"HARRY DRESDEN - WIZARD," Alexandria's eye flickered over the plaque. The faintest trace of amusement welled up inside her. The sheer audacity contained in the simple plaque reminded her of another self-proclaimed wizard.
For just a second, Alexandria spared a moment of thought for Myrddin, the wizard of her Earth's Chicago. Myrddin was an effective hero and for that alone, he had her respect. There were few that she dealt with as equals. It was a bad habit of hers that had nonetheless proven useful. An easy dehumanization. To view others as machines to be manipulated to achieve a particular outcome.
Put an input in, words, gestures, an inclination of the head at the right time in approval and they would dance to her direction. All her professional second life had been spent manipulating others, bending them to her will, or really Cauldron's will. Alexandria mused, considering, it was actually a very unhealthy mindset. Back when she still spared a moment for a therapist, she had been warned against it. Eventually, she had no more time for therapists and that had perhaps led her to her current state.
All puppets on strings. In that way, she was similar to Contessa or sometimes acted as if she was Contessa. However, even she danced to another's tune, while Contessa had none.
A poor man's Contessa. All her skill at reading others had been the result of perfect memory of tells and expressions honed over hundreds of interactions. It was why she wanted to name herself The Library of Alexandria when her actual public debut came around rather than anything else. That choice had actually been vetoed by Contessa, who dropped in out of the blue and suggested just Alexandria. Alexandria had felt annoyance then, over such a petty acquiescence in the name of the greater good.
Of course, it was for the better, and Alexandria could see the value in keeping a name that would both obscure her capabilities from the public consciousness and occlude what she considered her real power. The thinker power rather than the brute. It also made her more personable, after all, Alexandria was the name of a person. The Library of Alexandria was an ideal, a monument to all knowledge. A monument to lost knowledge.
In the darkest depths of her mind, Alexandria wondered when her burning would come and at this time she also wondered if it had already arrived.
Myrddin had been unique because he had power. He wasn't just another chess piece on the infinite board of reality. She had been forced to interact enough with him that he had seemed human to her. One of her circle of acquaintances that she was sometimes honest with.
For all that, she could barely muster up anything greater than nostalgia for his death. So many friends or those she hoped could be something more had been either wrested from the mortal coil before she could act upon her impulses or had to be forgotten. Twice she had been tempted to lead a life within her second life. To divorce her life just a little from the endless monotony of saving the world. Twice she had wanted to
One of those times ended in black and white. She had never said so, but in the darkest reaches of her mind, she wondered. She had confronted Contessa about it, had it been deliberate? A way to keep her on the narrow path to victory. Was it actually necessary? Contessa was one she could never read. A smile of reassurance upon a puppet face.
That was long ago, even if the memory could be recalled with a crystalline clarity. Myrddin's name was not Harry Dresden and Harry Dresden was not Myrddin.
All these thoughts, the lengthy introspection, barely a moment had passed. The confluence of memory is a diversion of a mere second. A fly buzzed in a nearby windowsill, between bumps against the frosted storm glass.
Alexandria tilted her head, listening. Paper shuffled inside the office, a man muttered something unintelligible but if Alexandria had to guess it would be something along the lines of "Damn fairies."
A single black brow raised just a millimeter, just a millimeter enough to give expression to Alexandria's intrigue. She could smell black mold and must, paper and carpet molding, barely obscured by the acidic scent of burned coffee.
Sharply, she rapped on the door. The illusion that Baines had gifted her with lingered, cool against her own cold skin. She didn't even spare a moment of worrying whether the illusion would hold, or how long it would hold. Of course, if it failed it would be inconvenient, but propriety really didn't matter.
Baines wasn't with her, he had seemed oddly reluctant to accompany her up to Harry Dresden's office on the fifth floor. He had elected to remain with the thralls, weaving an illusion to obscure them from sight back down in the office building's small lobby. Alexandria had almost pointed out the holes in his illusion herself but found she didn't need too. A pointed look at his issues was enough for him to notice and weave corrections.
