Dead Men

by Black' Victor Cachat

Harry Dresden and Thomas were just learning about the upcoming Peace Talks, when a hole in the sky drops the misfits/elites of an alternate Norse mythology. A beanpole einherjar, virgin valkyrie, viking linguist, Svartalf tailor, etc., this is all out of his paygrade. Meanwhile Magnus Chase and his friends are in for massive, bloody fight to the death. Just like every day.

I do not own either Harry Dresden or Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard.

Contains spoilers for "Peace Talks," "Battle Ground," "Ship of the Dead," and "Tales from 9 Worlds."

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Beta read by the MasterQwertster and OceanLord2017. Make sure to check out their own stories!

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Dead Men

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Parts which are underlined are taken directly from either Peace Talks or Battle Ground, which were too relevant to the plot to skip over or summarise.

I will endeavour not to do it too much though, because a) obviously I do not exactly write like Butcher, but it is surprisingly annoying having other people's work taking up so much of yours, and b) copying down everything word for word is a pain. Besides, things will start to go heavily AU.

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Harry POV

Whoever said 'Dead men tell no tales,' was a lying liar who lies.

Or someone unaware magic was real.

Because I can tell you, they can be annoyingly chatty at times. And I'm not just saying that from my own experience as a ghost that-one-time-we-don't-talk-about, because it would be just tacky with how I was 'dead' and all.

No, I'm referring to a series of events which included, in no particular order: learning said dead people have an unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter, exchanging a miracle treatment for pizza, an attempt to file formal charges for sexual discrimination on my behalf against one of my bosses, having to threaten to break the knees of the best man I know, and even more promises of pizza.

The worst part of all this?

None of that qualifies as the weirdest part of my life, which gives you an idea of what kind of nonsense I, the one and only Harry Dresden, have been a part of.

It had started out as such a normal day too. Well, as 'normal' as it can be for a Wizard of the White Council, esteemed errand boy of the Winter Court (a.k.a. the Winter Knight), going for his morning six mile run on the beach with his vampire half-brother.

A brother who was going to be a father.

Yeah, blew my mind. Makes me sympathise a little for when Thomas found out about my first daughter. Never asked about my second given the state I was in at the time, but I figure he laughed a bit, and made a crack about mind-sex.

Unfortunately, I could not stop and bask in the prospect of being an uncle.

You see, Thomas was a Vampire of the White Court (who, for the record, are not part of the 'living dead' variety), where the problems start with literally cut-throat politics, and how love is genuinely physically painful for them. While his girlfriend found ways around this for them to be together, Justine and their child will still be in danger from the rest of the Court, and even the rest of the supernatural community. To say nothing of Thomas' own self-loathing; seeing a monster whenever he looks within the mirror. Remembering the many innocents whose lives he has drained away in the name of survival.

Except he is my brother, so I refuse to dwell on that.

Instead, it is my job to help him move forward. Help him where he needs it, and tell him what he needs to hear. Especially when he is drowning himself in a dark mood.

"No," I said simply. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to go into an emo vampire angst spiral over this. Because that's selfish, and you can't afford to think that way. Not anymore."

He stared at me for a while, his expression furious, then thoughtful, then disturbed.

Waves rolled in on the beach.

"I have to think of them," he said.

"Good man would," I said.

His grey eyes stared out at the lake. "Everything is going to change," he said.

"Yeah."

"I'm scared," he said.

"Yeah.

Something in his body language relaxed, and suddenly he was just my brother again. Not a genuinely dangerous predator. "I'm sorry," he said. "That I got edgy. I . . . don't like to talk vampire stuff with you."

"You'd rather pretend we were just normal brothers, with normal problems," I said.

Granted, by this point I doubted we would recognize what that looked like.

We talked a little more, and acknowledged aloud the concerns with his dad's side of the family.

"Sometimes," Thomas said, "I hate what I am. I hate being me."

"Maybe it's time to work on that," I said to him. "Isn't really the kind of thing you want to teach a little kid."

He glowered at me. Then he said, "When the hell did you get deep?"

"Through experience, wisdom I have earned," I said in Yoda's voice.

Then company showed up.

Warden Carlos Ramirez, my former student, subordinate, and a man I had trusted with my back more than once. The way he was now walking with difficulty, limping and leaning on his wizard's staff, highlighted the danger of our line of work. No idea how he had gotten that injury either. Still, Ramirez was solid, a proven fighter, a good man to have at your back, and was one of the very few people on the White Council of Wizardry whom I considered a friend.

"Harry" he said. He nodded warily at Thomas. "Raith."

Regrettably, Ramirez was not someone I trusted enough to say we were brothers. Most other people were confused and suspicious of our relationship as just friends, or maybe even lovers (in which case Thomas would have me under his mental domination, and be slowly murdering me), as it was. If they knew the truth . . . well, either we would be targeted as leverage over the other, or because they thought we were too great a security risk.

After we exchanged pleasantries, he explained why he was here instead of protecting the entirety of the west coast of North America.

"Council business," he said.

Thomas nodded and said, "I'll go."

"No need," Ramirez said. "This is going public this morning. McCoy thought it would be good for someone you knew to tell you, Harry."

White Council business, typically, gave me a headache. "What is it this time?"

"Peace talks," Ramirez said.

I arched an eyebrow. "What, seriously? With the Fomor?"

The supernatural world had been kind of topsy-turvy lately. Some lunatic had managed to wipe out the Red Court of Vampires completely, and the resulting vacuum had destabilised balances of power that were centuries old. The biggest result of the chaos was that the Fomor, an undersea power hardly anyone had spoken about during my lifetime, had risen up with a vengeance, taking territory from various powers and wreaking havoc on ordinary humans—mostly the poor, migrants, people without many champions to stand for them.

