"Chapter Three," Gard read.

Even days that culminate in a grand battle against an insane ghost and a trip across the border between this world and the spirit realm usually start out pretty normally. This one, for example, started off with breakfast and then work at the office.

My office is in a building in midtown Chicago. It's an older building, and not in the best of shape, especially since there was that problem with the elevator last year. I don't care what anyone says, that wasn't my fault. When a giant scorpion the size of an Irish wolfhound is tearing its way through the roof of your elevator car, you get real willing to take desperate measures.

"I stand by that," Harry chimed in.

Anyway, my office is small - one room, but on the corner, with a couple of windows. The sign on the door reads, simply, HARRY DRESDEN, WIZARD. Just inside the door is a table, covered with pamphlets with titles like: Magic and You, and Why Witches Don't Sink Any Faster Than Anyone Else - a Wizard's Perspective. I wrote most of them. I think it's important for we practitioners of the Art to keep up a good public image. Anything to avoid another Inquisition.

Behind the table is a sink, counter, and an old coffee machine. My desk faces the door, and a couple of comfortable chairs sit across from it. The air conditioning rattles, the ceiling fan squeaks on every revolution, and the scent of coffee is soaked into the carpet and the walls.

"You really do have a keen memory, you take in all kinds of details and sensory input that most people just dismiss as noise or unimportant," Murphy hummed in thought. "You ever do mind palace or other memorization drills?"

Harry and Elaine exchanged glances. "DuMorne didn't like to repeat himself, so you got real good at picking up absolutely everything in the first pass if you knew what was good for you," the taller former apprentice said darkly.

I shambled in, put coffee on, and sorted through the mail while the coffee percolated. A thank you letter from the Campbells, for chasing a spook out of their house. Junk mail. And, thank goodness, a check from the city for my last batch of work for the Chicago P.D. That had been a nasty case, all in all. Demon summoning, human sacrifice, black magic - the works.

"Ah, Mr. Kravos, yes?" Marcone checked.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "Problem is, the cops kept the fact he'd offed himself in his cell under wraps. I spend a good half of this book under the belief that his ghost, which we nickname the Nightmare, is actually the demon Michael slayed with Amoracchius."

"The Swords of the Cross are potent, Hoss, but permanently ending a demon or any being of the Nevernever via their homunculus here in the real world is way too complicated to pull off by accident," Ebenezer rolled his eyes.

"Well, I was convinced Kravos was still alive, so it was the only theory that made sense, sir," Harry huffed in his own defense.

I got my coffee and resolved to call Michael to offer to split my earnings with him - even though the legwork had been all mine, he and Amoracchius had come in on the finale. I'd handled the sorcerer, he'd dealt with the demon, and the good guys won the day. I'd turned in my logs and at fifty bucks an hour had netted myself a neat two grand. Michael would refuse the money (he always did) but it seemed polite to make the offer; especially given how much time we'd been spending together recently, in an attempt to track down the source of all the ghostly happenings in the city.

The phone rang before I could pick it up to call Michael. "Harry Dresden," I answered.

"Hello there, Mr. Dresden," said a warm, feminine voice. "I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."

I kicked back in my chair, and felt a smile spreading over my face. "Why, Miss Rodriguez, isn't it? Aren't you that nosy reporter from the Arcane? That useless rag that publishes stories about witches and ghosts and Bigfoot?"

"You smiled just hearing my voice?" Susan asked. "Phew, wasn't just me being silly," she chuckled to hide the pang of emotional pain.

"Plus Elvis," she assured me. "Don't forget the King. And I'm syndicated now. Publications of questionable reputation all over the world carry my column."

I laughed. "How are you today?"

Susan's voice turned wry. "Well, my boyfriend stood me up last night, but other than that ..."

I winced a little. "Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. Look, Bob found a tip for me that just couldn't wait."

"Ahem," she said, in her polite, professional voice. "I'm not calling you to talk about my personal life, Mr. Dresden. This is a business call."

I felt my smile returning. Susan was absolutely one in a million, to put up with me. "Oh, beg pardon, Miss Rodriguez. Pray continue."