So, she was by herself, knocking on the door of a wizard while clad in nothing but abnormal light. A small part, a very small part, whispered that it was fitting for this world. It was amusing at the very least, even Alexandria's long atrophied sense of humor could still express a glimmer.
"I'm not in," A deep male voice called from inside.
Alexandria could tell many things about someone from their voice. This man, presumably Harry Dresden was extremely tired. However, he was also alert, the tone seemed to indicate he had either experienced a very big shock recently or was in some amount of pain. The stilted, almost absent-minded but not quite far enough for that seemed to indicate.
"Wizard Dresden," she raised her voice, just enough to be heard through the door, but not high enough that it would carry to the consulting firm's door down the hallway.
"Go away," Dresden replied, sounding quite out of sorts, "I don't need any business!"
"Warden Baines claimed you were part of the White Council," Alexandria continued, feeling just the faintest traces of an amused smirk develop on her face. I rather think you might need business, she thought, at least based on just the smells and the sound of all the rustling.
Something smashed inside the room, it sounded like a coffee mug.
"Baines?" Dresden murmured, "I don't know any Baines."
Heavy steps approached the door and threw it open with a bit more force than necessary. The glass on the door cracked, a thin spider web of lines spreading out from the middle where it appeared to have hit a filing cabinet behind it, based on the shadow through the frosted glass.
Dresden grimaced. Alexandria held back a grimace of her own, taking in the man in front of her. The first thing she noticed was that he was very tall, much taller than Myrddin. Also, he stank, to say the least, old body odor. The smell of fast food, probably a burger chain hung around him like a shroud.
Stubble covered his face and his eyes were bloodshot. Dark shadows under his eyes made him look like he had just been in a fight and the blood bandage around his hand did nothing to quell that notion.
Alexandria's thought process could be summed up in a few words, "You're Harry Dresden?"
Dresden looked at her for a moment, eyes flickered over her one eye quickly, taking in the missing socket for a moment but not meeting her intact eye and then down, taking in the expensive-looking illusion of a suit.
"No," He said, in a tone that said he really didn't want to deal with whatever this was, "One in one day is enough."
He tried to slam the door in her face, and Alexandria of course did what she usually did when met with that kind of response, shoved her leg in between the door and door jamb. The door splintered around her leg, the composite coming apart into multiple pieces. The glass on top of the door shattered, sending shards flying into the carpet.
Dresden paused for a moment, still holding the doorknob and just stared, taking in the destruction.
His eyes flickered back to her, seemed to evaluate her again. New caution and wariness glittered behind his suddenly intent gaze. A moment later he seemed to notice something and he stepped back from the door, finally releasing the doorknob. The door, in turn, tottered backward and fell against the filing cabinet with another crash.
"Why are you naked?" he asked her, seeming more worried about the dissipated illusion then the ruined door.
Alexandria, the stalwart defender of humanity, most pointedly did not glance down to check whether the illusion Baines had graced her with earlier had failed. It was not necessary since even if the illusion still persisted its effectiveness was rendered moot by the fact that Dresden could see through it.
"It happens sometimes," she replied, face remarkably expressionless, "I've gotten used to it."
Dresden blinked and lifted his eyes away from his ogling, "You need to work on your veils, lady, if you're going to be running around in the buff."
Alexandria narrowed her eye, scanning his face for a moment as he stepped back and away from her. His hand was clenched around a long narrow stick. A wand, perhaps, or maybe it was just a nicely carved stick.
Veils. There was a more formal name for illusions then. A more formal name also suggested it was widespread enough to need a more unique name than just simply an illusion. Either it indicated a deeper history or a more formal organization behind everything. Or, Alexandria supposed, it could just be a coincidence.
She inclined her head in something that might be agreement if Dresden saw fit to interpret it that way. It also allowed her a quick glance down, the illusion was still there, but it flickered now, obviously unstable.
"You're a member of the White Council," Alexandria stated, almost daring Dresden to deny it.
"Yesss," Dresden replied, looking extremely wary, "I'm sorry, who are you supposed to be?"
His general countenance just screamed that he was an absolute maniac. The crazed look in his eyes combined with his grizzled unwashed face and grimace, really made Alexandria confident that this was a stable person. Not.