"A convocation of the Unseelie Accord signatories," Ramirez confirmed. "Every major power is coming to the meeting. Apparently, the Fomor requested it. They want to resolve our differences. Everyone's sending representatives."

I whistled. That would be something. A gathering of influential members of the greatest powers in the supernatural world, at a time when the tensions were high and tempers hot. I pitied the poor town where that little dinner party was going to take place. In fact . . .

I felt my mouth open. "Wait. They're doing it here? Here? In Chicago?"

Ramirez shrugged. "Yeah, that's why McCoy sent me to tell you."

"Whose stupid idea was that?" I asked.

"That's the other reason McCoy sent me," Ramirez said, grinning. "The local baron offered his hospitality."

"Marcone?" I demanded. Gentleman Johnnie Marcone, former robber baron of Chicago's outfit, was now Baron Marcone, the only vanilla human being to sign the Unseelie Accords.

His power had been growing steadily, and evidently he had been impressing people with some of his stunts.

Oh, he was just going to be insufferable.

Given the gravity of the situation, I decided to inject some humour.

"Ohhh, I see," I said with a knowing look. "So you need me at the table, cracking jokes and breaking the ice. I gotcha."

Ramirez blinked at me for a moment, before bursting out laughing. "NO!" he managed. "God no! We need to hide you under the biggest rock we can find!"

"Excuse me," I asked with a twitching eyebrow. I had been joking around, but this seemed a bit excessive.

"Hmm, how do I put this delicately . . . ?" He smacked his lips as if in thought, only instead it made him look stupid. "Ah. We're afraid you'll piss someone off and kill thousands."

The word "again," went unsaid.

"Yeah, I could see that," nodded Thomas sagely.

"Thomas?!"

"I'm sorry, 'Ah-ree," he said in a faux sweet tone, laying on the stupid, faux French accent. "If it means avoiding the deaths of innocents, I think the least you can do is sit this one out."

Justine doesn't deserve to be a single mom. Justine doesn't deserve to be a single mom. Justine—

Coughing into his fist, Ramirez added, "We're probably also going to need you to stay behind and keep an eye on him, Thomas."

Well, that was suspicious, as I knew none of the White Council trusted Thomas, and I was on pretty thin ice with them as it was. So why actively encourage us to be together?

"Oh screw that noise!" yelled Thomas, throwing his arms up in the air. "I'm coming too!"

Any further discussion was cut off when the sky chose to grow a mouth, and vomit lightning and teenagers right in front of us.

Which pretty much set the tone for the next couple of days.

With practised ease we leapt aside, claws of ice forming on my fingers to rip off the weighted vest I was wearing, Ramirez stepped back to give us space to move more, and Thomas came beside me, fists raised.

They were an unusual group to be sure, groaning in a pile on the sand as they worked to stand up. I mean, one was wearing a Civil War uniform.

"Sun!" one of them suddenly cried.

Quickly they hurried up to check on the smallest of their number. I was no fashion expert, but even I could recognize how the first half of his outfit was sharp and screamed fine taste. A walnut three-piece suit with a black bow tie, snappy pointed leather shoes, and a bright orange handkerchief to make it all come together. Honestly, it was enough for me to ask for some style advice. Only he was also wearing a pith helmet, with a screen of white gauze reaching down to his shoulders, and leather gloves, ensuring there was not a speck of skin to be seen, and some of his friends were frantically checking nothing was exposed.

I could feel the Mantle of the Winter Knight whispering how if it came to a fight, he would be the most vulnerable. The one to strike first to leave the others open and demoralised.

Not something I really liked to think about, however a fight did seem quite likely as several of them were facing off against us with weapons drawn and deeply suspicious looks, quickly adjusting to the situation despite the confusion written out on their faces.

Not your typical weapons either, as only one gun was in sight.

"You did this!?" growled the big guy. His bare torso showing off plenty of burly muscles. Of greater interest though was the equally massive battle-axe he drew from his back, although leather breeches were a curious fashion choice. However the softness of his features made me realise that despite his size and build, he was as much a teenager as the rest of them. Some of those tattoos across his arms and chest were piquing my memory though.

Continuing the unusual fashion choices, the redheaded girl was wearing black furs and denim. She spat out something Gaelic while hefting two long, triangular knives. "They're the only ones here, ain't they? And one's got a staff like he thinks he's some sort of wizard."

"But they aren't acting as if they're expecting us," cautioned the lanky, African-American in an old, American Union army uniform over a green t-shirt. In his hand was an antique rifle, which was pointedly aimed just away from the three of us. "And they haven't done anything to attack us since we arrived."

And for the moment I planned to keep on just doing that.

It was possible this was all something we could settle diplomatically without violence.

Please let it be that; I had enough on my plate as it was.

Especially as every last one of them also radiated power. Magical power.

"Peace sounds nice," I nodded agreeably.

"Same here," said the blonde teen whom the others had pushed back a bit. No weapons I could see with his jeans or unzipped hoodie, but the way he was holding a small, white runestone on a golden chain made me wary. It strongly reminded me of the ones Gard had used in the past, which had been powerful, tricky to use, and dangerous to everyone around. If that was anything like what she had, the kid could be holding tight to something very unstable and explosive. The rune of Frey, etched in black, was new however, and not necessarily a good thing.

"So, are you the ones responsible for this?" continued the potential rune-wielder.

"No," I said firmly.

"Well, whomever they are, they're not mortals," said their Latino member, heterochromatic eyes sharp and shrewd behind pink-lensed glasses, particularly taking in the ice-claws on my fingers. They had green hair, and a shirt patterned in pink and green diamonds, and I honestly could not tell if they were a guy or girl.

