Work Text:
Title: This Side of the Truth
Author: A Lanart
Fandom/Genre: Dresden Files/Highlander crossover. TV verse Dresden with bookverse cameos.
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Dresden Files stuff is the property of Jim Butcher and the scifi channel.
Highlander stuff is the property of Panzer/Davies productions
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made.
~*~
This Side of the Truth
*
McAnally's Pub is many things to many people, not least of which is being the source of probably the best beer in Chicago. Mac would no doubt give me one of his glares if he heard me saying probably as I'm sure to his mind there is no probably about it. He could be right, in fact he probably *is* right but I haven't drunk enough beer in other places in Chicago to make an unbiased assessment. Most importantly to me, and many other members of the magical community both human and otherwise, McAnally's is a place where you can feel completely at ease in your skin – a home from home if you like – and the beer is just an amazing bonus. I have no idea what the place was like before McAnally took over because to me it seems like he's *always* been there, making the place a comforting escape from a world and a life that doesn't always make sense. Turns out that 'seems like he's always been there' isn't that far wrong. Wizards can perceive things that other people don't of course, but I'm not going to try to fool myself into thinking that somehow, in some way, I knew McAnally's secret all along. I didn't, and finding out was another big surprise in a day that had been full of them.
Bear in mind that I was already rattled to say the least - it isn't every day that you discover that non-magical immortals really do exist and that they can be both dangerously attractive and attractively dangerous - and you'll realise that I was functioning like I was a few fries short of a happy meal.
Oh I had my cues that something weird was going on; the look that Adam and Amanda gave each other as they hesitated momentarily before going through the door into the main part of the pub along with the curious little twitch of their shoulders they both did before continuing should have alerted even me to the fact that in common with the rest of the day, things were not as they seemed. I noticed, but it didn't register as anything special; I thought it was just another weird immortal thing that I wouldn't understand. I was right, but not in the way I originally thought. What I didn't miss was the expression on McAnally's face as we all emerged into the bar; I wish I had as it made me rethink an awful lot of things about my friend.
The best way to describe Mac is nondescript; he's tall but not unusually so, he's not particularly thin or fat, his face has a reassuring lived in look and even his eyes are kind of an indeterminate shade between brown and grey. I have no idea what colour his hair is as he shaves it all off and I'm not fool enough to ask him about it. All in all, he has an ultimately non-threatening air about him, which is kind of important when you consider the clientele he can get in the bar.
The look I caught in McAnally's eyes that day was the polar opposite of unthreatening and made me take a step backwards, as far into the shadows as I could, where I would not be seen so easily.
"This is Holy Ground," Mac said as he nodded toward the sign that announced the place was neutral ground according to the Unseelie Accords. "There will be no trouble here." I have never heard him sound so determined in all my life, but then again, Mac doesn't say an awful lot most of the time. There was an audible intake of breath in front of me – it could have been either Adam or Amanda – and then Adam stepped forward.
"Why on earth would I want to cause trouble Seán Mac an Fhailghigh?" He asked. Mac narrowed his eyes and frowned, and I really didn't like the expression on his face as he glared at Adam. I sank further back into the shadows, and was surprised when Amanda joined me, giving me a sickly grin and a shrug when I mouthed 'what?' at her. I guess she had no idea what was going on either. I turned my attention back to Adam and Mac and I found myself feeling very glad that there appeared to be nobody else in sight. Mac was still glaring, one hand hidden behind the bar, the other oh-so-casually resting on the polished wood surface and I found myself wondering what else he kept behind the bar for use in times of trouble besides the shillelagh I knew about. For his part Adam seemed unconcerned, from what I could tell by staring at his back, and his stance suggested that he was totally relaxed. I didn't actually believe that was true for one minute; from what the guy had told me his life depended on being ready for anything at all times even if he did live by the adage of 'run, not fight' as he'd said earlier.
"Why would you want to cause trouble?" Mac echoed. "Because you can, of course. What other reason would you need?" His gaze was stony and unyielding, almost frightening in fact. This was not McAnally as I knew him - bar owner, brewer of beer and man of few words - and I didn't like it.
