Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Productive working relationships are valuable in my chosen field. Criminals span a broad range of humanity; some understand the importance of a shared code of conduct, others are animals in the service of their appetites. Recruiting and allying with the former while directing and mitigating the latter has been key to the Outfit’s success under my purview.

Little changed after I joined the Accorded Nations. The supernatural world, bizarre and varied as it was, contained a similar range of monsters. Those who understood the value of keeping their word, and those who understood only immediate advantage or appetite. Mab, the centre of order, had been a pleasure to work with.

The night Ethniu came and kicked Mab through a wall justified a decade spent in preparation. The peace talks nearly fell into chaos as LeChaise tried to slink from the hall, but I spoke of obligations and the Accorded Nations listened. They looked to Mab. They fought Ethniu and Corb’s armies clear of the city.

I’d stockpiled weapons, built staging grounds, and coordinated rival factions. But no matter how carefully I’d prepared, there was no obvious endgame without Dresden. That was part of the reason I’d ceded the eye to him; Dresden wouldn’t have forfeited the thing without forcing me to kill him. A strong breeze could have finished him off, but what would I do the next time Chicago needed to fend off an immortal power?

Everything I’d seen since meeting him seemed to indicate Dresden was a fulcrum to move the world with. There was some mystical nonsense explaining why he was always the eye of the storm, no doubt, but I trusted my instincts: I knew an asset when I saw one.

So too did Mab, who bound Dresden well enough to direct him to useful ends. But Winter clearly hadn’t touched the core of him, judging from the dramatic heroics involved in throwing himself off the roof to rescue his former neighbors.

That stubborn streak of virtue was the main reason he caught me off guard after the battle. Dresden could be cunning, but devious political manoeuvres had never been his style. He proved himself adaptable because just as soon as he acquired political capital by binding Ethniu, he leveraged it at a Ministry meeting.

The Accorded Nations had unanimously agreed to declare war on the Fomor in the aftermath of the battle. Aphorisms about barn doors and horses sprang to mind. Nevertheless, the first Unseelie Accords Executive Ministry meeting was intended to address the situation in Chicago. As host, I’d identified a suitable location in Oldstown for which attendance and security were tightly controlled, and the meeting began without fanfare. Queen Mab, Lady Sarissa, Evanna, Lara Raith, Donar Vadderung, the Archive and myself were present, standing in a circle in a room without shadows

The Archive was in the middle of her update when the doors swung open. No interruption was scheduled. The arrogance required to gatecrash such a meeting left me unsurprised to see Dresden framed in the doorway with a small pack of werewolves at his heels. He dismissed his retinue before striding in like he had an invitation, taking the position of a trusted lieutenant behind Mab. She shot him a look that would have withered lesser men, but he returned it calmly. Something passed between them before Mab asked the Archive to continue her update.

Dresden waited patiently as she did so. The marks of pain and exhaustion were clear on him, the lights in the room doing nothing to hide the shadows under his eyes. But those eyes were sharp and his stance was steady as he scanned the room taking everyone in. What was he doing here, other than distracting me?

The Archive concluded her report with confirmation that mortal authorities had decided to obfuscate the existence of the supernatural rather than confront it, and I dragged my attention back to the discussion. There was no consensus on whether the deception would hold, only a practical conclusion that delaying any mass revelation of our existence was wise. The topic seemed to agitate Dresden, who began to frown and lean forward.

Mab announced him before he could register his objections.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, my Knight requests audience. In light of his recent service to the Accorded Nations, I believe it right and proper to grant it. Will anyone here gainsay me?”

Only a fool would, but the look Dresden shot me was so full of weaponized glee that I was nearly tempted. I felt an adrenaline spike kick in, as if there was a rifle pointed at my head instead of a smile. Whatever this was, I wasn’t prepared for it.

Dresden moved carefully into the centre of the circle, and I noticed he’d somehow jammed his leather duster on over a cast. The scent of medicinal ointment came off him as he moved. He was vulnerable, and the attention of all those Powers seemed to subdue him for half a second, until he turned and locked gazes with me. Somehow, that helped him summon his usual bravado and launch into whatever left-field stunt he’d decided to inflict on me this time.

“The Summer and Winter Courts care about balance,” he began, “and what the Accorded Nations have done to Chicago has created a terrible imbalance. More than just the political and military consequences of our conflicts, we have violated the spirit of laws so old that they have never been written down. We were guests in Chicago. And we brought our troubles to their home.”

It was a surprisingly good speech, clearly practiced, and he hit his target. The invocation of guestright got a reaction from the audience. I made a rapid survey of concerned expressions and caught Raith doing the same. Dresden then threw in what must have been some rapid improvisation based on the previous discussion and framed his proposal as a response to the looming threat of the Librarians. He suggested that the Accorded Nations put on a good show by rendering humanitarian aid and assistance. It was a reading of the unwritten laws of Xenia so expansive it bordered on the ridiculous. My lawyers would have been proud. And yet the idea wasn’t without merit, a grander version of the philanthropy that burnished my public image on a local scale.

When I made a token point against the proposal to gauge Mab’s response she backed Dresden. Interesting. But she did so with the sensible proviso we recover the reparations from the Fomor. So when the proposal came to a vote, I voted in favor. It was unanimous.

But Dresden wasn’t done.