"Alexandria," Alexandria introduced herself curtly. For a moment she was tempted to introduce herself as the Library of Alexandria again, but Dresden really didn't seem like somebody that would understand or appreciate the subtlety of her favored moniker.
"Warden Baines is waiting below with thirteen Red Court thralls," Alexandria explained succinctly.
"Warden-?" Dresden murmured and then the rest of her words caught up with him and his eyes seemed to smolder.
"Red Court thralls?" he hissed dangerously.
Pop!
The dim light bulb in the hallway behind her popped, the glass raining down, fragments bouncing off her naked back. She was suddenly grateful that her pixie had seemed content to wait and keep watch over the thralls. Dresden seemed just a little volatile.
"I liberated them in the depths of Winter," Alexandria explained since the taut tension that had caught Dresden under its influence seemed to stem from her earlier explanation.
Dresden paused then, suspicion still lingering behind his gaze. She attempted to meet his eyes again, but he wouldn't grant her that, instead his eyes flickered between her chin and the bridge of her nose.
"All right, Mad-eye," Dresden replied with a hint of satisfaction over something. Alexandria couldn't help but think, as irritation flooded through her, that it was because he had decided on a fitting nickname for her. The irritation stemmed from the fact that this new name stemmed from her one imperfection. Of course, enemies had tried to get a rise out of her by invoking her injury before and how it marred her physical perfection.
However, usually, she had a ready outlet for irritation in those cases. Here, Dresden was at least nominally an ally, and that was annoying.
"If I wanted to be named after someone from Harry Potter," she said, "I would have indicated so. My given moniker is Alexandria and I suggest you use it."
Dresden raised an eyebrow at her words and seemed to consider them for a moment, before dismissing the issue entirely, "You're not with the White Council, are you?"
"Not entirely," Alexandria agreed, stepping into his office, or rather stepping into his office with a step that never landed. Instead, she floated in place, gaining height until she was about level with his head.
His eyes flickered to the floor and her feet which were in thin air, illusionary shoes, and all. Something pulsed in a vein behind his brow and he moved back.
"But you're doing their dirty work?" He said, groping for something behind his desk, all the while not taking his gaze off her. She spared a glance toward his desk, taking in the deep notch, splattered with blood in the wood surface. In turn, he risked a brief glance down, realized what she was looking at, and denied it.
"Nothing to worry about, just ketchup," he made a funny face as he said it, and Alexandria had her doubts about the veracity of that claim.
"At the current moment, the White Council has my favor," Alexandria chose to reply to his previous query instead of deigning to reply to his ketchup assertion. She had her doubts.
"I see," Dresden noted in a voice that sounded half-strangled. He seemed to steel himself and regained some spine. Whatever had occurred previously in his office had left him extremely rattled. Alexandria doubted, based on his demeanor, that he was nearly as passive as he was now usually.
"What exactly are you doing here?" Dresden paused for a split second as if he was debating whether to tack something on. He did in any way, "Lexy."
Alexandria only restrained her eyebrow tic by the adamantine control she had over her own body and expressions. As it was, she waited a moment and then raised an eyebrow, schooling her expression into a look of absolute disapproval.
Dresden seemed amused, even if he was still on guard.
"As I said," Alexandria repeated, "Warden Baines, of your White Council, indicated you could be of assistance to both of us."
"Why exactly did he come here when the White Council is in town?" Dresden questioned, his tone dark with glimmerings of suspicion entwined within his words.
Alexandria did not indicate her surprise. It appeared she might meet the White Council sooner than anticipated.
Dresden removed his hand from behind his desk and tossed something small and dark at her chest. Within a split second, her eye focused on the object as the world seemed to move in slow motion as her thoughts accelerated. There was a dull crack, akin to the sound of a whip through the air, as her arm darted forward and plucked the nail from the air.
It was iron, its dull appearance, speckled with just the barest hint of rust an indication of its lowly stature. It was a cheap nail, barely worth the cost of its production. She crushed it in her hand, letting the deformed powder fall from in between her fingers to the musty carpet below.