Whatever crackpot herbalists and lunatic healers Luccio had brought in to treat me, they were good at their job. The bullet wound in my gut felt like it had been acquired months ago, rather than the day before yesterday. Luccio, Morgan and Ramirez had left this morning, which meant that I was free and clear to pick up the various objects I didn't want the Wardens to see. I reclaimed the indomitable Blue Beetle from the police impound, and drove it over to the college.
Everything looked different in the daylight. I wandered over to what I thought was the right building, feeling selfconscious in my ill-fitting clothes. Ugh. I was going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe. Oh, god. I was going to have to buy lingerie. I decided to distract myself from that by finding my little cache of important items. I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and focused my will. I had enchanted my duster myself, it was an item I had a strong personal connection to, and those facts meant I had a pretty solid magical link to it. I sent a pulse of power down that link, hoping to get an indication of where it was.
I'd been expecting a direction or a general area. What I got was a full 3-D image of exactly where my duster was, and where that was in relation to me. I opened my eyes and released the trace. Wow. My thaumaturgy had never been that good before, that clear and precise. On the upside, that was going to make finding things and people – my commercial stock in trade – a hell of a lot easier. On the other hand, it meant my weakened evocation was probably here to stay. Six up and half a dozen down, as Ebenezar would say. I walked around the corner along the building a little, to the rock I'd used to hide my duster, trying to blend into the light but constant traffic of college students. It was behind some bushes, under a layer of branches I had arranged a couple of days ago. I opened it up, and sorted through to check everything was still there. Bob's skull, Kemmler's Handbook of Doom, the fragment of the Erlking's horn. Yay, I'd recovered the objects that would get me executed if the Council ever found out I had them. I consoled myself with the fact that I would be passing the handbook on to someone else shortly.
I struggled off my knees with the duster cradled in my arms, and turned around to see a cop standing behind me.
"Hi," I said. I vaguely recognised the guy; I'd seen him at the station a couple of times. His name started with an R, or possibly a K.
"Good morning, ma'am," he said pleasantly. "I was just wondering if you saw anything unusual in this area on Halloween night?"
"Uh, no," I managed to say. "I was…out of the city that night. At a friend's party."
"I see. Did you misplace your coat?" He asked, still in that pleasant voice.
"Yeah. My, uh, my room-mate hid them. She's kind of a bitch that way." Oh god, I sounded like a ditzy college girl; but that was probably a good thing at the moment.
"Bad luck," the cop said with a smile. "Could I have your name, ma'am? Just for my notes?"
"Sure," I said. "Tessa Archleone." The real Tessa Archleone was a remorseless killer possessed by a fallen angel, and I was pretty sure the police didn't have her in their database.
"And do you live on campus?"
"Uh, no. I live over on Morgan Avenue. Number seventy-four. It's a share house."
"Thank you, ma'am," the cop said with a smile. "Have a nice day."
I'd just got home and stashed everything incriminating in a box in my workshop when someone knocked on my door. I scrambled up the ladder from my basement, barking my shin on steps that seemed much further apart than they had been. Swearing under my breath, I hobbled over to the door and opened it.
"Yes?" I said shortly, blinked. It was Murphy, her arm in a sling and her eyes wide with surprise.
"I'm looking for Harry," she said uncertainly. I realised what this must look like to her, a pretty young woman wearing my clothes answering the door.
"Oh, hell's bells," I muttered. "Come in, Murph. This is going to take some explaining." I stood aside to let her in, but she only glared at me.
"Who are you?" She asked, her good hand creeping under her jacket towards her shoulder holster.
I rubbed my forehead. "Well, it's complicated, but I'm Harry."
"What?"
"It's a long story, involves a necromancer – there's a dinosaur in it as well. Are you really going to make me tell it on the doorstep?"
She stood there thinking for a while, then walked inside. I shut the door and followed her over to sit on the couch.
"Prove you're Harry," she said.
"You've tried to arrest me twice," I said immediately. "The first time was because of that creep Kravos, the second was during that mess with the FBI hexenwolves and the loup-garou. Um, you went to Hawaii for a holiday with Kincaid. You, me and him cleaned out a Black Court nest recently." That was when Mavra had gotten her blackmail photos; which reminded me, I had to hand Kemmler's book over to her tonight. "Good enough?"
"What happened to you?" Murph asked, relaxing a little but not entirely convinced.
