A/N: Alright, this chapter was a tough one. This story originally had no plot apart from Harry dying and Thomas being sad, so when I finally decided to make it something more…some of the plot details were a bit fuzzy. This chapter's a little choppy, but I did my best, so please enjoy.

Reviewer Responses:

bluedragon1836: Yes, Harry's death is hard to believe. Perhaps a little too hard? Hmmm…Stick around, you might be surprised.

Thomas' Sword: Thank you so much for you reviews. It made me a lot less depressed that I only have two. Most of the fanfic writers only watch the show or have it centered on stupid weird relationships. I love Thomas' character and Butcher has recently kind of lost face with Thomas' emotions, so I was like hazah, opportunity. I'm flattered that you consider me your favorite DF author and I take your criticism with good grace. You made a good point. I didn't really consider that. Please continue to read and give me nice reviews.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

Against better judgment that didn't belong to me, I was all for going home and crashing, I decided to head to the flat for a few hours to gather supplies before shifting to a safe house I had set up down town. I'd also have to make sure all my contacts were reachable and brought up to speed on the situation. Bob would know all of Harry's current contacts as well as friends or allies I could possibly touch base with who would be willing to help take down Harry's killer.

Sitting on my squishy La-Z-Boy I plunked Bob's skull on a pile of magazines sitting on the coffee table. I didn't really know what to do. Summoning Bob might have very adverse affects on my immediate health. Until I can figure out a solution, I plan to ignore it. Makes less of a problem. Something will probably turn up anyway.

I figured I'd assemble my home arsenal for travel, bringing out my trusty black duffle. I packed my Raith family cavalry sword, M16 5.5mm semi-automatic assault rifle, disassembled .50 caliber sleek sniper AS50, and modified Russian Pernach double action automatic pistol along with cleaning kit and spare ammo. It's a god awful amount to be lugging around, but I'll be carrying my Beretta automatic on me, so at least I won't be defenseless. My vampire enhanced strength and stamina should take care of the rest. My supernatural home kit is pretty lacking, just an emergency pack full of iron nails and wood stakes and a medium sized super soaker filled with holy water. I have a full med pack in the car.

Already at two thirds of the way full I only had enough room for an extra pair of pants, two shirts, my kick ass ninja sneaking outfit, and some carefully wrapped formal wear for the funeral. Done with that, I barely mustered enough strength to kick off my shoes and fall into my bed before giving into the encompassing exhaustion I had been ignoring. Mercifully, I slept deeply and dreamless, undisturbed as the sun fully rose and Lieutenant Karrin Murphy and her partner walked in to her 8:00 morning appointment with SI's supernatural consultant, Harry Dresden.

He was found dead, body indicating he had died at least five hours before. Police found very little evidence of a suspect and the autopsy was passed to Waldo Butters, a personal friend and occasional work colleague to the private investigator.

The News crews had rolled in around 8:22 where the death of Chicago's sole practicing wizard was broadcasted, his interviews on The Larry Fowler Show aired and through the miracle of mass media, world networking, and hackers a copy of Harry's fight with the loup garou was unearthed, making its way back onto television screens and online vids everywhere.

The Wardens moved in precisely at 10:00 once all the commotion died down. Morgan lead the purge of magical objects from Dresden's home and continuing the secrecy of the occult community. Senior Council Member McCoy conducted the investigations and retrieval of the body of the deceased White Council member. A stone faced Ebenezer just dared Morgan to make a celebratory comment. Morgan wisely didn't.

Murphy made sure to call the Carpenters before they were forced to see it on the rampant news reports. Molly was beside herself, now finding herself an apprentice orphan and facing the Doom of Damocles alone. Most likely she'd be sent to some form of Hogwarts version of juvi with no Harry to defend her. Michael had agreed to oversee the services, voice laden with emotion. Little Harry seemed subdued.

A day full and empty at the same time.

-O-

I got out of bed to answer the phone around noon, feeling a lot better. My thoughts a little less scrambled and the initial shock and pain beginning to wear off. I sat cross legged on my bed and leaned over to retrieve the phone from my bedside table.

"Murphy?"

If it wasn't I was probably just going to hang up.

"Thomas, Harry's body is missing from the morgue."

My heart froze for a second.

"Whoever did it left an old fashioned scroll with a pentacle printed in gold. You think it's the work of the killer?" she asked fiercely.

A few of the cords crushing my chest loosened.

"No," I replied calmly, "Wizards take care of their own. Did Butters get his autopsy?"

