Chapter 2

A/N: I do not own The Dresden Files. It is the property of Jim Butcher. I am not Jim Butcher.

This is a creative work that I do not profit off of in any way.

Ivy was waiting for me outside, standing next to an old-fashioned Volkswagen Bug, painted pale blue. I used to have a Volkswagen Bug. It was easy to find parts for when the car was broken. Which it had been…a lot. The Blue Beetle–which, ironically enough, had rarely been blue, since its pieces came from so many differently colored cars–had been an awesome car, but it had also been a rather cheap car. Ivy was wealthy enough to afford any car she could want–why stick with a Beetle?

"My feet reach the pedals," Ivy said sharply, as if she'd been reading my mind–which, for her sake, I hope she hadn't been, since that's a violation of the Laws of Magic. "That's why I have this car."

"No driver?" I asked. I paused. That was…odd. Way odd. The first time I had met Ivy, she'd been chauffeured by a man named Kincaid. Kincaid was the toughest marksman I'd ever met–I wasn't exactly sure what he was, but he wasn't fully human. I had worked with Kincaid a few times, but by and large, he had worked for Ivy. I hadn't seen him in years–though if Ivy was old enough that she could drive herself wherever she needed to go, I guess it made sense that Kincaid wasn't around anymore.

"Look, Ivy," I said. "We're going to have to work together. So, I'll be blunt–lose the bad attitude. I don't like it and it doesn't suit you at all."

Ivy clenched her jaw. She stared at me and for a moment, I thought she might start crying, but then she let go a breath I hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"My car is less conspicuous than what Mab's provided for you," Ivy said. "If it is necessary for us to work together, it would be more economically sound for us to use just one vehicle."

She got into the driver's seat, and I squeezed in on the passenger side. I had forgotten what a tight squeeze these cars could be—my staff pressed uncomfortably against my legs. I glanced back at the car Mab had granted me to use–it was much larger and sturdier than this Beetle. The Munstermobile had seen its share of fights too–I was actually on my third car (long story). Ivy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. She chewed her lip nervously–I'd seen that same look on Molly's face when her parents had taught her how to drive…I resisted the urge to shudder.

"Need me to drive, Ivy?" I asked.

"It's fine," Ivy said. "We have dawdled long enough. Please be quiet, I do not allow others to talk while I'm driving."

I opened my mouth to reply, but I wasn't really sure how to reply to that. Ivy pulled the little car out of the parking lot and onto the street and so we drove. It was odd enough to see Ivy as someone old enough to drive, but it was odder that we didn't hit a single red light the entire way to the hotel where the conference was being held.

Conventions and conferences were hardly unusual in Chicago–even after the Battle of Chicago where so many died and so many more fled the region, the population was over two million in the city itself. The surrounding region added millions more. Chicago was a crowded city and it probably would always be that way.

I really, really, really hoped it would always be that way.

As it was, there hadn't been much in the way of conventions in the last year. Chicago had been put under martial law immediately following the Battle–the government had blamed it on terrorism and chemical weapons and weaponized hallucinogens and it had taken months before the government had allowed most of the National Guard to leave the area. It had made a lot of our work a lot harder than it might have otherwise been.

There was a single sign that read "SPLATTERCON!" on the path leading up to the hotel. But instead of bright-red letters, the print was in a vivid green. I wondered if whoever had made the sign had been color-blind–Maggie had a school report on colors and how the eye worked a few months ago.

The lobby wasn't particularly crowded–a few grown-ups in sweater-vests or pastel blouses, a few closer to Ivy's age, dressed mostly in t-shirts and jeans. Ivy, for her part, was dressed immaculately–a starched blouse so white, it was nearly unnatural; a suit jacket custom tailored–I wasn't sure the brand-name, but it was more expensive than all of the clothes I owned put together; a skirt that reached her knees, stiffly pressed, and three-inch high heels.

It didn't look the least bit comfortable, but it did make her look professional. By contrast, I was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, my trusty duster and I had brought my staff with me. If need be, I'd say it was my walking stick. Ivy walked up to the receptionist, her heels clicking against the lobby floor. The receptionist smiled at her–even with her fancy clothes and an expensive haircut, there was only so much Ivy could do to look older and she was still darling.

"May I help you?"

"Good morning," Ivy said, her voice almost void of emotion. "My colleague and I will require a room with two beds. We'll be staying here for the next week."

