As soon as they saw me looking, the reporters shouted my name across the street. Repeatedly.

I sighed deeply, realizing they were standing between me and my memorable Blue Beetle, the lovable car's chassis betraying me with the various colors of parts that had been replaced over the years. It wasn't like the reporters would miss a chance for another free interview, was it? I needed to stop telling them things.

I walked towards them determinedly, and hoped at least it'd be quick and painless this time.

"Mr. Dresden!" a dozen voices shouted.

I raised my hands high and slowed as I drew up to the group, and the newbies in front started shouted a bunch of questions I couldn't make out against the others as the group in the back hurriedly started shutting down their equipment. The sound and spotlights some of them were holding blinded me, and I blinked and covered my eyes as a figure moved up and crouched next to me.

"What are you doing?" I asked as the technician started stepping around me, and I saw chalk.

I didn't hesitate, just jumped backwards out of the circle the tech had been drawing. I also tripped backwards and fell on my ass, but my shield was up in an instant.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" I shouted, shoving myself to my feet with my left arm held forward, the dim glow of blue faintly visible in the evening air.

The sound died out instantly, and the tech slowly put his hands up, showing me the rarely-used chalk piece he held. "Just drawing a circle, Mr. Dresden," he said carefully. "You said they help stop you from hurting the equipment. I didn't mean no harm."

I exhaled harshly, then dropped my shield and took a piece of my own chalk out of my duster. I showed it to him, and to anybody else looking, and gave him a little shoo-shoo motion as I stepped forward and to the side, and drew up a perfect circle of my own. I nudged it with my foot, and the barrier of my will shut off the ambient energy of the world and the crowd in an instant. I focused my will, and the barrier shimmered slightly in the evening air. I let it pass, and gestured vaguely to the news crews in the back, who got their equipment turned back on.

"Magic etiquette 101," I said evenly, not bothering to wait for the equipment to do whatever it was doing to get working again. "Don't try to use magic on anybody you don't know without their permission, and don't let anybody you don't know and trust use magic on you without knowing exactly what you're getting into." I pointed down at the chalk circle. "Normally, a drop of blood on a circle like this is enough for anybody, even normal people with no magic, to create a barrier against ambient magic and even some direct attacks, if it comes to that. It can also," I pointed down at the technician, who hadn't moved, "trap some magical beings inside, depending on how well you build it."

The technician scrambled up and back into the crowd. I shook my head.

"Of course, a little circle like this, just whipped up, isn't enough to hold anybody with willpower and a mortal soul. You could just walk across like it wasn't even there, or push a boom mic in my face and get me to blow up all your equipment," I ended pointedly, and noticed a reporter flinch. "'Course," I continued, thinking out loud, "any little magic baddies without one would be trapped, but bigger bads could break through if you're trapping something too big for your britches."

I blinked a few times, remembering where I was. "Sorry, I don't have time for many questions. I'm already late for a meeting, so if you'll please let me get to my car…?"

I knew immediately it wasn't going to work. They didn't surge forward across my circle, but their faces got intent and I braced myself for about a thousand questions I didn't have time for. As the noise grew, I reminded myself that these were the people I wanted to protect, and they were just as lost as any number of people I'd helped over the years, there were just… more of them.

"Mr. Dresden!" a loud voice cut across the others, and the noise died down as she continued, "Who or what attacked you and Mr. Lindquist this evening? Is it a threat to anyone else or did you destroy it?"

"Uh," I stammered, and I looked over and remembered I'd half-crushed a nearby van. "Pretty sure she's alive, possibly or possibly not wearing a stereotypical cultist's black robe. I'm looking into it."

"Mr. Dresden!" A man forced his way to the front, "Are you aware of the headaches magic users are suffering from? What are they and what's causing them?"

"I've had a few, and-" I cut myself off, realizing these people could very easily get the message out to the people. "Alright, actually, I need you guys to spread the word: anybody suffering from a headache like that, rather than a plain old bad-day headache, get them coffee, or a shower, or wake them up even if they're awake. Whatever their morning wake up routine is, do that, or get them a ton of caffeine. I'm looking into what's causing it, and hopefully I'll be able to get it to stop soon."

"Mr. Dresden, is it true you burned down an abandoned warehouse recently?"

"No comment."

"Mr. Dresden!" Another woman wearing a blue parka and thick glasses pushed her way forward, "Is it true that the new Underground Monsters are being killed by the dozen by the magic community?"

"What…?" I asked, stunned. "I- what?!"

"Recent reports from Wisconsin indicate that U.M.s are being targeted and attacked often enough that they've taken to traveling in packs. What stance does the magical community have on this accusation against them?"