"Yeah, it's not pretty. Four broken ribs, hairline fracture on the back of his skull, which cause some vascular swelling in his brain. One of the ribs had been pierced a lungs. Extensive kidney damage. Signs of internal bleeding. Lots of bruising. Butters concludes a pretty nasty beating, but he said that Harry would have been able to manage to work through it for several hours before his body gave up on him, which is probably how he got back home himself, explaining the lack of evidence," she sighed tiredly, "How are things on your side?"

"I'll be changing location soon. I'll contact you from there." My answer is clipped and dry, hopefully diverting her from asking anything else, such as my lack in solution on how to deal with the Bob situation.

"Fine," she sounded displeased, "Funeral will be in a few days, six at the most. You know how hard it will be to round up all of Dresden's acquaintances."

"Sure. Thanks again. You should get some sleep Murph."

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

"Why?"

"Only he got to call me that."

She hung up. She was hurting too.

Making my way back to the living room I crouched down in front of the motionless skull, staring in the eyeless sockets. I tapped on it curiously, listening to the sound of hollow ceramic clicking. My finger didn't leave a smudge on the bare white bone. I wonder if Harry ever had to clean it. You would think that these magic things would do that sort of stuff on its own. Maybe that secret cleaning lady Harry had did it. It did seem exceptionally clean.

"What I am supposed to do now?" I asked idly, half wishing someone was there to answer.

"You need only to command the spirit awake to summon it," a feminine voice informed me.

In a feat of inhuman grace I turned my surprised jerk into a nimble half turn to face the woman who had apparated into my flat. This is why I only half-wished someone to answer me because, although stunningly beautiful, the woman was so in a way that all signs pointed to Fae. Well…maybe the crown of delicate white flowers and necklace made out of a moving stream of water was a dead giveaway. Shut up, I just woke up.

I bowed, flourishing my hand in a charming gesture, after all, it wasn't all too surprising women simply appeared into my apartment flat.

"M'lady."

I even turned on a little of my White Court enticement. Faeries were normally a very nasty business and constrained to a lot of old customs and formalities, but very powerful. Without proper summoning, a Fae couldn't even be in the mortal realm, apart from the two Ladies of the Courts and their knights, but this women was definitely neither.

She didn't even bat an eyelash. "Thomas Raith, I presume."

"And obviously not my next lay," I answered flippantly.

"No, though you are a worthy specimen, if of course you weren't an abomination to life," she replied smoothly, her voice betraying no emotion, "I am Titania, Queen of the Summer Court."

My eye gave a noncommittal twitch. Wow. A compliment and an insult from one of the most powerful being of all Faerie. I'm so great. The insult wasn't even so bad. I mean, Summer Court's all about life and I continue to live through other people's life force. I waited for her to elaborate further. She stood in silence. Maybe she was shy? I do that sometimes.

I extended my hands, palm up, a natural sign of non-aggression. "It's okay, take your time," I encouraged.

She blinked. Oh…right, faerie etiquette. Only answering to questions or requests, Fae will then present their offering and name their price. The Fae were ancient, untouched by time or anything mortal. As their customs were old, I could only assume they responded to older speak.

"What are thine intentions of coming…thith--hither to uh, converse avec moi, Titania."

Old speak not my strong point.

"Thomas Raith, je suis ici expiquer les services que to es répartissez comme désigné

ton frérè dans l'événement de la mort."

It was my turn to blink. Okay, my French also not so good. Fake French accent, I could do. You just gotta make it sound pretty.

She looked annoyed. "Il est necèssaire que tu demandes le correct question pour moi repondre."

Correct question? Thank god for cognates.

"Um, what the hell?"

See, nice clean and precise.

"I'll take that as a wish for further elaboration. First, young Raith, it is necessary for you to ask the correct questions for me to answer adequately as my services to you are limited."

"Oh, it's kinda like on I, Robot, where the hologram couldn't help Will Smith, but why exactly did you pick French?" I asked, exasperatedly. Pcht, women.

"The last two words of your question were spoken as such."

"Wait, so if I spoke in a southern accent you would too?"

"No."

"Oh," I felt a little off balance, but I didn't let it show, "How did I come to receive the services of the Summer Court, much less the Summer Queen? I have made no deals with you or your Fae subjects."

"I come on behalf of Harry Dresden, who was a known friend and esquire of the Summer Court," she responded.

Something inside me, something more than the hurt was anger. Hard, consuming anger. Angry that she wouldn't know. That she said his name like she knew him and didn't even know he was gone.

"He's dead," I spat angrily, "How do I know what your real intentions are?"

"My only purpose here is to carry out the specified arrangements made by Mr. Dresden in the event of his death."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"I am bound to service."

"Prove it!" I demanded, "Prove to me that it was Harry who made these deals."

"He was your brother," she answered simply.