“There is also the matter of personal debt. Ethniu was my kill, before all the Accorded Nations in defence of the demesne of Baron John Marcone of Chicago.” He turned to look at me once more. “Acknowledgement of that debt is due.”

My demesne? As if he hadn’t been a Regional Commander of the White Council’s wardens with explicit responsibility for Chicago, living here with everyone he cared for? He’d have fought me to the mat for his rights in this town, and I knew damn well he wasn’t about to walk away from them either. But he knew damn well I wasn’t about to lodge a protest undermining mastery of my own territory. We stared one another down as everyone else in the room set their eyes on me.

“The Eye seems ample reward for such a deed,” I countered. But Dresden had the gall to look around with wide eyes and pretend he had no idea where it was. Dresden was generally a bad liar - had he deliberately mislaid the Eye of Fucking Balor in order to pull this off? This was my reward for letting him leave the beach alive.

“Are we to believe that you just left a weapon like the Eye lying upon the ground?” I asked. Surely, surely he didn’t plan to paint himself an idiot in front of the assembled powers.

He broke with the tone of the meeting. “Dude, there was an apocalypse on. The earth shaking. Giant waves. I almost drowned, you know, in this giant stupid concrete teacup some fool made. It’s all kind of blurry.”

Giant stupid concrete teacup. As if he could weave concrete out of its component elements. As if he could do more with what he’d call earth magic than splatter the people stupid enough to stand still in his blast radius. I could throttle him.

I throttled my anger instead, Dresden’s access to my emotional responses always disconcerting, and felt Mab’s gaze on me.

“Surely you don’t believe him?” I asked of her and Raith. Vadderung seemed, if anything, fond of Dresden, the svartelfs had been hosting him, Summer had been the most persuaded by his previous proposal and he’d once saved the Archive from perdition.

“The last I saw,” Raith pointed out with a provocative smile, “you were the one running off with the Eye, Baron.”

“Queen Mab?” I tried, fully aware I was losing ground.

“He has given me no reason to disbelieve him, Baron,” she said, a typically sidhe answer. She was letting this threadbare deception play out, and if Dresden outmanoeuvred me, she wouldn’t overrule him.

“I know you have it,” I said to him quietly, making space to think. Dresden didn’t afford me any, and drove the dagger home instead.

“Prove it, Sir Baron.”

Mab caught the addition to my title, allowing surprise to show on her face. The Knights of Hell might sound like a rock band, but it was one of the names the Denarians were known by.

“Much is explained,” Mab said, and my position was clear.

I no longer considered Namshiel a secret. I’d held his presence in reserve for years, and it paid off to catch Ethniu unawares on the beach. Nathan Hendricks had died to let me play that hand, God rest his— or no, there wasn’t much rest in Valhalla. But he’d died to let me win. I wouldn’t rely on that reveal again, but operational security was still prudent. I wasn't about to start broadcasting Namshiel’s presence. Unless I gave way on this issue, Dresden would do that for me. Even without that consideration, if I claimed my part in the final fight I’d be caught in a clumsy lie, and increase suspicion I might possess the Eye.

“Very well, Sir Dresden,” I conceded. “What is it you wish of me?”

Dresden leaned down towards me, all twelve miles of him, closer than was warranted. Close enough I could feel the heat from his body, close enough to slip the point of a knife under his chin if I were so inclined. He held my eyes for a second, making me wait, and finally said with obvious delight, “I want my lab back. Move your stuff.”

The castle. He wanted the castle because it was on top of his basement? As if he had some claim to the little patch of the city he’d been renting? The patch that burned to the ground? This was insufferable. Ridiculous. That had been an investment running into the millions— and Dresden was watching me, smile full of teeth. The Accorded Nations watched me.

I packed away the emotional turmoil Dresden was so adept at inspiring. “I’ll make arrangements,” I said.

Damn him.

Dresden inclined his head to me. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the debt is settled.”

Namshiel stirred himself. I’ve unearthed but a fraction of the castle’s secrets. We don’t know what we’re giving away.

You’ve had months to study the place, Namshiel, and millennia of experience. If there are magics there you cannot access they may not be accessible at all.

I had the mental sense of a sulky grumble. Namshiel was put out at having his research interrupted, regardless of whether that research could bear fruit.

Well, don’t come crying to me if he unleashes the questing beast in Chicago. Or becomes the Fisher King. Or—

Come now. He’s barely 40, and too busy fighting his way out of corners to hone his craft. How likely is he to succeed where you failed? I knew even as I formed the words that I was tempting fate.

Ah, wound my pride too, will you? Some magics are the domain of mortal men. He’s done stranger things, John.

He had, but there was nothing I could do about that at the moment. I shrugged Namshiel off and ordered my thoughts. There was still business to be done.

***********************************************************

I had the castle clear within 24 hours, and a rendezvous with Dresden to hand over the keys. I knew, rationally, that bursting into an Accords meeting and unleashing a little inspired extortion was how the game was played. And I wasn’t entirely unwilling to admit that Dresden was due a reward for his efforts. His insolence was a small price to pay for the fact most of the city was still standing, and he’d proven himself a suitable custodian for the castle. Having it pass out of my control wouldn’t weaken the city’s defences.

It should have been easier to stop thinking about strangling him. But Dresden had a unique capacity to irritate me.