"Is this going to turn into phone sex?" Molly asked, a little too eager at the prospect.

"You shouldn't even know what that is yet," Michael moaned, actually holding his head in his hands at the proof his 'little girl' was much more worldly wise than he would have hoped for.

"Sorry to disappoint, kid, but it stays fairly tame as I recall," Susan chuckled.

"Well. I was thinking that there were rumors of some more ghostly activity in the old town last night. I thought you might be willing to share a few details with the Arcane."

"Mmmm. That might not be wholly professional of me. I keep my business confidential."

"Mr. Dresden," she said. "I would as soon not resort to desperate measures."

"Why, Miss Rodriguez." I grinned. "Are you a desperate woman?"

I could almost see the way she arched one eyebrow. "Mr. Dresden. I don't want to threaten you. But you must understand that I am well acquainted with a certain young lady of your company - and that I could see to it that things became very awkward between you."

"I see. But if I shared the story with you - "

"Gave me an exclusive, Mr. Dresden."

"An exclusive," I amended, "then you might see your way clear to avoiding causing problems for me?"

"I'd even put in a good word with her," Susan said, her voice cheerful, then dropping into a lower, smokier register. "Who knows. You might get lucky."

I thought about it for a minute. The ghost Michael and I had nailed last night had been a big, bestial thing lurking in the basement of the University of Chicago library. I didn't have to mention the names of any people involved, and while the university wouldn't like it, I doubted it would be seriously hurt by appearing in a magazine that most people bought along with every other tabloid in the supermarket checkout lines. Besides which, just the thought of Susan's caramel skin and soft, dark hair under my hands ... Yum. "That's an offer I can hardly refuse," I told her. "Do you have a pen?"

"Not to throw stones or anything at true love, but what's it say that one of the cornerstones of that love was trading sex for paranormal news?" Thomas couldn't help but comment. "Just saying, that was basically the motivation behind your first date and it's a pattern that persisted to the point you both were head-over-heels."

"True, but keep in mind their passions," Elaine spoke up before either former lovebird could reply. "Harry is a total geek-nerd-dork over magic, getting to talk shop is practically foreplay for him. And Susan 'rewarding' that good behavior might be a bit sketchy if you look at it that way, but she got a story out of it and they both got to have a good time in bed afterwards. I say it worked for them and we shouldn't knock it since it was their relationship to have slightly dysfunctional dynamics in."

"It it ain't broke, don't fix it," Bob 'shrugged'. "And it's moot, since it is broke. Which we'll get a front-row seat for by the end of the book."

Ms. Gard resumed reading.

She did, and I spent the next ten minutes telling her the details. She took them down with a number of sharp, concise questions, and had the whole story out of me in less time than I would have believed. She really was a good reporter, I thought. It was almost a shame that she was spending her time reporting the supernatural, which people had been refusing to believe in for centuries.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Dresden," she said, after she squeezed the last drips of information out of me. "I hope things go well between you and the young lady tonight. At your place. At nine."

"Maybe the young lady would like to discuss the possibilities with me," I drawled.

She let out a throaty laugh. "Maybe she would," Susan agreed. "But this is a business call."

I laughed. "You're terrible, Susan. You never give up, do you?"

"Never, ever," she said.

"Would you really have been mad at me if I hadn't told you?"

"Harry," she said. "You stood me up last night without a word. I don't usually stand for that kind of treatment from any man. If you hadn't had a good story for me, I was going to think that you were out horsing around with your friends."

"What friends… that came out much more depressing than it sounded in my head," Harry huffed.

"Yeah, that Michael." I chuckled. "He's a real party animal."

"You're going to have to give me the story on him sometime. Have you come any closer to working out what's going on with the ghosts? Did you look into the seasonal angle?"

I sighed, closing my eyes. "No, and yes. I still can't figure why the ghosts seem to be freaking out all at once - and we haven't been able to get any of them to hold still long enough for me to get a good look at them. I've got a new recipe to try out tonight - maybe that will do it. But Bob is sure it isn't a Halloweeny kind of problem. I mean, we didn't have any ghosts last year."