"I-I-" I stammered, stepping over my circle and trying to get around the crowd. Cameras were hurriedly shut down as I moved, and some small part of my brain realized they'd have to have trained to respond that quickly. "I have no idea. I hadn't even heard- killed by the dozen?!"

"Is it also true that the magical community is trying to cover up these blatant terrorist attacks against the U.M. community-"

"I have- I don't-"

I'd managed to get around them, and glanced back to see Mouse waiting for me, hair raised, probably sensing my discomfort.

With the reporters shouting questions louder and louder, I took one last wide-eyed look around, then took a step back. A moment later I turned and ran, proverbial tail between my legs, and sprinted for my car.

Mouse jumped into the back seat through the busted window as I threw open my door, jammed the key into the ignition and… waited while the car's engine sputtered.

Sensing weakness, the reporters started towards my car before, miracle of miracles, it gave a guttural turn and growled to life. I threw it in gear and puttered away as fast as the Blue Beetle could go, confident that I could claim being late to the meeting instead of the abject terror I felt at facing the reporting mob as the reason I'd fled.

As I drove towards Mac's bar, I tried to get my heartrate back down, and thanked the Volkswagen manufacturers of old that they'd decided to put the engine in the trunk of the car and farther away from my wizardly panic. The implications of what they'd said was staggering, and I tried to think over the consequences it was going to have.

Declarations of war or outright attacks by organizations are serious business on the magic side of things, but that reporter had it wrong. There is no one "magical community," there are dozens, and whoever's attacking them is either working alone, or they're being picked off. And if they're being picked off by members of any given faction, then the new monsters had a real grievance, and a second war in the magical community… I couldn't imagine what kind of impact that could have on things.

I shook my head. Yet another nightmare to contend with on top of everything. Part of me hoped the reporter was just wrong, but I'm never that lucky.

Even with the glass of my back window splayed about on the back seat of my car, Mouse had somehow managed to make himself comfortable around his minor injury. Good for him. The zen dog didn't let little things like a gun fight or glass shards or a swarm of piranha reporters ruin his evening, and I wasn't going to let a little thing like bruising and a headache ruin mine.

Half a block from Mac's bar, I spotted a figure parting the evening crowds as he walked, and I couldn't decide if I should smile or scowl. I parked outside the underground bar underneath a street lamp and opened the back for Mouse, coughing lightly at a passerby in green who was eying me when the shattered glass fell onto the asphalt. I gave him my best shit-eating grin as I used my duster's sleeve to whisk more of it out of Mouse's seat and into the parking lot. Then the passerby caught sight of the figure parting the sidewalk, and wolf-whistled.

"Thomas," I greeted as the figure strolled up. "How was work?"

He'd changed into something a little more functional, but still flashy enough to catch the attention of any passing women and a few men when augmented by his White Court Vampire powers of seduction (patent pending, I'm sure). He wore a long jacket, grey and sleek compared to my duster's western brown, and a button-up white shirt with what I imagine were some kind of black designer pants. I noticed the handle of his favorite curved blade peaking out of the jacket at his hip.

"Forget work," he looked me over, "you started the fun without me?"

I shook my head. "It's a long story involving reporters and invisible figures screaming."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Only you, Dresden."

I wiped my forehead, then giggled, and it just bubbled up and out into a full blown laugh. I tried to stop, but then I had a picture of floating reporters and zombies floating around screaming like goats in a whirlwind of darkness, and I started laughing harder, bending over and holding my aching sides as the figures morphed into ghosts on horseback, tilting as they just sort of floated off the ground, and I coughed as my back spasmed and my head started pounding like I'd just drank fifty bottles of Mac's finest.

A moment later, my head cleared completely, and I blinked, looking around. I was laying on my side on the sidewalk. Thomas had set a circle around me, his curved blade in one hand and a bloodied finger pressed into the circle. I blinked at him. "You know how to set a circle?"

"Shit," he muttered to himself, standing up and sliding his blade away, "what other remedies were there supposed to be?"

"I'm fine," I said, shaking my head. "It worked. Thank you. You know how to set a circle?"

He shook his head, exasperated. "It's one of the most well-known magical protections in the entire world, Harry. Are you alright?"

I waved him off, and noticed Mouse was sitting patiently at the edge of the circle. I held up one finger to signal him to wait, then pushed it across the boundary, breaking the protective barrier. When my pounding headache didn't return, I nodded. "I'm alright. Damn, I wish I'd thought of that before I ran into those reporters. I'll have to pass it along to Murph at SI to set circles on any headaches that come through before we get this fixed."

Thomas offered me a hand up, and I let him help me to my feet. He scuffed the dot of blood into the ground, fouling it.