The anger dissipated, the sudden rush of fire in my arms and legs disappeared. It left me oddly drained, but my chest still felt warm, my fingertips tingling.

She quirked an eyebrow at my response.

I shook my head. I didn't feel like sharing.

"You're here to carry out his will?"

"Yes, and explain what it entails."

I nod. Though I am not a wizard, I do understand the way things go in the supernatural world. We can unleash some pretty potent stuff when we die. Ghosts, Hellians, and of course, those nasty little wizard Death Curses.

She sat languidly on top the arm of my La-Z-Boy, flicking off perhaps a nonexistent speck of dust on the upholstery.

"To put it simply, Harry left everything he owned to you."

"Great I've inherited an apartment that's going to be watched by cops and Wardens alike, his ghetto-fabulous Beetle, and a crap load of his debts," I said bitterly.

I was not really in the kind of mood to be happy about receiving things my brother held dear while he was alive…except the debts. Not that I wouldn't take of them. I owed him that at least.

"I did not mean just physical things, young one. There are other things a wizard may leave behind."

"What?" I laughed humorlessly, the sound dead and choked, "Did I inherit his magic too?"

"I suppose, in some sense you have. Objects that have close connections with the wizard may have residual power and if someone were to take those things…" she smiled as she trailed off, answer enough for a statement like that, "Hence why your brother chose to utilize my services."

"Indeed," I replied dryly. "Anything else?"

"Among other things, the Temple Dog and the Air Spirit, all of which, apart from the skull, have been delivered to your Eastern safe house. Everything, including those which were magically imbued, have passed fully into your possession. No Warden or even Senior Council member will be able to detect a disturbance with your use of them."

"How did you manage that?" I asked suspiciously.

"The blood you and your brother share can conduct an easily accessible connection."

True ownership. My brother did things right. It makes one wonder just how many things Harry was able to take care of before he met his demise.

"How long ago were these terms made?"

The real question, how long ago did my brother suspect he was going to die.

"Four days, although they were not finalized and put into effect until the day previous," she answered.

Four days ago, Tuesday. I met Meredith on Tuesday, the day he called. Fuck. And finalized yesterday? That could mean any number of possibilities.

"My brother sure was busy before he died," I muttered darkly.

"He did not pass away quickly or easily."

"Really?" I ground out, "And would you be so kind as to tell me how exactly that occurred?"

"I will remind you again that my services are a limited time offer and I coincidently will not answer questions that you might discover on your own," she explained, in my opinion, sounding rather condescending.

It pissed me off. A rage, born of frustration and pain, leapt up to fill the places where my anger had left me. It swelled and burned just below the surface.

"You were there when he died or at least was dying. You could tell me something!"

"That was not a part of our agreement."

"I don't care! I am willing to strike a deal with you for the information. Anything, anything. Give me a name and I might just give you my first born son," I said, my voice steady and not at all hysterical.

"I'm sorry, I can not help you for I was not present to witness the tragedy on which has befallen the wizard. He came to me whole and healthy," she replied remorsefully.

She sounded sincere. I wish she wasn't.

"Thank you for your services," I turned away from her, "Now get out."

There was a whisper of breath, a slight stirring of warm air about the room before she was gone.

I collapsed onto the couch, feeling shaky. The rage, although the immediate feelings were gone, I could still feel it somewhere in the back of my mind, ready and waiting. Tiredly, I turned my attention back to the skull on my coffee table.

Warily, I rapped my knuckles on the smooth frontal bone plate, which would have once protected the frontal lobe from damage. Whap, tap, tap

"Bob? Wake up please."

The skull didn't move.

I tried a more commanding tone and using a name I had heard Harry use only once before I said, "Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon you."

Nothing.

Rather irked by this I grabbed a nearby magazine and rolled it up tightly before thwacking the skull the way one would smack a disobedient dog.

I raised my voice to almost dramatic levels, "As your new master, I order you to reveal yourself to me!"

Not even an orange flicker appeared in the eyeholes.

I switched tactics.

"Bob," I purred, "I've got porn movies."

"Have you got one of those computer things? One that works?" a cultured British accent drifted from behind me, sounding hopeful, "Molly says it's like an endless porn channel without any commercials."

I am really tired of people answering me by coming up from behind. Whatever happened to friendly hello's? Without missing a beat, I swung my body around, ready to backfist the source of the voice into a neat pile onto the floor.

My brain registered a tall man wearing a tasteful suit, complete with a flower patterned vest, before my fist flew to his distinctly shaped jaw and nose. There was a delighted smirk playing about the elder man's face before my knuckles would have connected, but instead passed through like smoke and catching me unbalanced. Reluctant to turn to my Hunger inducing inner demon, I merely twisted my torso and caught myself on the couch.

