Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I own none of the series or characters.

Note: Spoilers for all series involved. This story is complete; I copypasted it from my thread on Spacebattles.

Harry

You ever heard the phrase 'he'll never know what hit him'? Well, I still didn't know. I hadn't been sure what to expect of Ethniu-beside ancient, terrifying power- but a teleport spell hadn't been on the list.

I'd used Ways before, to travel the Nevernever. This hadn't been like that. Less like being pushed through a door and more like being pushed with a door. I was dazed before I even landed-on my head, because why not? Still, at least I didn't break anything. My shield seemed to be in place, and... at full power. Almost as if I hadn't just went through an asskicking.

Something shattered loudly above me. I looked up and saw multi-colored shards falling, only to patter harmlessly off my shields. I looked around and saw a wide street, lit by countless neon signs. Tacky, but not like I'm one to talk. I mean, have you seen my car?

It was night, I realized, but no night like I'd ever seen. Thousands of stars shone like diamonds, and the moon...

The moon. What was wrong with it?

It seemed a dozen times larger than usual, and seemed to stare down like a huge, unblinking eye.

Startled, I looked away. What was this place? Was I in the Nevernever? The street was full of people, and... no. No way. Walking side by side, just like that?

I needed answers. I opened my Sight. Seconds later, I wished I hadn't.

 Stark

Stabbed through the heart. Can you believe it? Bet they'll make a song about it, so the world doesn't forget what a fucking moron I am. It'll be a ripoff of that other one, but what isn't these days?

I don't know how Audsley Ishii, of all people, managed to sneak up on me and shank me from behind, like I was a fucking white-collar crook in jail. Enhanced senses, my ass.

I'll end up Downtown, obviously. No way they'll have my ass Upstairs. Bad for their image, to have people who do their jobs hanging around.

Oh,wait. Not people. Abominations. Silly me. I blame the bloodloss.

I can't see for shit, because there's nothing to see. Only darkness. I can't even see my hand in front of my face, nor feel it. Shit, do I still have a body?

The darkness fades away, and I'm falling. Figures. Of course I end up eating dirt, even after I'm dead.

I spin ass over teakettle as I fall, and land on my back. Nice. My bones shake, but nothing feels broken. still tough, then. Least I've got that.

As the little birds fade away, I come to my senses. This doesn't smell like Hell. More like LA's dodgier neighborhoods.

Blinking slowly, I raise my head... only to get a shotgun shoved straight down my throat.

"Who the hell are you?"

 Chris

It was supposed to be training. Declan had come a long way with his portals, and this one had only been supposed to dump me outside the facility-nothing harmed, except the pride of those who didn't see the trap. As several Darkkin could attest.

What had gone wrong? Couldn't say. I didn't know too much about magic, except how dangerous it was, but Declan did. Had the portal somehow slipped from under his control?

Or had someone sabotaged it?

As I fell through darkness, Grim took over. There was nothing around me, far as he could tell. Even my Sight couldn't spot anything.

Another portal opened beneath me/us as I/we fell, and Grim moved my body so that I would land on my feet after I passed through it.

The void changed to cold night air as I fell through the clouds. Grim Lightened my body as I approached the ground, and I touched down like a falling feather.

As I got my bearings, Grim scanned my surroundings with usual, brutal alertness. I was on a street, but the buildings were unlike any normal city. Temples whose designs I barely recognised, things I couldn't even name which seemed to defy geometry...this place seemed more like Faerie, not Earth. Grim didn't like it.

Suddenly, a foul smell hit me like a runaway truck. Grim turned sharply, to see a gaunt-faced guy in a shabby, grey coat. In his right hand was a straight razor.

"Hi," the guy said with a smile that had nothing human in it. "Are you new around here?"

Jason

Something told me Croft wasn't used to spells like that. Just a feeling.

My new partner and older friend had been convinced he had found something that could allow us great mobility through New York. A spell from an old grimoire, that could teleport the user or a person he chose anywhere in his line of sight. I'd agreed to play lab rat, on the grounds that, if something went wrong, I'd have a much better chance of surviving than him.

So, of course something had. I felt like I was flying through a hurricane, an arcane kaleidoscope of colors burning my eyes and skin alike. When it ended, I found myself on my kness, on a wooden floor.

And got punched in the face.

The blow sent me flying-no mean feat, at my four hundred pounds. I flew through the air, then something thick and wooden. Shards of wood got tangled in my blue fur, but it took more than that to hurt me.

Growling, I jumped to my feet, and saw my attacker. My jaw dropped.

"A werewolf? Nice! C'mon, Nicholson, try to maul me! Come on! I can take it!"

John- One month later

Joanna had finished laying out her story for me, but now she seemed...unsure. But I never let down a client, even when they don't believe in me. Perhaps especially then.

'Are you sure, Mr. Taylor? If you've been away from the Nightside for five years...'

'Come on, ma'am,' I said, trying for a confident grin. "How much could have changed?'

Chapter Text

I'd been in this city for a month now, and the more I learned, the less I understood.

The Nightside, they called it-the hidden, magical heart of London. I'd never heard of such a place-not in my time with the wizard Everson Croft, nor during my year as captain of Legion-the most elite unit of Centurion, America's greatest PMC, dedicated to dealing with the supernatural.

At first, I'd protested at being part of a merc outfit. I'd been an US Spec Ops captain for years, serving to protect my country, not for money. But that had been before that fateful mission to the Middle East.

I had thought that would be the end of my service, and then I would return home, to be with my fiancee, Daniela. But fate had other plans.

I was bound to the spirit of the Great Protector, the Blue Wolf, by an old woman desperate to save her people from their-and the Blue Wolf's- old enemy, the White Dragon. The following year took me all over the world, protecting mankind and finally saving it, though only through the sacrifice of a friend.

As I sat down on the barstool, I thought of him, and my old team. Olaf. Rusty. Yoofi. Takara. Sarah. Did they even know I was gone? When Legion had been disbanded, we'd said goodbye, but... not like this. Things like this were not supposed to happen anymore.

I was brooding, I knew. The wolf inside me didn't like it-its reaction to things that upset it was to rip them apart- but I'd learned to shackle my instincts. I couldn't let myself go, even in a place like this.

Strangefellows was, allegedly, the oldest bar in the world. Much like the rest of this city, its location constantly shifted, and not everyone could find it.

I'd never heard of it before I got here. When I'd mentioned that to its owner, Alex Morrissey, he'd snorted.

"Wish I was you," he'd said.

Alex was a thin streak of misery, scowling when he wasn't frowning. In his late twenties, he dressed in all black, including a beret he considered stylish. He wore it to hide a premature balding spot.

Rumor was that Alex was bound to this bar, like his ancestors before him, and couldn't leave it. I was prepared to believe anything, at this point.

"You're doing it again," said a gruff voice. I looked up from my keg of beer-drunk for the taste, not to get buzzed. Not that I could, with my wolfish healing.

Alex was cleaning a spotless glass, while several filthy ones were spread across the bar. I didn't comment.

"What?" I asked.

"Sulking. Can you not bring down the mood? The place is already so downmarket I couldn't drive it upwards with a chair and whip."

"Jealous I'll steal your shtick?" I quipped. He scoffed.

"You wish. Now, are you going to drink that or just glare a hole through it?"

"What's the rush? Not like the place is busy tonight," I gestured at the bar, which was occupied by about half of the usual unusual suspects. Two undines drinking each other. Ghouls arguing over finger food. A vampire nursing a tall glass of blood.

It had taken all my effort, at first, not to go feral at the sight of so many supernatural predators. The Blue Wolf was, before all, a protector. But it could also adapt.

"That's because you scare them, Wolfe," Alex grouched. He'd hired me a few times to play bouncer when the usual ones, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, had been indisposed. I'd built something of a reputation after a werewolf had tried to jump me to prove how hard he was. I'd smashed him through the floor and, after he'd been dug out, Alex had offered me some work.

I noticed the bartender's mouth twitching, his equivalent of a grin.

"Something funny?"

"Yeah. Wolfe, the blue werewolf? Are you a comic book character?"

I went back to my beer. You can't get along with Morrissey when he thinks he's being funny.

The door opened, and my ears perked up. Two sets of steps, one heavy and measured, the other light and quick. Man and woman?

I glanced over my shoulder, to look at the newcomers. He was tall and dark, wearing a white trenchcoat. She was well-dressed, and tried to exude calm. And failing.

She didn't belong to this place, I could tell. Her face was similar to many I'd seen in my time with Legion-poor, scared folks who'd been tormented by things they had though impossible.

Protect her, my wolf growled.

The two came down the noisy metal steps, installed to prevent sneaking, into the pit that housed the bar proper. The man had a vibe that reminded me of Reginald Purdy, Legion's overseer-he was here to help you, for a price.

"Alex," the man said, sitting down on a barstool. His companion reluctantly followed. "Long time no see. Still miserable?"

"Not until you came in. When are you going to pay your tab, Taylor?"

Taylor smirked. "Care to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, looking at me.

"Jason Wolfe." I stuck out my hand. Surprised, he shook it. His grip was firm and strong, for a human.

"You're pretty calm for a werewolf, Mr. ...Wolfe," Taylor said.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. But I'm not a were. Just look like one."

"Silver doesn't affect you?" He asked innocently. I frowned. Already probing for weaknesses?

"Won't you introduce me to your lady friend?" I asked.

"Of course. She-"

"My name is Joanna Barrett," The woman, Joanna, cut him off. Her voice was a seasoned smoker's rasp, and trembling. She sounded shaken, and looked worse.

"Are you new to the Nightside, miss?" I asked, trying to calm her down. She nodded quickly.

"My daughter, Cathy, is missing. She ran away from home and came here, to the Nightside. I hired Mr. Taylor to find her."

Taylor frowned even as my protective instincts flared. "Do you need some help?"

Chapter Text

Where do you go when you're an Abomination? Half human, half angel, all hated? To Hell, Heaven would say. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt ripped off.

Fucking halo-polishers. Glad I take after my mom. Doc Kinski, my dad, used to be the archangel Uriel, but I try not to hold it against him. Poor fucker's dead, anyway.

Rage against the heavens? No thanks. Too much work, no reward. Like staying sober.

Not that I do that much, these days. My new haunt, the Nightside-all tucked inside London like a neon worm in a smoky apple- ain't the sort of place you handle sober. Makes you think you're crazy. Glad I already am.

No Aqua Regia here, or Maledictions to smoke, but I survive. Wanna know how fucked up this shithole is? I'm considered normal here. Can't believe it myself.

I'm currently in a Mexican standoff inside the Fortress- a place where poor sods who've been abducted by Grays hole up and cover themselves in guns. Yeah, aliens are real here. I've even killed one or twelve.

The scared bastards are hiding behind an impromptu barricade. Not sure who they're scared shitless of, though-me, or my 'partner'.

Shotgun Suzie-and I though I had a dumb nickname-looks like an Aryan Hell's Angel, and carries a shotgun filled with rounds enchanted in ways I've never even heard off. People are more spooked by the crazy bitch wielding it, though. I kill for fun, but she does it to avoid paperwork.

Suzie always brings her targets back dead, whatever the contract says-you wanna argue with her? I wouldn't, and I can wear bullets in my chest like piercings.

Her current mark is hiding in the Fortress, officially neutral ground in the Nightside. Not that she cares.

We met when I fell from the sky, during one of her bounty hunts. She'd thought I was some bodyguard hired by her target, and had shoved her shotgun down my throat. Kinky.

After I'd gestured for her to take the fucking thing out, I'd explained my situation- at least my half. She'd cashed in the bounty, then surprisingly taken me on a walk through town, to familiarize myself with it.

"Why?" I'd asked.

"Because I was once lost, too. "

Heh. Monsters like us stick together.

Now, I work as a merc in the Nightside. I have my Colt, my black blade-can cut anything and open any lock- and my Key. It opens the Room of Thirteen Doors:a place that leads everywhere in the universe, untouchable by God or Lucifer. It also lets me walk through and take things through shadows, which is pretty fucking handy.

My angel side-and only it, for some reason- seems weakened here, though. I can summon my gladius, my flaming angelic sword, not that it flames anymore. Its glow is faded. I don't know why, but it unsettles me.

My angel side-Saint James-,on the other hand, is fucking terrified. When I can even get him talking, he babbles about great experiments and 'her' work.

No way that'll bite me in the ass later.

"Think they'll come out?" I ask casually. Suzie glares at me. She usually reminds me of my fierce girlfriend, Candy.

"Why don't you ask them nicely, Stark?" Now, though, she reminds me of my asshole roommate, Kasabian.

I miss them. Vidocq, too. The old alchemist who was my only real father.

I turn to look at the barricade. "We can do these two ways, folks: you come out, or I walk through a shadow and give you a new haircut." I take out my na'at, my shapeshifting Hellion weapon, and morph it into a blade. "Snicker-snack."

While I'm grinning and gloating like a fucking Bond villain, the doors burst open behind me.

No. Never again. No more fucking surprises.

The newcomers are both known and not to me: Jason Wolfe, the Blue Wolf ( fucking original, I know), occassional merc and bouncer at Strangefellows.

The other two are new. Dick Hardy's newest impersonator and his bird who's nothing but trouble, it seems. I glare at them.

"Wolfe? The fuck are you doing here? Tell Morosey I'll pay my tab later, after he fucks off."

Wolfe growls. Rawr. Shaking in my high heels, right here.

"It's not that, Stark," he rumbles. He makes my smoker's drawl sound like a toddler on helium. "We're searching for a missing kid. A girl."

I turn, Suzie and the probe-dodgers forgotten.

"Kidnapped?" I ask. Dick Harder shakes his head.

"Runaway." I walk to join them. Some shit I won't put up with. Whoever let a kid come to this nightmare, I'll stick my foot so far up their ass they'll be shitting down my boots. Was he this girl's dad, or just hired to find her?The dame-her mom?- walks forward.

"Are you...Sandman Slim?" Fucking nickname. "I've heard of you, from Mr. Wolfe."

Fucking fantastic. Clifford, the Big Blue Wolf, is telling stories out of school. Just 'cause I laughed when he piledrived a werewolf...

Dick, in his white trenchcoat-pussy, does he expect not to get blood on him?- extends his hand. "John Taylor. Nice to meet you, Mr. Slim." Oh, you fucker.

"I doubt it is. Now, are we gonna stand around yapping, or find that missing kid-"

"Stark! Get your arse back here or you lose your half." Fucking banshee. I glare at Suzie over my shoulder.

"Fuck off, Suzie. No one came to find you when you came here. Do you want this girl to end up like you?" She holds my glare briefly, then huffs, holstering her gun. I turn to Taylor.

"So, you're Dresden's predecessor, eh?

"Dresden?"

"The Arcane Eye. Wizard investigator."

"Is that his nickname? Does he set stuff on fire?"

I grin, as does Wolfe. Suzie scoffs.

"Oh, you have no idea."

Chapter Text

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure it when you want a cheap consultant who's weak for sob stories.

There's an old Romanian saying that roughly translates as 'what you fear, that you don't escape'. In my case, 'that' is authority figures.

Now, I'm no anarchist. I firmly believe the law, its makers and its enforcers play as big a role in protecting innocents from things that go bump in the night as wizards like me. But some people...

Back home, I was the only openly-practising wizard in the phonebook. In fact, I was in the yellow pages, under 'wizards'.

Here, though?

Here, in the Nightside-a place where the Seven Laws of Magic are shamelessly violated- I was just one among any. In fact, its version of the phonebook-which tries to read people; don't ask- is so filled with practitioners, I got placed under 'private eyes'. Ironic, I know.

Nowadays, I was known as the Arcane Eye, the wizard investigator. People, and other things, still came to me to find lost objects, but here, my most dangerous cases would have seemed like Tuesday. No lost dogs to find here.

Recently, I'd been hired by Walker, the representative of the Authorities-those grey, faceless men who run the Nightside, as much as anyone does, or can- to find a runaway teen. Cathy Barrett. She'd last been seen heading into one of the city's most dangerous area... where I was also going right now. Self-preservation? What's that?

Walker was an older British gent, always in a suit, tie and bowler hat, which he could actually pull off. I didn't wear hats, though some people expected me to. No idea why. Walker also had his Voice, which could compel anything to do anything. I'd heard he'd once made a corpse sit up on its slab and answer his questions. It was a terrifying power.

Walker had hired me before, when he'd needed an expendable, deniable chump who'd do jobs too dangerous or dirty for his people. He didn't trust me, and I loathed him for his ruthlessness when it came to enforcing the status quo, so I'd asked him why he would seek my services.

He'd smiled. "You remind me of someone, Mr. Dresden." He hadn't elaborated, and I hadn't asked.

Hell's bells. It had been like talking to Mab in Marcone's body.

Blaiston Street was where hope-such as it was,in the Nightside-went to die. It was dilapidated,gloomy and filled with folks who had nothing to lose. It broke my heart to see them, but I wasn't here to help them. Sometime else...

I've been saying that too often since I've come here. I was changing, or perhaps being changed. My Winter Mantle was always chomping at the bit, waiting to be let loose in this den of monsters and madness. I'd never let it. God knew what the Winter Knight could become here...

As I reached Blaiston Street, I saw a somewhat familiar face: Christian Anthony Gordon, known as Chris to his friends and God's Hammer to his enemies.

Chris was average in height, but muscular and handsome in that ethereal way vampires sometimes are. His eyes were a bright purple that darkened in battle.

I'd seen him fight. Nightmarish, even on your side. He said he was touched by God, and reminded me of my old friend, former Knight of the Cross Michael Carpenter. The same friendliness and honor... and the same fierce faith.

Once, when we were sitting in a bar after a joint job, he'd told me he'd had a family back home. A wife, and twins.

Just like Michael. At least he was still there to protect his kids.

"Will they be safe without you?" I'd asked. Chris had grinned and laughed.

"My Tanya's much scarier than me, Harry. Smarter, too..." At that, his smile had turned wistful, so I'd tried to cheer him up.

"Jeez, man. Aren't all our women?"

"Amen." And we'd clinked our glasses.

Said bar, Strangefellows, was said to be the oldest in the world. Its owner, the morose Alex Morrissey, was bound to it by a curse that spanned centuries. He could never leave it.

I knew. I'd Seen it, a nightmarish chain spinning through the past and future alike, uncaring of time's laws. And the chain started from the dead, but not departed monster buried in the bar's cellar: Merlin, known as Satanspawn.

I'd been shocked to learn that, I admit- that Merlin was the son of the Devil here and that he'd torment his descendants with such a curse. But then, my Merlin had built Demonreach, a prison that held all the universe's greatest monsters, whether they liked it or not. My brother, Thomas Raith, had been imprisoned there when I'd... left. For his own safety. Maybe I didn't have room to talk.

At the moment, Chris was healing one of Blaiston's homeless. Channeling his aura through his hands and using it to set straight an old woman's twisted leg. One of his many powers, none of which were related to magic, at least magic as I understood it.

He stood up, extending his hand, and the old lady took it. Chris lifted her, then let her stand on her own. She couldn't believe it, and was weeping in sheer joy.

Chris Gordon, everyone. He heals people and raises them up and kills monsters.He'd have been a Knight back home, I was sure.

"It's alright," he told her with a smile. "You can go now. I know you only stayed here because you couldnt't move, but you can find your own place now."

The woman hugged him, sobbing, and Chris hugged her back, still smiling. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

After she calmed down, she drew back, looking at him with uncertain eyes.

"Is it true?" She asked. "Were you... sent here by God?"

Chris' eyes turned sad at that, but his voice was still firm.

"I believe we all are, ma'am."

Chapter Text

Back home, when people heard of God's Hammer-which was more and more often, by the time I left- they imagined righteous fury, God's wrath on earth killing monsters and protecting the innocent. Kicking ass and taking names, basically. But there was more to it than being the toughest meathead around, no matter what my friend Lydia said.

Take this, for example. Making a cripple walk again, without medicine or equipment, was something straight out of the New Testament. Some would call it a miracle. The unkindly would call it a publicity stunt. In my world, medicine had advanced greatly before my dissappearance. Demidova Corp's vampire blood treatment meant once-deadly injuries and diseases could now be walked off like scrapes and the common cold. One day, we could all be healthy, and that had been our plan before... this. That, and surviving, if not beating the Vorsook.

Imagine every Gray alien flick you've ever seen-small gray dudes? Probes?Abduction? They have it all, and more: zombie servants created by nanotech, telekinetic weapons and an empire spanning thousands of worlds and years. The reason they hadn't overwhelmed Earth with their numbers and advanced tech was that they loathed effort, and saw conquest as a game. That, and Omega. The quantum AI created by my warlock friend Declan. The super computer had taken control of most of Earth's infrastructure, because the world's leaders either hadn't been taking the Vorsook seriously...or had been cooperating with them, like my once-superior,then-nemesis, General Tobias Creek.

Once I'd entered the Nightside-a magical city that made the alien world of Faerie look like a Midwestern cornfield-, I'd actually seen several aliens, including some Grays. Grim had taken over instantly at the sight of them, but I'd managed to wrestle back control from him. Those aliens had been the equivalent of remittance men, embarassments paid not to return home. One had even been begging in the street, with a sign reading 'will probe for money'. Grim hadn't been amused.

The Vorsook weren't known here. The Grays weren't part of their empire, nor had they heard of it, as far as I could tell. And I could detect lies.

During World War 2, my maternal grandfather was placed in a Nazi concentration camp, which also happened to house a vampire at the time. During the experiments performed there, vampire and werewolf DNA was implanted into him, and as a result, I was born with those traits as well.