"I'll explain inside."

Mac's bar is a staple of Chicago's magical community, and provides a safe haven for anybody looking for the best beer and steak sandwiches in town. There are thirteen columns with old fairy tales etched into them, thirteen circular tables and thirteen lazily spinning ceiling fans strewn around the room, all carefully positioned to dissipate any loose magical energy any emotional wizards might bring in with them. There's also a sign hanging just inside the door before the staircase down into the old building, which reads "Accorded Neutral Territory."

The stairs down are a byproduct of Chicago's status as an ever-sinking city, where the first floors of buildings are built with the knowledge that they're likely to sink ten or fifteen feet down before they settle, with windows built high on the walls and doorways strangely high to enter before the settling starts. The sign, on the other hand, is a more recent addition, likely as a result of the war between the White Council and Red Court. It's a simple rule that no fighting is allowed on the grounds the sign is displayed in, and that if any fights start they must be taken outside.

I tapped the sign as I passed, and noted how full the bar seemed, with a line at the bar itself where Mac was setting out cups of some green liquid. The line quickly emptied as patrons dropped bills on the bar and took cups back to their tables, where groaning at different volumes filled the room with a feeling closer to a hospital than a restaurant. The King I'd been expecting was nowhere to be found.

Mac himself was a simple man, with the kind of stern, fatherly expression you'd expect when he was pretending he didn't know you "borrowed" the family car, and he's somewhere between an old thirty and a young fifty. He's wise, too, like I think all bartenders should be, when he's not keeping to himself.

"Dresden," Mac greeted, sparing a glance as I approached the bar. He finished serving the drinks to the others and wordlessly offered me one of the few glasses remaining.

I eyed it. "What is this?"

"Headache cure," he said simply.

Of course my favorite brewer could swing up a hangover cure, no matter the hangover. I shook my head respectfully and sat down at the bar with Thomas, Mouse sitting nearby. "Just learned sitting in a circle helps it pass. I'm guessing everybody else just had one?"

He nodded, then pointed to the grill.

"Maybe," I said. "Say, you see a seven foot tall white fluffy goat-man-thing come in here? Might have asked about me?"

He paused, then raised an eyebrow.

"We were supposed to meet here. I might still need a table."

"Haven't seen him," Mac said evenly.

"I'll hold off myself for now. Thomas?" I asked my half-brother.

"I'll have a steak and one of Mac's Finest."

Mac glanced down towards Mouse, who whined at me.

"No fries for you," I insisted darkly. "My hazmat suit is at the cleaners and there are other people who need to be able to breathe in the building."

Mac had already poured Thomas a dark liquid I longed for, and turned around to attend his grill.

"So," Thomas said after taking a long drink of happiness-in-a-glass, "What've I missed between breakfast and now?"

It was a long story, but I brought Thomas more or less up to speed. He called me an idiot when I mentioned Murphy, and mentally thumbed through his rolodex of known persons over the cultist-looking girl without coming up with anything over the short description. Finally, he asked to see the map, but I waved him off.

"Outside, maybe. Too many faces I don't recognize in here today."

Thomas shrugged it off and Mac returned to refill his glass; somewhere during the conversation, Thomas had silently been served and had almost finished his steak (apparently he didn't get it in a sandwich, preferring to eat it this time with a fork and knife, the heathen), and I'd caved and gotten Mouse a little bit of steak as well; Mac had already put down a bowl of water for him, because Mac's good people, always looking out for his customers, no matter the form. Having the money Asgore'd paid me with burning a hole in my pocket hadn't agreed with me, and I'd paid the meal already. I was sure that feeling would pass when I saw my bills again.

And still the King hadn't shown up.

"Hey, Mac," I stopped him from leaving after giving Thomas his refill. "You've usually got an ear for these things. Know anything about the headaches?"

He paused, and seemed to think about it for a moment. Finally, he said, "Stronger practitioners, worse headaches. Maybe."

"Yeah, I'm not sure either, but my head just about splits open whenever it happens. Anyway, I appreciate it, Mac."

He turned back to his grill.

Thomas tossed the last bite of his steak to Mouse, who caught it out of the air, and drained his ale. He burped, then set the glass down and stood up. "Outside, then? I want to see the map."

I nodded and we all got up to leave. Up the stairs and outside, I motioned to the circle Thomas had set, and we both stepped inside.

Two figures walked up the sidewalk towards Mac's bar, both in lab coats, one much larger than the other.

A whisper of energy later and the circle rose, and I reached into my coat to get the map as the figures stepped up into a light jog.