I stiffened–I really wasn't fond of the idea of having to stay here for a full week, especially if our mission could be done earlier than that. But what was worse was the way the receptionist's eyes narrowed as she looked from Ivy to me and then back again. Ivy was about nineteen...I think…I resisted the urge to count on my fingers to make sure. She'd been seven before Maggie was born and my daughter had turned eleven months ago…

Why do kids have to grow up? Why can't they stay small until parents give them permission to grow up? Of course, if I had my way, Maggie wouldn't ever be allowed to grow up. It'd be just like a cartoon, where she could have adventures with her dog forever.

Ivy was technically a grown-up, even if I really didn't like it, and I had been a grown-up pretty much since she'd been born. That was…more than a little frightening. The receptionist looked back at me and frowned.

"Miss," the receptionist said, not taking her eyes off me. "I should let you know that there are…certain conditions…are you quite sure that you want a room?"

"I can afford it," Ivy said. "It is not an issue of cost and I assure you, I'm well aware of your bylaws. My colleague and I are here for strictly business reasons. I'm also aware that it is within the hotel's bylaws that there is absolutely no smoking by hotel personnel to be permitted, whether tobacco or hemp."

I squinted, and sure enough, there was a small bulge in the receptionist's pocket. Ivy's jaw set and the receptionist's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Very well," the receptionist said. "Don't come crying to me when it turns out your daddy issues come back to bite you."

Wait, what was that supposed to mean? Ivy's hands curled into fists and I placed a hand on her shoulder–well, given that I'm so much bigger than she is, my hand pretty much covered her entire collarbone.

"Thank you," I said, as the receptionist handed Ivy the door key. It was an actual key–that was a good thing. Those card keys don't work for me. It's part of being a wizard–me and modern technology don't mix. Vehicles can be hit or miss. I used wood to cook my food for a long, long time, instead of electric ovens. Credit cards last me an hour at the very, very most. Ivy's magic is a bit different–if she weren't the Archive, I don't think she'd have magic, period. But nothing beat good ol' fashioned metal for keys.

I followed Ivy up twelve flights of stairs–the receptionist was mean, giving us a key on the top floor–and then to the very end of the hallway. Ivy opened the door and walked in, I had to duck my head to get through.

What does it say that every single hotel room is more or less the same set up? Two beds, two lamps, two side tables with drawers. A larger table next to the windows–a decent view of the city–but nothing special. Ivy sat on the edge of her bed, staring straight ahead and yet at nothing in particular.

"So…" I said. "We wait for the conferences to begin? Wait until the Librarians show up with their super-secret files that we need to grab? Can't you just recite those anyhow?"

"No, that is not something I am just able to do, Mr. Dresden."

I took a seat at the table–it would have been too small to be a practical dining room table, but it could do for two people who were looking out the window. Perfect for spying. Or sitting and staring and being bored. I wasn't beyond staking out and waiting for something or someone to show up–I was actually pretty good at it–but there was a matter of scope. I usually worked cases like that solo. I didn't have a partner, much less the sum of all human knowledge.

Sum of all human knowledge, but she couldn't just blab about what the Librarians were planning. Tremendous power came with tremendous constraints. I have power and my hands can be tied to actually use it depending on the circumstance–if I enter a house without being asked, for instance. The Archive had power–she had power in spades. I'd see her toss a sphere of mordite–which is about the scariest thing in the world, since it doesn't come from this world–around like a soccer ball, without even touching it. And that was back when she was seven years old. When she was twelve, she was able to take on about ten of the Knights of the Blackened Denarius–mortals either foolish enough or unlucky enough or devious enough to ally with the Fallen–and she would have won if they hadn't cheated.

But Ivy couldn't act unless it was literally part of her job specifically–the mordite had been for a duel she'd been referring–or in the name of self-preservation. I could have my hands tied to limit my power, but Ivy was more or less hogtied with what she was and wasn't allowed to do and there was very little wiggle room.

I took to looking out the window, while Ivy continued to stare at the wall. I slid out of my duster, letting it hang against the back of my chair, but Ivy didn't remove her jacket. It was early June and while that wasn't the worst of Chicago summers, it wasn't a picnic either.

"Come on, Ivy," I said. "We could play a game–there's probably a deck of cards in one of the drawers."

Ivy didn't reply–if anything, she seemed almost wary. She shook her head. If this frostiness was going to be how she was to behave for the duration of the stakeout, it was not going to be a good time for either of us.

oooo

It wasn't a total loss–while Ivy was being an angsty teenager, I did have an excellent view of the city. The crowds weren't as chaotic as they used to be, but they were there. More teenagers and young adults were walking down the streets leading up to the hotel–Splattercon! attendees, no doubt. A few more men and women, dressed in varying degrees of casual and business casual. No sneaky men in black suits and glasses, but then again, if I were a super secret government agent, I would want to be sneaky and a black suit and sunglasses weren't sneaky.