They'd been latent until I'd met my wife, the only born vampire in the world, Tatiana Demidova. After I'd saved her from a demon-my duty as God's Chosen Warrior, though I didn't know that then-, she'd bitten me to heal her injuries. That had triggered my latent DNA, giving me physical prowess to match my purple aura.

Which was just as well, really. In this city, my angelic powers-a holdover from my life before birth, not that I remembered it-were far weaker than they should have been. My angelic Sword could still be reached in its pocket realm, its 'sheath', but it was like digging through tar with your hands. And the Sword was far dimmer than it should have been, nothing like the glorious light back home. It felt...brittle.

Once, before Declan and I had confronted the Elemental that embodied the Yellowstone supervolcano, Omega had said, through a drone, that my Sword emitted great quantities of neutrinos and other particles. Maybe there was something in the city that distrupted that?

God, I must be really bored if I'm just thinking like this. I turned away from the former cripple, who was leaving Blaiston to, hopefully, make a better life for herself, and towards one of my... acquaintances.

I'd met the wizard(he insisted) Harry Dresden after a joint job. Harry's presence caused electronics to fail at best or explode at worst, and Count Video, one of the Nightside's major players, had put a hit on him. Harry had messed up one too many of his devices. Since Harry was one of the few good men in this rotten city, I'd helped him. Together, we-well, Grim, mostly- had torn through the pack of armed Neanderthals hired by Video.

If Lydia had been there, she'd have asked how I could slaughter so many Neanderthals-didn't I feel any kinship?

God, I miss them all. Praying you stay on top of things, Tanya, Declan.

"I wish I could do that, you know," Harry said, gesturing in the direction the woman had left.

"Hmm?" I asked. "Heal people, or give speeches?" His face scrunched up.

"Heal. I'm not one for speeches, really. Never have been."

"Same," I said. "Back home, my wife spoke for the company. I was just the...troubleshooter."

"Hammering down the nails that stuck up?"

"That is not how I got the nickname!"

We both laughed. Place like this, you take what joys you can, when I can.

"What brings you to Blaiston?" I asked, gesturing at the dismal place.

"The picturesque views," Harry snarked. "I was hired to find a runaway."

I nodded. "By their friends, or...?"

"I hope not. I wouldn't wish Walker as a friend upon anyone."

I stiffened at the mention of that name. Walker reminded me of the more ruthless politicians back home, doing anything to keep the status quo and their power intact. He was just a normal human, as far as my senses could tell, but I doubted it.

"Are they here? The runaway?" I asked. Harry nodded.

"So I was told. I can't feel anything myself. Too much...misery."

I opened my mouth to reply, then had a vision:a young, thin girl running into a house on this street, laughing happily. No hesitation, almost as if...

As if what? I usually had visions shortly after supernatural attacks, so why...

Ah.

"Harry?" I asked carefully. "I don't think we're alone on this street."

Chapter Text

My name is John Taylor. Five years ago, I left the Nightside, fleeing my enemies with a bullet in my back, and swore to never return.

I should have known better than to use words like "never". I have a gift for finding things, though I cannot use it at will:it blazes like a star in the night, drawing the attention of my enemies, who send their monsters after me.

I have been hounded by them since childhood-since my father drank himself to death after learning his wife was not human. I do not remember my mother. I do not know what she was-the only thing I cannot find.

Now, I have returned to the Nightside, hired to find a mother's estranged daughter. The mother, Joanna, has insisted on coming along, despite my protests and warnings. But I couldn't argue with her money.

Before I left, I was known as a great detective-a misconception, as I wouldn't know a clue if you smacked me with it- and a ruthless bastard you didn't want to cross. In my absence, the former part of the reputation has been taken over by Harry Dresden, and the latter by James Stark, known as Sandman Slim.

A pyromaniac wizard and a kleptomaniac mercenary. See what happens when I'm away?

During my visit to Strangefellows-my old watering hole, owned by my old friend Alex Morrissey- I also met Jason Wolfe, one of the Nightside's new sensations. Allegedly not a werewolf, Wolfe had played bouncer for Alex a few times when the Coltranes had been indisposed. He was calm, disciplined and even friendly, unlike any were I knew. Maybe...

Jason was following along now, also to my protests. But it's unwise to argue with people who can rip out your spine and wear it like a belt, however friendly they seem. He was wearing a thick Kevlar bodysuit, covered in centimeters-thick ballistic plates. It looked like it could stop a tank shell. A human couldn't have stood up in it, but Jason had to slow down so he didn't outpace us.

In his right paw-er,hand-he held a monstrous, multi-barelled gun. It was heavier than me, but he swung it around like a feather. According to him, it contained all kinds of rounds: silver, wooden,incendiaries, holy water. Horses for courses, I suppose.

Slim, the aforementioned klepto merc, had also come along, followed by Suzie Shooter, also known as Shotgun Suzie. The reason for the bullet in my back, five years ago. I'd have to ask why, at some point.

Slim carried several guns, as well as enchanted objects that made my kit look like a street magicians bag of tricks. He wasn't especially forthcoming on their origin, or on how he'd gotten his grubby paws on them.

Slim was as charming as he was handsome-not at all- and seemed to dislike me, for some reason. I'd warned him that we wouldn't split the money for the case,and he'd scoffed.

'You can shove it up your ass. I'm doing this for the kid, not her dumbass mom and her cash.'

Well, well. We all had hidden depths, it seemed. Even if Slim could barely go three words without swearing.

After we left Strangefellows, I used my gift to, once again, track Cathy Barret down. She was on Blaiston Street, and seemed to have gone there on her own accord. Was she insane?

Also, after leaving the bar, I got the feeling... sonething should have happened. My old sometimes friend, Razor Eddie, punk god of the straigh razor, had met us in the bar and warned me to watch my back. But nothing had happened, and that was not normal, in the Nightside.

Was Eddie playing a prank on me? I shuddered at the thought. He'd been scary enough without a sense of humour. No. I'd just have to trust his instincts.

As our group of misfits reached Blaiston, I laid eyes on two people. They didn't seem the hopeless, homeless sort of fellows one found on the street. So, why were they here? For the view?

One was a muscular chap, slightly shorter than me and purple-eyed. The other was nearly seven feet tall, muscular in a lean sort of way and wearing a duster.

I looked down at my white trenchcoat, then Slim's brown one. I was starting to see a pattern...

'Whoa! What's up with so many people here?' Duster asked. "You came for the view too?'

'Fuck off, Dres. Why are you here? Don't you have a building to set on fire?' Slim asked. So, this was Dresden. My...successor. Wonder how good he was.

Dresden glared. 'It was one time, and it wasn't my fault. Why are you here, Stark? Don't you have a car to hijack?'

'Not really, no. They keep trying to eat my dick, so I blow them up.'

'Never knew you had one...'

'You-'

'Gentlemen!' Joanna interjected, to my surprise. 'Please. I think we are all here for the same reason. Aren't we, Mr.Dresden?' She asked, looking up at him.

Dresden did not meet her eyes-why?- but nodded. 'Maybe. I'm tracking a runaway, and met Chris here by chance.'

'Hi,' the muscular fellow said, smiling. 'Chris Gordon. Are you, by any chance, the girl's mother?'

Joanna smiled, eyes brightening. 'Yes, I-'

And that was when it hit us. The timeslip, I mean.

The Nightside is connected to all places and times, and sometimes, they take over areas of the city. We call them timeslips.

We found ourselves in a ruined city. The buildings were cracked and toppled, and looked centuries-old. There was no moon in the sky, and only a few dim stars. What had happened? What could change the world like this?

The others spread into a circle, surrounding Joanna. Impressive, without prior training and shared experience. They looked around for threats, but I, at least, couldn't see anything.

And then, we heard the bugs.

Chapter Text

Ever see Starship Troopers? The original flick, not the reboots they shat out after. It's about this fash space civilization fighting giant bugs. Pretty good special effects, for its day.

That is what this reminds me off. Dropped in a shithole worse than the one I've left, along with people I either don't know or can barely stand.

Oh, and we're surrounded by fuckhuge bugs out of every insectophobe's nightmares.

There are thousands of them, every shape and size: flies, beetles, maggots, centipedes. You think they're creepy when small? You ain't seen shit.

Well, time to play exterminator. And show off, just a bit.

"Stand back, everyone," I say, then bark some Hellion hoodoo. The bugs' front ranks burst into flame, like I've placed the world's biggest looking glass over them. The others draw back. Scared of fire, are you? I'll give you something to fear...

"Good idea, Stark!" Dresden says. Aw, did it break your heart to admit that? "Burn them! Fuego!"

A cone of flame shoots out of Dresden's phallic staff-insecure, are we?-, tearing through bugs like a chainsaw through shit. They shriek and skitter, jumping or flying back from the flames.

Wolfe opens fire with his fucking minigun-bastard can hold it in one hand and not feel the recoil-,incendiaries blowing bugs up like confetti, then turning the remains into torches.

The others don't join our little shooting session. Guess they lack the firepower.

But, eventually, we stop. Wolfe's incendiary rounds run dry, and Dresden stops to catch his breath. His magic is exhausting for him when used too much. Something to keep in mind...

The bugs slowly come forward when their dumb brains catch up with the fact that yes, the big bad scary fire is over. Come and eat some chumps.

"There!" Taylor shouts, pointing to a random ugly-ass ruin. "We'll hide in there and keep them out!"

"Who the fuck died and made you boss?" I ask, just to heckle him. It's a good idea. No point standing out in the open, waiting for bugs to eat our asses. If we bottleneck them...

"Go," the muscular guy-Clark?Clyde?- says. "I'll cover you."

"How-" I start, but he's gone. Air moves in to fill the place where he was an instant ago, cracking like a jet has taken off. Fuck, how fast is this guy?

"Come on!" Wolfe picks me and Suzie up in one arm, and Taylor and Joanna in the other. He lopes toward the building, Dresden sprinting to keep pace.

I look behind us, but all I can see is a purple-tinged blur zipping through the bugs. Wherever it moves, they explode. No, not explode. They fall apart like they are put through an impossibly quick meatgrinder.

What is this guy?

We reach the building, and Wolfe drops us. It's a testament to how fucking many bugs there were that we didn't protest to being manhandled like this. And Wolfe is fast, too-nothing like Mr. Living Blender outside, but still.

Speaking of, Choppy blurs behind us. There's not a drop of gunk or bug guts on him. I don't ask. Fucker's smiling like he's just stomped on some ants, and maybe he has, from his perspective.

We enter, and Wolfe slams the heavy steel door behind us, bending it so it stays up in the ruined frame. Doubt it will hold, for long.

There's not much in the building. Only the most desperate sons of bitches would squat here, and you'd have to put a gun to their heads. It's empty, the furniture and even the walls showing bite marks. The fuck...

And then, I see sonething that, not gonna lie, creeps the fuck out of me: a giant, man-sized cocoon stuck to a wall. I've seen some shit in Hell, but this is new.

I turn to look at Taylor. "Where the fuck have you brought us? Their hive?"

He shakes his head, but, before he can answer, I sense movement inside the nightmare cocoon, and hear a weak, erratic heartbeat. I swear, if Mothra comes out of that, I'm out.

Taylor and Joanna walk towards the thing and-the fuck is wrong with them?- put their hands on it.

"There is something inside this," Taylor says. "Someone. Trapped-by them, I think."

Joanna nods and, despite everyone's shouted protests, they begin ripping it open.

From it falls a thin, gaunt guy in a shabby, dirty grey coat. He looks like he's been through Hell thrice, and it's gotten worse each time.

I know the look. I see it in the mirror, sometimes.

Shabby slowly stands up, shaking. Then, he sees Taylor, and his eyes widen in rage. He steps back, one of his hands clutching at air, as if expecting to find a weapon.

"You!" He hisses, glaring at Taylor. "You dare show your face here? Now?"

"Eddie?" Taylor says, sounding surprised. "What's happened? What-"

"You happened, John!" Eddie snarls, sounding halfway between feral and crazy. "You and your damned-" Then, he breaks down into tears. Long, ragged sobs. He falls to his knees, hands clutching his chest. Then, something that will haunt me for the rest of my fucking days happens.

Eddie's body begins to writhe and shake, like he's having a seizure. Something moves beneath his skin:fat, writhing shapes, like maggots burrowing through a corpse. And that's what comes out of him.

Black, small slick shapes burst out of his body: through his skin, his eyes, his mouth. Joanna jumps back, vomiting. Taylor holds himself better, but he's still shaken. Fuck, we all are.

"Dresden!" I say, turning to look at him. "Make a shield!"

He nods, shouts something in Latin, and a blue, shimmering half-dome covers us... except for me. He knew what I meant.

I shout a Hellion spell, and a spinning curtain of flame appears around the little freaks. Take that, you chestburster wannabes.

I can hear them screaming as they try to pass through, burn and die. It's a disturbingly childlike sound. And, I think, worse than the monstrous sight of their birth.

Chapter Text

He spoke, and the flames danced and spun, spun and danced...

No, I wasn't channeling my inner poet. I read that in a book once. In a poem, I'm sure. I think.

But I'd seen better.

'Very impressive bug-zapper,' I said with a smile. 'But isn't it a bit much, Stark?'

He turned to glare at me. It didn't do his scarred patchwork face any favour. Some people really should smile more.

'Why don't you drag your ass here and say that to my face? I can't see maggots eat a guy from the inside out then smile and nod.'

I shook my head. 'You haven't been here too long, have you? Such things happen, in the Nightside.'

'We're not in the Nightside anymore, smartass. Why don't you take a look at the sky with your detective eyes and detect it's empty?'

'I can't see through buildings, Stark. So, unless-'

'Jesus,' comes a growling voice from behind me. Jason. 'Can you two stop comparing sizes? Taylor, not all of us are used to freakshows like this. Stark, get a damn hold of yourself.'

Dresden lets his shield fade away. 'He's right. We can't lose ourselves in a place like this, or we'll all die.'

'Yes, Daddy,' Slim batted his eyelashes at Dresden. "Anything you say. Oh, I don't want to be spanked~"

Suzie cleared her throat. 'Get a room, you too. The rest, let's get a move on. I haven't shot something in a while.'

'You don't have incendiaries,' Chris pointed out helpfully. 'Or you'd have used them outside. You should save your ammo, Ms. Shooter.'

It's been some time since anyone has called Suzie "miss". While I stifled a laugh, I heard a pained groan behind me. Eddie.

Dammit. How could I forget about him and get distracted by some stupid banter? I turned and ran to him, helping the grey god up. He let me do it, despite his earlier, unexplained anger at me. Must have been really hurt.

'Don't think you're forgiven, Taylor,' he rasped. 'Nothing you can do... will redeem...'

'What, Eddie? What have I done? Talk to me, man.'

He nodded, eyes clearing, as if he hadn't thought about that. 'Yes... you're from the Past. Not yet... not yet. I haven't explained it...'

'It's ok,' Slim said, hands in his coat pockets. 'I'm sure you just had a bug in your throat.'

I turned my head to glare at him, but Dresden talked before I can. 'What is wrong with you? Did you see what happened to him?'

'I did, yes. I happened to have my eyes with me at the time. Nifty stuff. Thumbs up to the inventor.'

'More importantly,' I said pointedly. 'This is Razor Eddie. He may be in something of a bind, but he's still the punk god of the straight razor.'

Slim smiled nastily. 'And I used to be the Devil.'

Well, what can you say to that? We all stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief, except Chris, who narrowed his eyes. Not sure why they were so surprised. You get all sorts of crazies, in the Nightside.

If Slim had been Lucifer once, then I was the future King of the Nightside.

'Whatever,' Suzie said. 'We won't achieve anything by sitting on our hands here. I'm going out. If anyone finds his balls, he can come.'

Slim grinned. 'I'd love to come with you.'

And that was that. Jason offered to rip the door off, but Chris shook his head, covered a hand in some purple energy and cut through it like a knife through air.

Wonder what that was.

We walked out into the ruined city, but the bugs were gone. Oh, not truly gone-hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush us. But nothing attacked us. Just as well. It would have bugged me.

Eddie seemed confused at being out in the open, looking around in a daze. He looked... naked, vulnerable, without his namesake straight razor. Who could have taken it from him?

'John,' Joanna started. 'Can you find a way back?'

I shook my head. 'It doesn't work like that. I need specific questions to get answers from my gift.'

Slim looked ready to say something quite insulting, but Joanna talked before he could. And I had a slap in my pocket for him, too...

'Does anyone else have a way to get us back to the Nightside?' She asked, sounding remarkably calm. Quite impressive, really, for a woman who had never come to the Nightside.

Everyone shook their heads...except Dresden. 'I...  may have a way to get us back to the Nightside. Or, rather, a Way.'

'That won't be necessary, good sir,' A new voice said. 'I'll take you home, after our business is done.'

We turned to look behind us, and there, in his lack of glory, was the Collector. A short, fat, middle-aged man, the Collector had once been known as Mark. But that had been before he had started his hobby-or obsession, depending who you asked.

He had also once been a friend of my father, Charles Taylor. A friend of mine, too. I used to call him uncle Mark.

Nowadays, he travelled the Nightside and beyond, collecting rare, unique objects. Not to sell them to a museum, or let visitors come see them for an extortionate fee, but just to have them, for himself. Like a dragon with his hoard.

I gave him my best glare. 'Why are you here, Collector? Or, rather, how are you here? Do you have a teleporter now?'

He looked me in a pitying sort of way. 'I didn't teleport, Taylor. I time-travelled. This is... was the Nightside, but not anymore. This... is the future you created.'

Everyone muttered to themselves, or each other. I stepped forward, unwilling to let him see how upset I was.

'Heard that one already, Collector. Why are you here?'

The Collector smiled broadly, but looked past me. 'Not for you, Taylor.'

Chapter Text

The Collector? Was this guy a comic book villain? He had the gimmick down pat, but no costume... meh. Minus five, for lack of effort.

I'd heard of the Collector, of course. Everyone in the Nightside has. But I had thought he was either a small-time guy or some group working under the same name. A single guy with so many toys in his possession, and he only used them to get more stuff? Really?

John Taylor seemed to know him, though. Did they have some history? And, more importantly, was this really the future? And if it was, did the Collector really own a time machine?

I didn't believe time travel was impossible, not anymore. Well, I'd never really believed it was impossible-if it was, why would the Sixth Law exist?

But to time travel so casually, and without magic? Just to get something? The Gatekeeper would have pitched a fit, I was sure. But then, the White Council as a whole would have been appalled by the Nightside's nature and existence in general. If they had existed here, that is.

Hell's bells, can't believe I've started to miss the Council...

"Heard that one before, Collector," Taylor said. "Why are you here?"

The Collector looked past Taylor, at us. At...me? No. At Stark.

God, if he was here to take Stark away from us, I'd pay him just to keep the guy wherever he stored his stuff.

It wasn't that I disliked Stark, as a person. Well, I did, but like repels like, and all that. Stark made me think of what I could become if I let the Winter Mantle take over me. I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold of this wrecked city.

No, it was what he did. Stark saw nothing wrong with murdering people he had a grudge against, or who just happened to piss him off. I'd seen his work, and heard the stories. He didn't have a problem with stealing, either, especially stealing cars.

A few weeks ago, when I was still making a name for myself in the Nightside, I bought a car from a dealer who'd owned me a favor at the time. Not an old car, to prevent it from falling apart in the presence of a wizard, like my Blue Beetle back home.

No, this had been a sleek, modern car, enchanted so it was strengthened by my magic rather than destroyed by it.

And while I was away on a case, Stark had stolen it, somehow getting past the wards and protections, and crashed it while chasing one of his targets on a bounty hunt.

Asshole.

Why my car, anyway? He hadn't even apologized. In fact, this mess I was currently into was the first time we'd talked, and then only out of need. I hadn't especially enjoyed it.

"Not for you, Taylor," the Collector said, interrupting my train of thought. Right. Stark. What could he have that this weirdo would want?

"Careful where you're looking, pretty boy," Stark said with a smirk." My balls are down here."

The Collector frowned. Yeah, no way he wanted Stark himself. Something he had, then.

"Sandman Slim," the Collector said, and Stark's smirk turned into a scowl. "You have something you do not deserve, and which I want. Which I need, actually."

"My ravishing good looks? Sure. If you just wait, I'll flay my face off, just for y-mhhhpphh!"

Suddenly, the Collector held some sort of wand or rod in his hand, and was pointing it at Stark. It was golden, covered in azure circuit patterns, and looked high-tech. I couldn't sense any magic from it.

But what had happened to Stark? He had been talking, and then...

I turned to look, and couldn't help but gasp, despite myself. Stark's mouth was gone, replaced by smooth, blank flesh, like he'd never had a mouth. The Mantle eagerly snarled inside me, overjoyed at seeing a rival mutilated like this. I mentally stomped down on it. No, dammit. I wouldn't take joy from something like this.

I turned to the Collector, staff raised and a  Forzare spell prepared. "What the hell have you done to him?"

To my left, Jason Wolfe raised his monstrous gun. Chris covered his arms with aura, Suzie took aim with her shotgun, and Taylor glared at the Collector, hands in his white trenchcoat's pockets.

"Mphhph!" Stark managed to draw out. He held up his left hand. In his right was a black knife whose appearance alone set my teeth on edge.

What came next was even worse.

Eyes gleaming with amusement, Stark placed the knife's tip against the blank expanse where his mouth had been. Then, he began cutting. In seconds,  he cut away enough to expose bloody teeth. Then, when the flesh tried to fuse together once more, he cut more, leaving a Glasgow grin on his face. The flesh didn't try to seal itself now. Maybe he'd scared it.

