There was a painful haze over everything, and I couldn't bring my eyes to focus. I was lying down, and a few moments of agony later I realized my eyes weren't open. I couldn't feel anything, the sensations drowned out by the worst hangover I'd ever experienced.

I tried to move my arms, to push myself up or to move, but I was still paralyzed from the fading empty dreams. My heart started to pound blood into my head, feeling two sizes too big, and I tried to focus some kind of magic together to force myself to move!

It didn't work. I struggled for at least a minute, until finally something gave and I inched over the side of the bed, falling onto the floor.

I blinked, forcing my eyes open. I was still on my bed, head still pounding. I breathed harder, until all at once the sensation passed and I shoved myself into a sitting position. Which, in hindsight, maybe wasn't the best idea.

"Argh…" I winced, cradling my head in my hands. Some small part of my mind pointed out that my mouth didn't taste like crap, so this likely wasn't a hangover caused by alcohol. Still dazed, I stumbled out of bed onto the floor, then up and into my little shower, fumbling with the knobs until the ice cold water shot out of the pipes onto my head. I forced myself to stand there as the sensations faded into numbness, and then a slight pain from the temperature. It didn't matter as much as getting my head clear; I stayed in the shower for a few more minutes until I could think clearly.

I tried to think back to yesterday, but… there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

I took a shuddering breath around the water, spraying onto my face. Further back?

...Nothing.

I glanced at my left hand, swallowing. The angry red and black flesh of my charred left hand, courtesy of a run in with a flamethrower I'd had some time ago trying to take down a black court vampire, refused to move when I tried to wiggle my fingers. A small circle with a vaguely hourglass-shaped symbol in the middle of my palm was uninjured pink flesh from where I'd touched the coin of a fallen angel.

I got out of the shower and toweled off, getting dressed as quickly as my shaking hand could handle, a leather glove over my burned left hand. I stepped into the main room of my basement apartment, and with a whisper of "flickum bicus," candles burst into life, revealing my roommates scattered around the couch. I dropped into a scowl at the scene: Mister, my -cough- year old half-tiger of a cat was licking a dropped beer bottle next to my Tibbetten Foo Mastiff, Mouse, who was lazing out on the couch with my half-brother Thomas' legs draped over him. A beer-stained blanket hung down over the couch's edge, not covering much of anything. I loved my roommates, but the rest of the room reminded me that both love and hate are powerful emotions, and you can get them confused sometimes.

Beer bottles were scattered over my apartment's many hodgepodge rugs, and I muttered bloody murder as I stumbled over them to the room's fireplace, throwing in a few logs and kindling and bringing them to burn with another "flickum bicus." It's a handy little spell for small, controlled flames, and one I've practiced every day given my tendency to blow lightbulbs out within a few days at most if I ever bothered to try using them. That was also the reason for the cold shower; I'm not willing to risk blowing up a water heater and killing my upstairs neighbors for a little comfort in the morning.

I didn't bother picking up any of the bottles as I made my way to the kitchenette in the corner to have breakfast. The dog and cat food bowls had been dumped out, somehow, but there are a thousand other little messes around the room not worth mentioning; I added it to the List. I opened the cupboard and scowled at the expected sight: we still had another six boxes of fruit loops from the last time my cleaning service went shopping and bought literally nothing else. I shut the cupboard and made my way to the ice chest (cooled with real ice!), taking a deep breath before opening it.

I lifted the lid, and fought down an urge to scream.

I'd just bought a case of microbrew from the gods, beer made from not-quite-literal ambrosia at McAnally's Pub, and there wasn't a single bottle left.

So. To summarize. I woke up feeling like hell before my Mickey Mouse alarm clock went off, had a cold shower until my head stopped spinning (barely), and added the mess of my house (and the food bowls) to not having anything worth eating for breakfast. All of that, every single thing, could have passed by and I'd have just been aggravated. But this? This could not stand.

"THOMAS!" I thundered, slamming the ice chest closed. "You drank an entire case of beer and didn't leave a single one for me?!"

My brother lazily opened his eyes, and stretched, rubbing the back of his head, causing his hair to fall gently into place, white muscled chest heaving in a way that might make girls swoon. There's a different kind of hate I have for my brother's ability to wake up looking like he'd just gotten a makeover, but a small part of the back of my mind noted for later reference that alcohol didn't seem to have an effect on the supernatural ability. And it was supernatural.

My brother is half vampire, but not the blood-sucking kind. No, his kind just has sex with you until you die of pleasure, and they eat those emotions as you do. The perks include drawing the eyes of everyone with a libido, giving him supernatural strength and speed, and the inability to touch anyone under the effects of "true love" without suffering from serious pain.

None of that mattered to me as I crossed my arms and tried to ignore my head's renewed ache at shouting. I may not have had an alcoholic hangover, but I sure as hell had some kind of migraine.

"Good morning, Harry. Not feeling fruit loops again this morning?" He snarked, scratching at Mouse's floppy grey ears. I fought the urge to grind my teeth.

"A case of Mac's brew, Thomas. Last I checked, it's corpse is getting licked by Mister on the floor."

Thomas furrowed his brow and looked down at the cat, who looked back without blinking. A moment or two passed in silence, then Mister deemed the situation beneath him and wandered over to my bookshelf on the wall, jumping up it to nap on the well-worn spines. Thomas shrugged it off and stood to stretch some more.

I took a deep breath to rant at him, but the phone rang, and I let it out in a breath. "You're not off the hook," I said, pointing a finger at Thomas, then tripped over a bottle as I tried to answer the old rotary phone, cursing as I managed not to fall to the floor again. Thomas took the opportunity to head past my bedroom to have a shower of his own.

"Good morning, Dresden speaking," I forced through grit teeth, forcing myself to be polite; last time I'd answered the phone pissed off, the recorded soundbyte had made local news.

"Ah, good morning," a deep, possibly-friendly voice responded. "It seems I have only a little time to speak, and am interested in meeting with you directly. You would be paid for your services to teach me as much as you can this morning about the White Council. Are you available?"

I blinked a few times, surprised. Despite the media declaring me 'one of the real ones,' I'd been bouncing between real jobs, short interviews and crank calls enough to pay rent on time this month, but nobody in the know had asked me for anything like that. "I might need some time to compile a report," I stalled, grabbing the notepad and pen I kept next to the phone. "You sure you want to meet this morning? I might not have much ready."

I heard the message relayed to somebody on the other end of the phone, and then, "That would be fine," he responded ponderously. "We can discuss terms, payment, and what we would like to know at this morning's meeting, if you're free."

I shook my head, but asked, "Where and when? For something like this I think somewhere public might be a good start."

"Ah, of course," the voice responded, slightly surprised. "Actually, I was hoping you could join me at the Burger King you prefer to frequent. Are you busy now?"

This felt like a bad idea. But I had to know more, especially if somebody was getting ready to start something in my city. "No. How will I know it's you?"

He chuckled. "I will be the seven foot tall monster wearing a Burger King crown. I look forward to meeting you soon."

He hung up the phone, and I stared at it.

I ran over to the corner of the room and threw a rug out of the way, then lifted the trapdoor to the sub basement and my wizard's laboratory, rushing inside.