The being laughed, crossing his arms over his chest in amusement. "Now really, Thomas. I thought you'd recognize me. We have worked together before."

"Well Bob, you've certainly gone through an extreme make-over," I pointed towards his snow white hair, "Nice touch, looks good on you."

He carded his fingers through it, obviously pleased. "Yes, I thought so. I'm quite happy with the results."

"You should be considering the last time I conversed with you, you were a freakin' talking skull and not a distinctly visible person, dressed nicely, and asking for porn sites!" I exclaimed, sounding only partially hysterical.

"A man's not a man--"

"But you aren't a man," I interrupted sternly. "What happened Bob?"

The amusement dissolved from his face, leaving it sober and darkened.

"Are you referring to me or Harry?"

I opened my mouth, but the answer stuck in my throat.

"Just…just you for now."

He nodded, expression reverting back to one of scholarly passivity, one more reminiscent of the expressionless skull he had previously occupied.

"Everyone in the whole wide world, at least one time in their lives, will give away a part of their soul to someone else. Lovers, parents, friends," he directed his gaze towards me, "brothers. All exchange a proportional amount of soul to each other according to the depth of their relationship. Trusted friends maybe a third, lovers most likely more than half. Sometimes it is possible to distribute your soul to things as well as people. Writers, for instance almost always give up a minimal amount of themselves to their works, their personal efforts and time spent going into every word. It's the reason why books feel alive. Pictures too, taken of people in the right kind of moments, real moments that mean something will also hold a little within them."

"Sounds like what Titania said about objects carrying parts of a wizard's magic," I commented.

"Exactly," Bob replied in delight, "In my case I had both."

"My brother shared some of his soul with you?"

He nodded. "I have known Harry since he was ten years old, since he arrived at the DuMorne estate and began his magical tutelage. I have also perhaps been the most consistent influence he has had in his life."

I didn't doubt that. Our mother died when he was born, his father died when he was young, forced to kill the man who gave him a home, girlfriends who never lasted…no, I don't doubt that in Harry's tattered life that one of the things he held dear was a snarky talking encyclopedia.

"Under his mastery I changed. As a spirit I assimilate an attitude compatible to my current owner. Kemmler liked me to look down upon humans, he gave me power. DuMorne only viewed me as a tool, making me boringly efficient, especially at teaching his young apprentice. To Harry though, I was mentor and a friend as well as a colleague, willing sharing a part of his soul with me. Before his death, Harry allowed me tentative access to his remaining energies to create an image for myself."

"So Harry's soul, magic, and personality. I think I can get used to that," I murmured, smiling weakly.

He returned it. "I thought you might."

-O-

Okay, so here I am deep within Undertown, following a grimy creature that belonged somewhere in a sewer. Lead number one according to Bob, the Winter Lady whom Harry visited early last Wednesday. My guide had been leading me down a tunnel held up with stained and dirty pillars until it opened up into a huge cavern, entirely encased in ice as clear as glass. The cold stung at my skin, making it prickle. The place was sparsely furnished. Just a throne, a chandelier lit with blue fire and velvet curtain things randomly hanging about the walls. Maeve was skating about, performing delicate maneuvers Olympic gold medalists would kill to do. At my arrival she began to skate in lazy circles around me.

"Baby Raith, I was wondering when you'd drop by," she cooed, eyeing my like a piece of meat. "Do you like the place?"

It was incredible. I mean, getting the ice to freeze that clear was amazing, especially in order to be able to see the faces of the hundreds of bodies encased within the icy floor. Amazing, simply breathtaking.

"I've come for information on the wizard Dresden who met with you a few days ago," I announced, sliding across her improvised skating rink of horror. I peered into the face of a particularly agonized expression of a young Asian student who was convulsively clutching a large Merck Manual in his hands, stethoscope draped around his pallid neck.

"Enemies of yours?" I asked casually, trying to mask my disgust with scornful disdain, "I'm particularly hopeful they weren't friends."

"No, just those who could not live up to my price," she pointed towards the student, "He wanted to be a doctor to save his sister, but wasn't willing to give up his other patients for clinical trial. She died, he failed, and I punished him."

My gaze swept about Maeve's throne, taking in the naked bodies of women of unprecedented beauty. Their bodies, although incased within the ice, glowed incandescently with ethereal luster. They lay frozen in sensual poses within the floor, their perfect hair glittering faintly.

"Let me guess, eternal beauty?"

She tutted softly, eyes passing from one girl to the next. "To be admired. Such frivolity. Now they can be admired by all who come to my court. You would be an excellent addition little Raith, perhaps frozen within a pillar beside my throne or a place of honor in the ceiling."