"No, they're not," said the young lady in a hijab with an intense look and an axe in hand. She opened her other hand, and a spear of light appeared in it, making the three of us twitch, but then it disappeared. "They're not mortals," she repeated, "and nor are they familiar with us."

"Mortals?" I repeated, unsure of how to take that.

"They might not know," offered the Latino one. "About the gods being real and all."

"Or from another pantheon," said the blonde.

"But they do have power," said the well-dressed one, hands in his pocket like he was going to pull out something nasty. "Mallory's not wrong about the wizard bit."

"Yes we are," I said. "I'm Warden Commander Harry Dresden of the White Council of Wizardry, and the Winter Knight. This is my colleague Warden Commander Carlos Ramirez, also of the Council of Wizardry. This is Thomas Raith of the White Court."

They stared in confusion.

"Never heard of you," said the Latino, raising their left hand to raise their glasses to their forehead, while their right hand went into their pocket. It was probably meant to be reassuring, given the sword strapped to their left hip, but I was suspicious of whatever was in that pocket.

Taking a step forward, the Muslim girl took charge. She put her axe back in her belt, which was also not too reassuring given how fast she had drawn it in the first place, and that whole spear-trick of hers. Like the rest, she also had a light Boston accent. "I'm Sam. A valkyrie."

"Wait, what?" I blinked, unable to wrap my head around that.

The Valkyries were, well, I was not 100% sure what precisely their current job descriptions were, but in my experience they had all been acting as the ultra-elite mercenaries hired out from Monoc Securities. Centuries old and eternally youthful, if also adult, warrior women from ancient Europe. For emphasis, and not to be racist, white women.

"Uh huh," went Ramirez with naked scepticism.

Thomas kept quiet, yet sent me a look which loudly proclaimed he was not buying it. He had probably met more valkyries than I had. Except he was also pointedly not calling them out as liars, and I had to agree they seemed to be sincere, and by this point I had gotten to know a lot of liars.

Then I drank in more about the one with the runestone, their probably magical user. Muscular for a teenager, a runestone that did not fit my experience, while wearing a green shirt saying "Hotel Valhalla" on it.

Then it clicked. The big and hairy guy's tattoos were also Norse. A similar green shirt was peeking out from under that army jacket. That powerfully pure spear, which was wielded so casually when I felt I should have heard about something as potent as that before—just the tingle of it made it something I wanted pointed towards all matter of monsters in this world. Pure light magic which had been stunning to behold, which added credibility to their story, except for someone who was even remotely familiar with Vadderung and his little posse.

A sinking feeling flowed through me, because while there were several possible explanations for this, given their method of arrival, I had an unpleasant suspicion as to what exactly was happening here.

I really, really hoped this was not what I thought it was. Otherwise this would make an already horribly tense situation with the possibility of an international war worse.

Still, they had not reacted violently, and if my unpleasant inkling was right, it was best to de-escalate this specific situation. So I relaxed my stance, and silently turned to face my fellow wizard. After a beat he lowered his staff to focus on me, which was when I forced myself to say it aloud.

"Soooo, Ramirez?"

"Yeah?"

"The second to last lesson?"

To his credit, he just blinked and recognition dawned. I also knew him well enough to see he was biting back a series of curses I fully agreed with.

As a general rule, the final lesson wizard apprentices learnt was about, were things which gained strength from the very fact people know about them, and yet you needed to know about to actually fight back against. Yes, it was a migraine inducing contradiction, and not something I ever want to deal with as much as possible, and thankfully did not seem to be the case here. Although if I was right, then this would remain headache worthy in itself.

Because you see, the second to last lesson a wizard traditionally learnt as an apprentice was about alternate dimensions. Parallel worlds to our own, where history is or will go differently.

Which, yes, was something to geek out about, but the universal opinion in this universe was that other universes were more trouble than they were worth. There was sort of an unspoken Eighth Law of Magic against doing anything with that, and an entire section of the Unseelie Accords explicitly labelled meddling with them as forbidden, which Ebenezor had said was almost a formality since nobody wanted to mess with that nonsense.

No. Body.

Which, given some of the seriously messed up people I had met since those peaceful days on the farm, was really saying something.

The crotchety old man had then told me a story which sounded pretty cool at the time, despite my iron-willed fan loyalty, where the White Council had investigated Gene Roddenberry for potential supernatural ties after his infamous Star Trek episode with Alternate Spock wearing a beard. Apparently there had been a nasty, past experience with a universe where the wizards were all evil and ruling Earth, and every single man had had a beard exactly like the evil Vulcan's. Fortunately for Star Trek fans, apparently it was all a big coincidence.

Probably.

Personally I think it was more because the Merlin took an unhealthy amount of pride in his perfectly styled beard, and was offended at his counterpart having a smaller one.

Now I was wondering if Molly knew about that story, as I certainly knew better than to tell the Trekkie traitor, before dropping that line of thought for now.

Turning back to the increasingly wary teenagers, I said, "We need to cast a quick spell to verify something. Is that alright with you?"

At that, the only one who had not spoken, a very pale blonde, dressed in an all-black, biker outfit except for a diaphanous silk scarf of pink and green, stood forward. From a pouch, the Malfoy-expy pulled out a runestone of his own, and when it glowed, he nodded.

Okay, so potentially two or more runecasters. Although I was grateful for the restraint displayed here.

One quick spell later, with confirmation from Ramirez, and we had our answer.

"Right," I grimaced. "I'm sorry to tell you guys this, but you're in an alternate dimension. I'm guessing you're all involved in some way with the Norse pantheon?"

Instead of answering, the group quickly did their own checks. The Muslim girl and Latino pulled out cell phones, confirming they no longer had service. The blonde with the pendant closed his eyes and concentrated.