"I was fighting a necromancer named Corpsetaker," I said bluntly. "He, or she, was in this body. I shot her in the stomach, and then she switched bodies with me. She was going to backstab the Wardens I was working with, but I managed to let them know and they killed her. Unfortunately, there went my original body." I shrugged awkwardly. "And I got stuck in this one."
Murph stared at me for a long moment as I sat there looking glum. Then she burst out laughing, so hard that her leg jerked and she rolled onto her side slightly.
"This isn't funny," I growled.
Her laughter subsided into occasional giggles. "I know, Harry, it's just…I went on holiday and you turned into a woman?"
"It could only happen to me," I said, and sighed.
Murph wiped her face with both hands and sat up straight, her expression more serious. "So, what are you going to do?"
"The Council have some contacts, they're setting up a new identity for me. My plan was to write a will leaving everything to that identity, and have you witness it."
"New identity?" Murph raised an eyebrow. "Harriet Dresden?"
"Bellona Dresden," I corrected her. "My cousin."
"Huh." Murph sat in silence for a moment. "You have really crappy luck, Harry."
"Don't I know it."
"Have you told Thomas?"
"I haven't seen him since it happened, I think the Wardens spooked him. I'll call him later, break the bad news."
"How are you adjusting?" Murph asked, with sympathy but not pity.
"It's mostly the little things," I said, playing with a loose thread on the couch. "I'm not as tall as I should be. My legs are a different length, so I keep stumbling when I'm going up stairs. And my magic's all different. My thaumaturgy's twice as good as before, but my evocation's useless." I was vaguely aware that my voice had grown raw and angry. "I couldn't even knock over a zombie! It's just, everything's a little bit wrong."
"Hey," said Murph, touching me gently on the shoulder. I noticed she didn't have to reach up to do it. "You're going to get through it. You'll adjust."
"It's going to get worse," I said heavily. I covered her hand with my own. "I'm going to need your help."
"Of course, Harry. Whatever you need."
"Um." I looked away. "I need you to take me shopping. For, um…bras. And things." My cheeks felt warm.
"Harry, I don't know how to tell you this," Murph said seriously, leaning in. "So I'm just going to come out and say it." She paused dramatically. "You look adorable when you blush." We both laughed. It felt better than crying.
Murph and I made tentative plans for both the legal and clothing situations, and she succesfully evaded my questions about what happened to her arm. After she'd gone, I called Thomas' mobile and got his answering service.
"Thomas, this is…well, this is Harry. I got in some trouble while I was trying to stop the spell, which is why I don't sound like myself. Call me. If you can't get hold of me, call Murph and she can explain. See you." I pressed hash at the end of the message, then hung up. I stood by the phone for a moment, feeling the weight of an unfamiliar body. There were things I had to do: explore the changes to my magic, work on rebuilding the apartment's wards, check on Butters, and meet Mavra to hand over the Word of Kemmler.
I did none of those things.
I found a parking spot and trudged into McAnally's pub, weaving my way between the carved pillars to the bar. I could feel every eye in the place on me. As I sat down at the bar, Mac set a beer in front of me.
"On the house, Dresden," he said in his rumbling basso, too quiet for the rest of the room to hear.
I stared at him. "How?"
"You walk the same," he said, and left to turn over a steak. Well. At least Mac wasn't treating me any different.
"Afternoon," someone said beside me. I turned. I vaguely recognised the boy sitting beside me. Sandy hair, pleasant, almost as tall as I…had been. He was smiling at me, and I gave him a cautious nod. "My name's Adam Wester. Are you new in town?"
I frowned at him for a moment. What was he…oh. Oh. I set my beer down on the counter, perhaps a little harder than necessary; Wester flinched. Well, maybe it was an opportunity. I contemplated his fairly attractive face, his strong shoulders, the broad hands he was resting on the bar. Nothing. Not a tingle, not even the faintest wisp of arousal. Good.
I banged my fist on the bar, still ignoring Wester, and turned to face the room.
"Alright, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once," I said, projecting my voice so it carried right to the doorway. The room fell silent. "I am Harry Dresden. You might remember that Halloween this year was a little darker than usual. Well, that was due to a certain necromancer. I had a run-in with them, they switched bodies with me. My old body was destroyed in the fight." Wester blanched, and I decided the charitable thing to do was ignore him. "Also, point of information: I've been made Chicago's resident Warden. So if you get in trouble, I'm here to help. Free of charge, even." I turned back to my beer, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the pub. I didn't want to deal with their reactions.