"I think you're confusing me with someone else, my friend," Adam said gently, his tone of voice the sort you'd use on a skittish animal. For some reason I thought of horses, which made no sense to me at all. Nothing new there, then.
"I'm no friend of yours," Mac announced. Adam shifted slightly, as if he were preparing to move forward.
"Are you so sure of that?" He continued to speak softly, but I had no problem hearing every word. "It was a long time ago; maybe your memory is failing... Brother John." With the last two words Adam stepped fully into the light. The effect on Mac was instantaneous – he burst out laughing, both of his hands now resting on the bar. I've never seen Mac laugh like that, abandoning himself completely to sheer mirth and joy; it made him look a damn sight less nondescript, I have to admit. Still chuckling he made his way around the bar and grasped Adam's wrist in greeting.
"You old fraud! Have you come to drink all my beer?"
Even from my position behind him, I could tell Adam was grinning. "Something like that," he said. "I was given a personal recommendation..." He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, which Mac followed.
"Oh, it's you," Mac said when he spotted me. "Stop skulking where I can't see you properly, Harry, and come explain just *how* you ran into 'Brother Mathew' here."
With a quick glance at each other, Amanda and I slowly emerged from the concealing shadows. Mac frowned slightly at her and she gave him the faintest of nods. I began to feel at a distinct disadvantage. I bit my tongue before I said anything I might regret permanently and sidled over to the bar, where Mac was producing bottles of beer with a bit more of an extra flourish than usual. I cleared my throat experimentally and tried to block out the vision of Adam's sardonically raised eyebrow.
"Uh, Mac... are you... you know... like them?" I waved a hand vaguely in Both Adam and Amanda's direction. I couldn't bring myself to say the word 'immortal' at all. Saying it would mean I was recognising that Mac wasn't who or what I thought he had been and I wasn't quite ready for that. To my eternal discomfort, Mac had no such problem.
"You mean immortal?" He asked bluntly.
I winced, but nodded my reply.
"Yes," he confirmed.
"Oh hell," I muttered, wondering just how I was going to get past this without the distance a bottle or four would give me. I couldn't afford to drink to forget, and Mac knew that – he held my tab. Someone took pity on me though, as a bottle was wordlessly pressed into my hand. I began to protest but was shushed by Amanda.
"Don't think, just drink. You aren't paying for this." I complied swiftly; I might have been stuck someplace between fear, denial and generally falling apart but I was still together enough not to question good fortune twice, plus I got the impression that Amanda at least sympathised with me.
I applied myself to drinking Mac's beer with a sense of purpose – the purpose being to get to a state of inebriation where the impossible day might actually begin to make sense and I could *talk* about it. I realised that by the time I could talk about it, I might not be physically *able* to talk about it but I really didn't care and not even the thought of Bob's unholy glee about me having a hangover was enough to make me think twice about my decision to lose my incipient hysteria in the bottom of a beer bottle or two. Or Four. Or more.
I guess it's no surprise that I don't remember the next couple of hours that clearly, but from what I do remember, that's no bad thing. I just wish I could forget some of the more unfortunate bits, like me singing, but all I can say in my defence is that I'm fairly certain that the singing wasn't my idea. It wasn't long after the singing that my brain decided it had had more than enough, and shut down which meant I was left with no other option than to rest my head on my arms where they lay on the bar clinging to an empty beer bottle like a talisman and shut my eyes. I wasn't asleep, being asleep would have been infinitely preferable, but I really couldn't take the strain any more at that point and I had to escape somehow as walking out of the pub under my own steam probably wasn't an option.
The hum of voices wasn't exactly comforting, but it didn't intrude too much either. I was just thankful they let me be, locked in my own version of a cold blue funk. I vaguely remember a gentle hand on my shoulder – Amanda's I think, as it was too small and delicate for McAnally's or Adam's – but no-one spoke to me directly. Not long after that I think I must have dropped off for a while as when I blearily opened my eyes, my head seemed to be clearer. I didn't move though, just continued to rest my head on my arms while I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of the fact that like it or not, immortals were obviously going to be a part of my life; I couldn't see Mac giving up his pub just because 1 not-so-well-paying customer had problems dealing with his lifestyle. It was *my* problem and I would have to deal with it, and the best way to start doing that was to get myself some more information. No time like the present, while the beer cushion was still there even if my head was clearer. I blinked a few more times before I unwrapped my hands from around the empty bottle and raised my head.