So, the wand had not erased Stark's mouth from existence. It had just fused his lips together.

'Just'.

"Nobody shuts me up, fatass," Stark grinned bloodily at the Collector. "If you were hoping to cut off my hoodoo, I'm happy to disappoint you."

The Collector looked a little green around the gills. He was not the only one. "There's no need for further unpleasantness, Mr. Stark. I just want something you have. Your Key."

Before I could ask what the hell he was talking about, Stark's grin widened. "Oh, only that? Sure. You're lucky I've always got it with me..."

He dug into one of his trenchcoat's pockets. The Collector smiled, one hand outstretched, as though Stark would throw him whatever Key he wanted.

Then, something gray flashed through the air, and the Collector screamed.

It happened so fast: one moment he was standing, smiling confidently, the next he was writhing on the ground, clothes in tatters, skin flayed. He shrieked bloody murder for several seconds, then disappeared in a flash of light.

Stark chuckled, drawing attention back to him. In one hand, he was holding what looked like a thick grey, barbed whip, covered in blood and pieces of skin stuck on its cruel barbs.

"Fucking moron," Stark laughed breathlessly. "Did he think I carry the Key in my pocket?"

Chapter Text

Well, that...was something.

Being superhumanly fast means you see shit like this happening slowly. Still, I couldn't exactly muster much sympathy for the so-called Collector. Whatever toy he'd taken out had fused Stark's lips together, and  that had been a sight I wouldn't forget for some time. And for what? So he couldn't talk or cast his spells? I could see the temptation in shutting Stark up, but...

Hmm. Better check out his aura, see if everything's alright. Wouldn't want whatever the Collector did to have side-effects.

I can see auras-the souls of living beings, which surround them like shimmering shrouds. Different beings have different colors. Humans are blue, vamps white, weres green and so on.

Stark's aura was... it was like nothing I've ever seen before. It was blue, threaded through with thick black strands, like I always saw around witches. Well, he was a magic user. Nothing weird there...

But there was more. I could see two vague shapes spreading from his back, covered in chains:blue, and two kinds of black. Witch black, and the black of demons. The second set of black chains was brittle, and constantly shifting, but still there.

We'd have words about that, when this mess was done. Maybe that stuff about Stark having been the Devil had been more than a tasteless joke. Who knew what was true, in the Nightside?

"Guys?" Jason asked, his huge gun held at the ready. "The bugs are coming back. We're surrounded, and they're moving in."

I focused and realized he was right. It seemed Jason's senses were even keener than mine, but that was no surprise. Werewolf senses often were, even if Jason claimed not to be a were.

Just to be sure, I checked his aura as well, and almost gasped. There was not a speck of were green. Instead, it was as blue as any human's, surrounded and suffused with a deeper, fiercer blue. I had no idea what it was.

"Wolfe's right," Stark said. "So, unless you wanna have a last stand in the bugpocalypse, I suggest we haul ass outta here."

That was when Razor Eddie began crying again. He was a far cry from the inhuman being I'd met when I'd arrived in the Nightside, and learned that even Grim can be unsettled. No, this Eddie was...drained. Scared. Wretched.

"Eddie? Did they put you in that cocoon?" John asked, not unkindly. "Did they take your straight razor?"

Eddie nodded rapidly at that. "They lay their eggs in living hosts, John. They used up most of what was left of mankind, after you ruined everything."

"Right," Joanna said. "You're still a god, still immortal. With you, they'd never run out of flesh for their larvae."

It was kind of creepy how clinically she was talking about this. Maybe she was numb from everything she'd already seen?

"That's right," John said, snapping his fingers. "Nothing could kill Razor Eddie except his own blade, and the bugs would know this. So, they'd put it somewhere he couldn't reach it, so he couldn't kill himself..."

John did...  something. I checked his aura, too, on pure reflex, and didn't understand a damn thing I saw.

John's aura was human-blue, but seemed to cover, or be covered by, something unseen of the same shape and size. And then, something appeared, or opened in his forehead. It blazed with all colors known to mankind, and several unknown ones. It twisted and turned, before finally settling on Razor Eddie-

I shut down my Sight. My eyes were watering, like I'd just stared at the sun with a telescope. There was clearly still much I needed to learn.

"There," John said with a pleased smile. "Of course they'd put it there. You couldn't reach it no matter what you did..."

"Are you gonna say where the razor is, or just jack off to the sound of your voice?" Slim asked. More or less everyone's thoughts, i'd have bet, if phrased in a more vulgar way than I'd have. Still, John seemed to have a thing for being dramatic, like a magician.

Or a conman.

"It's inside his stomach," John said. "I don't know how the bugs did it, and frankly, I don't want to know... Chris, could you cut him open and take the razor? Like you did with the door?"

"Sure..." I said hesitantly. "It would hurt like hell, though."

"Wait," Stark said. "My black blade is better for this. It can cut anything, as well as only things I want cut. He won't even bleed."

"Have you tried this before?" Harry asked with a skeptical frown.

"Oh, sure," Stark replied airily. "Beheaded a guy and kept the head around. He didn't die, unlike my patience after dealing with him."

"Of course, you'll tell us all about that, Stark," Jason said, looking meaningfully at him.

"Oh, of course. Now..." He took out his black knife and started cutting. Eddie stared down at the blade, looking almost curious. He didn't flinch... and didn't even bleed.

A few seconds later, Stark reached inside Eddie's guts and took out a filthy, pearl-handled straight razor. He handed it to John, who looked at Eddie with a sad smile.

"Do it, John," Eddie said with a resigned look. "Finish what you started."

"I'm sorry, Eddie. Whatever happened, I swear I will prevent it." And he cut Eddie's throat.

The thin man sighed, sounding almost relieved, and fell, dark red blood streaming from the red smile on his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground.

And that... was that. We stood, looking down at the body, in a moment of silence. None of us had expected this...but this Eddie deserved to be freed from his torment.

"The poor bastard's free now," Stark said, an almost wistful look in his eyes. "Nothing here can hurt him anymore."

"Not trying to be that guy, but... why aren't the bugs swarming us?" Harry asked. "Are they scared from when we burned them?"

"If only we could find the place where we entered this timeslip..." Joanna said. "Maybe there would be something like a door, or-"

"That's it!" John said with a grin. "Joanna, I could kiss you right now."

"Please don't," Suzie said drily.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

'It's an illusion!' Came a roar. 'Whatever it's showing you, it's bullshit! Snap out of it!'

And I did.

When you can find anything just by focusing, you start thinking you can't be fooled or tricked. Stupid. Sloppy.

Whatever this thing was, this thing that only looked like a house, it had managed, however briefly, to ensnare my mind.

Jason Wolfe had saved my life. I owed him a favour now, and I always paid my debts. Beside, I'd owed worse people in the past. Jason seemed like a decent chap, too, for a not-werewolf. I'd have to look into that...

But, first things first.

I opened my third eye, my private eye, that lets me see the world as it truly is, not as we like to think it is. Vaguely, I realized that the Harrowing, the monstrous, faceless agents of my enemies, had not attacked me at all during this case, despite the fact that I had used my gift thrice in quick succession.

But, you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

With my third eye open, I could see the power of the thing that looked like a house. Dark tendrils of energy, wrapped around my companion's eyes and heads and hearts...except Joanna's.

I looked at her, startled, and saw her true face.

Or, rather, the lack of one.

Joanna's features melted away, fading into blank flesh. Her hair fell away like old, brittle leaves, and I gasped.

A Harrowing, or something like it. Cathy Barret had said the truth, despite all:Joanna was not her mother, because there had never been a Joanna Barrett.

This angered me. Had this all been a ploy by my enemies? Fashioning a strong, yet still vulnerable woman, to lure me to this place so it would consume me?

And it had almost worked, too. Thank you, Jason.

I glared at the tendrils of power, prepared to reach out and break them... but I didn't need to.

Sandman Slim took out his twisted black knife and stabbed himself in the chest with it. The tendrils around him withered away, like dying weeds. Stark sighed, sounding almost pleased. He was not bleeding, and the hole in his chest was already closing. He shot me a toothy grin and nodded.

Harry Dresden took a deep breath that, for some reason, steamed on the air. He shook his head rapidly, from side to side, like a dog clearing water from its ears, and the tendrils froze and shattered.

Chris Gordon suddenly blazed with his purple aura, and the tendrils around him were cut apart, before drifting away in the aethereal wind.

And Suzie Shooter, Shotgun Suzie, lifted her namesake and shot the ceiling. The tendrils fell apart, quivering as if in pain. I nodded. Suzie had never listened to anyone, not even her own fantasies, whatever they were.

Mine had been... my father Charles had still been alive. He had been reunited with my mother, but she... I could not remember her, not even this illusory version of her. I still couldn't see her.

I would learn the truth, one day.

I concentrated on the house itself, seeing beyond its disguise. Not a house, indeed. Not that it had ever been one. This thing was alien, in every sense of the word:a monster from Outside, from a place where life had walked a different, twisted path. But, still a monster.

And every monster had a weakness.

I could see its heart, its core, not in our universe, but in another reality altogether.

I closed my private eye. My eyes, nose and mouth had started bleeding. Even without my enemies' pursuit, using my gift was still straining.

I knew what I had to do. 'Someone grab my hand, then someone grab theirs! I've seen its weakness!'

'The fuck do you wanna do, sing kumbaya?' Stark asked, knife still in hand. I shook my head.

'Hold my damned hand so I can share my gift with you! I can't do this alone!'

Stark grumbled mutinously, but he took my hand. His was calloused and scarred, and filled with inhuman strength. Dresden took his hand, and soon, we formed a chain.

I opened my third eye, and they saw as I did. We were in the realm that hosted the house's heart. I could see it, blazing above us like a false sun, like an evil eye. Around it spun a pillar of energy, the life it had drained from its previous victims. Those poor fools who had been lured here, who had been consumed and had died without even knowing it.

Dead, but not departed.

The house's victims appeared around us:vague, transparent shapes, but I could still make out their faces. I could still see their desire to be avenged, to see the house destroyed and justice done. They grasped our hands, and lent their strength to ours.

Joanna appeared, too: a woman who had never been, but could have.

I grasped their power and will, and it was the easiest thing in the world for me to throw it at the house's heart, and destroy it. It fell appart, or shattered, or melted. It was unmade, and we were back in our reality.

The house was shuddering now. It had already died, it just didn't know it yet. It would soon fall apart, I knew.

'We have to get out,' I said, then looked at the floor, at Cathy. 'I-' But before I could say anything, Chris blurred across the room and gathered her in his arms. She was no longer mad now: the house dead, she was now dazed, eyes clouded and unfocused. Chris muttered something soothing to her, and was gone, out of the room, down the stairs and out of the house, in less than a heartbeat.

'Come on,' Stark said, gesturing at a large shadow. 'Take my hand, and try to keep up.' And so we did. We followed Stark through the shadow... and into a large room I knew wasn't part of the false house. It contained nothing apart from thirteen strange doors: one was made of fire, one of mist, and one was covered in chains and locks. And more besides, strange and eldritch.

I raised an eyebrow at Stark. He smirked. 'Showing you lot this is enough. Don't you start asking questions.' He walked through a door that constantly changed colour, and we followed. And like that, we were back on Blaiston Street, just in time to see the house fall apart and dissapear, like it had never been there.

Walker showed up soon after, alongside some of his people. Walker, that impeccable city gent in his suit, old school tie and bowler hat, which he tipped in greeting as he arrived.

Dresden stepped protectively in front of Cathy, still held in Chris' arms. 'We saved her, Walker. There's no need for you to be here.'

Walker smiled coldly. 'I think you'll realise there is quite a need, Mr. Dresden...'

'Why do you care about this kid so much?" Suzie asked bluntly. "What is she to you?'

Walker turned to her, nodding, but Stark spoke before he could. 'Bait in a trap, I bet. Send us chasing after a kid he knew had been trapped by a monster, so we would be trapped and killed. You knew what the house really was, didn't you, Walker? You're said to know everything.' Slim was smiling now, his shapeshifting weapon in his hand. 'Four people show up in the Nightside at the same time, and start fucking up your precious status quo. Then, an old sensation returns, ready to help around again, and Shotgun Suzie joins up, too. Why not kill six birds with one stone, and avoid some headaches later on?'

Walker was still smiling. 'Paranoia is a terrible thing, Mr. Stark.'

Chapter Text

A week later

"The Hexarchy?" I ask, looking at the newspaper in my hand, at the title on its first page. "Fucking what? Do they think we're a goddamn band or something?"

"Or a superhero team," Dresden says with a grin. "You can be Iron Man, Stark. You've already got the name and the alcoholic asshole thing down pat."

"Oh, fuck off, Dresden. Talk to me when you've got something original. I've heard that fucking joke a thousand times from my girlfriend."

"Is that what you call your pillow?"

I look up from the newspaper, and something in my eyes wipes the grin off the smarmy fucker's face. "Watch your damn mouth. You can say whatever shit you want about me, but if you start talking about Candy, I'll eat your lungs."

He holds my stare for several seconds. Then, his eyes widen briefly, slightly. He nods. "Nice to see you care about some people." He says finally.

I snort, taking a cigarette from the pack in front of me, on the table, and lighting it with Mason Faim's lighter. Mason used to be my friend, long ago- at least my younger, dumbass self though he was. I used to hang out with him and his magic circle, back when we were dumb Sub Rosa brats with too much time on our hands.

Mason performed a ritual that dragged me down to Hell, where I was trapped for eleven years, first as a plaything for Hellions, then as a gladiator and, finally, as an assassin. So was born Sandman Slim.

I was nineteen when I arrived in Hell.

Later, I escaped and, after several clusterfucks, got even with Mason. I saved the universe several times: from the Kissi, God's failed angels. From the Angra Om Ya, the old gods ours store the universe from and conned into being banished outside it. I even saved Death once... well, not quite. The old Death was gone, replaced by Samael. But I still stopped an insane fucker from replacing it and breaking the cycle of life and death.

I had Mason's lighter with me throughout all that.

The cigs I'm currently smoking are called 'Lungsbane'. Supposedly, going through a pack melts a normal human's lungs. Me, I'm just tingly, but, if it's true, I can't help but wonder who the fuck would buy them.

There's one born every minute, indeed.

"Well, I gotta go," Dresden says, getting up from his chair. "I've gotta get back to the firm."

I nod goodbye as he leaves the Hawk's Wind Bar and Grill, the ghost of an old bar where the sixties never end. Pretty nice, in a tacky way.

Dresden and Taylor are now partners in a detective firm, headquartered in Dresden's office building, with Cathy as their secretary. I'd make a joke about secretaries, but even I'm not that tasteless. Dresden may be a hypocrite and Taylor a smug dickhead, but neither of them is a pedo. I'd kill them if they were.

I go back to reading the paper. It's the Night Times, obviously. One of the Nightside's two newspapers, and the one worth a damn, in my opinion. The other, the Unnatural Inquirer, is a shit-racking tabloid. If I wiped my ass with that rag, I'd pity my shit.

The Night Times is run by Julien Advent, the Victorian Adventurer. Allegedly a hero. He doesn't back down from talking shit about assholes who deserve it, at least, and always writes the truth. I can respect that, even if working at a newspaper means talking about what other people do. It's a parasite's job.

Advent dissapeared through a timeslip during Victorian times and reappeared decades ago,but he's still as young as when he arrived. Supposedly, he made a serum that brings out the best in people, which I guess keeps him in his prime. Like Hyde in reverse.

There are Hydes too, in the Nightside. Here, Jekyll existed, and you can still buy his serum, if you're crazy enough. You, too, can become an evil brute. And then, Old Man Slim will gut you for playing out your twisted little fantasies.

Anyway, Advent seems decent enough, for a nineteenth century Brit. If he gets his jollies gargling opium while beating up inferior races, I haven't caugh him yet.

Today's paper talks about our team-up and Cathy Barret's rescue. In the Nightside, big players don't play nice together, let alone unite to save someone out of the goodness of their hearts.

Fuck 'em.

And so... the Hexarchy. Me, Wolfe, Dresden, Taylor, Gordon and Suzie. Maybe they'll start making action figures.

"Is this seat taken?"

I look up from the paper, unwilling to appear startled. The fuck? I can hear heartbeats, never mind steps.

The newcomer has chalk-white skin and a mane of black hair. His eyes are black, too, as are his boots, pants and leather trenchcoat. It looks fucking sweet. Maybe I can buy it from him?

"Well, I dunno," I answer. "Maybe the Invisible Man's got his ass parked in it, but he's naked. Get on with it, though. Don't you wanna sit in his lap?"

The guy sits down, but there's no Invisible Man. I'm heartbroken.

"You are used to greater things than this," he says. I raise an eyebrow. I was just thinking about saving the universe, and...

"Are you a fucking telepath?" I ask bluntly. He shakes his head.

"I know what I need to, when I need to. But I'm right, aren't I?"

"You talking about better smokes? Yeah, I guess. But, unless you've got a pack of Maledictions up your sleeve..." I drawl. He smiles thinly.

"You've saved your reality before."

 My reality, eh? So, he knows I'm not from around here.

"And what if I have? Do you have an universe that needs saving?"

"Not at the moment, no. But, when I do, I'll come to you first, Stark," he says, pushing a pack of Maledictions across the table with a pale finger. The fuck?

I look from the pack to him, trying to place the guy. He seems... familiar, but...

"Do I know you?" I ask. "I think I've seen you around. You got a name?"

His smile widens. "Oblivion. Hadleigh Oblivion."

Chapter Text

My life is a buddy cop movie.

Let me backtrack.

A while ago, I joined forces with some rather colorful characters in order to save a teenage girl's life from a monster disguised as a house. Now, that girl was my secretary.

Please, no skeevy jokes. Not even Stark is that tasteless.

Now, I made up half of Dresden-Taylor Investigations. I'm Dresden, by the way. Taylor is my partner, a guy with the ability to find anything, the cheater. It's not magic, not really, though it is supernatural...which just makes it more bullshit, in my opinion.

I still did my fair share work on our cases, no matter what Taylor said. He wouldn't know a clue if you smacked him with it.

I know. I've done it.

As I walked back to our headquarters-a multi-story affair that looks far more dilapidated than it is; Stark's suggestion- I thought how strange it felt to walk the Nightside's streets after leaving the mundane world.

During my brief jaunt outside, I asked around, twisted some arms, but...nothing. Not only didn't my allies and enemies exist here, they never had. And that...left me with an uneasy feeling.

Still, I learned some stuff about the big and small kids on the block. Even met some. Like the London Knights, actual successors of the Round Table. Good guys, if a little stuffy. I think Michael would have liked to meet them. I know Chris would have.

Or the Carnacki Institute-yeah, the guy had been real here. Apparently, my partner John had studied with him when he was finding his own feet. The Institute predated Carnacki, though. It had been founded in the sixteenth century, which made me wonder what was it called originally. Still, its Ghost Finders did good work, though it must have been stressful. I talked with one of them. Called himself Happy, but... wasn't. In fact, he was always popping pills.

And, finally, there were the Droods. A family that dated from the times of Roman Britain-wonder how they avoid inbreeding-, and who have more or less kept order in the hidden world since their founding, using their living golden armor and cutting-edge gadgets.

I hadn't seen a Drood, though, let alone met one. The people they send to the field are secret agents. Still, this guy I talked with seemed to know a lot about them. Called himself Shaman Bond, if you can believe. A bit weird for such a small-timer to have infornation on this secret family, but Shaman seemed to get around, and the Droods were infamous, if not well-known. He was always in town, looking for some mischief... and always alone. Hope he'll find a family for himself someday. Seemed like a decent guy.

The Nightside seemed almost crushing after mundane London, like a steel blanket. Still, I'd survive.

The front door-steel and silver, covered in the best wards John and I could find and make- opened at my approach. It only does that for a few people, and we can be counted on both hands.

I walked to the elevator, which also opened with no touch needed. No magic here, though, just good tech. Good, wizard-proof tech. Count Video provided the best stuff in exchange for Chris, Stark and I not paying him a visit.

The elevator moved smoothly, so that I felt like I was standing still. In a few seconds, the door opened, revealing the firm's shared office(John and I have private ones, too, for keeping the stuff we don't trust the other to handle). John was slumped at the desk, face on his arms. He seemed to be asleep, so I did what anyone would.

I poked him with a stick.

I nudged his head a few times with my staff(har, har. I've heard all of them) before John made a dubious sound and stood up, stretching.

"Still a smartarse, I see," he said, eyes bleary. "Ever heard about shouting, Harry?"

"Shout? What if I woke you up?" I asked with a smirk. John made a rude gesture and rubbed at his eyes. Upon closer inspection, he smelled of...

"Have you been drinking during the day? Again? C'mon, dude..." I said.

"Who are you, my wife? And it's never day here." He stuck his hands in his trenchcoat's pockets.

"You know what I meant."

"Yes, yes. I know. Not my fault we haven't had a real case in..." He looked at the calendar, then gave up. "Forever. I've got to do something."

"Where's Cathy?" I asked, just to change the subject.

John shrugged. "Here and there. Clubbing. You know how kids are..."

"And you trust her in the Nightside's clubs? Alone?"

John smirked. "Harry, she goes into places we wouldn't look at without armed backup. She'll be fine." That didn't fill me with confidence. "Besides, I can handle the paperwork while she's gone." That? That filled me with horror.

"Once you wake up, of course. Grandpa needs his naps."