Strangle away, please. It’s more tolerable than your other daydreams.

My atypical response remained, and some element of my frustration must have been evident at the Ministry meeting, as Mab herself manifested beside me when I pushed open the castle door.

I didn’t jump.

“Your majesty. Are you here to supervise?” I asked, lightly. Dresden was stripped of the support of the White Council, worn down by the battle, and despite his gleeful persecution of me, likely emotionally devastated.

And I was annoyed with him.

“Lady Molly indicated feelings might be running high,” Mab noted. “Lady Raith suggested she courier the keys for you.”

Yet Raith was nowhere to be seen. “You turned her down?”

“There are matters I would speak about with both of you.”

“I’m sure,” I said, and closed the door behind us. We stood in the entryway, and I withstood Mab’s scrutiny.

“So. A denarian.” Mab observed.

I inclined my head.

“Which?”

Dresden hadn’t given her the detail then, but doubtless he would if pressed. “Namshiel,” I said, and the queen’s eyes narrowed. Frost curled across the stone beneath her feet, and her clothes shifted into blackness. “Namshiel has not wronged you, to his knowledge,” I continued.

“No?” she said, and considered me. “And how sure are you of the truths told by a creature of Hell?”

“There’s no profit to him in lying to me about this.” I said. Is there, Namshiel?

Whatever this is about, I didn’t do it. I have more interesting things to concern myself with than antagonising Winter.

I knew how Namshiel defined interesting, and deliberately provoking the Winter queen of his own initiative didn’t fall into the category. I was inclined to believe him.

Mab tilted her head and let the silence stretch. I offered no further protestation of innocence, but held myself ready. “Very well,” she said, eventually. The hallway brightened, and Mab’s clothing shifted into women’s business wear, grey suit and pale blue shirt. Whatever that had been about, she clearly had suspicions but no evidence.

“I believe your knight should be in the main hall,” I said, and offered her precedence. She led the way.

We found Dresden there in the company of the Winter Lady, both staring up at the hole in the roof.

“And do you need a basketball court?” the Winter Lady said.

“It’s an idea,” he replied, then sensed our approach, turning to face us. It looked like he hadn’t rested or run a comb through his hair since we’d last met. “Wow. Molly to distract me and my boss to keep me in line? I swear I wasn’t going to punch him in the nose.”

He could try, I thought, and offered a small smile instead.

“I prefer not to test your restraint,” Mab said. “There has been enough fighting.”

“Amen,” Dresden said. “Guess I’ll just have to be gracious in victory.” He shot me a grin, just in case I’d forgotten how much he was still enjoying this.

“Should the utter lack of grace in our previous encounters indicate victory is a rarity for you?” I asked, instead of indulging in the desire to launch the keys straight through the teeth of his smile.

“Awwww, don’t be a sore loser, John,” he said, then held out his hand and twiddled his fingers. I took a mental three count before dropping the keys into his waiting palm.

Dresden bounced them up and down. “Great. Now get ou—”

“A moment, Knight,” Mab interrupted, somehow surprising us both. We turned to look at her.

“The Baron Marcone has long sought closer alliance with Winter,” she said. “He has proven himself a worthy ally. We shall formalise the alliance tonight.”

An alliance. I’d thought such a thing a good decade off, but war was a catalyst, and I had rallied the Accorded Nations to Mab’s side.

“Uh… ok,” Dresden said, with no indication he understood the importance of such a thing. “You need some pageantry from me for that?”

“You know how the sidhe seal agreements,” she said, as if he was missing something obvious.

“You’re kissing him?” Dresden asked, his confusion at his presence in this discussion mirroring my own. Mab had never brought him into our negotiations before. “Great. With all due respect and as your host I politely request you do that in your own castle.”

Mab sighed. “Alliances are traditionally sealed by marriage, Knight.”

Marriage.

“Oh. Wow. Good luck,” Dresden said, turning back to me with wide eyes. Marry Mab? I’d understood the necessity of being a junior partner in any alliance with Winter, but marrying a queen at my current rank would codify that lack of seniority permanently, and in areas outside the scope of any alliance.

“It is not the Queen’s role to marry,” Mab said, as if to a particularly dull student. “You need not look relieved, Baron,” she continued archly. I’d kept my feelings off my face but Mab, like Dresden, was difficult to hide from.

Dresden and I traded reluctantly confused glances, neither gaining illumination before he said, “You’re going to have to be less sidhe about this, my Queen.” Then he paused, blinked, and said, “Wait. No. Molly is not marrying a Denarian. Her mom will turn Arctis Tor upside down.”

“A WHAT?!” the Winter Lady yelped, one hand held out in a warding gesture. Wonderful. If that news hadn’t already reached the ears of the Knights of the Cross, it was one step closer. “Wait, I can’t marry, that doesn’t work.”

“Indeed it does not,” Mab confirmed. “It is the function of the Knight.”

Dresden blinked again. His eyes met mine. We stared at one another in mutually horrified silence for a long beat. This time I broke first.

“To be clear,” I said, turning back to Mab. “I have no relative or vassal suitable for this purpose. You intend Dresden to marry me?”

“No,” the Lady breathed. “Oh no. Your majesty, that’s like gluing a dog to a cat and hoping it turns out well.”