Well, sunglasses were practical in summer and there were actually a fair few of the pedestrians wearing them, so that wasn't a way to find out the suspects either. Not that there was really a crime going on here…more like, self-preservation. There were ways to tell whether someone was magical–if they had supermodel good looks way beyond the limits for human longevity for example. White Court vampires had the fairest skin and the darkest hair that you could imagine…well, usually. By contrast, Ivy was almost completely inconspicuous, save for her exhausted, world-weary eyes.

My thoughts went back to Mab's instructions. As Winter Knight, I was bound to her orders, regardless of my own commitments and responsibilities. I was effectively the landlord of a castle and that meant a lot of tenants to keep an eye on. Mab's mission was keeping me from helping them. The mission itself was simple–get the information the Librarians had without drawing too much attention and given that this would be a fairly crowded venue, that was simultaneously something that could be rather hard, or rather easy. I was six foot, nine inches, but Ivy was maybe five foot-six…and that was with high heels. Slip those off–since running in heels is pretty much impossible–she'd be short and small, but not noticeably so. We get the files we needed, I hold off the Librarians and Ivy could make her getaway, slipping into the Nevernever–the supernatural realm where pretty much every magical faction ever actually originated–if she needed to .

It wasn't a great plan, but it wasn't a lousy one either and it was pretty much all I could come up with, since Ivy had decided to keep talking to an absolute minimum. It was frustrating–this was something that, like it or not, she needed to work with me on. And it was strange. Ivy was bound by neutrality and she could be extremely frightening–she could likely kill me with about as much effort as it took my dog, Mouse, to destroy a squeaky toy.

After a while, I got bored, so I began inventing stories in my head for the various pedestrians and traffic. There was an SUV that was painted with poke-a-dots–which was weird, even by Chicago standards. I couldn't think of anything to come up with that car. There were several people in costumes. There was a story there…a swamp monster, a blue alien and a giant frog…had a costume party.

Okay, so maybe my imagination needs a little work. What do you expect? I've only been a dad to Maggie for a year, so having to invent stories on the fly hasn't really been necessary, since I've been able to get by with stories already published.

"Ivy?"

"Mister Dresden?" Ivy said, not bothering to look at me. "Is there something that you require?"

"I'm bored–you're the Archive, so you know everything written down," I grinned. "Why don't you tell me a story?"

"I beg your pardon?" Ivy blurted, turning her head to look at me and for the first time in months, she looked more like how a young girl should. A little confused, a little uncertain, but that was a lot better than being a stone wall staring at another wall.

"Did I stutter?" My grin grew wider. "I'm bored and you know every story ever written. Is there a good movie script from what's playing downstairs?"

Now, I wasn't quite sure of the full limits of Ivy's power. I knew that she got everything written down, but I wasn't sure whether that came with the clairvoyance to know where any individual book or play might be. Which…honestly, might be part of the reason why we were assigned to this stakeout to begin with.

"No," Ivy said, crossing her arms and giving something between a glare and a pout. "No, absolutely not. I will not tell you a story, Mr. Dresden."

I hadn't really expected her to tell me a story, but I was hoping I could at least make her laugh. Ivy didn't look to be in a laughing mood and she opened one of the side table drawers and pulled out one of those Gideon Bibles that are in every hotel room. Ivy opened it to a random page–she was holding the book upside down–and turned her back on me again. Considering Ivy knew automatically every word ever written, using a book to distract herself probably wasn't the best way to ignore me. Michael and Charity Carpenter would approve though.

I turned my attention back to the window. It was the time of afternoon where the sun was at its warmest, where you felt like you still had the chance to accomplish a lot of things…and here I was, stuck in a hotel room with a moody, brooding teenager, getting absolutely nothing done. There was a budget meeting to be held for the castle and there were groceries that needed to be purchased, not just for me but for my security detail of faeries. The economy was in better shape now, so Toot-toot could have his pizza. There were other things that needed to be attended to–Maggie was due home any day and while she'd be spending a fair bit of time with the Carpenters, my castle was her home. And come to think of it, it was time for Mouse and Mister to have their annual checkups, so I'd have to call the vet.

This mission had better be worth it. I drummed my fingers against the table. Ivy looked up and–well, it wasn't a smile, but it wasn't a frown either. She seemed almost bemused. She bit her lip and turned her head again.

This was going to be a very long stakeout.

And then somebody knocked on the door.

A/N: Dun! Dun! Dun! Who could be at the door?

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