The Malfoy's eyes only widened a bit before turning to the short guy, who promptly used what I recognized as sign language. Okay, so he was deaf, not just quiet. Now I felt bad about that. Anyways, while Malfoy's face did not show much expression, his gestures certainly carried a lot of emotion even if I could not fully grasp which ones exactly. He pulled out a different runestone I did not catch the sigil of, and made it glow, and seemed to get something from it which confirmed the bad news the rest were getting as they came to accept my words.

Predictably, things quickly got heated with them all as voices rose.

Thomas, Ramirez, and I . . . just let them vent. Get it out of their system with some good old screaming and yelling.

"Enough!" snapped Sam, and they instantly all quieted down. "Whatever happened to us, we were in Hotel Valhalla, so everyone else knows something happened. They'll come looking for us. We just need to find shelter until then." She raised an eyebrow at me. "So I can assume you have protocols here?"

"Yes," I nodded. "While studying or attempting to open a path to alternate dimensions is forbidden by us, it is taken on a case-by-case for those who unintentionally pass through."

"Except you need to be sure it was unintentional," pointed out the Latino, who still had their hand in their pocket.

"Yes," I acknowledged. "So, what are your names? And you said you're a valkyrie?"

"Yes," said Sam testily.

"Even though you're a Muslim?" clarified Thomas.

Her fingers twitched towards the battle-axe she carried, and that glare was actually impressive by my standards. None of her friends looked happy either.

Clearly her faith had attracted all sorts of unwanted attention in the past, and not just regarding her supposed employment. Which I did feel a bit guilty about, except I was not about to go all White Guilt right now.

"She is," scowled the blonde who actually spoke. "While the rest of us are einherjaren for Odin—"

"Names!" I barked. Blondie flinched at that in confusion, before understanding and annoyance crossed his features.

"Names have power?" he hazarded.

I nodded.

"Personally I figure that if you overuse them, it wears them out and ruins the whole thing."

"No. No, it does not work like that," I said incredulously, and by the exasperated expressions of his comrades, they agreed with me. "Also, einherjaren. Really?"

Like the valkyrie issue, this lot did not look like centuries old warriors from ancient Europe. If they were telling the truth, they were definitely more modern versions.

"Why?" said the redhead, fingers back to resting on her knives. Then it clicked for her. "You've met some before."

"Yes. Regularly."

Now they were confused again.

"Alternate dimensions are more fun when they're fictional," sighed the blonde. "Let's, let's just accept there are some differences. We are einherji though. Well, except for Blitz," he jerked a thumb at the short one, "and Hearth," the deaf one. "We died, and went to Hotel Valhalla, our temporary accommodations until Ragnarok, where we spend our days until the fun time when we'll all go have honourable deaths while the Nine Worlds burn down around us. They're alive, but have earned the right to visit."

. . . That was a lot to unpack right there . . .

"Okay, well here, that guy is known as Donar Vadderung. An alias he uses while running the most efficient and powerful security company—"

"Really," cut in the big, muscular guy, crossing his arms suspiciously.

"Yeah, that really sounds like something a king of warrior gods would do," said the redhead, Irish accent adding impressive emphasis to her derision.

"Times change," said Thomas bluntly, with a casual shrug stretching his shirt tightly over his muscular form. I did not actually see him do that, only knew him well enough to know he was doing it. None of the group so much as twitched towards the pornstar-worthy eye-candy. "More and more people consider believing in the old gods to be unfashionable; that does a number on you when you depend so much on believers."

"And he is a global supernatural power in his own right. The einherjaren and his valkyries act as his employees and agents at his company, and are hired out to fight monsters and such."

"Okay, that's a bit better," conceded the African-American one.

"Not as ridiculous as a hotel," sighed the blonde, to which the others resignedly nodded.

"Unless they can send us right back, we're basically going to be staying in a hotel here too," said the Latino. "Or whatever."

"But they'll make a fuss if we break anything," bemoaned the big one.

"No big screen TV's with our saved games," agreed the soldier-teen sadly.

I wanted to ask about that, but I was also thinking about how Vadderung was not somebody I wanted to offend. Ever. For a variety of reasons.

Frowning in thought, I said, "Technically we should take you to the White Council, but . . ." I trailed off.

"Yes, we really should," warned Ramirez quietly. "Harry, I was joking before, but what I'm really here for is that I'm running the security detail for the White Council. I want you, someone I trust, on it."

Well, that was flattering. Also a further complication given this whole mess unfolding before us.

"Tensions are high," pointed out Thomas. "While Vadderung isn't one of your enemies, you want to keep it that way. As a Warden Commander, Harry escorting them to him while you inform the Senior Council should keep everybody happy. Besides, he'll probably want them sent home just as much as us."

Releasing a hiss between his teeth, Ramirez reluctantly nodded after a few moments of thought. He was a good kid who understood you could not always follow the rules.

Looking back at the apparently undead kids, and possibly two adults, while we had been figuring things out, they were also quietly conferring amongst themselves. We patiently waited until they came to an agreement, and Sam stepped forward as their evident leader. "Very well," she said with all the authority of a general.

"We'll go see this Vadderung. Because yes, we want to get home ourselves." Her eye twitched dangerously. "If I miss my date, someone will suffer."

"I was signed up for whitewater rafting to the death," bemoaned the big guy. "I was going to get those cheaters from the 44th floor back for last time!"

More questions right there that I proudly resisted the temptation of.

"Ah, it's just another adventure!" cried the African-American.

"Easy for you to say," griped the redhead. "You were just planning to play video games. I had a course on Taiwanese curses I was looking forward to, and Alex and Magnus—"

The Latino slapped a hand over her mouth, before snapping the hand back before losing it at the wrist.

"Oi!" barked the . . . Dwarf? Little Person? What was the politically correct term again? Anyways, he had a Southern accent, and a trace of something else that was tickling my memory.