"You're about fifteen years older than me!"

"It's all in the mindset," I said airily.

John sniffed. "Arsehole. You're starting to sound like Stark, you know that?"

"Now you're just being mean." But a thought struck me. "John... where's Stark hanging out these days?"

The mercenary usually dropped in our office to hang around and drink when he wasn't on one of his jobs. Had so much changed in the week I had been away? Before our joint case, he had shared an apartment with Shotgun Suzie-a bounty hunter just as terrifying as him, but entirely human.

Actually, scratch that. That made her more terrifying.

Anyway, the two got on each other's nerves, because like repels like, and Stark, who apparently can be a gentleman, left the whole place to her and started sleeping around town.

Not in that way. I hoped. Last thing we needed was some mini-Starks running around.

John shrugged, interrupting my train of though. "Oh, him? He should be in class right now."

"...What class?"

Chapter Text

A few weeks ago

"Why me?" I asked.

Walker didn't look up from his plate. Steak and mashed potatoes. Filling, if a bit bland and old-fashioned. I guess you are what you eat.

"Because, Mr. Wolfe, the other people powerful enough for this position lack either your discipline or your..." He smiled. "Moral compass. Or both. I think we could do worse than you, no?"

"What about Dresden?" I suggested, just to see his reaction.

Walker frowned briefly. "Do you truly have so much faith in him?"

"Dresden is a good guy. He knows his shit, and his heart is in the right place."

"But..." Walker said, waiting for me to go on.

"But, while he loves what the establishment can do for him, he hates the thought of what it can do to him." I said bluntly.

Walker raised an eyebrow. "Are you comfortable sharing this opinion of your...acquaintance, with me?"

"Why, are you going to snitch to him and burn the bridge between us? Don't bother. I've already told him."

"Is that why you meet so rarely these days?" Walker asked, sounding both amused and curious. I didn't answer.

We were in the Londinium Club. Oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside, allegedly founded when London still bore its Roman name. Walker was a long-standing member, to my utter lack of surprise, and I was only able to enter as his guest.

Just as well. The Doorman should be grateful he didn't get into my face.

"A single man can't keep order in a normal city, let alone a madhouse like the Nightside," I replied. "You may be able to call on help from outside, and you have your mercs and combat sorcerers, but the Nightside needs real law enforcement."

"I'm sure you will find eager volunteers, my friend. Especially after your recent heroic stunt."

I told him my idea, and what resources I would need for a start, and Walker nodded. "I can provide that, of course. Provided it works, it should take a load off my shoulders, let me concentrate on putting out the bigger fires... yes. Yes. Young people are so full of energy, and there are worse ways to channel it than public service. I should know. One of my sons is in the army."

Due to my wolfish nature, I do not have eyebrows. In response, my face has become more expressive. "You never talk about your family," I said carefully.

"No, I don't."

We talked some more, discussing sectors and patrol routes, protocols and uniforms. At the end, Walker, having finished his meal, nodded, sat up and put his bowler hat back on.

"I have never been a soldier, Mr. Wolfe, nor a policeman. As such, I defer to your expertise."

He extended his hand, and, God forgive me, I shook it.

Now

And that was how the Nightguard was born. The first Guards were, as Walker had predicted, volunteers, people who loved the chaos of the Nightside in general, but wanted a little structure in their lives and the lives of their loved ones. Others were fans, admirers of me or the Hexarchy, who hoped to work alongside their heroes.

As Captain of the Nightguard, my days were spent snooping around HQ, checking if everything was ok. The rest of the time, I patrolled. Sometimes alone, sometimes with my troops.

Because you can't keep a lid on the Nightside with anything less than an army. At least I was back in an uniform now. Grey ballistic plates over a thick grey bodysuit, with a full, white moon inside a black shield on the shoulder guards. We needed a symbol, and Walker's suggestions lacked imagination.

As I walked the streets, my multigun slung over my back, most poeple reacted to me. Most just nodded, a few waved and some flipped me off. Because I was the face of the Nightguard, and people thought of me whenever we did something.

That had to change. My people couldn't keep living in my shadow, or they'd never be taken seriously.

I made my way to the Pit, a masochistic fetish club, where people can either pretend to suffer or look at those who do. Voyeurs.

The bouncers at the door were short, stunted shrimps-by my standards, at least. But I couldn't view them favorably with the kind of shitstains they protected. They nodded when they saw me, and moved aside to let me enter.

"Walker letting you off the leash?" One of them, apparently feeling brave, blurted out as I walked past them. I stopped, looking down at him.

"Yeah," I growled, barring my fangs. "Wanna go to him and keep it warm for me?"

He didn't answer. Probably had a crisis of common sense.

Allegedly, the Pit's managers were demons who had escaped from Hell because they though the Nightside would be an easier mark. I hadn't found anything about their supposed true nature, but maybe my Lieutenant had.

Chris Gordon stood in one corner of the club, a Bud's Light in his hand. He waved me over to him. Chris was in plainclothes tonight, the better to scout out this place. His skills since he had worked as a cop in New York were rusty, and he wanted to get back into shape. And, if he kicked some demon ass in the meantime, so much the better.

"Hey, boss. Done terrorizing the secretaries?" Chris asked after I walked over to him, forcing my way through the crowd with a combination of bulk and reputation.

"For tonight. You got anything?"

He nodded. "There's a pair of demonic presences above us." He gestured at the ceiling. The managers' office was on the second floor.

"I can't smell anything. You sure?" I asked.

"It's not like that, Jay. You wouldn't be able to spot them, because demons are not of this world. At least, you shouldn't be able to smell them while they're disguised..." Chris trailed off, looking at something behind me. My nose wrinkled at the smell of formaldehyde, and I sighed inwardly.

"Nicholson!" Dead Boy said cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Chapter Text

I snickered inwardly as Dead Boy stopped behind Jason and clapped him on a shoulder. I didn't know you could look so constipated with a wolf face. The things you learn...

Dead Boy was seventeen. He's been seventeen for thirty years, since he came to the Nightside and was mugged and murdered. He made a deal with something he still won't talk about, but he should have read the fine print. Now, he's a spirit possessing his own corpse.

I've seen zombies before. Declan had faced some once, and burned them to ash, but those had been mindless flesh-puppets, the souls long-departed.

Dead Boy, on the other hand, gave every appearance of being sapient, and his soul was bound to his body tighter than any living human's.

It was blue, too. Whatever he'd made a deal with, it hadn't been a demon. There were no traces of black in the aura.

"Nicholson!" Dead Boy said cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Same," Jason lied through his teeth. "On a walk around town?"

Dead Boy nodded, grinning. "Can't you see I'm dressed to the nines?" Dead Boy's dark eyes widened. "Or...maybe you can't. I've heard dogs are colorblind, so you might be too. Would explain the way you dress..."

Before Jason could say or do something we'd all regret, I walked forward, extending a hand for Dead Boy to shake.

"We're here to investigate rumors of demons," I told him. His grip was cold and clammy, and as strong as some vampires'.

Dead Boy nodded. "They're all true. Not speaking from experience, mind; this little joint has little to offer to the dead, so I haven't hung around here. But it's safer to expect stories to be true, in the Nightside. It's why I came prepared tonight."

I raised an eyebrow. Dead Boy was wearing his usual purple greatcoat, leather pants and calfskin boots. He had a floppy hat perched on his mound of dark hair, and a black rose on one lapel. He replaces them often, because he keeps eating them.

His greatcoat hung open, revealing his pale torso and Y-shaped autopsy scar-his favorite conversation piece. But...I couldn't see any weapons or protections, nor sense anything. How was he prepared?

"Mind if I join you?" Dead Boy asked. "The crowd's pretty boring, and I don't have anything to do tonight. Not that I ever do, of course..."

As he spoke, he took a fistful of dubious, multi-colored pills out of a pocket, and dry-swallowed them. Just the smell of them was enough to put Grim on edge, and if Jason's expression was anything to go by, he didn't care much for the smell either.

"Well?" Dead Boy asked. "How do we do this? Do I take point, or..."

"This is official Nightguard business," Jason said. "We can't let a civilian interfere."

"Chris isn't in uniform," Dead Boy said, pointing at me.

"He's undercover," Jason said patiently. "Not that anyone with eyes will miss him, of course...but that's not what I meant. You can't participate."

Dead Boy laughed. "Don't worry, Captain. There's no risk of me being harmed. I'm dead!"

Jason sighed. "That's not what I meant, either. Just...look. Hang back, and if it looks like we're in trouble, step in. We'll say you're a Nightguard consultant or something."

Dead Boy's eyes all but sparkled. "I've always wanted to be consulted..."

Jason shot me a long-suffering look and walked to the stairs leading to the second floor. He reached the top in a few long strides, with me behind him, hidden by his shadow and bulk. Dead Boy followed me in what he probably imagined was a stealthy manner, hands in his pockets.

The door to the managers' office looked thick and solid, but not as much as the guards standing in front of it. Big, burly types, with more piercings and tattoos that was probably healthy, their auras were as black and oily as tar.

I shook my head. How could people see them, and yet be so blind? The gang they were part of was even called the Demonz, for God's sake!

"Move aside, please," Jason said, walking up to them and presenting his badge. "Jason Wolfe, Captain of the Nightguard. I'm here to talk with Mr. Blood and Mr.B ones."

"Reason for visiting?" One guard asked in a bored tone.

"None of your business."

The guards straightened at that, looking ready to jump Jason. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Sure. Right here..." Jason unslung his gun and swung it like a club, over a hundred kilos of metal cracking the guards' skulls and bouncing them off the wall.

"Obstruction of the Nightguard," Jason said, standing over the fallen guards. "The Authorities will be delighted to hear that."

Jason turned, nodding at me and Dead Boy, and opened the door.

Not even locked, then.

Blood and Bones were sitting at their partners' desk, in an office filled with every luxury imaginable. The two looked liked demons who had watched TV shows about human businessmen and tried to dress the part...which was probably not that far from the truth.

Dead Boy remained in the hallway, ready to jump in at any moment.

"Captain Wolfe," Blood said. "What an unexpected...visit. Did you really have to bludgeon our employees?"

"Lieutenant Gordon," Bones said. "Please try not to damage anything here."

But I wasn't paying attention to them. Instead, I was focusing on the faint smell coming from behind a wall. The smell of death.

"We're here to make sure everything's going normally," Jason said. "No patron is being harmed-really harmed-I'm sure?"

"Of course not, Captain," Blood said.

"We offer only the appearance of pain. Everyone here is safe," Bones said. "While we talk, would you like something to drink, or eat? Some caviar, perhaps?"

"Or you can show us the skeletons in your closet," Jason said, raising his gun and shredding the section of wall from where the smell of death was coming.

The wall fell apart, revealing a mutilated girl held up by chains, looking like something had tried to eat her whole, then stopped halfway through the meal. Grim took over, and I growled.

"Help... help me..." The dead but alive girl rasped. Grim raised my hand and shot a burst of aura at her, blasting her apart. I'd been too late to save her, but I could still end her pain.

Blood and Bones shot to their feet, hissing. Their human disguises disappeared, revealing eight-foot tall demons, with curled horns, crimson skin and cloven hooves. Sticking to the classics, eh?

Behind me, I heard a struggle. Grim took a snapshot of our surroundings, as a bunch of Demonz, also in their true forms, entered the room, two of them staying behind to keep Dead Boy occupied.

The Demonz fanned out, blocking the exit, while Blood and Bones strode towards us, clawed hands clenching and unclenching.

They outnumbered Jason and I six to one. I didn't like their odds.

I covered myself in aura, and jumped at the Demonz, mono-edges cutting crimson flesh like air. At first, they tried to grab and strike me, but this only brought them shredded limbs. I ran through them, literally, and, as their bodies fell apart, I grabbed their spirits, and shouted 'Kirby!'

The smoky form of God's raptor appeared, hovering near the ceiling, and multiplied to take care of the demons. Five Kirbys moved across the room, grabbing demons in their talons and carrying them away to Hell.

Meanwhile, Jason took a holy water grenade and threw it into the air, above Blood and Bones. He shot it, and the demons jumped to the sides, trying to avoid the liquid that burned their skin like acid. Blood tried to jump at Jason, and he shoved his gun down his throat, blasting Blood apart. One of the Kirbys moved to intercept him.

Bones decided discretion is the better part of valor, and tried to run to the door. Dead Boy, having beaten the demons who had jumped him into paste, intercepted Bones with a smile. A punch knocked the demon's head back, and I cut him in half with an aura-lined arm. One of the Kirbys came to take him, while another grabbed the demons in the hallway.

We looked at each other for a moment, cathing our breath...and that was when all Hell broke loose.

Literally.

A black silhouette, like a twisted angel made of darkness, appeared in the middle of the room. Hefting a sword that blazed with black flames, it seemed to stare into my soul, despite having no eyes or face.

"Malahidael," it spoke, pointing its sword at me. "You stand guilty of moving beyond your Creation, and of interfering in the Great Experiment."

Chapter Text

Despite looking like my diet consists of roaches and cardboard-there's a reason I'm called Sandman  Slim-, I'm strong. Inhumanly strong, and that's not a figure of speech.

I've punched through concrete and bulletproof glass, snapped necks and ripped parking meters straight out of the ground. Once, I jumped a yards-wide gap while carrying two people.

"Ugh!"

Said strength is being put to the test by the latest of my mentor's retarded tests. I call them pop quizzes, because my bones pop during them.

"Hadleigh! What's the goddamn point of this!?"

Motherfucker's just summoned a fucking metal block straight onto my shoulders, and I'm practically squatting under the thing. Feels like a goddamn SUV, but more compact.

My flesh arm is trembling. The other, the Kissi prosthetic, looking like the Terminator fucked a bug which then shat it out, isn't even strained. It's never been damaged, or even scratched.

After I returned to Hell and lost my arm to a gladiator with a fucking crab pincer, a Kissi named Joseph gave me a new one. Fucking thing creeps the shit out of me, along with everyone else who's seen it. It's why I always wear long sleeves and gloves.

If any of my recently-acquired pals have detected it with their special snowflake senses, none of them have babbled, as far as I know.

And these days, I know far more than I used to.

"Keep calm and soldier on, Stark," Hadleigh drawls lazily, leaning against a wall. "You must learn to work under pressure."

"Was that a fucking pun!?"

I don't see Hadleigh roll his eyes, but I practically hear him. "Just do like we've rehearsed, Stark. But in reverse."

In reverse...ah. Of fucking course.

Ever since I came to the Deep School-the place where they teach you the shit that plagued Lovecraft's nightmares, and so much more-, Hadleigh has taught me many things, none of them having to do with magic. Because he's not just a graduate, he's a fucking instructor.

One of my new tricks is creating matter out of nothing. It's useful, because it means I never run out of cigs and ammo. Still learning to make booze, though.

So...in reverse. I focus my will on the metal block, and stop believing in it. It fades like morning mist, and my back all but moans in relief.

I roll my flesh shoulder, glaring at Hadleigh, who, as always, looks completely relaxed.

We're currently in one of the cathedrals of bone, the Dark Academie's training areas. If the name sounds like a dodgy brothel for necrophiles, it's not that far off from the truth. You come out of here utterly disgusted with yourself, too.

The room doesn't have a ceiling. The sky is black as ink, with an even darker sun that's somehow visible. There's no light, but neither of us needs eyes to see anymore.

"Cute trick, teach. Are you gonna make me write my name three million times on the board next?" I ask, swaggering up to him.

"If you're bored," he replies. "But I think you should take a break from learning, for a while."

"No, really."

"Yes, really." He straightens up, and his eyes are darker than the sun above us." A storm is coming, Stark. A storm of light and darkness, and you are in its eye."

"An oncoming storm, huh?" I say, making a Malediction and lighting it. "You Brits and your Doctor Who...fine. Any tips on how to avoid or stop it? Or is it one of those things that fucks everyone in the ass, but absolutely has to happen?"

"I cannot say," he answers in a final tone.

Well, that's my cue to leave. You can't drag answers out of Hadleight with a crowbar. And when the Detective Inspectre cannot say something, it either means he doesn't know, which is fucking terrifying, or literally cannot speak about it, which is even worse.

"Well, that's swell. I'll scream if you need me. Watch your back, teach." And he should, too. The Detective Inspectre has thwarted the plans of so many monstrous fucktards, it would take a lifetime just to list them. Bastard collects enemies like a dog collects fleas.

I give him a two-finger salute, he nods, and that's that. Neither of us was touchy-feely even before we became the freaks we are, and that's not going to change. Still, I like to think we respect each other. He reminds me of Vidocq, in a way.

When Hadleigh's parents disappeared into a timeslip only to return decades later, he was left alone. He became Walker, the Authorities' man, for a time, and passed the title to the current Walker, Henry, when the Deep School called to him.

His parents had two other kids, Larry and Tommy, but Hadleigh wasn't there to watch his brothers grow. He dropped in when his duties left him, but he was always more like a distant uncle than an older brother to them.

He wishes it was different, though he's never said it. Hadleigh Oblivion is one of the saddest bastards I've ever met, for all his power, and that's saying something. He makes Kasabian look optimistic.

Just goes to show power does not, cannot, make a man happy.

I leave the Deep School behind, to return to the Nightside. The ascent is only partly physical, as many things are. You just gotta open your eyes first.

Like I have.

There's so much fucking bullshit going on right in front of mankind's eyes, and they don't even see it. Though, maybe, it's a mercy. Most would go mad if they saw the fuckers they share the world with.

I remember when I learned about the Kissi, back in my reality. God's failed angels who lived in the chaos at the edge of the universe. They clung to people like parasites, whispering and nudging, encouraging them to indulge their worst impulses.

I burned most of them alive, and the rest died in a clusterfuck charge against Heaven. I'm not sorry. I never met a Kissi who wasn't the worst they could be, which just goes to show how inhuman they were. People aren't that fucking single-minded, ever.

When I was ten, I challenged myself to think of one thing every human agrees with. I'm still thinking.

As I reach the Nightside, my eyes adjust to the meager, false light. If people knew what the moon here really is, they'd carve their eyes out with rusty spoons, so it couldn't stare into them anymore.

People stare and mutter at my eyes and coat, which change color with every moment and movement. It's because they're receptacles for my will, which passes through them like light through a prism, and takes many forms.

I can see demons clinging onto people's eyes and heads, urging them to do their biding. I whisper words of unmaking, and they fall apart like ants under a looking glass. Fuck off. The Nightside might exist to drain suckers dry, but they should choose their damnation, not be fucking pushed into it.

I see the Awful Folk, passing through buildings and people who do not exist, to them. As long as they remain harmless...

I look at the moon, and it doesn't dare look back. I see the things that fly across its face. Birds of a feather...

And, because I'm staring at the sky like a fucking moron, it takes me a second to realize the pillar of light in front of me is coming for a higher reality.

It forms into a white silhouette, because of course the angel has to confront me in the middle of the fucking street. They're the same everywhere...

Well, almost.

The angel points its compensation pigsticker at me, and it's blazing with white fire. It looks like a flaming dildo, and I wonder if it knows that.

"James Butler Hickok Stark," it says, and I wonder if it's gonna start reciting my ancestry, too. "You stand guilty of moving beyond your Creation, and of interfering in the Great Experiment."

<See?> Says Saint James. <I told you we should keep our heads down, but no.>

<Fuck off.> I reply. <I didn't let you out of the attic so you could complain. Better say if my theory's correct or not.>

<It is.> My angel half says. Ever since I started going to the Deep School, my mind has expanded, a process that started with allowing my straight-laced self some freedom. <It's weakened here, like all agents from Above and Below. Like I am.>

<Yeah. But, unlike it, we have several tricks up our sleeves beside angelic power.>

James and I grin. So kind of the angel to give me a chance to try out my new skills.

Chapter Text

'...and that is why you have to find it, Mr.Taylor,' the little man finished.

I nodded, pretending I was pondering it. I have never heard of the Unholy Grail-that is, not in this context. I knew Judas had participated in the Last Supper, which obviously meant he must have drank from something, but I'd never thought said cup would gain power.

Although, I suppose...with a Holy Grail and so many knockoffs, a dark mirror must exist too.

'I'm honoured to be sought by the Vatican,' I lied. 'But...not to downplay myself, but do you not have any...specialists yourself?'

The man smiled humourlessly. 'We do, Mr. Taylor. But the Vatican cannot interfere directly in the Nightside. No agent of Good of Evil can. It would end poorly, for everyone involved.'

'There are Christian organisations in the Nightside, though,' I pointed out. "The Salvation Army Sisterhood, and lone operators, like Pew."

The man snorted. 'You will find the Sisters are hardly recognised outside the Nightside. Sending them here was a gambit that has hardly paid off. As for Pew...there are reasons the clergy regard him as a rogue.'

I nodded, pretending to understand. I've only ever known the blind vicar Pew as a teacher, in my younger days, then as a sometimes-ally, sometimes-enemy. Such things can change quickly, in the Nightside. I had no idea what his relationship with the greater Church was like, or how he was viewed by other priests.

'If you find the Unholy Grail, feel free to name your price to the Vatican,' the man continued. 'For a start, and as an incentive, we would offer you...'

'Would you, though?' I asked with a smile. 'Offer me anything to find bait?'

The man raised a dark eyebrow. 'I don't know what you're implying, Mr. Taylor.'

'I'm sure you don't. Just as I'm sure it's mere coincidence that an agent of the Vatican has entered the Nightside after two angels have been spotted inside it.' He didn't say anything, so I went on. 'Nothing travels faster than bad news, and two angels blundering about the Nightside, not working for or with God's representatives on Earth...well, that is horrendous news indeed. So horrendous, in fact, that the Vatican would dearly wish to remove them or put them under their thumb.'

