loosed on his Hummer about a week before. I nodded.

"Yeah, I'm realizing that now. Stars and Stones, how did you even manage to get this on me without me noticing? And where'd my ring go?" He laughed, and pointed to his napkin, which was held closed by a tiny silver ring. Great. So I'd managed to mistake my own damned ring for a napkin ring for the last god knew how long. I sighed. "What in the world kind of point were you trying to make with this?" He smiled.

"You won't wear my clothes, so I'd hoped you'd wear my ring. It looks pretty on you," he said, reaching out and softly petting the skin around the band. Thomas slapped his hand away.

"Get it off, Harry," he grunted at me. I clutched at my skull. Yeah, okay, this was getting kind of ludicrous, and I'd need to deal with it. I'd do it after dinner, though, because the waiter was coming with my dessert, which appeared to be chocolate piled atop more chocolate, with a nice chocolate drizzle and just a smidge of chocolate on the side. I licked my lips and dug into it. Marcone stared at me like me eating dessert was the most fascinating thing ever. Thomas made me share, and insisted I stop licking my fingers, because he's a bastard sometimes. Marcone still seemed pretty interested in my dessert based escapades. Thomas also made me stop licking my lips, and instead started wiping my mouth with a napkin. I gazed forlornly at all the chocolate being lost, and Marcone wrapped his warm fingers around mine yet again. I noted that I'd yet to make an effort to remove the ring, and an odd thought occurred to me as I stuffed more of the delicious treat into my mouth. I'd had fun, tonight. Marcone had been good conversation. I hadn't been frightened. I'd gotten to bicker, some. I'd bothered a waiter. I'd enjoyed myself. That's strange for me, especially on dinner dates, because those usually devolve into monster fights. Marcone had complimented me, and apparently preferred my company to that of busty blonde models. Stones, I think I was starting to understand Thomas' worry. I was also starting to not care. I gave the man a small smile as I finished my food, and stopped Thomas when he tried to pull me away.

"Look, Thomas, I had fun tonight. I don't know why, but I did. I don't think Marcone is planning anything. I'd sort of like to do this again. It's relaxing, and I don't have to be quite as scared of things murdering me as I usually am, when he's around. Do you think maybe you can stop playing big brother for a while?" Marcone looked entirely too triumphant. I needed to fix that. "Marcone, this doesn't mean anything. If you do anything to my brother, try to take me away from him in any way, I will still kick your ass." Thomas looked triumphant now. Ugh. "Listen, this goes for both of you: stop fighting, or I'll beat you both up. It's getting annoying." They looked like kicked puppies, but they nodded anyway. "Cool. Now apologize to one another." They did so, and both looked like they'd vomit shortly after. Marcone had needed a large gulp of wine to even get the words out. I snickered. "Now, Marcone, I'm leaving with Thomas. I'll keep the ring, I guess. You can keep mine. It might do you some good, and I have more at home. Just remember, it's a one and done deal, until you charge it up. It should be full, right now. I did some work with the heavy bag a few days ago, and I haven't used it since then. Now don't send me anymore presents." I swept out with Thomas just behind me, leaving Marcone gaping as much as Marcone can gape, but it turned quickly to a smile. I wondered just how big the can of worms I'd opened that night was as I entered my apartment, but decided not to worry about it until morning, because Mouse was being all cuddly, and he was warm and cozy, and for once Mister wasn't sleeping on my face. I figured I should take advantage of things like that when they occurred.

Thomas' POV

Shit. Marcone was better than I'd thought, if he could somehow manage to seduce, and apparently propose to, my seemingly celibate baby brother in the span of one dinner. I needed to tear this stupid tree up by the roots, but I was starting to think I wouldn't be able to do it alone. He was my baby brother, mine, and no one was good enough for him. I needed to teach the stupid mobster that lesson. I called Murphy first, then Molly and her parents. The Alphas came next. Finally, after a few minutes debate, I even decided the situation was serious enough to give Lara and Justine a call. After a little more debate, I phoned Harry's mentor, Ebenezer, too. I gave them all the same message, one I'd long practiced giving, ever since the Harry's Protectors club had been formed. I, of course, was the president. Murphy was vice president, obviously, and was the de facto president when I was unavailable for meetings.

"Operation Chastity Belt is a go. The eagless has found an eagle. I repeat, the eagless has found an eagle. We'll meet tomorrow at headquarters, nine o'clock." They all confirmed quickly, and he went to bed plotting which way would be best to kill Marcone; boiling him in hot oil or eviscerating him. Either way, he'd be cutting his balls off first. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, and an image of a tiny ball-less Marcone running around in circles crying while Thomas laughed, a scepter in his hand, a crown on his head, and his dearest little brother at his side, being blanketed by all his guards.