"So - I guess…" Wester stuttered.
"Scram, kid," I said wearily. He scrammed.
Once it got dark, I checked in with Butters at the morgue. He was recovering well, the damage more psychological than anything else. He kept glancing at the door to the lab, as if expecting something bad to come through at any moment. Understandable. A few nights ago, something had. I left after a few minutes of strained conversation. As I drove to my next appointment, I wondered whether he would recover; whether he would accept the world that he'd been shown. Was it better for him to accept the truth and live in fear, or enter denial and feel safe? Tricky question. For me, at least, ignorance had never been bliss. If Butters asked me about more, I was going to do him the courtesy of telling him what I could.
I arrived at the cemetery, and wandered through the crypts and headstones to my own grave. It stood empty, ready to receive my corpse, should luck and skill ever fail me simultaneously. A tall, dark figure was arranging flowers at the base of the marker. The evening breeze wafted the musky scent of decay into my nostrils, and I shivered. The figure turned and inclined her head slightly.
"Dresden," Mavra said with a small smile. It stretched her skin over he cheekbones, reminding me of an Incan mummy I'd once seen in a museum.
"Here," I said, and pulled the Word of Kemmler from my pocket. I tossed it to her, and she immediately opened it and began to read. I glanced at the flowers she'd brought, and sniffed, catching a familiar scent. I'd once gathered a vaseful for Elaine. "Cornflowers?" I asked Mavra. "You think that's funny?"
"You find humour in life, wizard," Mavra said without raising her eyes. "I must find it in death." She closed the little book, and slipped it away in the folds of her dress. "Our bargain is concluded."
"No," I told her. "I need to be clear. You come at me through Murph again – through any of my friends – and I'll come after you. I'll track you, I'll hound you wherever you go, and I'll kill you."
"You think very highly of yourself, wizard," Mavra said, and chuckled. It sounded odd, more of a gurgling rattle.
"I know what I can do," I said to her. "I can tell the Queen of Air and Darkness that I'll be the Winter Knight – she's already asked me a couple of times, and she's holding the job open for me. I can get power from one of the Fallen, one that's already tripping over herself to help me out. I've read that book I just gave you, I know how to pull you apart with necromancy from halfway across the planet. There's really not much I can't do. It's what I won't do that matters. So you won't be touching my friends again."
Mavra wasn't laughing any more. She inclined her head, and started to turn away.
"Say it," I snarled, my warm cheerleader's voice turned cold and harsh. "Tell me what you won't be doing."
Mavra inclined her head, almost a bow. "I will not touch your friends. Any further quarrels are with you only, wizard." Her voice was tight with rage, but I didn't care.
"Good. Now get out of my town." She faded away, either raising a veil or pulling that turning-into-mist Dracula crap. Whatever. I went home.
The next morning I got up early, fed and watered Mouse and Mister, and checked Bob's skull. He was still gone. I climbed back up the ladder and went to have a shower. Murph was taking me shopping later. I stripped down, and spent a few minutes staring into the cracked hand-mirror propped above my washstand. It was surreal. I kept expecting the image to stay still when I moved; it didn't feel like my reflection. I ran a hand down my side, feeling the curve of my hip and the smooth length of my thigh. I jumped up and down, my breasts moving awkwardly. They weren't large enough for the motion to be painful, but I was going to have to look into sports bras. I cupped a breast in one hand, and ran my fingers over the nipple.
Wow. Okay. Well, that was something to look into later. I got into the shower, for once thankful that it was cold.
It need not be, a voice said in my ear. The water suddenly felt hot, the perfect temperature that you never quite get in a shower. I could feel a body pressing against my back, breasts against my shoulder blades and a chin resting in the hollow of my neck. A hand curled against my stomach, and stroked there in small circles. I shivered. Tingles ran up and down my body, heat pooled in my abdomen, and I couldn't help arching my back. It was a different kind of arousal, a slowly building tension rather than an insistent ache.
"Enough," I managed to gasp. "Get out."
Where is the harm in pleasure, my host? Lasciel cooed in my ear.
"I said, get out." I concentrated on pushing her away, walling her out of my conscious mind. The illusion of her body against mine disappeared, as did the hot water.
"Yeah," I said to myself under the ice-cold spray, alone and still tense with desire in unfamiliar places. "That's better."