'And if that were true, why would you be so concerned about these hypothetical angels, Mr. Taylor?' The man asked smoothly. I smiled.

'These "hypothetical" angels happen to be...acquaintances of mine.' While Chris was friendly and likable enough, I wouldn't call Stark a friend unless you put my balls in a vice, and he wouldn't want me to call him one either. So, I used a word that could work for both of them. 'We've worked together before, saved each other's hides. I'd rather not be sent on a wild cup chase while you try to catch and collar them.'

'You think I can capture two rogue angels by myself? I'm flattered, Mr. Taylor,' he said, sounding amused.

'And why not?' I shot back. 'As you said, agents of Good and Evil are weakened in the Nightside, and I don't even know what you can do.'

'And what makes you think I have some...special talent?'

'Why would the Church send you here otherwise? You'd need a trick or twelve just to protect yourself, especially if people noticed who you worked for.' I hesitated to open my third eye, my private eye, to try and find something, anything, about him. Even if my enemies didn't notice and send the Harrowing after me, who knew how this unassuming man could react? Watch out for the quiet ones, the meek shall inherit the Earth, et cetera.

Besides, we were in Strangefellows. If the man reacted violently and we started scrapping, we'd wreck the bar, and I didn't want Alex yelling at me again. And I hadn't paid my tab yet. Don't ask me why. It's not like I didn't have money now-hell, Harry even offered to pay it for me, but that would have made me feel bad. I guess I just wasn't used to being able to pay my debts.

There's a metaphor in there, I'm sure.

The little man stood up with a sigh, but made no move of reaching for any weapon. I stood up too, and he looked up at me.

'Do not mistake our interest for greed, Mr. Taylor. There are monsters outside the Nightside, and innocents who would greatly benefit from two angels fighting for the Church.'

'I understand that,' I said, not unkindly. 'But that is their choice. Unlike the angels I've read and heard about, they very much have free will, and act human.' That, or God is acting through them and is far more humanlike than I thought. Though I'd be concerned if the way Stark acts is representative of God's personality.

'Also...' I felt the need to add. 'One of them is a student at the Dark Academie. The Detective Inspectre's personal pupil, in fact.'

The little man seemed to pale several shades, despite his dark skin. 'Ah,' he said, and his voice seemed just a little higher than before. 'That...is unexpected. But...good to know. Thank you...for informing me, Mr. Taylor.'

'It's my job to tell people the truth,' I said with a shit-eating grin.

In truth, the news had horrified the shit out of me, too, when I'd heard it.

During Harry's week-long trip to London proper, I wandered the Nightside, for lack of anything better to do. Cases were scarce, and I didn't have much to do in the office, so I walked. It was during such a walk that I heard this distressing new fact. Rumours made me investigate and twist a few arms. Eventually, I opened my private eye, to find the Dark Academie, and found myself staring down Hadleigh Oblivion.

'Your concern for your friend is commendable, John,' he had said, sounding bored and looking dead-eyed. 'But Stark is my student, and I know what is best for him. Besides, outsiders are not allowed to see the Deep School.'

I still don't know how the hell he could see me observing him, let alone communicate, and I don't want to know.

'That may be so,' I had said, trying to sound reasonable and not at all shaken. 'But I know what happens to your students. I've seen the failures, the drop-outs, in the gutters and Rats' Alley.'

'Stark is not going to fail,' Hadleigh had said in a tone like he was talking about things falling to the ground when dropped. 'Now, kindly leave, John. You can only see the world as it is for brief moments, and I know it hurts you. Do not look for the Deep School anymore, or you may find your third eye mysteriously forced open. Permanently.'

And he had shut off my gift so fast my head had spun. I didn't know if he could make good on his threat, but I wasn't not dumb enough to try and call his bluff, either.

Besides, Stark had gone out of his own volition. The Deep School may have been many things, but they would not force you to attend.

'Mr. Taylor?' The little man asked, cutting off my train of thought. 'Will you at least help me look for the two, so I can make my offer to them?'

Just then, a flash of purple and black filled the bar, somehow passing through the walls. Then came words that scarred your ears, followed by a sound like crystal bells shattering.

'I think anyone could find them after this,' I said drily.

Chapter Text

I've seen things go to Hell in a handbasket many times, but, usually, Heaven isn't involved as well.

The angel from Above was here, in the Nightside. I couldn't sense it, but its light still seared my flesh and mind and soul. And I had a theory as to why it was here.

Fear not, indeed.

The instant the dark angel, or whatever the hell it was, appeared, Chris coated himself in his purple aura again, to engage it in a duel. Now, they were two blurs, one brilliant purple, one black as ink, clashing over and through the city for as far as I could see.

And Chris was losing.

More and more often, he had to dodge blows and roll with the ones he couldn't avoid, but I still heard his grunts of pain. I couldn't even help him-they were moving to fast for me to get a bead on the dark angel, let alone try and jump into close quarters.

And Chris was tiring. I knew he needed far more food than a man his size, even when he wasn't pushing his powers to the limit, due to his strange, unique physiology.

Dead Boy and I stood in the office of the Pit's former managers. The wall separating it from the outside had been pulverized when Chris had tackled the dark angel through it, with an impact that would have shredded a tank.

Malahidael, it had called Chris. I knew he was more than he seemed-which was saying something, given how many things he seemed-but...it had seemed like the dark angel knew him, or at least of him. Before, Chris had alluded to being God's champion of Earth, and, since he didn't seem crazy, I hadn't tried to contradict him. Besides, he knew more about spiritual matter than I did.

Dead Boy approached me, clearing his throat, as if he though I couldn't hear him.

"Uh, Jason?" His voice was hesitant, which was completely unlike him. It meant he was either scared or wising up, and I wasn't sure which possibility I hated more. "They've gotten kinda far. You think you can throw me at them from here?"

I turned to look at him sharply. "The hell?"

"You know! Like Colossus does with Wolverine all the time!"

"Of all the times to reference comics-"

Our little chat was interrupted by Chris flying at us like he'd been shot out of a cannon. I tried to dodge, but couldn't, and the impact cracked my body armor, sending me flying as well. We both smashed into the opposite wall, leveling it.

I pushed Chris away from me, and tried to get a look at him, check for wounds. He shot to his feet instantly, then shuddered. His limbs and backs were covered in small but deep cuts, which were releasing noxious black smoke.

"I'm fine," Chris said in the deeper, gravelly voice of his combat persona. "You should see the other guy."

Grim, as Chris called his other self, didn't usually display a sense of humor, hence the name. When it was joking, it was a sign you should look for cover and pray.

"Did you kill it?" I asked. "Or at least neutralize it?"

Chris shook his head, his eyes focused on the rubble resulting from his clash with the angel. Thankfully, most buildings close to the Pit were uninhabited, or inhabited by absolute scumbags, but...I hated the possibility of innocents-such as they were, in the Nightside-having gotten caught in the crossfire.

"I don't think I could, Jason. Even if it stood still and let me wail on it." By now, his voice had returned to normal. "It was...different, from the demons we dispatched in the club. Like people to apes. Smarter, more refined...far more dangerous."

"Where is it now? I can't sense it." I couldn't sense it even when it had been right in front of me, but I had to ask.

"It's hard for me to sense it, too. Such a dark presence should be choking, but it's like trying to grab shadows with your hands." He looked at a heap of rubble, and his purple eyes darkened briefly. "It's gone now."

"It's retreated?"

"Not retreated. More like...it's gone back home, to ask for reinforcements."

And wasn't that such a happy thought?

"We must pass the word on. Walker must know, if he doesn't already. We'll gather the Nightguard, and-"

The dark angel burst from a shadowed corner like a snake. I barely saw it in my peripheral vision before a clawed hand punched through my spine, coming out of my chest.

I gasped, my wolfish healing kicking into overdrive. I tried to move, but couldn't. The dark angel was holding me in place, its arm transfixing me.

Dead Boy shouted a challenge and jumped at it, but his heavy fists sank into the angel like it was made of tar, doing no damage. Dead Boy stepped back, swearing.

Chris snarled, his aura gathering around him, spinning like flames. It changed from purple to a blinding white, and for a few moments, my world drowned in flames.

When I recovered, the dark angel crumpled on the floor, its body covered in white spots. Burns, from whatever Chris had done?

Chris nicked one of his wrists with an aura-edged finger and stepped closer to me, holding it.

"What are you trying to do?" I rasped, eyeing his wrist dubiously. My healing was working overtime, but it was all it could do to keep me alive.

"My blood should be able to heal you. Come on."

He placed his bleeding wrist over my chest, and his blood-brighter and thicker than a human's-dripped into the wound. I sensed my wolf growl in contentment, and, boosted by Chris' blood, my healing finished the job.

We parted, and I looked at the floor, at the fallen angel. I had expected it to disappear, or fade into smoke, but it hadn't. Instead, it was shakily trying to rise to its feet.

"Care to do the honors, boss?" Chris asked in a deceptively light tone.

"With pleasure," I replied. I hefted my multigun, and shot the dark angel in the head with a holy water round. The wounded angel hissed, like a deflating balloon, and began falling apart.

I looked at the spot where it had been in surprise.

"Is it still here? Hiding again?" I asked.

"I couldn't sense it when it hid the first time, but...I don't think so. I think it's really gone, Jason," Chris replied, sounding just a surprised as I felt.

"Still," Dead Boy said, hands on his hips. "What were the chances of a single round offing one of Old Scratch's heavy hitters like that?"

"You have me to thank for that, boys," a new, amused voice said from behind us. We turned-I hadn't sensed anything, again, and I was getting sick of that-and saw a Transient Being.

Like others of her ilk, Lady Luck was not a deity, as such. She held dominion over an abstract, universal concept. In her case, her namesake.

Lady Luck was a petite, dark-skinned woman, with old eyes that belied her youthful appearance. She walked to the spot where the dark angel had been, not even touching the rubble littering the floor, and sniffed.

"Hell's thugs here...I swear, the Nightside was always meant to be free from the tyranny of Good and Evil. It seems like anyone can barge in, nowadays..."

Chapter Text

I felt it before I heard it.

The metaphysical impact shook my bones and soul, and I mentally called on my mantle. Winter gave my body strength, but even so, I felt like my bones had been thrown into a washing machine along with a brick.

"Hell's bells..." I muttered, standing up from my desk. With John having left to look for clients-which, in Johnspeak, meant he'd gone to Strangefellows to annoy the bartender and get plastered-someone had to hold down the fort.

"Boss?" Cathy asked from her desk, glancing up from arranging some papers she was arranging. "You've got that look on your face again."

I sighed, letting out a cloud of cold mist, and wrestled my mantle back into its cage. I knew how unsettling my transformation to Winter Knight was, when viewed from outside. I tried not to look into mirrors while I was playing Knight. They might break and I'd get seven years of bad luck.

I must have broken a dozen mirrors when I was a kid.

"I'm fine, Cathy," I lied. "Did you...feel anything unusual, just now?"

She shot me a weird glance, like she was thinking of how to tell her crazy grandpa that no, his imaginary friends weren't here, and wouldn't he like to take some of the happy pills again?

"Not really..." She said eventually. "Why? Should I have?"

"Maybe," I replied, going to the clothes rack and putting on my duster. "I think some of our neighbors might have gotten a bit lively. I'm gonna go over to them and tell them some folks are trying to work here."

Cathy blew a raspberry. "Wimp. If you want lively, you should come clubbing with me."

"I think I'd rather not, thanks a bunch." Alright. Staff, check. Rings, check. Bracelet, check...

"If anyone comes here," I told Cathy over my shoulder. "And they're suffering from memory loss, remind them that Dresden and Taylor work here, and you work for them."

"Wow, such faith in me, Harry," she said drily, back to the paperwork. "You two couldn't even get dressed without me..." She muttered under her breath about old men who didn't appreciate her, then looked up at me again. "Are you still here? Bugger off and find out whatever you think you've heard!"

"Yes, ma'am." I gave her a mock-salute, and opened a Way.

Back home, using travelling through the Ways of the Nevernever is deadly serious business. Risky as hell on the best days, and, at best, you'll die painfully if you fail. But it's also the best ways to get anywhere fast, in the supernatural community, so everyone does it. During the war between the Red Court and the White Council, entire armies marched through the Nevernever.

The Nevernever is, broadly speaking, the magical reflection of the material universe, though it's a twisted reflection at best. Like a funhouse mirror, without any of the fun. Bob, the spirit of intellect who used to be my helper and advisor, once said that, if you go far enough in the Nevernever, you could reach any of the fictional worlds thought up by mankind. I'd never dared to try it-we had enough trouble without actively looking for more-but the fact that the Nevernever existed here too, or at least enough of it to open Ways, had me thinking.

Could Ethniu have thrown me beyond the Nevernever, beyond the Outer Gates and into the Outsiders' realm? Was she even that powerful? I'd have liked to think she wasn't, but the Nightside was beyond any magical realm I'd ever seen or heard of.

Did it lay beyond the Outer Gates, then? It would explain why everyone here was so batshit crazy, at least. But I hadn't seen anything like an Outsider since coming to the Nightside, which, considering my life until now, was a bad sign. Something was just waiting to happen, I knew it.

As I passed through the Way, I was once more struck by the differences between the Nevernever back home and the version of it tied to the Nightside. The Nevernever is an abstract sort of place, and traveling through it means walking paths of symbolism and emotion. For example, walking a path of violence and despair may lead you to a murder scene.

The Nightside's Nevernever-if that was what it really was-wasn't like that. The shape and landmarks of the city were still there, some clearer and sharper, some duller, faded. It was less like walking through the Nevernever, and more like walking through the Nightside unseen half. And I couldn't help but wonder if there was, truly, any difference between them.

Spiritual parasites clung to people's backs and necks, encouraging them to greater and greater acts of debauchery. I wanted to stop and help, but there were so many of them...damn it.

Huge, vague shapes walked through building as if they were more real than them, and perhaps they were. Those who knew of these beings rarely spoke about them, and none of them had told me their name, if they even had one.

Giant beings floated across the surface of the moon, blotting it out completely. And, in the middle of the street I arrived on, following the sensation that had shaken me, Stark was mutilating an angel.

I tried to be shocked, and failed.

Instead, I sighed, loudly. "Stars and stones, Stark, what are you doing now?"

He half-turned, attention still on the angel, who was caught in a trap like an iron maiden made of thorns.

"Dresden," he said with a smirk that stretched his scarred face. "Come to join, huh? Want my sloppy seconds?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, I looked at the captive angel. "Don't tell me-it was just like that when you found it? Have you started going after servants of Heaven too now, Stark? What did it do, tell you to try and not be an asshole?"

I was vaguely aware of the crowd who had gathered around us, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. If I had looked, I bet I'd have seen some cash being passed around, too.

"And why the fuck are you assuming that I'm in the wrong? Besides your hate-on for me, I mean." Stark let out a hollow laugh. "If I had white wings and a halo, I'd always be right too, eh? Use your fucking Sight, dipshit. See this thing as it is."

I did-what did I have to lose-and gasped. The angel's hands were covered in blood, though not its own. I Saw the echoes of the people who dad died in the crossfire of its battle with Stark. There would be many new ghosts, very soon.

And I Saw Stark. I hadn't paid much attention to his clothes or eyes when I'd arrived-I'm not the type to care about the former, and I'm used to avoiding the latter-but now that I looked, really looked, I saw the network of power that ran through his body and coat, linking them to each other, subtly changing shape with every passing thought of Stark. I shut off my Sight, and shook my head to clear it.

What on earth had happened to him? Had this come as a result of that 'class' John had mentioned, whatever it was?

"Oi," Stark said, gesturing at the angel. "Got an eyeful? Good. Halo-polisher here ain't exactly sitting on a cloud playing a harp." His sardonic sneer disappeared as his expression grew more serious. "I tried to stop it, and to ward them off. But I couldn't make a barrier, not while I was fighting, or I'd have died as well. And for what? With me dead, it'd have rampaged until a serious player dragged their ass here to put it the fuck down."

Was Stark...apologizing, for failing to save people? Maybe I should start taking that class he was going to as well, if it had changed him like this.

"No, you shouldn't," he said, fishing his shapeshifting weapon out of a pocket I couldn't see.

I frowned at him. "What, you're a telepath now as well? Where are you studying at, the Jedi Temple?"

Stark snorted. "They wish. Now...let's get some answers. I wanna know why feather-boy here wanted to bump me off, besides he usual reasons. Feel free to help, or not." Then, he stopped, glaring about him, at the crowd. They were still present, though visibly disappointed at the fight that hadn't broken out between me and Stark.

"Oi, gawkers anonymous! Fuck off, before I repeat what I did to the angel on your insides."

The crowd muttered, some cried out threats at insults at him, but people began breaking off. And, eventually, they dispersed.

Stark nodded, pleased. "I'm gonna separate part of the street from the rest, so we can interrogate pigeon man without anyone listening in on us. Wanna help?"

I shrugged. "Not really my area, but...sure."

I took out some chalk and drew a circle around the captive angel, while Stark spoke in a harsh, barking language I didn't know. A transparent barrier rose from the circle's edges, sealing us off from the outside. Then, the barrier became opaque, and I couldn't see or hear anything beyond it.

We turned our attention to the angel.

"Why did you try to kill me?" Stark asked bluntly, lighting a thin black cigarette that appeared straight into his hand. "Is it because of my lovely parentage? The paternity test was bullshit, by the way."

"We care naught for your origins, Abomination. The keepers of your Creation have their own reason for loathing your kind, but we do not share them,"  the angel replied. "You stand guilty of moving beyond-"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Care to tell us what the fuck it means, though?"

"You should not have traveled beyond your Creation. You should not have remained in the Nightside. No agent from Above or Below is supposed to, and you are one, for all your foreign origin. Though it is still being decided which side you belong to."

"Yeah?" Stark asked, smirking around his cigarette. "And where is it being decided, huh?"

"Where all things that matter are. On the Shimmering Plains, and in the Houses of Pain."

"Were you sent here?" I decided it was past time I got a word in. "Because you just said angels aren't supposed to come to the Nightside. A bit hypocritical, if you ask me."

"Mock me not, Starborn. Look instead to your own damnation, for it shall be as terrible as it has been long in coming."

I wanted to ask how the hell it knew about me, but it wasn't the moment. "Did you come here out of your own free will?" If it even had that. I barely knew anything about the local angels, besides the fact that they existed. "Or did God send you?"

"I have always acted according to my purpose," the angel said, which wasn't an answer at all. Then, it saw or sensed something behind me, and screamed in pure horror. It writhed and shook in Stark's trap, freeing itself even as it was being torn apart. I couldn't help but think of a fox chewing off its paw to escape a trap.

As the angel disappeared, I heard a slow clapping behind me. Stark and I turned, and the sight wasn't what I expected. The man who hap appeared inside the barrier had a plain, if weathered face, wore an old duster over a plain shirt and jeans, and had two old-fashioned, long-barreled revolvers on his belt. He was smiling at us, hands clasped. I got a weird feeling about him, but...who was this guy, to scare an angel like this? More than Stark and I combined?

"How the fuck did you get inside the circle?" Stark asked, a Colt in one hand and his weapon, whip-shaped, in the other. I gathered power around my staff, and subtly dug inside my duster for my gun.

The man's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Same as I get everywhere I need to be. I walked."

Chapter Text

Grim had just let go of my mind, but he returned like a boomerang thrown by an angry vamp.

Lady Luck, whatever she might have been or not, was not a physical being, as such. My mundane sense, sharp as they were, hadn't noticed her. But even when I tried my aura sight, it was just as bad-even worse, it was like staring into a floodlight. I couldn't perceive any true color, either, which had never happened before. Her aura, if it could even be called that, was a blinding, all-pervading white, nothing like a vampire's white soul. No, this was more like an angel's true form, but orders of magnitude greater.

Well, I suppose it made sense. If she wasn't really the embodiment of luck, she was doing a damn good job at looking it.

"Fancy meeting you here!" Dead Boy said, stepping towards her, smiling broadly, hand outstretched, like he met abstract beings everyday. And who knew? Maybe he did, in the Nightside. "Are you here to sell lucky charms? I had some rabbit's feet recently, but I think I ate them."

Lady Luck smiled hesitatingly at Dead Boy, glancing at us from the corner of her eye. I shrugged, and Jason chuffed softly. "Sadly, I don't have any on my...person. But, how would you feel if your wound miraculously healed themselves?"

And just as she said that, Dead Boy's body, covered in stitches and patches and duct tape, flowed like water. In a few moments, he looked as good as new, like he'd just died.

It says something about my life that I'm used to sentences like that.

Dead Boy looked down at himself, as if he couldn't believe it. When he looked back at Lilith, his smile was decidedly less friendly. "That was nice. Very nice. Now, may I ask why you did it? As far as I know, we've just met, and I haven't done you any favor."

Lady Luck smiled back, and it looked faker than his. "Is it so hard to believe I would want to thank a man who has just defended the Nightside's way of life?"

Dead Boy laughed hollowly. "Good one, Lady. Now, pull the other one. It plays show tunes." Dead Boy's smile disappeared, and his dark eyes turned steely. "I didn't do shit to defend anything. I got tied up with a couple of bully boys, then did exactly jack while that ink-blot impaled the Nightguard's Captain in front of my damn eyes. And if you knew anything about me," Dead Boy continued in a dangerous tone. "You'd know I didn't come back from the dead so I couldn't do things."