"How long? How *old*?" I asked, a bit fuzzily I think as the 3 immortals all kind of stared at me in surprise – or maybe they hadn't expected me to surface for a while longer. Adam and Mac shared a look, with Mac giving a faint nod.
"After I met Bob," Adam replied. I waited for a few moments, but it seemed that the 'how old' question was still not going to be answered any time soon; immortals seemed to be even cagier about their ages than wizards and that was saying something.
"And you?" I asked Amanda. She shrugged elegantly.
"Never met him before," she said.
"Not much call for good looking women in monasteries," Mac added. If I'd been drinking at that point, I would have choked.
"Monasteries?" I spluttered.
"Used to be the best places to get beer in Britain, until Harry messed it all up in the 1530s." Adam sounded so matter of fact about it; I couldn't help but gape at him. He nodded in Mac's direction. "Where do you think *he* learned the art of brewing?"
"A monastery? You were *monks*?" Now Mac I could almost imagine being at home in a monastery, but Adam Pierson? Never. Scholar and beer lover he might be but I doubted that he'd be happy living with the restrictions of a religious house; he seemed too much a force of nature for that. Mind you, I had only just met him and I'm sure he'd been working on ensuring that his appearance was deceptive and his motivations hidden for centuries, but I'm a wizard and wizards trust their instincts even when good sense tells them they're being foolish. I've had lots of practice.
"You weren't a very good one from what I remember," Mac said to Adam, while I continued to blink at them in numb disbelief.
"It was a place to keep warm and stay out of trouble."
"And drink my beer."
"Well of course - it was good beer. It still is." Adam raised the bottle in his hand with a smile. I let my head fall back down to my arms, wondering why I bothered saying anything; it always made things worse.
"I think I need to go home," I whispered. The company of a sarcastic, ghostly ex-necromancer and a grouchy cat who thought he was the centre of the universe was beginning to seem infinitely more preferable than that of a couple of immortal beer guzzling and brewing former monks and an immortal thief. My head hurt, pounding in the resounding silence that followed my words. Amanda's hand settled on my shoulder again; I think she almost felt sorry for me.
"I'll make sure you get back in one piece," she said gently. I grunted in reply.
"Make sure the contents of his pockets get back one piece, too, Amanda."
"Adam! I wouldn't dream of it. Well, not tonight at least." She patted my shoulder. "Your pockets are safe, Harry, and so are the contents of your home." I could hear the glare in her voice and assumed it was aimed at Adam considering Mac didn't seem to know her. "We can leave these two to catch up with each other over their beer in peace. How does that sound?"
"Great," I mumbled, though I didn't make any effort to move. Part of me was very reluctant to go in case I found that I was no longer welcome in the place that had become my second home. I think Mac must have realised my concern as he dispatched it with his next words.
"Harry, knowing what I am won't change anything about this place. You'll still be just as welcome," he said. It was a relief to hear it, even if sometimes I felt that I wasn't welcome because of the disasters I seemed to invite, or maybe that was just my guilt talking. I raised my head again.
"Thanks, Mac," I said, then I concentrated on trying to unfold myself from the bar stool without falling over. Pleased that I'd actually managed to stand without mishap, even if I was a little unsteady, I offered my elbow to Amanda.
"You still going to take me home?" I asked her with what was probably an inane grin on my face. It wasn't often that I had a good looking women *volunteer* to take me home, whether they had an ulterior motive or not, and I was not going to let the opportunity pass me by, especially not with Mac's beer inside of me providing the fortification necessary to be able to *speak* to Amanda without worrying about tying myself in knots.
"Yes, I think I will." She grabbed her coat and slung it on before taking my proffered arm. "See you later, boys," she called back over her shoulder as I made my somewhat erratic way to the exit.