"Sorry, Blitz!"

"Sorry, Blitz!"

"You two know better!"

The deaf one snapped his fingers and made a few more hand-signs.

"Ah, yes. Thanks, Hearth, we haven't really introduced ourselves." Sam glanced at the others, "Just your names for now."

There was a variety of nods to that, although their expressions varied from clear understanding to someone agreeing just because they were told to.

"Alex," said the Latino. "Currently he/him pronouns." His sharp grin dared us to take issue with that.

"You're the first gender fluid person I've met," I said bluntly. "Or at least I think so. Cool to meet you."

Alex eyed me for a moment, before giving a small nod.

"Magnus," said the blonde boy, finally letting go of that runestone.

"Halfborn Gunderson," said the big one. "Doctor Halfborn Gunderson."

The others rolled their eyes, and the redhead slapped his shoulder, yet none of them contested that. "Mallory," she said irritably.

"I'm a Thomas too," said the kid who had probably literally fought in the Civil War. "Thankfully folks always call me TJ, so no confusion."

"Otherwise people wouldn't be able to tell us apart," teased Thomas.

"Nah, I'm the pretty one." TJ's companions chortled and elbowed him in the ribs at that, but he jabbed back in good humour.

Excellent, ice all broken, and nobody dead.

Or more dead than they were before.

"Fantastic," I said, scratching my head as I stopped to work out the logistics of this. I had a daughter who was going to wake up in a few hours after all. "My car won't hold all of you though, so we'll need a taxi or two. Let's go."

I, Thomas, and Ramirez started walking across the beach to where our cars were parked, and after a brief moment of hesitation our new guests followed.

"Oh," I said, snapping my fingers and then pointing. "Dropped my vest. Can one of you grab it?"

With a shrug, Gunderson bent down and plucked up the two hundred pound weighted vest like it weighed nothing. Yeah, glad we had deescalated things there. By his smirk, he had figured out I was testing them. "Thanks."

"Er, wait," said Magnus, hurrying up to the limping Ramirez.

"What—" began Ramirez before jerking back or trying to as Magnus laid a hand on the warden's shoulder. Unfortunately the kid's grip was too strong for my friend to escape. My own hand shot up, a spell upon my lips, when warm, golden light shone out of the kid.

The piece of Winter within me recoiled at the sensation of Summer, or just a hair's degree short of that sort of magic, even as the rest of me basked in the feeling of it.

Ramirez froze and stopped resisting, and when Magnus let go the kid took a step back with a grimace, clearly realising he had goofed. "Sorry, I should've asked. Most people know what I can do, so I don't have to."

Instead of answering, Ramirez took a few cautious steps, and then outright skipped a dance on the spot, perfectly healthy and limber once again.

That . . . was both wonderful news, and very complicated news. Hopefully mostly wonderful.

"You're a demigod," I gaped with stunned disbelief, the situation even more dangerous than I imagined. We definitely needed to get this kid someplace safe. Safe for him, and safe for everyone else. "A son of . . . the summer Vanir." I was blanking on a safe way to say "Son of Frey" right now.

"Ah, yes," Magnus said a little awkwardly.

"This going to be trouble?" said Alex, having sidled up close to Magnus, clearly ready for a fight.

"No, just further complicating things," I answered. "There haven't been any demigods that I know of since forever. But seriously," I added with a glare, "don't go around surprising war veterans who are already trigger happy. Ramirez?"

"Perfectly fit and fiddle and ready to make my way through a brothel," he said in disbelief, still getting used to the sense of having his full range of pain-free motion again. "I've never even heard of such perfect healing outside of myths."

Because the only acts healing magic could accomplish were either as effective as mundane means, or requiring a Faustian bargain of some sort.

The penny dropped, and I whirled back around on the kid who took a step back into a fighter's crouch at the intense —and yes, likely hungry— stare I was giving him.

In a blur, Alex stepped between us, golden wire suddenly in one hand, while the other was on the hilt of the sword at his side.

Cursing myself for ratcheting the tension all the way back up, I raised my hands. "My sincere apologies. It's just, well, my . . . friend got crippled by an enemy of mine a little while back. What would be the price for getting her fixed too?"

Magnus' eyes widened in understanding, and he calmed down a bit. "Oh, for sure. No problem." He shrugged, "How's about we just make it you getting us around, and food? I'll need some more energy."

That seemed like too good a deal, except since it was Karrin's healing, she could be the one to work out the details.

"Harry," said Ramirez in a touch of warning, likely having heard about what happened to her.

"You'll know where to find us," I said, tone making clear the discussion was closed. I also pointedly did not confirm any agreement for that offer.

"Awesome, just awesome!" beamed Thomas. Karrin was a good friend of his as well, and he was visibly trying not to get too hopeful himself at this opportunity. "We'll use my credit card to get some rides. We can have them follow Harry's abomination of a car."

—.—Mortuus Homines—.—

Carlos POV

Shortly afterwards, we had all parted ways.

Once I was alone, having properly expressed my gratitude —without actually saying anything that would leave me in supernaturally-bound debt— I took the chance to glance at my right pinky.

Sure enough, the tracking spell I had connected to Dresden, had been washed away by the magic of the healing. A silver lining on an otherwise light cloud.

Great, that was going to complicate things. Which was never good when you were trying to keep an eye on the likes of Dresden, the Winter Knight.

That man, my friend, had been dangerous before, and I had personally witnessed at times how much of that was pure skill and bullheadedness, and bloody luck. Except if Mab had turned him into her own personal monster, like she had for sweet Molly Carpenter, then I was going to need every edge I could get.

Thankfully though, a properly healed back —and I was going to have to get somebody who knew what they were doing to check for anything else— should help even the odds if my worst fears were realised.

Now I just had to figure out what my next step was going to be with the whole situation muddled up.