"No. We had werewolves."

"Different situation entirely," I said. "I've got Bob working overtime to keep an eye on the spirit world for any more activity. If anything else is about to jump, we'll know it."

"All right," she said. She hesitated for a moment and then said, "Harry. I - "

I waited, but when she stalled I asked, "What?"

"I, uh ... I just want to be sure that you're all right."

Harry closed his eyes. "You were about to say it, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but I chickened out," Susan agreed like they were the only two in the room.

"Just as well. I probably wouldn't have been able to say it back yet. That would have blown up fast," Harry sighed.

The tension was decidedly bittersweet as the Valkyrie found her place again.

I had the distinct impression that she had been going to say something else, but I didn't push. "Tired," I said. "A couple of bruises from slipping on some ectoplasm and falling into a card catalog. But I'm fine."

She laughed. "That creates a certain image. Tonight then?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

She made a pleased little sound with more than a hint of sexuality in it, and let that be her goodbye.

The day went fairly quickly, with a bunch of the usual business. I whipped up a spell to find a lost wedding ring, and turned down a customer who wanted me to put a love spell on his mistress. (My ad in the Yellow Pages specifically reads "No love potions," but for some reason people always think that their case is special.) I went to the bank, referred a caller to a private detective I knew, and met with a fledgling pyromancer in an attempt to teach him to stop igniting his cat accidentally.

Mister gave Harry a glare that somehow perfectly communicated that if Harry ever set him alight, he would not live to talk about it. Harry nodded severely at the look from his owner.

I was just closing down the office when I heard someone come out of the elevator and start walking down the hallway toward me. The steps were heavy, as though from boots, and rushed.

"Mr. Dresden?" asked a young woman's voice. "Are you Harry Dresden?"

"Yes," I said, locking the office door. "But I'm just leaving. Maybe we can set up an appointment for tomorrow."

The footsteps stopped a few feet away from me. "Please, Mr. Dresden. I've got to talk to you. Only you can help me."

I sighed, without looking at her. She'd said the exact words she needed to in order to kick off my protective streak. But I could still walk away. Lots of people got to thinking that magic could dig them out of their troubles, once they realized they couldn't escape. "I'll be glad to, Ma'am. First thing in the morning." I locked the door and started to turn away.

"Wait," she said. I felt her step closer to me, and she grabbed by hand.

A tingling, writhing sensation shot up my wrist and over my elbow. My reaction was immediate and instinctive. I threw up a mental shield against the sensation, jerked my hand clear of her fingers, and took several steps back and away from the young woman.

My hand and arm still tingled from brushing against the energy of her aura. She was a slight girl in a black knit dress, black combat boots, and hair dyed to a flat, black matte. The lines of her face were soft and sweet, and her skin was pale as chalk around eyes that were sunken, shadowed, and glittering with alley-cat wariness.

"She looked like Winona Ryder out of Beetlejuice or something, plus 5 years of wear and tear from living on the streets," Harry recalled.

"Is she significant to the plot?" Mab asked with an imperiously raised brow.

"She's one of Kravos' ghost's targets, and ends up kidnapped by Bianca as part of the plot to lure me to my death," Harry answered the Fae royal flatly.

I flexed my fingers and avoiding meeting the girl's eyes for more than a fraction of a second. "You're a practitioner," I said, quietly.

She bit her lip and looked away, nodding. "And I need your help. They said that you would help me."

"I give lessons to people who want to avoid hurting themselves with uncontrolled talent," I said. "Is that what you're after?"

"No, Mr. Dresden," the girl said. "Not exactly."

"Why me, then? What do you want?"

"I want your protection." She lifted a shaking hand, fidgeting with her dark hair. "And if I don't have it ... I'm not sure I'll live through the night."

"Hook, line, and sinker," Bob whistled. "She couldn't have suckered you in better if she tried."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, accepting the journal from Ms. Gard and wrestling his nerveless left hand into the right position to hold it.