By now, Lady Luck's smile had faded, as had the friendly look in her eyes. Her body became less and less substantial, like she was sliding out of reality, until she disappeared.

"What's your problem?" Jason asked, walking to Dead Boy and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I won't have you beating yourself up because you couldn't help me-it was my own damn fault for getting blindsided. There was no need to get up in her face for-"

"Damn it, couldn't you feel it?" Dead Boy asked hotly, shrugging Jason's hand off. "I've been around Transient Beings before, alright? And, as pants-shittingly terrifying each of them was, none of them felt actively threatening. She...she felt like poison in honey, like a knife in velvet."

"What do you mean?" I asked, moving closer to the two of them.

Dead Boy shook his head. "I'm dead. I can see far more than the living can, for my sins. I don't know if it's instinct, insight, or something else, but she-"

Dead Boy's next words were drowned out by a tide of shrieking darkness. It came out of nowhere, spinning me head over heels, tearing and burning at my skin like steel covered in acid. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything but the darkness. Grim snarled in my mind, trying stop our body from being ragdolled, to get a snapshot of our surroundings. It didn't work.

Snarling, I covered myself in aura, and it was like slipping into a pocket of air underwater. Oh, I still couldn't sense anything, but at least I didn't feel like I was being peeled alive while getting tossed around like a brick in a washing machine.

I Pushed myself downwards, until I felt my aura-edged feet tearing into the floor, and Posted myself there. The tide of darkness shrieked and roared for a few more seconds, then pulled back.

It drew away from me, gathering into a sphere of roiling darkness and floating above me. Blood and Bone's office was almost gone: no more walls, and the floor was covered in tears and holes, but it still somehow held together. Guess it was built to last.

Through the holes in it, I could see the first floor, where my friends' bodies had fallen. Jason looked like he'd been put through a woodchipper, patches of blue fur torn away to reveal shredded muscle...which healed itself even as I watched.

Dead Boy, on the other hand, hadn't been nearly as lucky. His miraculously-healed body had been ripped to shreds, and I had a feeling he wouldn't be stitching himself together anytime soon. Even his head had been split in half.

One half of his head, with a crushed forehead and swollen eye, somehow moved itself to look up at me.

"Chris," it mouthed. "Look above you."

I did, and promptly wished I was hallucinating. The night sky, filled with thousands of stars and an immense moon, was barely-visible due to the countless dark angels flying across it. Each looked the match of the one we'd sent packing back to Hell, and there were so many of them...

But none came at me. Instead, they descended to the streets on dark wings, ripping buildings to pieces or blowing them apart through sheer force of will. Some of them fell upon the people in the streets, slaughtering them, or carrying them up in the sky, to do unspeakable things to them.

The Nightguard surged forth to meet them. Thousands and thousands of people, in the armored uniforms devised by Jason, took aim at the sky with rifles, energy guns and other, stranger things. Some of them-combat magicians, by the tattoos on their faces-raised their hands and began throwing curses, or weaving spells that made the angels crash from the sky like their wings had been severed.

Some of them weren't humans. I saw vampires, werewolves and less identifiable beings stepping up to meet the soldiers of Hell with equal ferocity. Frankenstein creatures, stitched bodies bulging with muscle, hefted giant crucifixes, the ends sharpened like spears, and impaled the angels that came close to them, or threw them into the air like javelins, smashing their targets into buildings or knocking them out of the sky.

And yet, they were losing,

I saw Nightguards torn apart by the dark angels' incredible strength, burned to ash by their blades or blown into dust by black thunderbolts.

I didn't know why the dark angels were here, or why they were attacking the Nightside, but I could not let the Nightguard fight alone.

I covered myself with aura, and leapt into the fray.

Chapter Text

Since becoming the Blue Wolf, I'd only been knocked out once, in an event that had involved a thermal bomb and a crumbling temple. My fur and skin had burned off, and my flesh had been melted until it had looked like candle wax, to the point I had to be drugged for my healing to kick in.

The second time hadn't been as bad as that, but I still felt like shit.

As I struggled to my feet, shaking my head, I realized I didn't have any wounds. Still felt like someone had tried to pull me apart, like a cruel kid with a fly.

Ugh...

My uniform was in tatters, a few rags hanging loosely on my body, the armor plates cracked like eggs. But that wasn't the worst part-my gun had been torn apart, too, by whatever that dark wave had been.

Damn it. Down to thrown things and foul language, then. Unless I ran into something dumb enough to try and trade blows.

I looked around the ravaged room. The first floor of the Pit was empty; all the patrons had left, as had the performers who pretended to be in pain for their amusement.

Wonder how they got out of the iron maidens and bindings so fast, though. Experience?

A strange sound, like flesh dragging on concrete, drew my eyes downwards, and I almost winced at the state Dead Boy was in. I'd seen worse, both back home and here-especially here-but this reminded me of our meeting.

When I'd arrived in the Nightside, it had been in a bar. During a barfight, specifically, which Dead Boy was winning. Believing me to be late backup for one of the losers-because people appear out of nowhere all the time, in the Nightside-he had punched me through the bar, then jumped on me and kept swinging.

At the moment, bewildered as I had been, I'd torn his head off, then ripped his body to pieces. Until that point, my experience with the undead-barring Olaf, my subordinate back in Legion-had not been exactly pleasant.

Still, Dead Boy hadn't minded. He'd found it hilarious, and seemed to bear me no ill will, besides his commitment to making 'in stitches' jokes whenever we met.

"Can you talk?" I asked his bisected head. One half's eye flicked up at me.

"No," it mouthed. "Can't move, either, but don't worry. My car will come to pick me up sooner or later. You go on and kick their arses."

Nodding, I ran out of the devastated club, covering tens of meters every second. The Nightguard had gathered on the streets, fighting off the dark angels that had filled the skies and guiding civilians to safety. I wouldn't leave them fight this alone.

"Captain," a growling, rasping voice drew my attention. Zuu, a Spawn of Frankenstein made during the Baron's period of combining different species, and the first volunteer to become a Sergeant in the Nightguard. He looked like a demented, bipedal chimera: bear legs, tiger torso, arms like a praying mantis, mothlike wings and an ape head-because the Baron had wanted the next smartest thing to a human.

I followed his voice into a side alley. Zuu was crouching beside a dumpster, holding a ballista like it was a crossbow. The clockwork weapon could load and aim itself, and the bolts could go straight through a warship, though Myriad didn't know where they came from. He'd just bough the thing.

I crouched next to him, eyes on the sky for any angel who looked like it had spotted us. "Where's your squad?"

"Dead," he said dispassionately, and I turned to take a better look at him. He was covered in spatters of blood, but besides a few rips and burns, his stitched body was largely intact. "This blood is not mine. I do not have any."

If we survived this, I'd have to take a look through everyone's medical files.

"What is the strategy, Captain?" He asked, hefting his crossbow and sighting an angel that was hovering above our alley, but, thankfully, not looking downwards.

"They have no apparent leader," I said quietly. "And no stated objectives save for, apparently, destroying everything they can get their hands on. Unless you've learned something...?"

Zuu shook his head. I had some ideas myself-Chris had alluded to not having always been human, and the first dark angel had targeted him, specifically-but I didn't know where Chris was now, and the dark angels seemed to have broadened their scope when it came to targets.

If they believed they could destroy this city on my watch just because they wanted to, they had another thing coming.

"Snipe any unfriendly who gets close," I ordered Zuu, then took off, into the main street, howling at the top of my lungs to draw the angels' attention to me. Some of them swooped low to try and grab me, but I held them off, tearing at them with fangs and claws. I didn't know why I could hurt them when Dead Boy's fists had sunk into an angel like it was made of tar, but it wasn't the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Others gathered dark energy in their hands, forming javelins like black lightning. I dodged those I could, relying on reflex and instinct alike, and gritted my fangs when some landed. Finally, an angel dropped to the ground in front of me, pointing its sword at my heart.

"Gurgi Kabud,"  it intoned. The Blue Wolf's original name shouldn't have been known to it, or anyone in this world, yet it was. "You were never meant to prowl beyond your petty realm, nor bond to mortals. I will rectify your mistakes."

It came at me in a flash, dark hands sinking into my flesh like I was made of clay, clawed fingers ripping and throwing away chunks. I growled, in pain and fury alike, punching its head and shoulders hard enough to pulverize the road beneath it. It didn't stop.

I started clawing at it, and clamped my jaws around its neck, despite the foul taste, like burnt carrion. And still the angel kept tearing me apart.

I pulled my head back, roaring, and grabbed it in a bear hug. Snarling, I sprinted towards a row of buildings, the angel held in front of me like a shield. I smashed walls and furniture to dust as I run, and tons of wood and concrete fell, shattering on my back. I kept running.

The angel hissed, maybe frustrated at an earthly thing challenging it like this, and turned to smoke in my grasp. It floated away, then solidified a dozen meters from the collapsing building I was standing in. I leapt straight through a concrete wall, reinforced with rebar, to meet the angel before it started chasing softer targets.

The angel's sword rippled, drawing light to and into it like a black hole. Then, the angel tensed, like it was preparing to run, and I saw only darkness.

I floated in the dark for what felt like an eternity, feeling nothing, trying to think straight and failing.

"Pull yourself together,"  a booming, animalistic voice growled. "It pierced your heart, not your brain."

I opened my eyes-I hadn't realized they had been closed-and came face to face with the Blue Wolf. I hadn't seen it-truly seen it-since the ritual that had bonded us together.

"Am I...dead?" I asked it. I hoped I wasn't. An endless void, empty but for me and the Blue Wolf, wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend eternity.

"Do not mock my strength, Texan,"  it snarled. "You may be weak, but I am not. I am merely...limited, by your frail mortal coil." It tilted its head to one side, fangs bared in something like amusement. "You will lose like this, you know? Even if I heal you, you will lose, and this dung heap of a city will burn."

"Someone has to fight for the Nightside," I replied. "And I didn't see Walker or his people anywhere."

"Ah, yes. Your new master, as noble as Purdy was honest,"  the Blue Wolf sneered. "Ask him what happened to the last Walker, what they did to him in the places beneath. Ask him how his string-pullers came to power."

"The last Walker? What the hell do you mean?" I asked, and the Blue Wolf scoffed. "Whatever. I don't give a damn what you know, or think you do, right now. Help me save the Nightside."

"You've made so many foolish deals recently, human..."  the Blue Wolf grinned, extending a paw the size of a dinner plate. "Eager to meet your lost mate, are you?"

"Don't you fucking mention her," I growled, grasping its paw in a crushing grip. It howled and laughed, a disturbingly human sound, and I started coming apart.

"The Maker's puppet touched you with its blood, fool!"  The Blue Wolf crowed, prowling around me. "And you have no idea what paths its blood can open...but then, neither has it. Fools call to fools, I suppose. I could have never taken you like this before, not with the ritual being shaped to preserve humanity," it sneered.

Its grin widened at my glare. "Do not worry, Jason. We are, both of us, protectors. It is why we bonded so well. I am going to save this abomination of a city, much to my disgust...but I am not going to be as particular as you. I will save who I know deserve to be saved, not those you believe should be."

In the real world, I fell on all fours, arms lengthening and becoming forelegs. My body writhed, becoming leaner, longer, and a bristling tail rose from the base of my spine.

I closed my eyes, my mind fading away, and the Blue Wolf howled.

Chapter Text

I ran out of Strangefellows like a bat out of hell, Jude-the Vatican agent had asked me to call him that-keeping pace with me, despite his shorter legs. The bar was protected by all kinds of spells and wards, not to mention the threat of Merlin's presence. Just because he was dead and buried did not mean he was departed, too. But the rest of the Nightside? The places as protected as Strangefellows could be counted on one hand, and you wouldn't need all fingers. They, and the people who frequented them, could look after themselves. Someone had to look after the rest of the city, and I couldn't believe it had to be me.

I didn't even like the place that much...

'Did you call them here?' I asked Jude, still running, not looking at him. Too busy dodging scared pedestrians and cars. Not everything that looks like a vehicle in the Nightside is one, too. And, scary as they are, they know a bigger fish when they see one.

'Don't be absurd! These are the forces of Hell. They couldn't answer my call if they wanted, and they hate me too much for that.' I could practically hear him frowning.

Still, why would Hell's stormtroopers have such a grudge against one priest? It couldn't just be the profession. There were plenty of priests who didn't get singled out by fallen angels, even in the Nightside, I was sure.

I was tempted to open up my third eye, my private eye, to find who or what Jude really was. To find out why the fallen angels were here. To find out the Unholy Grail, if it really was here, if it was so special...

But, no. The aetheric currents were so saturated with power-thrown around by the Nightside's attackers and defenders alike-that opening my third eye would be painful at best. Not to mention, it would be just like my enemies to send their monsters after me in a situation like this.

I'd have to think of something else.

I ran into a dark side alley, with Jude taking my cue. After we checked around for enemies hidden in shadows, Jude nodded, and took out a bottle of holy water. He sprinkled it on the ground, in a circle around us, and muttered a quick prayer in Hebrew.

'There,' he said, after the deed was done. 'This should keep anything of Hell away, even the Enemy himself-'

That was when it began raining angels. Of light, this time.

I glanced from the suddenly-bright sky to Jude, who was staring at them with a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

'Did you call them here?' I asked quietly, only half-joking. Although, going by his expression, I didn't expect to like the answer.

'No. They are no more likely to heed me than their fallen brethren, and have more reasons not to.' See? If you have low expectations, you'll never be disappointed. It's how people manage to stand me. I think.

'Good to know. And here I was planning to kill you unless they let me go unharmed...' The priest shot me a scandalised look, but I didn't have time for that. The little tricks I kept in my pockets-salt and pepper, chaos dice, and aboriginal pointing bone-were unlikely to do anything more than piss off an angel. They'd be completely useless against an army of them.

No. Whatever my enemies had planned for me, let them do it. I had to-

'Come with me, John.' I spun at the new voice, and came face to face with Walker. Jude did likewise, and, from the corner of my eye, I could tell he looked more resigned than surprised. Curious...

Walker was leaning on his cane, like he had been on a pleasant stroll in the park and had stopped just a bit, to smell the roses. He was not alone.

Shotgun Suzie stood on his right, her namesake trained on the sky for any angel who looked like it was about to get ornery. Dressed in black leather, with two bandoliers of bullets crossed over her impressive chest, Suzie looked like a valkyrie from Hell.

On Walker's left side stood two of the infamous Oblivion brothers. Tommy, the Existential Detective, was smiling nervously, as always. A tall, effete type in New Romantic silks, Tommy had found existentialism, or it had found him, and now probability was his to play with. Tommy could convince a donkey it had three legs, then beat it to death with the fourth.

Larry, his older brother, was the Dead Detective, the Post-mortem Private Eye. Betrayed and killed by his former partner, Larry had returned from the grave, not letting details like death stop him from continuing the family trade. His Armani suit was almost spotless...except for the smoking hole where his heart should have been. I could have stuck my head through it, but I resisted the impulse to do it.

If Larry was bothered by the wound, he didn't let it show. His face was set in the same serious frown as always.

'So, Larry,' I began, to break the ice. "Did you have a change of heart?"

Tommy's smile widened and twitched at that, but he didn't laugh at his brother. The zombie looked upset enough.

Larry's frown turned into a scowl. 'You're so sharp, you'll cut yourself one of these days, Taylor. I tried to stop an angel when it attacked my office, and failed. It tore right through me.'

'And how did you try to stop it?' I asked innocently. No one knew if Larry had a gift, like his brothers, and I'd always been curious about how he did what he did.

'Carefully,' the zombie said drily. "Any other stupid questions?"

Before I could answer, Tommy cut in. 'I was visiting Larry's agency. I'd gathered some evidence about a Christian artifact being in the Nightside, and wanted to cross-check with him and his experts.' Tommy shook his head. 'Just my luck that the angel attacked right then. It tore through Larry's office, and I couldn't make it agree to reason together with me. So, I used my gift, and convinced the universe that we weren't in Larry's office, but somewhere else. That was when Walker found us.'

'And what are you planning?' I asked, turning to the man in question. 'For that matter, where are your people? Isn't it your duty to defend the Nightside, or are you just foisting everything onto Jason and his troops?'

'My people are scattered through and beneath the city, ready to stall the angels until Julien Advent brings our heavy hitters into play.'

'Julien? What are you talking about?'

Walker smiled. 'When the Angel War began, Julien Advent went into the World Beneath, to awaken the Lord of Thorns. When that is done, they will pass by the Deep School, to join with the Detective Inspectre.'

I was about to question what the hell he was thinking. Julien Advent, the famous Victorian Adventurer, might have been one of the most admired men in the Nightside, but the monsters Walker was talking about were too strange, too alien in their thinking, even for him to convince. Not to mention, calling on those two to stop the angels? Even if they agreed, and managed to do it, the cure would be worse than the disease-

A bone-shaking roar interrupted my train of though. Through the narrow space where the alley opened into the street, I saw a blue shape flash by, for a fraction of a second. An instant later, angels, from Above and Below, fell to the street in pieces.

'What the hell was that?' I asked quietly.

Walker was still smiling. 'Ah... it seems Captain Wolfe has returned to his roots.'

Chapter Text

Well, shit.

It took that little joke about walking to make me realize who I was talking to, and thank God that I did it before I decided to use my Sight. I doubt I'd have survived the experience.

The Walking Man was the wrath of God in the world of men. His name name came from the fact that he walked the world in straight lines, to do what needed to be done-though whether the what was necessary was decided by him, or God, was a matter of debate.

Some people weren't sure whether he was empowered by God at all, though they tended to change their opinions upon faced with him.

Had he come here to take revenge on us for the captured angel? Dammit, Stark-

"It's fine," the Walking Man said. "Just because we're colleagues doesn't mean we're friends, too. You of all people should know, Dresden, that angels lack that human touch...and there are things only a man can do."

"So, you're not here for us?" Stark asked, holstering his weapons. Either he had recognized the Walking Man, or simply sensed how dangerous he was.

The Walking Man smiled, his weathered face crinkling like old leather. "That is not what I said, Stark. I could try and judge you for the many things you've done, but then I'd be a hypocrite, and He doesn't like that."

"Really?" Stark asked drily. "I hadn't noticed."

The Walking Man shook his head. "The Creator is nothing like the schizophrenic wretch who fell apart trying to rule your universe. He knows the Nightside must go on, and guided me here to ensure it does."

"But...aren't you weakened here?" I asked skeptically. Angels were, at least, or the Nightside would have been ash on the wind by now, though I wasn't sure if this extended to the Walking Man, too. From what I'd heard, this guy was practically a living Sword of the Cross-

"Nifty things," the Walking Man said, nodding in my direction. "We really ought to make something like them here, too. I can't be everywhere."

"Will you stop reading my mind?" I asked with a frown. "Or whatever you're doing? I don't care if you're God's deputy or whatever, but-"

"I'm not reading anything. I know what I need to know, when I need to know," he said in what he probably thought was a reasonable tone. I looked at him askance, but couldn't read his face.

I've had enough people rummaging around in my head, though. This guy may have stepped straight out of the Old Testament, but if he tried to get in, too, I'd find a way to get back at him.

"Heh," Stark snorted. "You sound like this guy I know...he's a fucking pain in the ass, too. So." He looked around, in case another angel approached us. "What do we do? Unless you're here to tell them all to fuck off back to Heaven, in the Big Guy's name."

"I'm not. My position in Heaven's hierarchy is...nonexistent. The angels have never cared for me or my predecessors. Too powerful, too human in thinking." The Walking Man smiled briefly, to himself. "Though I'll be sure to kill any of them that's dumb enough to get close. And if they're fallen... so much the better."

And so, we set off, to a destination only the Walking Man knew. Stark collapsed the enclosed area we had made as we left, and took up our rear, with me in the middle.

"The World Beneath is home to things that have no place in the Nightside," the Walking Man said as we followed him, spinning his revolvers and blasting through dozens of dark angels with every shot. They never ran out of bullets. The light angels took a look at our group, though better of it, and backed off. They still continued to ravage the surroundings, of course.

"The descent in the World Beneath is only partly literal," the Walking Man continued. "We'll have to find a sewer, or-"

He was cut off as the ground cracked open beneath us.

"Shit!" I yelped, trying to think of a spell that could send me back up...then I saw what was coming from beneath.

I've never been scared of bugs, even as a kid. Roaches, spiders, centipedes? They might be pretty ugly and gross, but they're not scary, not really.

Maggots, on the other hand? They're never nice to see, especially when they're squirming under skin as they eat the flesh beneath.

The maggots that rose up at me and Stark were huge, longs as trains and thick as tree trunks. Winter flowed into my veins, and I shouted 'Infriga!'. The maggots, writhing like giant tentacles, froze solid, looking like freakish icicles.

But I was still falling. I had no damn clue how deep this pit was, but I doubted I'd survive the drop, even as the Winter Knight. And that was without the chance of more creepy crawlies waiting for me at the bottom.

My fall was halted by a hand grasping my nape, calloused and inhumanly strong. I looked up, surprised, to find the Walking Man standing on thin air, a revolver in his other hand. He shot once at each frozen maggot, turning it into icy dust and pale gore.

Well. Not like I was planning to eat today. Or this year.

Stark had also stopped his fall. He was standing above the Walking Man, on a flight of stairs that sprouted out of one of the pit's sides. The hell?

"Why, Dresden," Stark drawled, taking out and lighting a cigarette. "You've barely met, and you're already falling for him? You rascal you..."