Quite.

Then Dresden chipped in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, in a quiet and reasonable tone that caused me more concern than his usual dramatics, “but he’s a guy. I’m a guy. Nothing against that generally, for people who aren’t me, but no, two guys getting married is not how alliances are typically sealed.”

Mab ignored him. “Baron?” she said, as if Dresden’s cold and mounting fury were beneath her notice.

“You honor me,” I said calmly, frantically sorting through the implications and repercussions. Refusing would be politically disastrous. I didn’t want to refuse alliance with Winter; it was the cumulation of several long term plans. But the Winter Lady’s assessment had been accurate, and Mab was asking me to embrace a ticking time bomb in the form of Dresden’s eroding restraint. Time, I needed to play for time. “But I think the timescale poses difficulties.”

“Your problem is the timescale?” Dresden snarled, and I revised down my estimate on the half-life of his patience.

What do you expect me to do about this? I wanted to snap at him but settled for a speaking glance instead. Dresden opened his mouth again before flinching when the Winter Lady clamped a hand down on his arm.

“Yes, Harry. The timescale is unsuitable,” she said with significant emphasis. It clearly bounced off Dresden who simply glared at her until she made an exasperated face, which was somehow more persuasive. He shut his mouth.

The Lady turned to the Queen. “Our knight has lost his lover, and the Baron a dear lieutenant. They are owed a morning period, by the customs of their people.”

“Yes,” I said. Duty, obligation, reputation. Mab understood such things. I sent Nathan a mental apology at using his death for one last advantage. “My people would think I spend his life cheaply if I arranged a wedding right on the heels of his sacrifice.”

“Thrift, thrift, Horatio!” Dresden muttered nonsensically, but it clearly meant something to Mab who gave pause.

“Indeed? Your council is appreciated, Lady Molly. Very well. A period of a year spent in mourning.”

A year. Many things could happen in a year, I could work with that. But Dresden flared up. “You can take your year spent in mourning and shove—”

“Agreed!” Lady Molly said over him, with another familiar look. Something passed between them and whatever colorful defiance he’d been brewing stayed out of Dresden’s mouth. The leather of his coat creaked under the strength of her grip.

But Mab wasn’t done. “With the proviso that they make regular public appearances together. War does not wait for the mending of broken hearts. We must project the image of improved solidarity at once,” she decreed.

Dresden didn’t have the sense to bow his head. “No-one looks at me and Marcone and thinks of solidarity,” he growled.

“Oh? And what did Ethniu think when she looked upon you both, my Knight?” Mab asked.

“Mostly that we’re really annoying,” he retorted.

Hah. Dresden wasn’t wrong. The titan had been almost petulant at Namshiel’s appearance.

“Long may the enemies of Winter deem you both so,” Mab said with a smile. That smile grew sharper as she turned it on the Lady. “Lady Molly, you shall see to the details of the courting period.”

It hit the Lady like a gut punch. Carpenter had been in Dresden’s orbit for a long time, and from an impressionable age. Perhaps she carried a torch for him. But she swallowed whatever pain that caused her and simply nodded.

Mab surveyed us all. “The world we have been building is at risk. Defy me on this issue and you hazard much beyond my displeasure,” she cautioned.

Dresden wasn’t swayed by that either, continuing to scowl his defiance directly at Mab. She gave in to the inevitable need to let him air his concerns in a private forum before he offered her a public challenge. Wise, as he didn’t look physically capable of withstanding the punishment such insolence must bring him. It would be wasteful to break him now because he lost his temper.

“Lady Molly, Baron Marcone. Thank you for your time. I would speak privately with my Knight.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Queen Mab,” I said, and gave the exaggerated nod which was as close as I cared to come to a bow.

I offered my arm to the Winter Lady and she hesitated, conflicted eyes on Dresden.

“It’s okay,” he told her gently, as if he had any say in the outcome of a private discussion with his queen. “I’ll see you in the car.”

She gave her own nod to Mab and took my arm almost absently. I led her out, pondering the power dynamics between a Knight and Lady who had been master and student.

When we reached the entryway, and were nominally out of Mab’s earshot unless she chose to mark us, the Winter Lady announced. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“Indeed,” I agreed.

Lady Molly seemed to remember my presence and snatched her hand back. “A Denarian. Did you lose your freaking mind?”

“So speaks the former Rag Lady. I’m sure that’s not your concern, Miss Carpenter,” I said. The question had clearly come from the apprentice, the girl who’d never fully emerged from Dresden’s shadow before Winter swallowed her up. I wondered how much of her was left.

“He’s my Knight too,” she snapped. “Held in full esteem of his merits. And you aren’t worthy of him.”

Catty. I really did not want to be embroiled in high school histrionics about who got to take Dresden to prom.

“Your opinion differs from the formal position of your court,” I noted, which disconcerted her for a moment. She rallied.

“Treat my knight well, and treat him carefully, John Marcone. Or it will not be Winter you answer to,” she said. Then she vanished, leaving me uncertain as to who she intended to stand in judgement.

Dresden? The Knights? God? A little late for that. Or a little early, depending how you looked at it.

Well. It seemed I was facing a seismic shift in the nature of my working relationships with both Dresden and Winter.

I set off to make arrangements.