We hadn't gone far when I realised that the Chicago air was doing a grand job of sobering me up, that and my ridiculous metabolism. I was beginning to enjoy having Amanda walk arm in arm with me rather than it being a necessity.
"Mind if we walk rather than catching a cab?" I asked. "I'd rather not run the risk of frying any automotive electronics if you don't mind." I might be capable of walking, but I was too drunk to keep tight control of my magic in a modern car which meant that the car might not even make it all the way back to my place without *something* essential going boom because of me.
"Not at all, it's a pleasant night for a stroll." She was right, it *was* a pleasant night and it was made more pleasant by our inconsequential chatter. Soon though that segued into us discussing Mac, his immortality and our surprise about it; Amanda really hadn't heard of him before and I got the impression she'd been around since before Bob was alive. Mac had obviously been keeping his head down; maybe living in a monastery hadn't been a bad career decision for him. It had left him with skills he could utilise as well as that talent for just fading into the background – even if that wouldn't be so useful with the apparent immortal radar system they had. I made my mind up to ask about that, though I realised I'd rather ask Amanda or Adam than Mac as he was too close to what I still saw as a normal life - even if living in a magical world wasn't what most people would call normal - for me to want to know details off him. Probably no time like the present, either – Amanda seemed to be quite amenable to discuss all sorts of things, something I'd not expected from my initial impression. Immortals were obviously a complicated bunch after living all those lifetimes and despite my discomfort, I found I really wanted to know more.
"Amanda, just how *do* you know when another immortal is near? I know it has nothing to do with magic or I'd be able to tell."
"We sense each other. Remember Adam mentioned that we all have a type of energy we call the Quickening?"
"Yeah…"
"It varies from immortal to immortal, but you can always sense it. Kind of like a noise no-one else can hear but that you *feel* deep inside, tingling like electricity. Some people you can feel from quite a distance, some you have to be pretty close to before you get anything. Also depends on how well you know the person – you become more sensitive to someone you know well though their quickening is less intrusive."
"It doesn't sound that different from sensing certain kinds of magic." I grinned at her, feeling stupidly cheerful and downright mellow "Can you blow up lightbulbs too?" If I'd been less mellow I would have wanted the ground to open up beneath my feet for saying something so stupid. Amanda started giggling, then chuckling, and soon her peals of laughter just made my grin even wider; maybe it hadn't been such a stupid thing to say after all. She managed to swallow her laughter long enough to reply
"Lightbulbs are an immortal speciality."
"Oh yeah?" I asked as she managed to bring herself back under control, but with a grin as wide as mine still firmly in place.
"Yeah. A friend blew half the lights in Paris out once – including the Eiffel Tower." I was going to call her bluff on that one, but something in her eyes told me she was actually serious, even though she was making light of it. I let that be the guide to my response and wondered how my mouth would manage to cope with sincerity and flippancy at the same time.
"Now that's what I call impressive. I obviously have some catching up to do…"
Hmmm. That didn't come out quite as badly as I'd feared it might – probably because my brain wasn't really involved. It had the added bonus of making Amanda giggle again too which started me off and we were still fighting a losing battle with laughter as we approached my door.
Bob was not impressed. Not with the laughter, nor the company I was keeping, that much was obvious. He has this *look* that can say a whole slew of disapproving things about me and to me without him uttering one single word. Fortunately, I'm used to it and I doubt Amanda noticed.
Then I tried to light a few candles, not wanting to risk switching the electric lights on and there was the merry tinkle of shattering glass as my last surviving lightbulb blew out anyway.
"Oh dear," smirked Bob. "And you were having such fun, too." He glanced at Amanda who had collapsed into the nearest chair with laughter. "Pray tell, what is so amusing?" Bob asked Amanda.
"Lightbulbs!" She wheezed.
"Ah." Bob turned to me, wordlessly demanding an explanation. I shrugged and stumbled to the sofa, my legs having decided they didn't need to work any longer now I was home, and relatively safe.
"You had to be there," I mumbled.