I was flicking through the shirts in my limited wardrobe when someone knocked at the door. I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that might stay on, and went to answer the door. I turned the handle, and yanked at the door; Grevane's zombies had deformed it, and it was partially stuck in the frame. I took a deep breath, set my feet, and pulled at the door again.
"Need to get that fixed," I told myself, and looked up. Thomas was standing on my doorstep, not Murphy. He was staring at me in shock. "I guess you didn't call Murph," I said, stepping aside to let him in.
"I did," he said slowly, not moving from the doorstep. "But I didn't believe her. Empty night, Harry, you're…"
"A girl, yes," I said sharply, turning away from the door and going to sit down on the couch. Thomas followed, leaning over me on the couch and staring down. "You're not scared of cooties, are you?"
"It's not that," he said slowly. "It's just…Harry, you're short."
"Yeah, rub it in," I grumbled.
"That's really the only change," Thomas said, dropping onto the couch next to me and patting me on the shoulder. "Same scowl, same tragic lack of fashion sense. Everyone's going to look at you and say, 'Harry Dresden, did you stop wearing platforms? Did you dye your hair? I know something's different!'"
"I get a makeover, and all you can do is insult me," I said, and sniffed. "You're an awful brother."
"Okay, that was just creepy," Thomas said, removing his hand. "Stop acting like a girl, Harry."
"I don't exactly have a choice," I snapped.
"True." Thomas scratched his chin. "I wish…I'm sorry I wasn't there to back you up. I just couldn't get there."
"Not your fault. Besides, Captain Luccio's already looking at me funny. God knows what she'd think if she saw you."
"Yeah," Thomas said, and drank some more of his beer.
"Hey. Get me one of those."
We drank beer together until Murphy showed up.
"I told you," she said to Thomas.
"I had to see it for myself," he replied. "But it's not all bad."
"Yeah?" I asked from the couch.
"You might have a better shot with the ladies, now," Thomas said with a grin. "I've got contacts, I can get you into the right clubs."
"Can we cancel the transgender comedy routine?" I asked my brother.
"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."
"Are you two done with the fratricidal banter?" Murphy said, eyebrows raised.
"Is it still fratricide? I mean, he's not technically my brother anymore," Thomas said thoughtfully.
"Let's go," I said to Murphy, grabbing my backpack. "Before I get Old Testament on my brother's ass."
"Twelve plagues?" Murph asked curiously.
"I was thinking Cain, but sure."
Thomas saluted me with his second bottle of beer. "You girls have fun. I'm going to crash." He lay down on the couch; Mouse came over to rest his head on Thomas's stomach.
"Be back later," I said, and Thomas briefly raised an arm to wave goodbye.
The next three hours were excruciating. Murph and I sat in a Starbucks once the ordeal was over; she drank a mocha, and I tried to blot the memories out with a large milkshake. Once I had steadied my nerves, I started conversation again.
"I need your advice, Murph."
"Harry, I just spent the morning giving you advice on subjects I never thought we'd discuss."
"Bellona," I reminded her. "And I owe you for that, ower you huge, owe you more than I could possibly repay in a lifetime."
"Yes, you do," Murph said seriously. She looked tired, more mentally drained than anything else; I'd asked a lot of dumb questions. "What's your question?"
I looked around the Starbucks, and leaned forward. "It's about my…equipment."
Murph's face went totally blank, save for a faint blush. "Oh.
"Yeah. The recoil on the .44's enough to almost break my wrist now; I'm never going to hit anything with the second shot. So I was hoping you could recommend something."
"There's a gunsmith I know. I'll drop by his store on Monday."
"Thanks." I slurped the last of my milkshake, Murph drained her mocha, and we loaded the shopping into her Saturn. I was now the proud owner of two pairs of jeans, a pair of slacks, sensible button-up tops in a variety of colours, enough underwear to get me through a week, and a new leather jacket that Murph had insisted on paying for, now that my duster didn't fit me. I was all set up for life as a girl.
Yay.
*
Sort of a meandering, pointless chapter; all set-up, no punchline. Still, necessary for later on. Lasciel would not normally be as overt as she is here, but with Harry in an unfamiliar body she figured she had a shot at physically seducing him, which would have been a bit asset in eventually convincing him to take up the coin.
In folklore, cornflowers symbolise either young love, or the arrival of something new.
Also: If anyone has any idea what's up with FFN's formatting in my stories, can you tell me? I'm uploading from Word 2003, and have no idea why everything's so spaced out.