"No thank you, I doubt my request is worth as much," I said around my smile.

She stood from her chair and walked towards me, bare feet unbothered by the cold. As she did, I could see the eyes of those trapped turn to watch her. She circled me and I worked hard to appear relaxed. When she touched me, I fought down the urge to shudder and kept my eyes trained on hers. She ran a finger from my jaw to my forearm, leaving a trail of stinging cold in her wake. If I had been mortal I may have been dealing with a bit of frost bite. She brought the finger she had used to touch me into her mouth, swirling it in a scandalously erotic manner.

Although attractive, I had lived with my sisters long enough to be able to divert my attention elsewhere and had been with Justine long enough not to be that interested in the first place. She withdrew her finger with a hint of disappointment.

"There's a stale taste of power in you, but a nice little kick of an after-taste. Something new no doubt," she announced pleasantly.

"I don't suppose you're going to explain much more than that," I said dryly.

"No, I will not."

Figures. Damn faeries. Give disturbing information and let the victim agonize on the meaning. It could mean anything from my excursions with The Hunt, the last heavy feeding I had done on Justine, or just my withdrawal from sexual feeding altogether and my new, weaker methods of feeding over at my salon. Hell, she could be referring to my new cologne. I have no idea.

"Name your price Lady," I prompted again.

She paused thoughtfully. "We are in need of a new Knight."

"How about no, I saw your last one and he definitely did not get to keep his good looks, let alone his health or mind," I replied pointedly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to consider my first offer?"

"Flattering, but I've no interest in being your personal popsicle."

"What about another woman for my collection? One of your past lovers perhaps? I trust you have good taste. One of your sisters would do too."

"What kind of person do you think I am?" I snarled, "I will not become your slave to do your sadistic will without question and I will not sacrifice anyone else to your manic desires."

"You sound just like him," she sneered. "That fool of the wizard had his head so full of ideals that he wasn't smart enough to know when to walk away, to know that he was too weak and powerless to make any sort of difference."

"You didn't know him. You have no idea the things he has done. He was a good person and that's all the difference this miserable world needs," I breathed, my fists clenched convulsively at my sides.

The cold of Winter ebbed away from my skin and conscience. Warmth sunk back into my veins. It did not burn, but soothed. Not anger, passion. Purpose. I came here not knowing what I wanted. Now I know. For him, for Harry and the message he carried.

Her eyes narrowed as she gouged my reaction. "A fool, just as he was. Would you like to see, little Raith, what happens to fools?"

She snapped her fingers, the sound bouncing around the cavern like frenzied footsteps. At her command, two enormous cobalt grey dogs entered the room. Their pelts shined eerily, considering me with the amber eyes of wolves, hidden cunning glittering through the soulless orbs. Between the two of them, they tugged and pushed a rectangular box of some sort, covered in heavy red velvet. Their teeth were bared with the effort, revealing long white fangs and powerful jaws. I wish I had brought Mouse with me.

I didn't want to know what was in the box. It wasn't like on Christmas or your birthday. It was more like on a horror movie and the main character walks down a darkened hallway and at the end there's that single room where you just know something will get him. It's the part where you always think, 'Doesn't he know he's going to die? It's so obvious. Why doesn't he get away while he still can?'

Just like in the movie I knew I was going to find out whether I knew something bad was going to happen or not and if it didn't kill me something equally terrible was bound to happen because here's the kicker, that's how the world works. The only way a story progresses is if you keep moving forward. The only way to know what's behind the door is to open it. The story goes on, around every corner and every bend.

The dogs pulled up to where the Winter Lady stood waiting. With increasing trepidation, Maeve wrapped her fingers around one of the many folds of crimson velvet before yanking it away, letting it fall in heavy pools of fabric upon the floor. The box turned out to be a huge plexi glass tank, similar to the ones magicians use for the water escape trick. There were only a few differences. This tank had no trick lock, only solid walls and a seamless lid that kept it closed. Normally when the curtain came off, the magician's assistant will have escaped the watery prison whole and healthy.

This time, things were a little reversed. The tank was not filled with water or a pretty assistant. In fact, inside the tank was the absolute leastlikely person on Earth. The reason it was so unlikely was because the person peering out at me through the inch thick plastic was no other than my previously confirmed dead brother.

"Harry?" I whispered, disbelief flooding my senses.

He lifted his hand and waved sheepishly. "Hey Thomas."