And that was assuming of course these dimensional travellers were genuine happenstance. Harry's surprise had seemed natural, but even if it was, it would have been simple for Mab to just spring this on him for just that sort of reaction.

And I had a pretty good idea how the Merlin would interpret all this, but we'd have to see how it all actually played out.

—.—Mortuus Homines—.—

Harry POV

"You alright back there?" I asked as I drove by Munstermobile.

Thomas and I had arranged it so he was behind me, Sam riding shotgun, and Alex and Magnus squashed into the back. Trying to balance 'being polite' with 'just in case.'

"Yeah," said Magnus, face screwed up a little. "I just don't like cars."

Given how many times I had been attacked while driving, I could relate. Not that I said that aloud.

Thankfully there were other things to ask about as an excuse to stick my foot in my mouth.

"So, I've got to ask, Sam, how old are you?"

"Why?" she said, eyebrow arched in a slight challenge.

"Well, partially I'm sorry for offending you before about you being a valkyrie. That was in part my preconceptions from Vadderung. He's an alright guy, but not somebody I can immediately imagine having someone openly practising a different faith on his team. Or at least I haven't seen anybody. But," and here I braced myself for a potentially awkward conversation, "the other reason is, and there's no good way to say this, but apparently here his valkyries are his handmaidens, and outright lovers, so—"

She made a gagging sound and looked sick. Similar noises came from the back.

"Which I can see is not the case here!" I rushed to say. "I—"

A raised palm cut me off, and she took a deep breath. "Just forget it. And yes, that's not how things work back home. To say nothing of how I'm happily betrothed to someone else already."

"Sickeningly so," smirked Alex.

Call it my inner caveman wanting to rush in and be a hero, but personally I was not a fan of arranged marriages for teenage girls. Except if she was happy, then who was I to interfere?

Especially if said teenage girl was carrying a battle-axe, and looked ready to wield it against anyone who tried to.

Sam could convey a lot with a single, violent glare.

Good for her.

"So, the multi-faith thing's really not an issue?" asked Thomas, swooping in to save the day by changing the subject. "No conflict of interest clause?"

"Pretty much," said Magnus from the back, also sounding eager to talk about something else. "I mean, I'm an atheist."

"You're an atheist?" I repeated in surprise.

"Yep. And then my punishment was to find out I'm the son of a Norse deity, go to a Viking afterlife, and have an open-coffin memorial in a cheesy uni-faith chapel. Personally, if there really is an Almighty God up there, He is totally laughing at me right now."

"And they really don't take issue at all?" said Thomas sceptically.

"Dude, some of them feel the same way. I mean, it's hard to take them seriously like that when they're doing stuff like taking selfies while telling you about all the times he's seen Odin in—"

"Names!" I snapped.

A sullen silence briefly emanated from the back, before Magnus grumpily said, "In his bathrobe, yelling at his wife for using his toothbrush, while the ultra-testosterone son is passed out on the floor."

". . . Okay, if I caught Vadderung doing that, I'd have trouble too," conceded Thomas. "But seriously, no names."

"Well, for me," I said calmly again, "I've talked to a literal Archangel, and from that I doubt He's getting His jollies about that. Granted, I wouldn't put it past the Archangel to be having a little chuckle. But seriously, you're still an atheist while working for a Norse god," I said a touch incredulously.

I'll have to introduce him to Sanya if I get the chance.

. . . Oh who am I kidding? With what's going on, I can pretty much expect him to show up.

"I prefer to think of it as working for the pay cheque. Except instead of money, you get paid in friends for eternity, an ever-filling minibar, and staving off dying in Ragnarok for as long as possible."

"Fair."

"The health plan's killer too," said Alex, voice dripping with a smirk. He was really not fitting the Viking vibe there, even if he was also clearly close to these two.

"I bet."

None of this humour helped deflect from an unfortunate truth however:

These kids were dead.

This whole discussion had confirmed my worst fears; I was driving around with dead teenagers, whose lives had been cut far too short. They were clearly handling it well, on the surface at least, except it still remained a tragedy. Especially since these kids were then 'honoured' by being conscripted into an army. Regardless of the benefits.

Although granted, in the short time I had met them, it was clear some of them had indeed been destined for an afterlife of eternal combat.

"Speaking of which," continued Alex, "who's this patient for Maggie?"

"Ah," and my throat clenched a little at that. "My . . . friend, who got crippled by the most evil man I've ever met. So if you could fix her up so we could return the favour to him—well, that'd be fantastic."

I had to cut myself off from rashly saying, "I'll owe you one."

Best not to get too eager; I had too many bosses as it was.

Although neither the White Council or Mab had ever offered me "an ever-filling minibar."

Granted, if they did offer me that, I would graciously decline. Failing that, leave it gathering dust in the corner, regretting being unable to trust it. Depending on how bad the paranoia got, I would probably end up destroying it the moment their backs were turned and I had a suitable scapegoat/excuse. But it was the principle of the matter!

—.—Mortuus Homines—.—

Magnus POV

I was so very, very glad we had not gotten into a fight with these people.
Not because I believed my friends and I would lose, but because I knew it would be a nasty, dirty brawl and some of those friends would not be getting out unscathed. Or any of us really, except for maybe me.

It was in the way they moved, the tricky ways they worked to get a feel for us, and those watchful eyes dark with too much experience.

From what Gunthor signed to us, Harry, a tall man of like seven feet and all muscle, had been running around with a two hundred pound weighted vest. Intimidating alone for someone Mortal, and with scars all over what we could see to tell he had come out of some nasty scrapes. And light on his feet, the sort of relaxed movements you saw in those who had been dead in Hotel Valhalla a while, with a heavy confidence to him. To say nothing of those heavy, dark eyes of his . . . You saw war veterans back home with those.