Chapter Text

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. I’m the Wizard of Chicago and, due to some desperately ill-advised decision making, the Winter Knight.

My boss had lost her goddamn mind.

Molly and Marcone left the castle, and I tried to pull together whatever protests wouldn’t get my skull bounced off the wall. If I took another beating parts of me might start falling off. But this was insane, and I’d had a long damned week.

And Murph was gone.

Grief possessed me, and minding my manners suddenly didn’t matter any more, because nothing mattered. I opened my mouth, phasers set to kill.

Mab raised her hand, forestalling me. Her voice was tired and uninflected. “Yes. You defy me. Obviously. You always do. In the interests of efficiency, let us assume you have uttered some mystifying reference to mortal popular nonsense, I have glared at you and reminded you of the power I hold over you, you have confirmed that you continue to understand the circumstances that require me to tolerate your insouciance, and we have both agreed to continue this ridiculous dance in the future, presumably for the remainder of time.”

I blinked. Meta-commentary on the nature of our relationship was new. It took me a moment to get my objections back in order.

“Marcone? Marriage? I’m not a Ken doll, you can’t just crash me into another action figure and shout now kiss.”

“I can do exactly that,” she said, unmoved. “Or will you deny what you surrendered to me at the table?”

I shut my mouth. Mab had me there. She’d had me in every way, staking her claim to my life in an unmistakable fashion. And I’d agreed to it, in an equally unmistakable fashion. My life was Mab’s to spend, and if marrying me off resulted in a more stable and secure Winter, she had both the right and the duty to do so.

But that just brought me back to why the entire idea was insane.

Mab turned away from me to gaze up through the hole in the roof. Raindrops turned to hail as they passed her and bounced across the stone floors of the castle.

I couldn’t deny Mab’s right, or her duty. But I could point out that her means were unlikely to reach her ends.

“Why him? Why not… Lara, or Evanna, or literally anyone else?” I asked.

Mab looked back to me, hail increasing the tempo at which it rattled across the floor.

“The Baron has garnered the lion’s share of respect among his elders by surviving a storm this violent at all, much less proving to have prepared for it, seizing the initiative, and fighting for his territory successfully. Yet you have claimed a choice prize of him, and he has the grace to yield it to you. He fought beside you. He sheltered the rabble you brought to his door. Tis meet. You are well suited.”

That was true from a really twisty point of view — one I didn’t agree with — but it reminded me there was something I wanted to say. I moved closer to Mab. She was a little shorter than me today, in the form she used to move amongst mortals unremarked.

“It did mean something to me,” I admitted. “Marcone didn’t have to let everyone in. It made tactical sense not to. But he did when I asked.”

When push came to shove, Marcone always gave me what I asked for. Sometimes for a price, sometimes because our goals aligned, maybe sometimes because he just couldn’t be bothered arguing with me.

Mab inclined her head.

“And he was ready for the fight. When the city needed him, he was here. I won’t forget that,” I continued. Then I paused to make sure I had her full attention. “But so were you. Thank you.”

Mab looked puzzled. People probably don’t thank her often. Not sincerely. “Thank you,” I repeated. “You fought for my city. My people.” I said it for the third time, intent and will in my words. Repeat something three times and you make it more real. “Thank you.”

Mab shivered at my gratitude. She closed her eyes. And for a moment, rain fell around her instead of hail.

“Child, you are welcome,” she said, and opened her eyes. When she looked at me, it was the gaze of Winter’s Queen. Whatever moment she’d just spent being a person was tucked away once more.

“I have a question,” I asked.

“Go on.”

“Why don’t you do it? You seem to like him.”

Amusement quirked her mouth. “Like him… child, if it were simply a matter of bedding him, I need not call on you. I would spare you this if it were something I could do myself.”

I believed her, which raised some questions. “Why can’t you?” I frowned, remembering Molly’s protest that she couldn’t marry because it wouldn’t work. What the heck did that mean?

“Certain aspects of my power have to do with choices I made when I was mortal,” Mab said. “There would be… compatibility issues, with a marriage. This is part of the task the Knight was designed for.”

We were back to speaking different languages again. “I’m a person, not a design,” I pointed out. “I might not be fundamentally incompatible with marriage, but I sure as hell am with Marcone.”

Mab looked amused again, the faintest sign of humor in her eyes. “No. You are not incompatible at all. You deliberately set yourself at odds with him because you imagined how terrible a creature you might become if you grasped after power the way he does.”

Ouch. That was maybe… not wrong, but also a fantastic reason not to marry the guy.

“That’s just incompatible with more words,” I protested. “And if you think I’m going to put on a black hat and start twirling my moustache because you marry me off to a gangster, you’ve got another thing coming.”

She sighed. “Assuming I’ve parsed that correctly, you’re being tiresomely obtuse.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m rubber and you're glue,” I retorted, prompting Mab to reach up and flick me on the ear before I could get out of range. “Ow!”

“Manners, child. I have no plans to alter you. Have you not proven to be of great value as you are?”

I stared at her in disbelief. “You hung the mantle round my neck! I have to fight to be who I am every goddamn day, and if I slip—” the burn across my arm itched. If I slipped, and I was lucky, I had friends to call me back to myself. “If I slip it’s going to be no fun for anybody if I do it in Marcone’s company.”