Dazed, I placed my hand on the glass, fruitlessly seeking the connection I had thought I'd lost. He looked fine, maybe a little pale, but his skin was unmarked and he stood tall, swathed in his customary black leather duster. Every fiber of my being wanted to believe he was there, but impenetrable dread weighed down my heart. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. He died in my arms. The Wardens had left behind a death scroll. Butters had confirmed his causes of death for god's sake! Doubt plagued my thoughts. Oh god, if it was real. Everything could be okay again. I wanted it so badly. To not hurt anymore. To know he was still there for me.

Something of my thoughts must have reflected on my face because my brother placed his hand in the same place as mine from his side of the glass, watching me sadly.

I turned back, voice hardening. "Let him go Maeve."

"And if I don't?" she asked coyly.

"I will submit to whatever terms you lay down."

She clapped her hands together in unrestrained glee. "A game then."

I nodded. "A game it shall be."

"Careful Thomas," Harry warned.

Four more dogs entered the cavern, bringing forth two more tanks, uncovered this time. The first one held a small child, a towheaded boy around seven or eight years old. He was slumped at the bottom of the tank, cheeks flushed with fever. He coughed weakly, undeniably sick. One of the dogs barked and he jumped, curling up into the fetal position. I shot Maeve a look of pure loathing before turning my attention to the last tank. My stomach lurched uncomfortably as I saw the willowy frame of Justine sitting cross legged inside her tank, looking scared.

"Justine!" I cried out, dashing over to her tank, ignoring the growls coming from the dogs at either side.

Catching sight of me, she stood up and beamed, hope restored within her glistening eyes.

I pounded on the glass with manic rage. "Maeve! These aren't terms I am willing to agree to."

She cackled merrily. "Too late for that, don't you think?"

Shit, shit, shit, double frickedy shit. She'd used my brother to slacken my defenses and made me forget to be cautious. Sloppy, unforgivingly sloppy. She slipped in two new variables, decisively dividing my priorities. She was going to hit hard and fast and I had a feeling I knew the game. It was the superhero's dilemma. A choice between an innocent, Louis Lane, or Robin. A choice between trust, love, or obligation. I'm so screwed. See, normally when this happens, something conveniently intervenes before the hero has to choose. In my case, that will most definitely not happen. Superman was an all around good guy. I suck out people's life energies through sex…and occasionally kick puppies. I wasn't going to get any slack.

The boxes were pushed into a line with my brother on the right, Justine in the center, and kid on the left. I stood before the boxes, Maeve at my back, demonic dogs to the sides, and nowhere to go.

I swallowed, "Let's play Maeve."

"Very well. Imagine yourself, if you will, driving along on a stormy night. You pass by a bus stop and you see three people waiting for the bus," she indicated to each box in turn, "There's a stranger who is on the brink of death, the love of your life, and a friend who once saved your life. Which one will you choose, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your car? You could pick up the kid, because he is going to die or you could take the old friend because this would be perfect chance to return the favor. However, you may never be able to find your lover again."

"Did you have to be so literal?" I blurted out in agitation.

She wagged her finger at me. "A game isn't fun unless you have a real sense of urgency, now would it?"

"If the danger's real it's usually not considered a game," shot Justine.

"Silence," Maeve hissed.

Justine flinched.

"Now Raith, you must choose and depending on whether or not your choice pleases me or not I will either only spare the one you choose or spare them all. Oh, and your time limit is," she flicked her wrist, "three and a half minutes."

Water began to fill the tank's interiors at an alarmingly fast rate. The child crawled up onto his hands and knees before bracing himself on the sides of the box to leaver himself upwards. I don't even know his name. If he died today, his mother would never even know what happened to him. Could he even swim? How long could he hold his breath? How long could any of them? Did it really matter? No matter how long they could stave off drowning, I'd still have to choose who'd get to live or die.

I caught my brother's eye, silently pleading for him to tell me what to do. He was strangely calm as if he already knew the outcome. He knew. I shook my head, trying to silently convey my denial, to assure him I wouldn't let that happen. He turned his head, staring stoically at the water already halfway up his calves and steadily rising to his knees.

Justine's frantic movements brought my focus back on her as the water splashed noisily about the tank as she pressed herself against the wall.

"Thomas, listen, just pick the kid. Lara will avenge my death and you know Harry would never want you to pick him over an innocent," tears filled her eyes, expression full of the love they never talked about. She blew a kiss into her hand and stuck it on the glass, leaving streaks of water from the water creeping up her thighs.

My thoughts derailed and spiraled out of control, a pit of despair threatening to swallow me whole. How could I choose? If I chose Justine's plan, Maeve might take it as a sign of weakness of take offence to the threat. If I saved Justine, there might be a chance she'd take it as a savagely selfish decision and be humored into mercy, but if she didn't…I'd be condemning a grade school kid to death who should be at home with his mom, being fed chicken noodle soup until he burst and I'd…

I'd lose Harry all over again and I just couldn't do that. I couldn't survive it a second time.