Meanwhile, Thomas was a pretty boy who also gave the feel of a veteran warrior—and was completely unmarred. Which given his closeness to Harry, suggested he had been in those same fights without getting a mark. All while apparently working on par with a guy lugging around, again, two hundred pounds for a morning run, and being fine with it. Even I was getting warning bells from that, and his predatory grace might be more literal than I would like.

Finally, that Carlos guy had the same sort of heavy eyes, and unlike the other two he seemed outfitted for a fight with his sword, staff with nicks like it had been used as a club as well as for magic, and likely other magical stuff. Maybe not as impressive as the others, yet a sense of lethal competence nonetheless. Plus the simple fact he was the one walking around like he was prepared for a supernatural shootout, probably meant he would (currently) be the worst fight.

Overall, Harry, Thomas, and probably Carlos, were dangerous in a different sort of way than the dangerous folks I'm used to in Hotel Valhalla, and more like the ones I was used to on the streets. The ones whom, if you wanted to survive, you learnt to recognise and stay away from. Because if they wanted you dead, there would be no-head on fights, loud battle cries, monologues, or any sense of 'fair play.' They would win by any means necessary, and afterwards not bother to brag about it.

Something only reinforced by that brief memory I had gotten from Carlos while I was healing him.

And no, that was not why I did it. Dude was hurting, alright!?

Anyways, for whatever reason, what was at the top of Carlos' memories was him and some other people his age being mentored by Harry. Looking up to him like an older brother figure. All the while he was emphasising the importance of using every trick they had available, no holding back, in dealing with monsters.

Which . . . was kinda reassuring? While further reinforcing this was not a guy to mess with.

Something about the way he called himself the "Winter Knight" also struck me as ominous.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries back and forth, including a broader idea of what the local Norse were like, a quick and dirty broad overview of the supernatural world, and how apparently we stumbled in during peace talks of a brewing war with a nation known as the Fomor against . . . everybody. Swell guys.

Eventually however we pulled in at a small, pleasant looking house. Harry stared at it for a long moment, before turning to me and said, "Wait here." Getting out of his battered car, he bounded up the steps. "I'll go talk to Murph."

"She's pretty beaten up," said Thomas softly once his friend was out of earshot. "He wants to talk to her about this without witnesses."

"Understandable," I said, voice thick with regret for what this woman had suffered. It had been Thomas who had awkwardly touched upon the extent of her injuries. Her ruined elbow, knee, and shoulder. "I wouldn't want a bunch of strangers gawking at me and promising potential snake oil either."

Even if they were an ex-cop. Although Harry and Thomas had each been unyielding in the notion she had been "one of the good ones."

Shifting to look at me head-on, Thomas said with dead seriousness, "Your healing powers are incredible, Magnus Chase. Be careful with them however, as there are many who will want to possess you for them."

"Then I'll simply kill them," I said without missing a beat, an atypical fury rising within me. I was not the most aggressive guy by any means, but I was my own man, and not someone's 'possession.' Ever.

"Good," said Thomas flatly, eyes churning with some emotion I could not make heads or tails of. "Keep it that way."

He leaned back in his seat, and the murderous air from Alex and Sam eased off.

Releasing a sigh, Thomas said, "I'll tell the drivers to keep idling. Probably have to pay the fare for the trip so far." Getting out, he went to the taxis with the others behind us, and I shared a look with Alex, while Sam turned around in the front.

"You're doing a good thing, Magnus," she said.

"Some goodwill here won't hurt either," agreed Alex. "Just don't wear yourself out, Maggie."

"Right," I nodded in agreement.

"Also," said Sam with a touch of wariness, "did you notice how vague they were on where they stand in these Unseelie Accords themselves?"

"Huh?" I intelligibly went.

"They never said what the White Court Thomas is a part of is."

"Yes," said Alex, clearly on the same wavelength. "And Winter Knight seems a weird choice of title for a wizard. Especially given how he reacted to Maggie's summer powers, and the existence of a Winter Court."

"Maybe he's part of both?" I awkwardly offered. "Anyways, we can ask later, right?"

Any further commentary was cut off, as movement caught our attention, as Harry was waving from the doorway. "Showtime," I muttered.

All of us from Floor 19 made our way up, and I did not fail to note how everyone was carefully angled to shield me if necessary. Protect the white mage as it were.

Instead of stepping inside however, Sam crossed her arms and said, "Guest-rights?"

Standing before us was a small, blonde woman, barely five feet yet muscular all the same. At a glance I could tell she would fit right in at Hotel Valhalla. To our surprise, she spoke in very old and thick Norse. As in I had no heads or tails what she just said.

"Hah!" crowed Halfborn. "Someone who speaks the old tongue!" He followed that with more Old Norse, and then turned to Sam and said, "It's good."

"By Allah I pledge that my friends and I will do you no harm under your roof," said Sam, full of conviction.

"Be welcome then," said Karrin Murphy.

"When did you . . . ?" trailed off a confused Harry.

"I wanted to know what the local einherjaren were saying about me," she smirked, although then it got a little forced. "Plus it seemed a doubly good idea given how much Marcone hires them."

"Ah, right," he grimaced, before following her to the couch. He did not outright assist her as if she were an invalid, yet was nearby all the same. Although I could not shake the feeling he was also keeping close to protect her if we attacked all of the sudden.

. . . Man, what kind of lives have they been living?

It was also surprising to see a man just shy of seven feet being so tender with someone as small as that; I mean, sure, there was Halfborn and Mallory, but this was even more extreme. Granted, I was hardly going to judge, and I had seen stranger relationships. I mean, right off the top of my head, most days I struggled to get what Alex saw in me!

"His 'friend,' right?" chuckled Halfborn lowly.