"I'm sure it would have been very edifying," Bob said with a quirk of a smile before he faded – literally – into the background. I closed my eyes and let my head drop to the back of the sofa, it felt too heavy for my neck to support adequately with the weight of all the thoughts and speculation whirling around inside it. The cushion next to me dipped and a glass was pressed into my hand. I sipped gingerly, wondering what the hell an immortal would think was a suitable drink at this point of time. It was water. I opened one eye and tried to glare at her, she gave me a brief smile and another one of those shrugs – she seemed to have a never ending collection of them.
"If you don't have a hangover in the morning, Bob will be terribly disappointed," she commented. I gulped the water down in about 4 swallows and held the glass out for a refill. She obliged with a chuckle. The next glass was drunk a little more slowly and I chanced opening both eyes when I finished. Amanda still hadn't removed her coat and was glancing thoughtfully between me and the door.
"I'll be fine," I said. "You go back to Mac's. Call a cab."
"Sure?"
"Sure. I have a lot to process and I don't think you staying would help with that."
"Probably not."
I closed my eyes as she made her way to the phone, then opened them again as she cleared her throat.
"What?" I grumbled.
"Your phone is in bits," she said. Oops. I'd forgotten about that. Luckily I have spares in case of such an eventuality – you can pick up old fashioned phones for peanuts if you know where to look.
"Look in the floor cupboard next to the fridge," I said without moving. It wasn't me who needed the phone after all. I assumed she didn't want to risk using her cell anywhere near me, she had good reason.
A short while later, after some clunking and cursing, Amanda started dialling a number. I switched off, unable to sustain the interest in what was going on outside of my head any longer, which meant I jumped a mile when she put her hand on my shoulder, leaned down and kissed my forehead. I nearly head-butted her, and would have done if not for immortal reflexes, I'm sure.
"Not quite the reaction I was expecting," she chuckled.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"It's OK. Take care, Harry and thanks for putting up with the old man." I suppose she meant Adam Pierson which made me shudder – if *she* called him old, then I didn't want to know how old he was after all, despite the thread of underlying curiosity that wove around beneath the messed-up surface of my thoughts.
"Favour to a friend," I said as nonchalantly as I could manage. I'm not sure she was convinced going by the smile on her face, but still…
"See you, Harry." She waved as she swept out of the door, taking the last of my energy with her. I flopped back into the cushions, thankful that my sofa was almost as comfortable as my bed; it meant there was no *need* for me to move to get a decent sleep and for that I was truly thankful. I can get by on a lot less sleep than an ordinary non-magical person does, but there are times when I really need the escape and oblivion only sleep provides. Unsurprisingly, this was one of them.
I was woken by the warmth of sunlight on my face, the smell of coffee and the soft murmur of voices. I threw an arm over my face, not wanting to be blinded by the light as I opened my eyes, and tried to make sense of what I was hearing. Bob doesn't talk to himself much and when he does it's about magic, not about… McAnally. That enabled me to place the other voice; Adam Pierson.
"How did you get in?" I asked from the sofa, not ready to risk further movement until I'd gotten my head a bit straighter.
"You didn't reset the wards, Harry. They still recognised him. He's been…ah… enlightening… me about last night."
"Oh," I replied, hoping that Adam hadn't told Bob *everything* or I'd never be able to face him again, ghost or not.
"Coffee?" Adam asked, before I could say anything else. I nodded, removed my arm from my face and carefully hauled myself upright before opening my eyes. My favourite cup was placed on the table in front of me, the coffee within it smelling like the nectar of the gods.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"Anytime." He wandered off to the large table, which appeared to be covered in papers, and books with the book from yesterday in pride of place at the centre. I tried to make sense of the picture, and failed.
"What…?" My brain decided not to provide me with the rest of the sentence and I stared at Adam helplessly. He smiled at me, and indicated the table.
"I thought I'd do those translations before I left as I don't know when I'll be back in Chicago."
"But…" There were a lot more books on the table than the one he'd offered to translate yesterday. His smile turned sheepish.
"I got distracted. You have quite a collection of obscure medieval texts, even if most of them are copies."