Mab shook her head. “Still your vision is clouded. I admit you needed to be at odds with the Baron to grow. The power you have taken, bite by bite, hasn’t devoured you. You have mastered the mantle. You may master more. But the time for playground rivals has passed.”

Apparently Mab thought of my precarious detente with Marcone as existential training wheels. I had no idea what the hell kind of bike she wanted me to ride.

“If I ask you to explain any of that you’re going to say something infuriatingly cryptic, aren’t you?” I tried.

“The time has not yet come.”

“Goddamnit!” I yelled. I may even have stamped my foot. I’d been promised answers and I wasn't in the mood to wait a year for them.

“Our world has become infinitely more uncertain and dangerous. We must become stronger and more stable to face it, securing both the appearance and fact of a secure alliance with a competent partner.”

“Great. Super rational, makes sense,” I agreed. “But that’s not how relationships work, Mab! It shouldn’t be forced!”

She was unmoved, staring me down with glacial certainty. “You have a year to persuade yourself of his merits.”

I knew she couldn’t understand, was maybe incapable of understanding, but I kept trying. “There’s not a switch I can flick in my brain that’s going to make me want to marry John Marcone!”

Her look was cold. “Your wants are immaterial. There is no margin here for you to dance within. Bend, wizard. Or I will break you.”

I drew in a breath and let it out again. “I guess we’ll see.”

Her eyes glinted. But she looked like someone who had heard what she expected to hear. She inclined her head to me in an opponent's acknowledgement. “We will see.”

And then I walked out of that one-to-one with my boss to hop in a car with my other sort-of boss to see her folks for Sunday dinner. And break the whole Winter Lady deal. Which it turned out they already knew.

There was a lot of hugging. And some crying. And heaps of good food.

And I held my kid and my dog and knew no matter what was coming, I had steady ground to face it from.

************************************

I had a lot of building to do, and a lot of breaking down. Crazy as it was, I couldn’t turn my attention to the marriage situation straightaway.

It’s different, grieving as a parent. Grief is all consuming, it fills your heart and your life, it’s all you can see, but at the same time… you make room.

Because Maggie needed me. She needed her dad to be there for her, doing dad things, loving her.

So even though I spent my nights swamped in dreams, haunted by Murphy’s pale face and her dark blood, come morning I got up.

I had things to do.

My brother was trapped on Demonreach. I had no idea how to free him without his hunger eating him alive. His lover was being puppeteered by the adversary, taking his future child along for the ride. My future niece or nephew. Maggie’s cousin. Every tracking spell I tried fizzled out. I didn’t stop trying.

But some problems have obvious solutions. You laid stone on stone, hammer to nail. You asked a friend to lend a hand.

Michael went with me to survey the hole in the castle roof. We measured a few things. Michael wrote things down and I tried to wrap my head around how renovations would interface with the castle’s defences. That was definitely a question for Bob.

Michael and I were in the middle of debating a skylight when someone stuck their head into the hall with a hesitant “Hello?”

We turned to see a vaguely familiar man come into the hall, followed by a relaxed and wolfy Will Borden who’d been guarding the castle door. He’d evidently allowed the man to pass. I belatedly recognised him; medium build, brown wavy hair, a pair of glasses now held together by tape over the nose - it was the father from the first house where River Shoulders and I fought the Huntsmen. The man with a wife and child who’d trusted me because he’d remembered my dog.

“Harry Dresden?” the guy said in surprise.

“Yeah,” I said, managing a smile. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Velasquez. Luis Velasquez. I didn’t expect anyone to still be here,” he said, looking around and offering Michael an equally strained smile of greeting.

It felt clumsy, making introductions in the wake of something as transformative as the Battle. Like we should already know one another properly. But we fumbled through.

“There’s been a change of ownership,” I explained. “Welcome to Castle Dresden, Mr Velasquez. Can I help you with something?”

“Ah, perhaps?” he said, scanning the hall once more. “We cleared out in a hurry when the fighting stopped. Have you seen a toy rabbit?”

I blinked. Chicago was still in turmoil, the streets still full of hazards, transport difficult to source — Velasquez had made his way here from wherever his family were sheltering, for a toy.

“A rabbit?” I questioned.

He resettled his glasses on his nose, where the poorly mended break was clearly starting to rub. “My little girl, Sophia — she sleeps with a toy rabbit. Mr. Hopps. It’s the only thing left from— from before. She held onto him until we got to the castle, but we haven’t seen him since.”

Michael and I traded looks of paternal understanding. Yeah, that was the kind of thing a father might hazard the streets for.

“Got your cell?” I asked Michael.

“Powered off, but yes.”

I fished some chalk out of my pocket and drew a circle round him. “I haven’t seen any toys, Mr Velasquez. But I’ll find out if anyone picked it up during the clear out. Michael, call this number for me, put it on speaker.”

Vasquez looked at the circle in confusion as Michael dialled Marcone’s number. It rang three times before he answered.

“Who is this?” Marcone said.

“Hey, honey,” I said. “When your people cleared the castle, was there a toy rabbit?”

“A toy…” Marcone sighed. “Good afternoon, Dresden. Anything I didn’t have claim to was crated up in the gym. Try there.”

“Great. Oh, hey, what do you want me to do with your mail?”

There was a beat of silence in which I grinned to myself. “Dresden, I’m busy. If you’d like to discuss something serious, make an appointment.”