I grumbled something rude, then glanced at the Walking Man. "Uh... is there a chance we can go back to the surface? I don't mind hanging out, but this is ridiculous."

"It's a blessing in disguise, wizard," he said, eyes turned downwards, towards the gloom, focused on something only he could see. "They've ripped open the world for us...how kind. Now, we just have to go all the way down."

Above us, Stark nodded, chanting something in a language I didn't recognize. The stairs extended, all the way into the gloom. The Walking Man dropped me onto a step, and walked on air alongside us as we descended.

Chapter Text

Making things out of nothing can puff up your ego something fierce. It's a good thing the fuckers who like to blow smoke up their own asses usually lack this power. The ones that don't, though...

I don't know how deep, physically-speaking, this asshole in the ground is. Metaphysically-speaking, it feels like an old hooker's slit, and about as welcoming.

Thankfully, my special snowflake Deep School tricks don't need full information to use. This stairway is extending itself as we haul ass down it, and the bastard strolling on fucking air alongside us couldn't fall if he wanted.

There was probably a metaphor in there.

More and more fuck-off huge maggots, alongside other jumbo-bugs, like the ones we'd smoked in that alternate future, came up to drag our asses down and do nasty, nasty things to our bodies. Dresden blows them apart while shouting 'Fuego!' and 'Forzare!' because, apparently, people where he comes from are taught spells in Latin, despite their wizards' order having been founded in fucking Britain-by Merlin himself, to boot. Or so Dresden says.

The Walking Man-because you can't be a big boy around here without a fucking retarded nickname-turns them into bug confetti with six-shooters that either believe they're machineguns, or don't give a shit that they're not. Bet he wouldn't wanna trade either.

As for little ol' me? Well, you'd be surprised what you can do with a Colt as long as you've got infinite ammo. I occasionally bark some Hellion hoodoo, turning bugs inside out or twisting them into pretzels, but, for now, I just want to get the most out of my gun. Feels like I'm in a fucking videogame, shooting without reloading, but who cares? It's fucking sweet.

Eventually, we reach the World Beneath, or at least one of the paths that lead to it. I know, because the place smells like Piss Alley back in LA, and looks worse.

I hop off the staircase from a height that would break a human's legs, knees bending easily upon landing. Dresden does too, body bolstered by the parasitic shape around his soul. He shucks it off as soon as he straightens up. Smart.

The Walking Man just drops from midair onto the ground, no worse for the wear. I'm kinda surprised the floor didn't break under him, or fuck off from his presence. I would have, in its place.

The tunnel's walls are covered in old stone bricks, pitted and scarred. If you saw them in London, you'd have probably believed they were laid by the Romans.

Hah. No human has ever touched these stones, and I envy them. Hadleigh used to trap me in all sorts of things-literally-, but I got to shoot him after. Fair's fair.

I'm more concerned with the tunnel's new decorations, though. Bugs, dead, but just as ugly as their living selves. They weren't killed by a single thing, though:some have been cut apart, in neat pieces, some have been reshaped like putty, and the rest somehow look like they were scared to death.

Must have been pretty fucking scary, to show on their buggy faces after death.

"Any idea who could have done this?" Dresden asks, moving bug corpses from his path with his staff as we walk.

"I've got an idea," I say around a Malediction. "Hope I'm wrong, though."

"Welcome to my world," the fucker replies, because of course he does. Shit, can you believe this guy's a dad? His poor kid, and I hope she takes after her mom, is definitely gonna be tortured with his dumbass jokes from the moment he gets back.

"Do you know where we're going?" I ask the Walking Man, turning aside from Dresden. "Or, at least, who came here before us?"

"I don't,' he says, sounding frustrated. "Must mean I'm not meant to know yet."

We're all bugs on God's windshield. Even the bugs he picks out.

"So," Dresden says. "This trip is probably gonna take some time. Wanna tell jokes-"

"No!" I say immediately.

"Jeez, fine. I won't offend your sensibilities, Stark." He says, shooting me an annoyed glance.

"Be sure not to, if you find 'em," I reply.

Dresden looks at the Walking Man, a thoughtful look on his face. "Is it okay for you to kill? You know, being beholden to God and all."

"The Commandments are meant for people," The Walking Man says tersely.

Any attempts at conversation die out shortly after. It doesn't take long before we reach our destination. I only know it's it because it's the end of our path, in every sense of that phrase.

Or, at least, that's what it wants us to think. Important places, in and around the Nightside, come with attitudes.

The circular door leads in a room that's either covered in or made of glass. It's just as covered in bugs and their guts as the tunnel.

I'm more interested in the three guys outside the door, though. Their backs are turned to us, and their bodies are tense, like they're expecting something bad, but...not from our direction.

Count Video could be a big player, if he ever grew a pair, which means we're not in danger any time soon. Video manipulates probability, and reality itself. Kinda like Hadleigh's brother Tommy, but whereas Tommy won his gift at poker, Video received his powers from someone.

Or so Hadleight believes.

King of Skin is one of the sleaziest motherfuckers in the Nightside, which is saying something, especially since I've started living there. I don't know what he looks like, because he's surrounded by an illusion. He can summon people's worst nightmares into reality, and he knows everyone's dirty little secrets. He gets his rocks of saying said secrets out loud, in public. He once tried to pull that shit with me, but I shot him once it became clear what he was about to say. I hope he didn't take it to heart, especially since I shot him in the face.

Madman, as everyone calls him, known as Sigismund in the Deep School, is living proof that even failures can be fucking terrifying. Poor bastard saw the truth, but couldn't handle it, and flew off his rocker. Now, he warps reality without even trying to. And you better hope he believes you're real, or you won't be for long.

"The Lord of Thorns... no!" The Walking Man says, speeding towards the door. The three turn at his voice, and their eyes almost bug out as they recognize him. Madman looks like he's trying to decide whether he's sober or high.

Dresden and I try to keep up with him, but fail. He's in the room long before us.

"The Lord of Thorns is in there?" I ask Video, because there's no fucking way I'm talking with the other two.

"He...was," Video says hesitatingly, sounding shaken. His eyes shift around quickly, like he's waiting for the bugs to rise from the dead, and magic spins around his clenched fists.

Dresden and I walk past them, and inside the room, we see the Walking Man leaning over a bloody slab in the centre, talking with Julien Advent.

Advent usually looks like the hero on a pulp adventure book cover, but now, his opera wear is torn and frayed. In one hand, he holds a sword covered in bug blood and guts. In the other, a long, gnarled staff, made from a splinter that fell from the Tree of Life and grew into a new tree.

The Lord of Thorns used to wield it, in his capacity as the Nightside's overseer.

Advent nods at us as we enter, then looks back at the Walking Man.

"I found him torn apart," Advent says, indicating the slab. "And the monsters ate the remains. We killed them, but...it was too late." He sighs, then tries to smile gratefully. "At least you're here now. You might be diminished, in the Nightside, but you can still take his place..."

"No," the Walking Man says firmly. "That has never been, and will never be my purpose. I am an enforcer, not a guardian. And the Lord of Thorns is not gone."

He takes the staff from Advent's hand, blindingly fast, and rams it through his heart. Dresden and I tense, but the deed is done long before our brains catch up.

Before our eyes, Advents shakes and shudders, but does not bleed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the staff disappears into his body, merging with it. His skin takes on the colour and texture of bark, and his dark hair becomesthe green of leaves. An equally-green, long beard sprouts from his face.

The new being sways in place briefly, as if drunk, then comes to his senses.

"What... what is..." He murmurs, then raises his eyes and sees the Walking Man. "You? What in His name are you doing here? I don't need you meddling in my domain."

"Clearly, you do. Feel free to thank me."

The being frowns, then looks down at his body. "What is... Julien Advent? Ah." The being smiles to himself. "Well, it could have been worse."

The beings is speaking in two voices now:Advent's, and an older, rougher one. Like an Old Testament prophet, come down from the mountain with bad news.

The being extends a hand, and the Lord of Thorns' staff appears in it. "Something was done to me," the being says, frowning in frustration. "Something...that took away my power, and my concentration. Why else would I be asleep?"

"Do you remember who destroyed your body? Your previous body?" The Walking Man asks.

The being snorts. "I only saw a face as I lay dying. She caught me in my sleep. I don't know what happened after."

"She?" The Walking Man repeats. "Ah...of course. It makes sense now."

The being nods, eyes lighting up in understanding. "Yes...yes! But...it's too soon for this. She should not have come until years later, and she should never have destroyed..."

"Things are rarely as they should be," the Walking Man says. "As we all know. As for you...you need a new name, no? The Lord of Thorns failed."

The being nods, thorns rising from his forehead, encircling his head. "Yes...like the Shepherd, we shall atone for the sins...all sins. We shall be the Thorncrown."

Meanwhile, Dresden and I glance at each other.

"You getting any of this shit?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "Hell no."

Chapter Text

The dark angels were backing away, and somehow, I just knew it wasn't because of me. Grim certainly didn't.

They weren't going after someone else, though. At least, not anyone I could see. By focusing both my mundane senses and my aura sight, I was able to spot a blindingly bright, white light, underneath the street. I turned my head away, multi-colored spots filling my sight. Whatever the hell that light was, it was dangerous. It reminded me of looking at Barbiel, my angelic case officer, but...on a much greater scale.

And yet...something like a human shape had been at the center of that light, but there had been no sign of a blue human soul.

No matter. Something to worry about later. The dark angels might have moved away, but new ones, looking like they were made of light, had all but taken their place and wrecking the Nightside. Their auras were a bright, clear white, but they were as callous as any demon I've ever fought while they blasted buildings apart and turned people into pillars of salt.

Had Barbiel ever done something like this? 'The Host does not banish. We destroy.' That was what he had said, after he and his-our-angelic brethren had destroyed a horde of demons. Was the angel I knew just as ruthless, as alien as this, only presenting a human mask when interacting with me?

The though chilled me to my core. It bothered me more than I'd have liked to admit, but...no. I'd always known God could be harsh when needed-the way my parents and brother had died was proof enough-and angels did not have free will, as such. They could make their own choices, but not deviate from their purpose.

I had meant to ask Barbiel how Lucifer had fallen, then. But I had thought I'd have enough time, before I'd been snatched away from home.

We always think we'll have more time, later.

I Pulled myself to the side of a building, then ran on it, Posting myself with every footstep so I wouldn't fall. I crouched in the shadow cast by a terrace, breathing harder than I would have liked. My unique physiology was much like a racecar: it could and did kick ass when needed, but it also needed loads and loads of fuel and maintenance. In this case, food.

Back home, my were-bear-wolf, Awasos, often shared meals with me. When he was in bear form, we ate about as much. Thankfully, the Nightside was never short on food, as people came here to indulge every vice and excess. And even if I had to steal from a restaurant...well, I had stolen a car once, and the city was under attack. Surely people would understand.

I stopped Clinging to the wall, dropping the fifteen meters to street level and landing lightly on my feet. I glanced around, but I was on the main street-or as much as a street could be called such, in the Nightside. The establishments here catered to other kinds of hunger, and reaching the restaurant area would take some time, even at full speed.

Dammit. And I didn't even know where Jason was, either-

A blurred, blue shaped crossed my field of vision in a moment, before leaping up into the sky. The angles it smashed aside fell to the ground like broken dolls, their unearthly light dimming, then vanishing, along with their bodies.

I looked upwards, trying to get a clearer look at the shape, but I couldn't. It was in the midst of a group of angels now, spinning and sending the ones that came too close flying down through buildings and into the street.

Finally, gravity took hold of it, or it just got bored of spinning, and it fell to the ground, gracefully landing on all fours. It had Jason's face.

Longer, sharper, more like a real wolf, but still, his face. Its body would have been wolflike, if wolves had been large enough to step on cars and flatten them. It turned in a blur to look at me, tilting its head in curiosity. Its face stretched in a grin, but there was no amusement in its eyes. Nor any humanity.

"Ah," it said in a voice completely unlike Jason. "I should thank you, Malahidael."

"What do you mean? And where the hell did you learn that name?" I asked, crossing my arms and standing my ground, despite every instinct telling me to either kill or run from it.

Its grin widened. "I was there, when the Enemy's bootlicker condemned you, in its hypocrisy. I have been with you every time you were with my mortal. We have never been as separate as he would like to believe."

"Are you the spirit that was bound to Jason? The Blue Wolf? Where is he?"

"I see the Maker doesn't choose its puppets for intelligence," it sneered. "He is right here, fool! Don't be as blind as the things whose shape you ape! It's embarrassing, for both of us. I have taken over Wolfe's mortal coil, and reshaped it, made it better-suited for fulfilling my-our-purpose."

"And what purpose is that?"

Its grin returned. "Why, saving the Nightside, of course."

Before I could voice my skepticism at that, the street broke open under our feet. I didn't know what to expect-the source of that blinding light from earlier, maybe-, but the giant bugs were something of a surprise. Though, maybe they shouldn't have been. Bugs often came from underground, after all.

I prepared to blast them with my aura, but the Blue Wolf was swifter. Walking on the air above the gap as if it were solid ground, it gripped the gap's edges with its paws.

"No, you don't," it growled, and smashed the gap closed. The bugs were flattened with a wet, squelching sound, and their dying screams were surprisingly human. The Blue Wolf looked upon its work, found it good, and howled in delight. Angels wheeled above us, and they looked to me like they would have dearly wished to have a go at us, but weren't dumb enough to try.

"Well," I said, trying for light. "That was something. I'll be sure to call you around if I ever have termites...any plan for what to do from on here, though?"

"Of course. We go to the Authorities."

I nodded. "That's a good idea, but...do you even know where they are? I certainly don't, and, unless your senses come with a search engine..."

"We just have to follow the carnage, and we will soon reach the nest of those exploitative, greedy worms..." the Blue Wolf trailed off, as if it had sensed something, then chuckled to itself. "Oh? She seems to have slaughtered them already...good. A handful of kills I no longer have to worry about. I'll be sure to thank her for it, after I eat her guts."

Chapter Text

When the ground split open, I wasn't sure what to expect. Nothing good, obviously. Maybe the dark angels, come to strike at us from below.

The man who rose from the newly-formed pit was arguably worse. At least with the angels, you knew where you stood.

Hadleigh Oblivion strode up on thin air. After reaching the street, the crevice shuddered, and the ground closed with a groan. I understood how it felt.

If Hadleigh held any animosity for me after our latest encounter-so to speak-he showed no sign. He glanced at each of us in turn, nodding curtly at Walker and smiling at his brothers in what he probably imagined was a friendly way. Tommy tried to smile back, and failed. Larry winced.

'It is good that you've gathered them, Walker. Saved me the hassle,' Hadleigh said, hands in the pockets of his black trenchcoat.

'Of course,' Walker replied smoothly. "It is always a delight to do your job for you."

The two looked at each other in such a way I was surprised lightning didn't leap from their eyes.

'I know the Nightside disgusts you, Walker,' Hadleigh continued. 'But I didn't imagine even you could be so opportunistic. Let her and the city's defenders tear each other apart, then kill whoever's still standing. Then, maybe, you can nuke the rubble, just to be sure.'

'It's fascinating,' Walker said, smiling. 'How you can fail so badly at your duty, and still lecture me on how I'm failing at mine. How did she even manage to enter the Nightside without you knowing? Or, perhaps, you opened the path for her...'

'I am the Detective Inspectre,' Hadleigh said coldly. 'I stand against threats to reality, not the Nightside. The only reason I live in this city is because my family is here.'

Larry scoffed quietly at that, but Hadleigh still heard, and fixed his brother with his unblinking stare.

'No offence, Hadleigh,' Tommy said, trying to be diplomatic. 'But I don't think you've visited the folks since I was five, which I still have nightmares about. If you remain in the Nightside for us, you have a fairly strange way of showing it.'

Hadleigh nodded at that, seemingly thoughtful. 'We have drifted away...no matter. After this is over, I will return home.'

Well, that didn't sound threatening at all.

'This is all very heartwarming, and be sure to send Dash my regards,' I cut in. 'But I'd like to get a word in edgewise, if you don't mind. For a start, who the hell is "she"? The one who bought the angels to the Nightside?'

Hadleigh and Walker both looked at me, the former in disbelief, the latter with a strange look in his eyes.

'You still haven't told him? What, did the Authorities tell you to keep quiet? This is exactly why I quit the job.'

I wanted to ask what the hell he meant, but, apparently, Suzie was more curious, because she stepped away from Walker, shotgun raised and moving between the two.

'Enough with this cryptic bullshit,' she said coldly. I doubted even her blessed and cursed ammo could have scratched Hadleigh, and I didn't even know what protections Walker had, but neither fact seemed to discourage her. 'Who the hell is "she", does she have to do with the angels, and how many times do I have to shoot her until she dies?"

'Good questions, as always, Ms. Shooter,' Walker said with a nod. 'I can tell you for a fact that she is allied to neither Heaven nor Hell. As for your other questions... John, I think it's past time I told you how I met you mother.'

Walker turned to me, but, before he could speak, and finally reveal the secret of my mysterious, non-human mother, something tore through my mind like shrapnel through flesh.

I fell to my knees, hands instinctively clamped over my bleeding ears, but it wasn't the sort of sound you merely heard. I felt it: a feeling of confidence, of certainty, turning into shock and naked, shrieking horror and pain.

Luckily, I was used to mental attacks, even by Nightside standards-a result of opening my third eye, my private eye, for too long one too many times. It was likely the only thing that kept me from going mad or catatonic.

The others had felt it, too. Suzie was clenching her shotgun so hard her knuckles had turned white, and Tommy was gritting his teeth, muttering "this is not happening..." in a pained voice. Either his gift kicked in, or he just got over it, because the agonized expression on his face disappeared, and he sighed in relief.

Larry had his brow furrowed, but he looked more confused and disgusted than hurt or terrified. The dead are beyond some things, I suppose.

Walker and Jude were even less affected than Larry. In Walker's case, I wasn't surprised-the man was untouchable in every sense of the word-but what did the little Vatican agent know or have to protect him from this psychic agony?

Hadleigh, of course, was completely unphased. 'This is what happens when you meddle in things. Should have stuck to wandering. You and your damned Grail...' He said, giving Jude a withering look.

'Damned, perhaps. But it has not been mine in a long, long time,' Jude replied. 'And do not pretend you think it is the cause for this, Oblivion. The Grail might have brought the angels here, in another world, but now? They saw rogue kindred, and thought to either bring them into the fold or break them. As for her...' The little man grimaced in distaste. 'The Nightside's boundaries were weakened, frayed. Four souls, brighter than most, come from further than the city has ever known. Of course she would take advantage.'

Hadleigh stared at him for a few more moments, then turned to me, smiling humourlessly. 'John? Your mother has just killed the Authorities. And she liked their death throes so much, she thought to share them with everyone in the city. Yet, somehow, you are both alive and sane. Be grateful. Few still are.'

Chapter Text

The Blue Wolf gave me my mind back just when it was getting its ass kicked.

Because of course it did.

"Do not mock me, Texan," it growled, trying to sound haughty but coming off as pained, just as my body skidded across the floor. The room I was in had been luxurious, once. Now, the plush chairs, the heavy wooden tables, the deep pile carpet-they had all been torn apart.

"Your masters' den,"  the Wolf said mockingly, in my mind. "It's almost as ugly as their souls were...if you could call them that."

I can't believe this, I thought back at it as I tried to get up to my feet. You can talk to me now? All the time? Ugh.

The Blue Wolf didn't respond, to my surprise. Instead, it nudged at my senses, and I turned my head in the direction it was indicating.

Chris looked almost as bad as I felt.

Usually, Chris could heal from most wounds in second. Being stabbed or shot or bludgeoned did little to break his stride, and he'd once told me he'd even healed from a headshot a few years ago, the wound closed before his body could fall.

Now, he was on the floor, bright red blood-the blood that had opened the Blue Wolf's 'new path-staining the bare, cracked floorboards. The bleeding had stopped, but Chris didn't look like he was gonna get up too soon.

And it looked like I was going to need all the backup I could get.

The woman floating in the air above me was human in shape, but that was where similarities ended. Her skin was chalk-white, her hair, eyes and lips-quirked in a grin that showed how monstrous wide her mouth was- were black as ink. She looked like a black-and-white photo that had come alive.

And she had no navel. Somehow, that struck me as the most inhuman feature of hers.

"It's because she was never born, Texan. She was made,"  the Blue Wolf replied. An image of it flashed in my mind, a disgusted sneer on its face. "Things of her ilk always are."

That was interesting as hell, but I didn't need this bitch's biography. The only thing I needed to know was how to kill her. Which the Blue Wolf seemingly hadn't known, given how she was still alive.

"Oh, my," the woman said, seemingly having just noticed me. "Look who is still alive. Feeling lucky, are we?"

I snorted. "Eastwood fan?"

She tilted her head to one said, not blinking as she regarded me. "I know not of what you speak of... ah." Her grin returned. "Have you already forgotten how I looked last time? Men...well, I did hit your head. Several times, in fact."

Her appearance shifted, and I was looking at Lady Luck. She laughed at my dumbstruck luck, then changed back. It was like pulling a sheet off something to reveal its true shape.

"You followed us," I said. "You waited until the angel was weakened, then revealed yourself and helped us banish it, so we'd let our guard now. So we'd be hit by the wave of darkness sent by the other angels."

She rolled her eyes at that, and looked like she would have liked to stomp her foot if she had not been in midair. "I sent the wave, you fool. It would have crushed the three of you, if you had the common decency to just die. But attributing it to hell's upjumped attack dogs...honestly, I-"

Whatever she was about to say would remain a mystery, as something flashed through the air and struck her between the eyes. She staggered at that, this monster who had crushed both Chris and the Blue Wolf.