"Side effect of the lifestyle," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. It was damn good. "Bob looks after the really old books downstairs." Half way through the sentence Bob began shaking his head and making 'stop right there' motions. Needless to say my mouth took no notice of him while my eyes found his antics rather amusing. My brain was lagging behind at the 'what?' stage of things and hadn't realised the significance of what I'd said. Then it clicked. Adam Pierson was an unashamed Bibliophile and if I let him get his oh-so-careful hands on the books that Bob guarded, I'd probably never get him out of my home. Great move, Harry. Bob rolled his eyes at me, rearranging his face as Adam turned to look at him with a rapt expression.
"You do?"
Bob nodded. "And for a very good reason – many of them are dangerous."
"Not to me," Adam said; he sounded hopeful rather than certain to my ears.
"Especially to you," Bob replied, frowning at Adam. He presented a very good picture of determined righteousness, manacles notwithstanding, as he stood there with his arms folded and an almost haughty frown on his face. Adam met his eyes for a moment with a glare that wouldn't have looked out of place on Bob. The undercurrents between them were so obvious that even I could see them, although I didn't understand the cause and wasn't sure I wanted to either. In those few seconds of impasse, some kind of agreement must have been reached as they broke away from the glaring match simultaneously.
"Fair enough," Adam conceded. "But I'd…"
"If you want to drool over the rest of my books, Dr Pierson, then you'll just have to make sure you come back for a visit, won't you?"
I have no idea what the hell my subconscious thought it was doing putting those words into my mouth, especially not when I hadn't quite decided if I *liked* Adam Pierson or not, never mind whether I trusted him. I decided to let it be – wizards and their instincts again – as obviously *something* in me thought seeing Adam again would be a good idea and I was sure I could get used to him eventually.
Adam turned round to grin at me.
"I don't drool over books..." I didn't give him a very articulate reply but I'm sure my muttered grumble of 'yeah, right' coupled with the smirk on my face told him what I thought about that.
"But I suppose I will make the effort to visit," he said. I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that it wouldn't exactly be a chore for him. "Good beer and old books, how could I resist?" He glanced over at Bob. "And the odd game of chess would be appreciated, too."
"I think I could bring myself to indulge." The stern tone of Bob's voice was belied by the smile on his face. If he enjoyed chess that much, maybe I should get him to attempt to teach me. I'd probably be dreadful but that in itself would provide Bob with entertainment.
Adam began to tidy some of the books and papers up.
"In that case, there's no desperate hurry to do everything today. I'll finish that translation I promised before I leave, though," he said as he settled back into a chair and pulled pen, paper and book toward himself. In less than 10 seconds, he was no longer in the room with me. I've seen that sort of focused concentration in magical practitioners, hell I can even manage it myself if needs be, but we usually have to do more of a song and dance to get to that state – we are creatures of ritual and any sort of ritual takes time to set up. I watched him for a moment; eyes flicking over the hieroglyphs in the book, scribbling alternately on 2 different pieces of paper but what impressed me was that he wasn't even looking at what he was writing, he seemed to know *exactly* where each line needed to start and finish without thinking about it. I picked up my coffee and scrambled noisily off the couch – amazingly without disturbing Adam – and wandered over to Bob, who was also watching him work. I nodded in the direction of the table.
"That would be a neat trick to learn," I commented. Bob chuckled.
"It would, and while I think you're capable of doing it you might find your writing lets you down." He had a point; I didn't write, I scrawled. I always maintained that it was the sign of a busy mind, Bob said it was because neatness was obviously anathema to me, usually with a pointed glance at whatever pair of ripped jeans I was wearing or the holes in my socks.
"You're probably right," I conceded, "but it would still be a neat trick. Wonder where he learnt it?" We both glanced over to the table again; Adam seemed blissfully unaware of us.
"Monastery, I expect; he said he used to be a scribe." I snorted; good beer and old books? Obviously the habit of at least one lifetime – in more ways than one. Bob continued, thinking aloud by the look of it. "Also, being on Holy Ground is likely to act as a trigger – if he didn't feel safe, he wouldn't risk it." There was a half smile on Adam's face; maybe he *was* listening but was too engrossed to acknowledge the conversation.
"It's still a lot of trust for someone like him to put in a person he's only just met." A movement beside me dragged my eyes away from watching Adam. Bob was smiling as he rubbed at one of his manacled wrists. Smiling at *me* in a way that I rarely saw.