My palms were sweaty and I knew I was practically trembling on the spot. I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do. No way I could win. Knowing Meave, people were going to die, no matter what my decision was. She'd do it just to spite me. Bitch, crazy evil bitch. Any way you slice it, I was going to lose something important to me, whether it be someone I cared about or my morality.

You know the days you feel powerless against the weight of the world and you don't seem to have the strength to push yourself forward in life? Right now I was being crushed. In fact, I wasn't even giving a fight. I got smushed and now I've got my last minutes of suffering before I finally suffocated.

"You're answer Raith," Meave demanded impatiently.

"Don't bother Maeve," Harry drawled suddenly from his position. He was leaning casually against the wall, hands in the pockets already submerged within the water. His gaze fell lazily from the Winter Lady to Thomas, "Thomas has never been one for thinking games."

It was all so out of place that I was dumbfounded. Then, ever so slowly my thoughts started up again. Games, the word had come up three times now. Maeve was evil, of course she'd treat people's lives like playthings. But for Harry to consider this a game? No, like Justine said, it's no game when you're the one being played. Unless…this was a game. Why else would Maeve waste her time with a story? She could have just told me to choose. Instead she gave me a story, something I could change and manipulate. Harry said a thinking game though, not a logic one. Something simple, I just needed to think.

Think, think, think--the voice in his head sounded kinda like Winnie-the-Pooh--no! Must not be distracted. Think, think, THINK GOD DAMMIT!! Fear me Pooh and my very grownup cursing.

I felt laughter creeping up my throat, unbidden, but not necessarily unwelcome. I let it out in short little bursts, forcing it, along with the suffocating pressure on my chest, to disperse, leaving me feeling wonderfully light and awesome.

Justine looked alarmed. Maeve, somewhat perturbed. Harry had a big smirk plastered on his face. He winked. I winked back. The kid couldn't do much more than tip toe himself above the surface of the water. I gave him a confident thumbs up before facing Maeve.

"You have made your decision, little Raith?"

"I have," my face split into a huge grin, "I'd trust my friend with the keys to my car in order to drive the stranger to the hospital and I'd spend my time waiting for him to return with my true love."

"Seems that there might actually be something behind the pretty face," Maeve said blandly, waving her hand again causing the front walls of the tank to disappear, water gushing outwards and creating slush as it met the frozen ground. The kid tumbled outwards, spluttering weakly. I took a moment to check on him before engulfing Justine in a carefully executed hug, she returned it, equally enthusiastic and careful.

"Good job Thomas," her breath tickled my ear.

I resisted the urge to kiss her. "You had doubts?"

"Maybe a little," she giggled.

"You think you can take care of the kid?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, we got nabbed at the same time. I was running an errand for Lara."

My brows knitted, "Fae can't just steal people."

"He's a changeling," she confirmed, "And my business was with the Winter Courts. Lady Maeve required a payment."

"Lara's still testing the waters?"

She jerked her head slightly. "Some other time."

"Right." Later, always later. Harry showed me that someday there might not be a later.

"Justine!" I called again, "Maybe if you can get away. Perhaps your hair needs a little attention. There's a place I know, real high end. They serve coffee there."

She tilted her head, almost looking over her shoulder, but not quite. "I like coffee."

I pictured her face as she walked off, holding the hand of the little boy. It made me feel better. My heart engulfed in a candy coated bubble, I walked back towards my brother. I did my best to remain cool and collected in order to retain my normal suaveness. I had an image after all. His jaunty half smile was what broke my reserve. I sprinted the last few steps, baring my teeth gamely.

His eyes widened as he realized my intent. "Thomas don't! You'll--mmph--"

His sentence was cut off as I caught him in a spectacular flying tackle, bringing him to the floor in a bone crushing hug.

Only…

There was something…wrong.

I couldn't feel him. He was solid. There was mass and weight, flesh and bone, but there was no warmth, no smell, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath my cheek resting upon his chest, or the stir of air in my hair from his breath. No familiarity, no…life.

Untangling myself, I scooted further away, still sitting on my ass due to my unresponsive legs. He remained lying down where he had fallen, staring unseeingly at the ceiling above us, arms limp at his sides.

"I tried to tell you not to touch me. I knew you wouldn't like it."

Hope is a fickle thing. It isn't powerful. It's made of corroded wood, beaten and worn. It's people who give it power. They give it wood finish and polish, reinforce it with their own efforts. I slapped some paint on it. I picked a nice color, but I didn't invest much more.