The woman dropped from the air, and the floor recoiled from her touch. Her face showed a tiny wound, like a pinprick. I doubt a human could have even seen it. It was not bleeding. In fact, it closed right as I was taking it in.

One of the room's walls exploded into dust, chunks of concrete filling the air like shrapnel. A man had walked through it like it had been a curtain.

The guy looked like he was preparing to play in a cowboy movie, and was certainly armed the part. His revolvers looked old, but the fact he had even made the woman break stride meant he was far more dangerous than me and Chris.

And behind the man came some people I knew well, and some I wish I didn't. The rest of the Hexarchy, followed by Walker and all three of the Oblivion brothers. King of Skin and Count Video brought up the rear, alongside a man I didn't recognize. His skin seemed to be made of wood, and his hair and bard looked like clumps of leaves.

But I recognized his staff. The Lord of Thorns was said to bear something like it, but this newcomer wasn't like the Lord of Thorns from the stories. What had happened to him?

The woman regained her bearings, shifting her attention from her wound to the newcomers. But she only had eyes for the man with the revolvers.

"You!" She growled at him, in a tone so venomous I involuntarily barred my fangs. "He sent you here, despite everything? What's next? Are the Droods hiding in the hallway?"

"Better pray they're not, Lilith," the man said, smiling lazily, guns still trained on her. "I'm more than enough to send your ugly hide back to Limbo."

The newly-named Lilith snarled. "I am not going back, Saint," he spat the man's name like a curse. "You, and that bastard mongrel behind you, are exactly the things I built the Nightside to stand against."

"Enough," Walker said, stepping forward to stand beside Saint. He looked completely unruffled, as always, and his face showed quiet frustration. Like he had to do something unpleasant, but necessary, and just wanted to get it over with. "SURRENDER YOURSELF TO THE WALKING MAN, LILITH, AND LET YOURSELF BE DESTROYED."

Walker's Voice shook the air like thunder, but it didn't stagger me as much as Saint's identity. The Walking Man was the wrath of God in the human world, but those who served Heaven or Hell had never been able to use their full power in the Nightside-which Lilith had just claimed to have created. Would he be enough, even with the rest of us here?

Lilith laughed contemptuously, and the echoes of Walker's Voice shattered like glass. Walker pursed his lips, looking more disappointed than shocked, and stepped back just as Lilith waved a hand, sending a screaming wave of destruction toward her. The Walking Man let loose a fusillade of bullets from his revolvers, tearing through her attack, and the wave dispersed.

"It's alright, Henry," he told Walker. "I knew it wouldn't work. It's between us monsters now."

Chapter Text

Learning my mother was a mythical being should have probably given me a crisis of faith. I suppose it was a testament to my mental fortitude and life experience that it didn't.

In truth, I hadn't really though much about my mother, because I had so little to think about. Of course, there had been nights when I had been unable to sleep, when I had twisted and turned in my bad, thinking what could have been so bad as to drive my father to drink himself to death. What kind of being had he married to cause that reaction? And, more importantly, was I really human, if my mother wasn't?

In my childhood, my father had avoided me when sober, giving me uncertain glances, like I was an animal that only pretended to be tame.

After him had come Walker, and the Collector-my uncles Henry and Mark. Always in the background, watching and judging. Charles Taylor's best friends, looking after his son out of...what? Obligation? A promise?

Guilt, more likely, given what Walker had recently revealed to me. When they were young-younger than I am now-Charles, Henry, and Mark wanted to change the Nightside for the better. And for that, they needed power. My father, long-interested in the arcane, found the knowledge and resources necessary to perform the Babalon Working, to summon and bind a powerful being or force from Outside. Instead, they opened the door for something far worse:my mother, Lilith.

I have to admit, I had never expected such...lofty parentage. Not when I was sleeping in Rats' Alley, gawking with the rest when Razor Eddie passed, nor when I worked with old Carnacki, learning to look for the supernatural.

The three friends thought their experiment had failed. Nothing came through the door they opened-as far as they could tell. The gathered knowledge, the long, exhausting ritual, had all been for nothing. And, a little after that, Mark presented my father to a young, lovely, human woman.

As far as they could tell.

Lilith looked at me, eyes widening, mouth opening into an inhumanly wide smile. 'Jo-!' She began.

Then, the Walking Man kicked her through a wall.

He followed her in a flash, moving through the newly-created hole in the wall and into the sreet below faster than I could see.

For just a moment, we looked at the wall, maybe expecting them to return any moment.

'The fuck are we waiting for? Let's go light her up so that he can kick her ass!'

Obviously, it was Stark who broke the silence. However, as much as I wanted to do what he'd said, Chris was still on the floor.

'Can you heal him?' Harry asked, looking from the Crownthorn to Hadleigh. Before either could answer, Stark stepped forward, sighing.

'Stand back. I'm gonna jumpstart Mr. Jekyll over here.'

Stark did  something that left afterimages in my Sight, like the flash of a camera, and suddenly, there was another version of himself, superimposed over his body. The other Stark was transparent, younger, with no scars and bright eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, and Stark pointed a warning finger at me.

'Not a word outta you, cuz.'

The transparent Stark smiled apologetically at me. Well, wasn't that interesting.

Then, a gleaming sword appeared in Stark's hand. Sparks flashed in and out of existence around its edges, and some instinct told me it should have been covered in flames.

The group looked skeptically at Stark, some of them walking forward, as if to stop him. It was Suzie who asked what they were all thinking. 'Stark? How the hell are you gonna heal him with a sword?'

Stark walked towards Chris. Standing over the fallen man, he turned his head to grin over his shoulder. 'What's he gonna do if he dies? Complain?'

And he stabbed Chris in the heart.

For a moment, we all held our breath...then noticed Chris wasn't bleeding at all.

Stark was now kneeling on his chest, pushing his sword deeper and deeper:through Chris' body, then through the floor beneath. A little red appeared on the blade, and it burst into flame.

Pale and wavering at first, then a deep, vital red, before finally becoming a brilliant white. The white glow of the flame spread over and through Chris' body, healing his wounds even as it turned him into an indistinct silhouette, like a glowing nuclear shadow.

And, from beneath the silhouette, wings spread.

Sweating and breathing harshly, Stark rose to his feet and stepped back. His sword was gone now, and his mouth, nose, eyes and ears were bleeding, but he was grinning.

'It's done,' he said with a voice choked by blood. Then, solemnly, 'Rise, Malahidael.'

The angel that had been Chris-or was it the other way around- rose without seeming to move at all. It floated above the floor, standing on air, wings held around him like a mantle. A shimmering sword, made of light, appeared in his right hand, and a sphere of white fire in his left.

'Yes...it is time, Stark,' Malahidael said. 'I am diminished here, as I was meant to be...but I can still do my duty. I know. My brethren told me, when I was falling between worlds.'

'Good for you,' Stark said. 'Now, how about you forget those halo-polishers and think about your real family? Remember 'em? The missus and the twins you're always talking about?'

Though faceless, the angel seemed to smile. 'It is alright, Stark. I have seen what we must sacrifice, for us to be born, and how little we have to give up, to return to God's embrace. Lailah knows as well, though she remembers it not.'

I didn't like this new version of Chris. But, before the exchange could continue, or turn into something else, a subdued, almost shy knocking filled the room.

Madman knocked once more on the wall outside, then stuck his head through the room.

'Hello?' Madman said, sounding confused. 'Is this the part where I use my powers to strike and distract Lilith?'

We all looked at him. It was Walker who spoke.

'I am afraid Lilith has left the building. And it seems only proper we should follow. Shall we?'

And we left.

Chapter Text

John

The former Authorities' former meeting room(and I had a feeling we'd get a lot more 'former' things by the time this mess was over, however that happened) was several stories above street level. As such, the frailer members of our impromptu band of heroes couldn't just jump through the hole the Walking Man had made, unless we wanted to crawl our way to the fighting monsters.

Hadleigh took care of that. He seemed to turn sideways, then spun, again and again, until reality began to tremble around him. I briefly felt dizzy, then nauseous, then realized I wasn't falling, like my brain was telling me. I was already on the street, alongside Suzie, Walker, and the younger Oblivion brothers. The others quickly made their way down as well, trusting in their powers or superhuman bodies.

We had jumped into Hell, or something like it.

In the old stories, Lilith is often a mother of monsters. After she is banished from Eden, she goes down into Hell and lays with demons, giving birth to unnatural creatures. Like the ones tearing apart the Nightside's streets and buildings, or slaughtering people maddened by the echoes of the Authorities' death throes.

I suppose we were half-siblings, which was an un unsettling thought. I knew there was a reason I never went to family reunions, besides having none.

They looked like every nightmare you've ever had, like every monster you thought was under your bed. There were giant, segmented maggots with disturbingly human hands sprouting from their sides. There were flying, dessicated whales, jagged ribs bursting through their rotten flesh and moving them through the air like oars, or wings. There were things like insects and lizards and deep sea fish.

And there were too many for us to kill and still help the Walking Man beat Lilith. So, I figured it was time to call in an old favour.

'Razor Eddie! I know you're listening! Show yourself!'

Usually, the punk god of the straigh razor appeared in a flash of eye-watering speed(and smell). This time, Razor Eddie chose a different way to make his entrance. The shining blade of his pearl-handled namesake seemed to poke out of thin air. Then, it moved like it was outlining a door. Reality opened like a door, and Razor Eddie stepped through, the door closing behind him.

He'd been busy, I could tell. His clothes, always filthy and unkempt, were covered in viscera and something I would only hesitatingly call blood.

'Why did you stop me, John?' He asked quietly, swinging his razor around like he was waiting for a target. 'Someone must defend the city since the Nightguard went mad. If every Nightsider let loose, they'd raze the city far faster than the monsters could ever manage. Not everyone kept their minds together, you know. I've had to put several friends down.'

If the loss of those friends saddened Eddie, he showed no sign. I raised an eyebrow at his razor. He'd never done the door trick before.

'I went back to the Street of the Gods. Got an upgrade,' he answered my unspoken question.

'Mad? All of them?' Jason asked. Eddie turned to him, and nodded.

'I'm sorry, Captain. I've had to put down several of your troops, too.' Then, he turned back to me. 'What do you want, John? You're keeping me from my work. That always ends poorly. For everyone.'

'You're targeting the symptoms, not the disease,' I said, as reasonably as I could. I didn't want him to start threatening me. 'Lilith is the root of the problem. If we get rid of her, the monsters will follow. I can feel it.'

Eddie tilted his head, not quite nodding, and swept his gaze over us. It lingered a little on Hadleigh.

'No. None of us can hope to kill her, even if she let us try,' Razor Eddie said finally. Then, to Hadleigh. 'Where's the Wandering Jew? I could swear he was following you around.'

'He had to take care of something. I saw no need to stop him, or mention his absence.'

That was when I realised Jude was missing. Belatedly, of course. I may have been allergic to finding clues, but my senses weren't usually so dull. Or maybe the little man was just that good at blending in the background.

That was when it all clicked together:the name he'd asked me to use, the Unholy Grail, the desire to find it, or some new angels, almost like he was trying to make up for past wrongs. It seems even the greatest sinners could feel guilt.

'He can do it in his own time,' Walker said. 'Eddie, I want you to remain in the group. I've just experienced how useless I would be in a fight against Lilith, and I think I could do more elsewhere.'

'Fucking off and leaving us hanging?' Stark growled. He was smoking two of his black cigarettes at once, and I was surprised they didn't snap with how tightly his jaw was clenched.

Walker smiled drily at him. 'Hardly. There are things in the city my Voice would actually work on. For example...' He trailed off, looking at the monsters around us. I was almost surprised they hadn't approached us, despite the gathering of power. 'DO NO MORE DAMAGE TO THE NIGHTSIDE OR ITS DENIZENS. DESTROY LILITH.'

The monsters didn't obey Walker's thunderous Voice. However, they did stop their destruction, if only because they were staggering in confusion, like their brains had been rattled. Razor Eddie saw his chance, and took it. He burred across buildings and streets, cracking concrete and leaving grey trails with his speed. Monsters fell apart, or burst into red mist. The maddened Nightsiders stumbled, their addled minds realising their assailants were gone. They looked at Razor Eddie, and something like recognition appeared on their faces. Most of them stood in place, or sat down on the pavement, to get their breath back. They had calmed down a little, even if they were still twitching.

'Well,' Walker said, actually sounding surprised. 'That wasn't quite what I had in mind. But, if it works...' He walked to Eddie, smiling slowly. 'Let's go. If we repeat this a few more times, we could clean the city of monsters while the others fight Lilith.'

Harry stepped forward, a steely look in his eyes. 'I'll go with you.'

Jason followed. 'So will I. I've already failed my people. I must make up for it.'

'Well.' Tommy looked at Larry, hands in his pockets. 'Want to play hero?'

'Sure,' the zombie grunted, and took out a curved rod, carved with elven symbols.

'An elven wand!' I said, grinning. 'I knew-'

But they had already disappeared. '-it,' I finished lamely. I looked around, to see if anyone had caught more. 'Anything you can tell us about that?' I asked Hadleigh.

'Yes,' he replied blandly. Then, he turned sideways again, and we were gone, too.

 Harry

Larry Oblivions's wand stopped the monsters in their tracks, along with everything else. We walked through the streets like they were a life-sized painting.

I've gotta get one of these things someday. Stopping time could be so damn useful, and it doesn't even go against the Sixth Law. Though I'm sure there's someone on the White Council who would argue it does.

Every few blocks, we stopped, so that Razor Eddie could go to town on the monsters and those Nightsiders who had turned against each other. The rest of us helped, and, with time on standby, I felt like I was at a carnival game as I slung spells at frozen monsters. Jason and Larry moved amongst them, beating them to pulp with their fists, while Tommy laughed and spoke to himself. Monsters disappeared, or spontaneously combusted, or turned out to have never existed, because of the probability they hadn't.

Each time we cleaned up a section of the city, Larry used his wand again, to restart the flow of time. Then, Walker used his Voice, ordering the surviving Nightsiders to calm down and go hide somewhere safe until everything was over.

I didn't like the way he phrased it.

"Hey," I said after we had cleaned the last block in ghe Nightside's middle area. "Isn't it weird that the angels have stopped hounding our asses?"

"Isn't this exciting enough for you, Dresden?" Larry asked in a withering tone.

"It's a legitimate question."

"Perhaps..." Tommy began, looking like wanted to stroke his beard, before remembering he didn't have one. "Perhaps they realized Lilith is a greater threat than anything in the Nightside, and went after her."

"Maybe," Jason grunted. "Or maybe they turned tail and ran."

Just then, there was a sound like a thousand sheets of paper being ripped apart, and angels, bot light and dark, filled the eternal night sky. They were coming to our location, too.

I gave Jason a look. "You just had to jinx it, huh?"

He growled.

"I have it!" An old, rough voice came from behind and above us. We turned in surprise and saw John's latest client, allegedly Judas Iscariot, standing on a building's rooftop, what looked like a metal bowl in his hands. I realized the angels were flying towards him, towards his bowl.

"The hell is he gonna do?" I thought out loud. "Give them treats?"

The angels gathered in front of him, hovering in the air like giant hummingbirds. Judas looked at them, trembling, but his hands were steady.

"The cup I drank from before my foolish betrayal!" He raised the bowl. "It could tilt the balance of fate in the favour of Heaven or Hell, forever. So, I will give it to you."

I noticed he hadn't specified which group of angels he was talking about. What was his game?

"But I need your word first. Your word that you will leave the Nightside once I give you the Grail."

"We swear," said the angels of light. "Give it to us. It must not fall into Hell's hands."

"We swear," said the angels of darkness. "It must not be kept from us."

Judas raised the bowl high, like he was preparing to throw ito them...and brough it down on one knee. The old, cheap metal burst apart, and the little man held half a bowl in each hand.

"There," he said, grinning. "It is done."

He threw each half to a group of angels, who caught them with something between shock and disbelief. Then, without a word, they left.

I started laughing my ass off.

 John

The Walking Man was not winning.

He wasn't losing, either, but neither was Lilith. They were too evenly matched. In fact, the only losing side in this fight was the city itself.

They had smashed their way through the main drag and Clubland and the Street of the Gods, whose inhabitants had ran from them, shrieking in terror. Lilith's body was covered in smoking gunshot wounds. The Walking Man didn't appear hurt, but his clothes were frayed, and he was breathing heavily.

Something had to break the stalemate, or they'd wreck the Nightside and keep fighting. Hadleigh had an idea. He took the Thorncrown's staff, turned sideways, and appeared behind Lilith. She snarled, but couldn't focus on him without leaving herself open to the Detective Inspectre.

Hadleigh spoke words that made my ears bleed, and the staff was surrounded by coruscating, black and white strands of energy. He rammed it into Lilith's back, and it came out through her chest, where her heart would have been, if she were human.

Lilith screamed, sounding more angry than hurt, and the staff shattered, blown apart. Hadleigh was blasted out of sight.

'He opened a wound. We must strike,' Malahidael said. He beat his wings once, and was suddenly behind Lilith, his sword deep in her wound. His left hand, the one covered in flames, closed over his right one. Lilith's wound burst into white flames, and she screamed again. Malahidael leapt away, the fire gone, the sword fading out of existence. He fell to his knees, his glowing form glowing duller. Chris Gordon grinned tiredly, the fell to the ground.

'That's our cue,' Stark said. 'Light her up!' He shot at Lilith, spat spells and words learned in the Deep School. Madman joined him, trying to erase Lilith from existence. Video and King of Skin tapped deep into their powers, and reality came apart around my mother. Suzie fired round after round, blessed and cursed alike.

Lilith staggered under the assault, and the Walking Man seized his chance. He knocked her sprawling with a kick, and was upon her in seconds. 'Now, Stark!'

The nephilim nodded, and ran to the shadow of a ruined building. He studied it for a few seconds, the nodded. 'C'mon, Saint! Fucking do it!'

The Walking Man shoved both revolvers down Lilith's throat, and fired. She staggered, spitting black blood. I opened my third eye, my private eye, and found the chance of her recovering from that.

And snuffed it out.

Lilith threw the Walking Man of her, and hesitatingly rose to her feet. She staggered, bacwards, towards the shadow Stark was standing near.

He kicked her into it.

The shadow howled and writhed, then crumpled like paper, as if Lilith's presence was too much for it. And perhaps it was.

'It's done,' Stark said, an unreadable look on his face. 'Neither God nor the Devil can get in or out of the Room of Thirteen Doors without the Key.' He gave the Walking Man a hard look. 'And now, I can't use the room anymore, either. Not with that bitch in there. But...' He took a deep breath, and grinned. 'It was worth it.'

One year later

John

With my mother gone, you'd have thought we'd have time to celebrate, but no. The Nightside had to be rebuilt, and its reality as well.

Walker spoke with the Collector, and convinced his old friend to find Merlin Satanspawn's heart with his time machine. Returned to his prime, the ancient sorcerer restored the city to its former glory, while grumbling we should have "woken me up to fight the old trollop."

I helped Merlin as he worked, using my third eye to find monsters hiding in the shadow, as well as people who wanted to take advantage of the chaos.

I'm closer to Suzie nowadays. She's told me aboout her past, and we live together nowadays. She hasn't let me touch her yet...but we're getting there.

Jason

The Nightguard had fallen apart. I hadn't felt so useless since Daniela's death, but I wasn't going to let it stop me. I contemplated returning home, or staying in the Nightside a little more. After I found a way to cummunicate with my universe, Tabitha, Croft's talking cat, told me the wizard was missing.

I sighed. New York wouldn't look after itself. Time to go back.

Chris

The second time my angel self took over felt just as weird and alien as the first. Speaking of aliens...

After the Doormouse found a Door that led to my reality, I was plesantly surprised to see Earth was still standing. Omega had bolstered the world's defenses, and even managed to capture a few live Vorsook. Ot was time to take the fight to them, especially now that, I learned, I could switch between human and angel at will.

I returned to Tanya, Cora and Wulf. There were some tears during the reunion, but not from me. My eyes just watered a lot.

And let's just say I didn't sleep much that night.

 Harry

Ethniu had been defeated without me, disproving my hypothesis that I was the center of the universe. I was heartbroken.

But the war was just starting. The Fomor had blown open the cover of the supernatural across the world, and things from Outside were breaking new everyday.

Before I left, Walker took me aside for a talk. He told me I was a good man, and he wasn't immortal. The Nightside would need a new Walker one day, if I was interested.

But I already had a monster-filled madhouse to look after, and a world to save.

Stark

I arrive with a clap of thunder, shaking the room Kasabian and I share in Max Overdrive, his video rental place.

"Fucking Christ!" He shrieks when I appear, mechanical body jumping like it's on springs. His piggish eyes glare at me. "Fuck you, Stark! A year away and you return to give me a heart attack!?"

"You didn't have a heart even when you had a body. Where's Candy?"

"On a date. With her girlfriend. You...you didn't expect her to wait for you, right, man?"

"Of course not," I lie. "I'd be pissed if she did. She's always been free to choose for herself."

We crack open a few beers, shoot the shit. Kas doesn't get drunk, which is great for nights like this.

"And what do you do these days?" He asks, gesturing at my new coat.

"I haul my ass around the multiverse, putting down threats to reality before they can reach their full potential. Stop them while there's a chance, however slim," I smirk. "For things to end bloodlessly."

To be continued in
Slim Chances, Volume I