“Well that just doesn’t sound very romantic, John. A boy needs spontaneity in his life, you know?”

Marcone hung up. I took a moment to enjoy my powers of long distance irritation.

“Was that who I think it was?” Velasquez said warily.

“Previous owner of this castle,” I confirmed. “Follow me. Will, you still good guarding the door?

Will dipped his head and padded back out. Velasquez followed after me while Michael returned to jotting down measurements.

“So, you, uh… You really think it’s smart to talk to him like that?” Velasquez asked.

“For me? Yeah. Keeps him on his toes.” I said. Before Mab’s announcement I’d fully intended on taking a more reasoned approach to dealing with the guy. I didn’t have the institutional weight of the White Council to back me up when I threw my weight around, and I was under no illusions about how the Battle would have gone without him. He was due my respect. But the suddenly engaged! aspect of our relationship had tripped me into familiar habits.

“Probably not a smart hobby for people who can’t blow up monsters with bits of wood, though,” he mused.

“Maybe not.” I could feel Velasquez considering me. Chicago hadn’t been too friendly to the supernaturally inclined since the battle. “You got any questions about that?”

“You can do magic,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I said, taking note of our relative positions on the stairs, and how easy it would be to push him down them with a shield if he turned on me. “It’s a gift. And a lot of hard work.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re still here. I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”

Sometimes, if you let them, people can surprise you. “What are neighbors for, right?”

“Most neighbors can’t do what you do.” He paused on the steps. I looked back down at him to find the colour washing out of his cheeks. ”It was like a nightmare, Mr. Dresden. Monsters came for my family and I couldn’t do anything about it. We’re alive because of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, which sounded kind of inadequate.

Velasquez clearly felt the same. He shook his head and said, “We owe you. Everyone from this block owes you.”

Those weren’t words you should throw at a guy with a faerie mantle wrapped around his life. I shrugged off the mantle’s stirring interest.

“Pay it forward,” I said instead, focussing on the work of being human. “Times are going to be tough. People are going to hurt. For a long time.” Murphy, on the pavement, bleeding out. I closed my eyes and swallowed it down. Later, I could go to pieces later. “Next time you can help, help, and we’ll call it even.”

“I like your philosophy,” Velasquez said. “The world needs more of it.”

We traded shaky smiles and got moving. When we got to the gym I spotted a couple of crates against the back wall I’d overlooked on my brief survey of the castle. I unclipped the lids and gazed down at a random assortment of items. Was that einherjarr laundry? Surely Marcone could have sent that back via Monoc -- was I obliged to now? I poked around hesitantly until I caught sight of a long floppy ear, and then fished out a plump pink rabbit holding a fuzzy carrot. “Ah hah. Mr Hopps, I presume?”

“That’s him!” Velasquez’s face lit up. Mission accomplished. “Sophia will be so happy.”

Something else caught my eye in the box, and I reached in to pull out a backpack. If it was anything like the bugout bag I packed for Maggie… I unzipped the front pouch. Passports.

“Oh man. Those are going to be a pain in the ass to replace right now.” I realized.

“Anyone we know?” Velasquez asked. I checked.

“Jim and Alice Caziel.”

“Weren’t they at number 23? The nurse and teacher with the Labrador?” Velasquez had a good memory for dogs.

“Oh yeah. Mouse liked her.”

“Hang on, I think they’re still on the street Whattsapp group,” he said, pulling a cellphone out of his pocket. “Not everyone’s managed to replace a phone yet but I’m sure my wife mentioned they messaged about finding space in the Wrigleyville shelter.” He was tapping away at his cell as he spoke and I moved away, round the other side of the crate. There were a few other things in there that didn’t look like laundry. I frowned.

“Did everyone leave in a hurry?”

“No one wanted to cross Marcone’s men. When they told us to clear out to the shelters, we cleared out.”

“This isn’t Marcone’s castle any more.” I said, with immediate and total conviction. The Mantle agreed with me. “This is your neighborhood. No-one has to leave unless they want to leave. I have space enough for everyone.”

Velasquez looked up from the phone and blinked. “That’s— an incredible offer, Mr Dresden. We’re lucky. My sister's house wasn’t touched, but we’re crammed in like sardines. Some of our neighbors… not all of the shelters feel safe. But are you sure? You’ve already done so much.”

“Not enough,” I said, voice choking off as I remembered a bloody cradle on its side. There could never be enough. The city had bled and bled and bled. But after the bleeding, all you could do was keep moving. “This place is too big for just me. What’s the point in having a castle if you don’t use it to protect people?”

As soon as I finished speaking, I heard a bell ring. I knew, without knowing how, that it came from within the castle, and I felt like I’d stood there before, spoken the same words, and heard the chime.

The last time I’d felt that way, I’d been standing on Demonreach.

Velasquez gave no indication of having heard anything. So far as I knew, the castle didn’t even have a bell.

“I can pass the message along, Mr Dresden, and I’ll speak to my wife,” he said.

“Call me Harry,” I said, rather than raving about mysterious bells. Another question for Bob.

“Thank you, Harry. Luis.” We shook hands again, and the scale of what I’d proposed started catching up with me.