"Or maybe in denial?" offered Mallory curiously.

"Oh, like you two have any grounds to talk," groused TJ.

Thomas released a groan of long-suffering. "You guys too?"

"It's been painful," said Blitz, fingers flying to sign to Hearth, who gave a resigned nod of agreement.

The two local lovebirds hunched a little and I would bet they were flushing. While I, Alex, Mallory, or Halfborn were totally not doing the same. Sam was smiling the smug smile of knowing exactly who she wanted to marry, and had him firmly tied down.

After some manoeuvring we were all laid out in the living room, and as the guest of honour I was one of the ones with a chair. Facing us, the maimed ex-fuzz got straight to the point. "So Harry told me where you came from, and what you did for Carlos. Apparently better healing than anything else this world has to offer, and apparently you can do the same for me."

A beat, and I realised I was supposed to say something. "Uhm, yeah. I mean, I don't have as much experience with old injuries, older injuries, but I've healed a lot worse than, well," I gestured awkwardly at all her casts and braces, "that before."

"We'd all be dead several times over if not for Beantown," said Mallory firmly. "Just the worse the wound, the more it takes it out of him."

None of us said anything about the memories I tended to see. It . . . did not feel safe to bring that up just yet.

"That sounds nice, but the thing is," Karrin bluntly said, "in my experience with the supernatural, there's nothing free."

"Oh," I said, waving my hand to reassure her, "I'll probably need to eat out your refrigerator afterwards, but that's it. 'Sides, your boyfriend's going to get us back home, which seems fair."

She continues to just stare at him mulishly, while Harry squirmed a little at the 'boyfriend' part.

Sighing, I scratched my head. "Alright, look, I spent years living on the streets of Boston. Would you say that's about as dark as it gets for you lot? Good? Great." If it was worse, I do not want to know. "So I get the whole thing about how everybody only looks out for themselves, and only helps if you do something for them. I also know people who do things for others just because they can.

"So that's the sort of thing I'm doing here. Being the son of the god of wealth and abundance has to mean something, right? And honestly? For you it's a big deal, but for me it's a quick bit of work, and afterwards needing something to take the exhaustion off."

"I see," said Karrin, and I resisted the urge to fidget under that scrutiny.

Finally it seemed like she was satisfied, as she turned that intensity upwards. "Getting them home?" she said to Harry. "You're planning on just heading to Marcone's castle?"

There was an actual castle in Chicago? No, of course there was. Probably hidden behind a glamour or something like that.

Shrugging while awkwardly raising my palms, he said, "I don't have Vadderung's phone number, and I'd rather not delay any longer than necessary to get you back to 100% awesomeness again."

"But you don't trust this Marcone guy," said Alex suspiciously.

"He's a mobster who's ended up neck-deep in the supernatural business," said Harry bluntly. "To the point he's the first full-blown, wholly Mortal signatory of those Unseelie Accords I was telling you about. He won't want to risk trouble with Vadderung though."

"Alright," acknowledged Sam.

Silence fell again as Karrin seemed to brace herself, before firmly saying, "Alright, let's do this. There's not much in my fridge though, so we'll have to order a pizza or something."

"Vegetarian, please," I said with a small grin.

"How do you want to do this?"

Personally I wanted the lady with a ruined knee to stay sitting down, except I figured she might get offended, so I gestured for her to stand up, and we met midway.

Carefully I laid out my hands on her shoulder and elbow, and the familiar golden sunlight seeped from my fingers. Warmth poured out of my hands as I felt all the many, many injuries this woman, this warrior indeed, had suffered. It flowed into her core and throughout her body, softly resetting limbs, knitting together bones, readjusting ligaments and everything else.

And I saw her.

Saw her standing side by side with Harry, Thomas, and so many others against the monsters.

Instead of a single memory, I saw flashing snippets of the conflicts she had been a part of, and was itching to rejoin. Not for the battle-high, but to protect those she loved, and to protect those who needed them.

This was a woman who would be accepted with honours in Hotel Valhalla, and if they knew what was good for them, so would the Aesir here.

Then it was over, and I felt the weakness in my limbs.

"Magnus," asked Alex in my ear.

"I'm fine," I managed. "Note for later: older, wrongly healed wounds are hard in their own way."

"Take a seat," said Blitz firmly, with Hearth and Alex guiding me to my chair.

Shaking the blurriness off, I saw Harry checking over Karrin, both struggling to repress their joy.

"Here," said Mallory, coming over with her knives held loosely. A few quick cuts of her magical blades, and the casts and braces fell to the floor.

Cautiously and then with growing enthusiasm Karrin moved her arms about to test their range of motion, before switching up into a series of martial arts kicks and punches.

Once satisfied, she then turned around, grabbed Harry by the collar, and pulled him into a deep kiss.

A long kiss.

The rest of us were starting to feel rather awkward about it, even if Thomas was literally biting his lip with what appeared to be a repressed need to scream, "ABOUT TIME YOU IDIOTS!"

I get called an idiot a lot, so I recognise that 'you idiot' look.

Coughing awkwardly, I scratched my head and turned to the others for something to talk about.

"So, what do you think the local Odin's like?"

Ripping himself off of his girlfriend's face, Harry screeched, "NAMES!"

A beat of silence.

And then the ring of Karrin's doorbell.

—.—Mortuus Homines—.—

Author Notes:

Should I be focusing more on getting my other stories done? Most likely. But this singular chapter has been sitting in my folder, worked on in fits and starts for years, and I wanted it at least out before the next Harry Dresden novel is released.

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Yes, I stole that scene about Harry being 'diplomatic' and Carlos' reaction from SAO Abridged. But in all fairness, that scene was running right through my head there when I originally read it, so there was no way I could possibly resist! X-D

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Please review, and I will get back to you!