"Did it ever cross your mind that you might actually *inspire* trust in some people, Harry? You're a good man at heart, and it shows."
Oh. Now that was unexpected. Bob and I usually hide our feelings under a veneer of bad jokes, sarcasm and shows of ill temper but we were both aware that our relationship was one that would be frowned upon by the White Council seeing as it was more of a partnership than that of a custodian and cursed artefact. Luckily for us, the people who knew for certain were as unlikely to say anything to the Council as I was, for which I was truly thankful. For Bob to come right out and *say* something about it was not exactly the way we usually played it.
Mind you, I guess having a god-knows-how-many thousand year old immortal guy sitting at the table in your home is enough to mess up 'usual' for anyone, even if they have been dead for a thousand years. We stared at each other and Bob met my raised eyebrow with a decisive nod; he meant every word, no matter what I may think of myself.
Mister chose that moment to emit a plaintive yowl from my feet demanding, also unusually, to be picked up or more accurately for me to sit down so he could jump on me. Mister is *not* a small cat; he's also not stupid and I think he'd decided to take matters into his own paws. Needless to say, I obliged – I'm not stupid enough to argue with my cat – making my way back over to the sofa and settling back into the cushions. Mister imperiously climbed onto my lap and fell asleep as if he and he alone, owned me. Nothing unusual there, then. Of course, with a lap full of cat I was limited in what else I could achieve and so I took Mister's example, and fell back asleep.
I woke when Mister decided he'd had enough and clawed his way off me. The goddam cat seems to be incapable of climbing off me gently, which happens to be the reason most of my jeans are ripped. At least this time he hadn't drawn blood. I glanced over to the table to find it empty of books, papers and Adam Pierson. I *listened* for a moment and a rumbling purr from Mister in the direction of the kitchen told me where he and by deduction Adam as Mister doesn't purr for Bob, was likely to be so I headed in that direction.
Adam was shrugging into his coat, a sheaf of papers in his hand, while Mister twined around his ankles doing impressions of a steam engine. Bob looked faintly disgusted by the proceedings but then he has a somewhat… strained… relationship with my cat. Coat in place, Adam passed the papers to me before bending to scratch Mister between the ears.
"It's an accurate translation of the hieroglyphs, but it still doesn't make an awful lot of sense to me. I'm sure you and Bob will have more success understanding it; magic is not my area of expertise after all." I glanced through the papers while he muttered incomprehensible phrases to my ecstatic cat. Latin *and* English was set out in such a way that it was obvious which phrase corresponded with which; it made his simultaneous translation even more impressive and I found I was kind of envious. Maybe I could inveigle him into giving me a few Latin lessons in payment for getting a look at my more interesting books.
"Thanks," I said. It seemed kind of inadequate, but it was all I had as he'd helped me drink all the beer the night before.
"It was a pleasure," he replied, straightening up from his crouch while Mister sauntered off with a feline glare in my direction. Funny thing was, Adam meant every word – I could feel the power of the truth in them. Weird. I walked with him towards the door, papers still in hand.
"Look me up next time you're in the area," I told him. "You know where I am, and if you want my number, I'm in the book."
He smiled up at me, head tilted to one side, hands in pockets.
"Under W for wizard?" he asked. The smile was infectious; I grinned back.
"You got it."
We didn't say goodbye; I think we both knew he would be back. Whether it was beer with Mac, chess with Bob or drooling over my books I found that surprisingly I didn't really care as for some reason I was glad that Adam Pierson – whatever his real name might be – wouldn't be disappearing completely out of my life. Even if I wasn't exactly comfortable with *what* he was my instincts were telling me that I could get very comfortable with *who* he was. Remember what I said about wizards trusting their instincts even when good sense tells them they're being foolish? Well I was very much ignoring my good sense and for once Bob wasn't calling me on it. Maybe we both needed another friend, in which case it looked like Adam Pierson was running for the job whether he realised it or not. I wondered what he would make of it when he did, but that was definitely something I would only find out in the future. I found myself looking forward to it.