Mouse growled, and my heart sank as I realized he was standing outside the circle, and my staff had been left in the car before we'd even entered the bar.

"Hello, Dresden," a young woman's sultry voice offered in greeting, her figure somehow recognizable even though I'd never seen her before, and I took it all in instantly: 5'6, pretty, a little make-up, and those tired, bloodshot and calmly insane eyes that had broken my mind only minutes ago.

Except they hadn't. Had they?

Thomas swore and the curved machete-knife (kukri, I finally remembered, it was called a kukri) was suddenly in his hand, but he didn't cross the circle.

I blinked, confused for a precious few moments as the second figure closed the gap between us in an instant with a huge leap, flesh and clothes tearing away to reveal an elongated face of teeth and too many bones, and my mind finally woke up to the danger we were all in. I drew my arm back and flinched as the ghoul the woman had brought with her crashed face-first into the circle I'd raised just moments ago, teeth gnashing uselessly and claws flashing in dozens of quick slashes against the barrier.

Mouse, behind us, set his paws and tensed, then gave out a massive bark, comparable to a massive whump from a ten-foot subwoofer in a club. Then another. And one more.

The ghoul clapped its hands over its ears, screaming like it was trying to drown out the sound with a cacophony of its own. Behind it, the woman started calling up power of her own, a sort of oozing blackness darkness that she drew in from every shadow in the vicinity, and I focused on holding the circle firm against whatever she might throw at us, hoping against hope that Mouse would be safe outside the circle behind us until we came up with a better plan.

Far behind the necromancer, now that I realized she was one, a glowing cyan wave of lines hurled themselves into the air, and I gasped; I could only watch as the distant arrows raised, high into the air, higher, until finally they arced and started down again.

I concentrated harder, blotting out everything else. Whatever else happened, I would hold the circle.

"What is-" the woman asked, then screamed; the arrows, now close enough for me to realize they were six-foot-tall spears, had crashed harshly into her, skewering her and her ghoul friend bloodlessly. As the other spears landed, each shattered against the ground or my circle and splintered, vanishing a moment later.

But whatever it was, it wasn't enough. Even though the ghoul had slumped against my circle's barrier, the necromancer managed to turn herself, shaking away the spears, and held up a hand as a second volley approached. The darkness oozed up and caught and ate the spears in a small circle around her even as several suddenly turned and shot towards her from all directions rather than just above, and I decided she needed a little extra help getting caught in the next barrage. I elbowed Thomas, and pointed at the ghoul. He nodded.

A quick note about using magic: all the gestures and symbols in the world only matter if you believe they matter. Wands, staffs, whatever else you use, it's only there to help your mind focus the magic more safely and accurately. If you're skilled, you can get away with tossing magic around without them. If you're unskilled, you can just as easily blast out your brain or set yourself on fire. Desperate times...

I broke the circle long before the next spears got close, and I focused on my right fist as Thomas stabbed the ghoul in the gut, the thing finally trying to shake off the spears of power itself. I held my fist tighter, swearing I'd never forget to put my Force Ring on again no matter how dazed I might be leaving the house, and drew deeper than I had before, focusing not only on the power, but also on not shattering every bone in my arm.

"FORZARE!" I shouted, and my arm loosed an unsteady-but-powerful blast of force at the necromancer's back. I bit back against the pain as the energy slammed against the dark energy she'd surrounded herself with, and most of it just sort of… was eaten. The rest did little more than shove her a little bit. She glanced hatefully back at us as I lifted my left arm up and called my shield against the glowing mass of spears, and I felt Mouse push against my legs as Thomas stepped away from the ghoul to my side. The necromancer reached out a hand towards us and pulled, and I felt myself… lose focus.

The air was too thick to breathe through, and the colors around us became muted. I was dimly aware of the hammering against my shield as I pulled my mental defenses up against an entirely different kind of wave, like an ocean of pressure on my head. I fought to remain standing, until Mouse pressed harder against my legs.

He barked one last time, loud as a foghorn, and the sound seemed to cut through the heavy air.

"You escaped death this time, Dresden, but next cycle you're mine!" the Necromancer shouted, leaning down to grab her ghoul by its (his?) leg, and then she swiped her other hand down, ripping a tear in the air, and stepping through it, dragging the ghoul's dead weight after her.

I held my shield against one final storm of spears, then held up my bloody, shaking right hand up to fight against whatever else was attacking us.

No more spears came, and I spotted the source of them immediately. Two figures approached, one in silver holding a blue spear at its side, the other in gold, at least seven feet tall.

"Mr. Dresden," King Asgore said softly, walking into the light I'd parked underneath, his gold plate armor sparkling under his purple cloak. "It is a pleasure to see you again."