Chapter 5; Harry

Chicago is one of the biggest and most populous cities in the US. Roughly three million people live in this city. Masses of people walk the streets here every day.

Because there's no place to park you're freaking car.

Two miles away, the Blue Beetle sat in a parking lot. Not that I minded the walk, I just hated trolling around in the city hunting a parking spot. I kept a steady pace, my eyes focused forward, as if I held a heavy purpose as I strode down the concrete.

Now generally, I am a pretty agile fighter. I can dodge, jab, parry, so on and so forth. I can run like hell when I need to, mostly because my legs are three feet long. I have run miles down a faerie battleground in the midst of a raging war. I run as exercise as often as I can not to make myself look good, but to be able to escape the various nasties that come my way more often than I would like. Walking isn't usually a difficult task for me, but today I managed to trip on a flat surface, thoroughly ruining my tough guy gait.

Say what you like, though. It takes skill to trip on flat surfaces.

My car wheezed into the driveway, chugging a few times before settling with a very convincing imitation of a senior citizen groaning into a comfy chair. I ambled down my concrete stairs when my shoe made that distinctive ripping sound, like opening Velcro. Normally, that means someone had spilt sugar-saturated soda, and the dry puddle would be adorned with greedy bees that had taken too long in the mess, and were now stuck in the equivalent of one of those sadistic sticky mouse traps.

But my nose said otherwise.

My stomach rolled as the iron-like smell of blood assaulted me. It was in massive puddles outside of my door, and a smudge and a rough handprint on the bricks. I waved my wards aside quickly and ran inside as fast as my stupid broken steel door would let me.

I knew it wasn't Thomas' blood. Thomas may look mostly human, but his blood, rather than a human's dark red, had the pale pink color of the White Court. However, I had many friends who did bleed red, and who might come to me for help if they were. Susan's face hit my mind immediately, then Elaine, an old friend and valuable ally, then Murphy, then Billy, a werewolf whose pack had saved my ass on more than one occasion. More and more faces of people I cared about bombarded my mind for an eternity until my door gave away to reveal…

No one. But the blood that was on my steps was all around my apartment. Drips and a vaguely foot-shaped smudge decorated a spot near the door, then more drips around the apartment. I followed them, somewhat frantically, to a closet, which had been rummaged though, then my bedroom. I opened the door to the cramped room.

My bed looked like a makeshift operating table. There was a sheet thrown haphazardly on top of my covers, soaked through in areas with semi-dry blood. Bandages and their wrappers were spread carelessly across the floor around the side of the bed facing the door.

Thomas. Whoever was hurt, whoever had been here, Thomas had let them in and treated them as best he could. I scanned the room again and found a little bleached skull on my dresser trying really hard to look invisible.

"Oh, Bob," I called with a really transparent attempt at being calm. He remained inanimate for a moment. Then his eye lights turned on slowly.

"Oh. Hi, Harry." His voice had a slight nervous tremor. "Uh, I'm kind of in the middle of a nap. Leave a message after the tone." The lights in the sockets flicked out again.

I picked the skull up and held it in my palm, facing me, and chuckled dangerously. "Oh-ho. This is really not the time to play the smartass game. "

He remained quiet.

"Bob…" the threat was thick in my voice. Before I said anything else, the lights flicked back on again, like miniscule lighter flames.

"Harry," he chided. "There's really no reason to get all worked up…"

"It looks like a massacre in here." I snarled.

"You're acting like this is my fault," Bob started in an affronted tone. Had he arms he would have thrown them back in exasperation. "You always do this. Really, am I just your punching bag?"

"Bob." I covered my face completely with my other hand. He steamrolled over me.

"Is that all I am to you? I am a spirit of intellect, partner to many famous and powerful wizards! I-"

"BOB!" I barked sharply, cutting his distraction rant short with as much force as I could muster.

The little lights looked up at me guiltily.

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath and looked him squarely in the…sockets. I phrased my question as a demand.

"What. Happened."