“There’s going to be rules,” I said. “Briefings. A lot of information - things people need to abide by to keep us safe.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “After what we saw… if you’re willing to teach, I’m sure people will want to learn.”

************************************************************
Before my displaced neighbors could arrive, I looked to my defences.

Marcone had overlooked the real key to the castle - it required a spirit to interact with the majority of its functions, like Alfred did for me on the island. That wasn’t where the similarities ended: The spells woven into the stones were ancient and still functional, and they bore a startling structural resemblance to those that had been used to create Demonreach. It convinced me the castle was the work of the original Merlin or one of his students.

And now, like Demonreach, it belonged to me.

I made my way down to my lab and set Bob’s skull down on a shelf Michael had fixed for me. It was the first room in the castle to be fully furnished, and it felt good to be back. I set a candle to either side of Bob’s skull and lit it. Then I set a pile of racy reading material beside him.

“Welcome to your new home, Bob. You have my permission to explore the castle and configure the defences. Raise the drawbridge!”

Bob’s eye lights flared before he floated out from the skull, drifting back up to the trapdoor. I scrambled up a stepladder behind him, and watched as Bob sank into one of the stones of the wall. It started to glow blue.

“Whoah! It’s big in here,” his voice said. I don’t know why I expected it to echo; he sounded the same as always. “Kinda lacking in drawbridges.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, flapping a hand at him. “Figure out how to stop all the things that want to take a swing at me from getting in.”

Without the backing of the White Council, picking a fight with me wouldn’t drag anyone into a war. It’d only piss Mab off if they made their move at the stupidest of moments. Open season on Harry Dresden.

“Oh, hey. Gargoyles!” Bob said in delight. “Just what I always wanted.”

I smothered a smile. I knew Bob had enjoyed his time with Butters, gaining exposure to the internets and Butters’ unexpected love triangle— triad? What was it called when everyone was happy about it?— but Butters wasn’t a wizard. He didn’t own a magic castle. He couldn’t give Bob strange and ancient magics to explore. I got the feeling Bob was going to like this place.

“Huh. Boss, there’s something pointed at the Nevernever too but it’s… complex. Like, complex in more dimensions than I’m confident I’m perceiving. Not sure I should mess with it.”

“Right. Maybe leave that until last. My godmother will have it covered anyway.”

“Also, there’s someone at the door,” Bob said casually. “Redcap. Oh, hey— cool, I think we can wipe out glamor and illusions down the whole block. Whooeee this is a whole lotta fun!”

“Redcap?” I asked, suddenly glad I’d prioritized the defences. “A redcap or the redcap?”

“How many do you know?” Bob asked in confusion.

“One too many. Why the hell is he knocking on my door?”

“I can ask him?”

“Uh, no.” I did not want Bob coming to Winter’s official attention. I suspected Mab already knew about him, but that was different to knowing about him.

I jogged along to the front doors and slid open the viewing panel just as the Redcap knocked again. “Go away,” I said.

He peered in at me with a resigned expression. “Such gracious welcome, Knight,” he sighed, and lifted an envelope into view. “My lady cannot bring you this herself. So I am come at her bidding.”

An errand from Molly. I understood her picking someone I knew, but considering what I knew amounted to him being a merciless double agent, I’d rather she’d entrusted it to the postal service.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Apparently? A marriage contract.” A lightning smile flickered across his face. It kind of made me want to punch him. “You and the Baron? A formidable match.”

Then he paused to invite a reply, peering in at me like I was a particularly interesting animal at the zoo. The fae were drawn to the emotional complexities of mortal lives, even if they didn’t fully understand them. This was probably the Redcap equivalent of a soap opera.

“Are you here for gossip?” I growled.

“But of course,” he smiled again. “Our courtly knight will be taking a man to wed. Will you pull back his chair? Defend his honor?”

“He doesn’t have any,” I snapped, but immediately knew myself a liar. Marcone had plenty, if you knew where to look. It was part of the reason he was so infuriating.

“Ah, so he’ll be defending yours?” The Redcap asked. “Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about this,” I said, and hauled the door open to discover the Redcap was dressed as a mailman. Except his hat was red instead of blue, and he’d done nothing to hide his otherworldly beauty. It left him looking like a lithe, dark haired mailman with a sideline in modelling. He was enjoying this far too much.

The Redcap rested one hand high on the doorframe and leaned in towards me. Arrogant, giving me a clear shot at his torso. But he was here at the Winter Lady’s bidding and stabbing him through the solar plexus with an icicle would probably inconvenience Molly. I refrained.

“Come now,” he purred. “Surely the wedding night will arouse some interest?”

I froze. My brain had been so filled with outrage at the idea of being married to Marcone that I hadn’t considered the details of getting married. To accept a knighthood, I’d had to give all of myself to Mab. To bind Winter and the Barony…

What was I obliged to do?

Whatever was happening on my face caught the Redcap’s attention. “Is that a maidenly blush?” he asked. “If you’d like to get some practice in—”

I snatched the envelope off him. “Redcap, thou hast fulfilled thy mistress’s command!” I snapped. “Begone, begone, begone!”

It hardly counted as a banishing, but the Redcap flinched, and I felt something like a pressure flow past me from the open door of the castle. Huh.

“I go, Knight,” he said, and disappeared from the street. I slammed the door.

I had a contract to read and a criminal to talk out of marrying me.