I brought my forehead to rest on my knees. I realized his eyes weren't the right color. They were too dark, almost black. It reminded me of the eyes they use for dolls and teddy bears. It felt like forever before I could form words.

"Fail safe?"

He nods and spreads his arms out as if preparing to make a snow angel.

"Doppelgänger," he answers, "Harry's dead then?"

"Yes," I say. "Are you supposed to take his place or something? Are you here to find a way to bring him back?" I have heard of such things. Ways to cheat death. They usually didn't turn out too hot.

"No," he shook his head glumly, "I'm only here to help you."

"How do you intend to do that?" I ask flatly.

"I already have. My only purpose was to aid you during Maeve's game. Harry knew you'd be retracing his steps. He assured you'd have a good enough bargaining chip," he replied.

His answer sparked my interest. "Does that mean there are more of you around?"

"No, but don't be surprised to find help in unexpected places."

Harry's always looking out for me.

He finally gets up, brushing off his jacket in a manner programmed into his being. He offers a hand made to look like someone else's.

"I do have one other task to fulfill."

I take the hand, trying to disregard the empty feeling when as we touched.

"What would that be?"

"To say good job and," he wagged his eyebrows, "give you props for being able to think outside the box."

Yup, Harry is definitely still looking out for me. Him and his stupid jokes. He never really perfected the whole 'brother' thing. I didn't laugh, but it lodged itself somewhere in my severely deflated bubble of happiness, becoming all that much lighter.

He raised a hand in a motionless wave. "I suppose this is goodbye."

I mirrored him. "Say hi to him for me."

He smiled one last time before the details of his face and clothing began to blur and then fall away into a sudden brightness. Little bursts of incandescent blue light scattered wildly before gathering up again into a translucent sphere of pure light. I unconsciously extended my hand to touch it. It felt like sunshine. It responded to me, wrapping around my hand and moving across my skin in whirring little patterns. The faster it moved, the less light it produced. When it dimmed down to the size of a marble, I closed my hand around it, savoring the last bits of comfort it offered. It went out abruptly, taking the pleasant sensation with it. With the warmth gone I noticed an unfamiliar presence on my hand. I pulled it back to examine it, feeling a steady thrum of power.

Wrapped around my wrist was Harry's shield bracelet, its three shields jangling merrily. On two of my fingers rested a large, although not bulky silver ring. The last time I had seen these was when Harry pounded a ghoul's face in with a single punch.

Sometimes Harry's cooler than I tend to admit. Helping hand? Jeeze, it almost feels like he's still around. Thanks Harry.

I take another moment to admire my new bling before redirecting my attention to Maeve, who sat on her throne listlessly, unaffected by all that had happened.

"My information Maeve."

She blew a bit of hair out of her face. "Very well then."

-O-

I trekked back to the car, the distance hardly even making an impression on my conscience. I pushed the unlocking button a little too hard and the device broke. I threw it into a nearby dumpster in disgust. I slammed the car door closed behind me as I sat fuming sullenly.

Bob appeared suddenly in the passenger seat, looking unseemly cheery. "How did go boss?" He spotted my hand resting on the steering wheel. "Hey, I recognize those."

Through gritted teeth I told him the sordid tale. He bobbed his head at certain parts and frowned when I got to the end.

"Hmm, I suspected he was trying to manage a copy when he failed to animate a few things with his conscious," he remarked, deep in thought.

"You knew?!" I screamed in outrage. "I thought I was about to lose my brother all over again! I thought you were supposed to help me."

"As you may recall, I am a wizard's aid Mr. Vampire. Besides, dwelling on the past isn't going to get us very far," he chided, "What's our next lead."

Still fuming I slammed down the offending object on top of the dashboard.

Bob leaned forward to get a better look.

"It's a fortune cookie."

"Yup."

"You went through all that for a fortune cookie?"

"Yup, all that for a fucking fortune cookie."

"Well," Bob cleared his throat, "at least it has an address on the package."

"First we're going to the safehouse," I replied, starting up the car and driving back to the main road

"Why?"

"Need to pick up a few things," I hold out a crumpled piece of paper. "This was attached to the bracelet."

The paper read:

Bring Mouse.

--Harry

P.S. Order the stir fry green beans.

Dammit Harry. I hate Chinese food.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

A/N: Hey did everyone understand the "Hope" and "paint" metaphor I had going? It made sense to me, but I don't know if it quite got across. What about the "thinking outside the box" joke? Did you guys get that? I also hope that the story was explained enough. I'm trying not t give away information that leads to other things so…yeah. Okay, the next chapter might take a bit longer, but I will try getting it up on the weekend. Cheers, and thanks for the reviews you will hopefully bestow upon me.