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It started, in retrospect with a couple of dreams. First up, a nightmare.
Now I get a lot of nightmares. I can and do ward my dreams from outside influences. But it's been a hell of a last few years, and the atrocities just keep piling up behind my eyes. Most of them... aren't my fault. It doesn't help.
So when I found myself writhing on the floor of the Raith Deeps, held down by the paralysing pain and curdled horror of Vittorio Malvora, it was less "oh God I'm gonna die here!" and more "oh, haven't had this one in a while." This particular nocturnal replay of "Times Harry had to lie there and helplessly watch death coming closer" came in with Lash looking shocked and horrified, rocking back on her heels in a frozen moment. I saw her this time as a figure of dark smoked glass, but as you do in dreams, I knew it was her.
The shadow of Lasciel, a fragment of a Fallen Angel resident for years inside my head, trying to tempt me to take up the Black Denarius.... and she'd failed. This was when she turned against her purpose. This was when she helped me, when nobody else could. This was when she died.
I watched her stand, and turn, and raise her hands. I saw her strain and push and lift a crushing blanket of terror so that it no longer lay upon me.
I saw her dark glass silhouette spark with a warm white light that suffused her for a moment... before she shattered towards me, crushed between what she was and what she was doing.
And that.... had not been what I saw at the time...
That dream ended before the good bit, where I clawed myself off the floor and shot Vittorio's hand off. On to the next one.
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And here, I KNEW I hadn't been.
A beach? Dazzling white sand, beneath my fingers. There were... poinsettias blooming on bushes, just at the edge of my vision. I could hear waves crashing behind me. I couldn't move. I wanted to, but I was completely exhausted. I wanted to cry, but I was too tired even for that. I wanted to laugh, because under the fatigue and the weakness, there was an amazed joy bubbling up in me. I'd done it. I was back!
And although I could not move, I felt someone move past me, the force of their regard gentle and proud. I saw a couple of worn shoes enter my vision, and heard a voice that, of all the things in this dream, I did recognise.
"Well done, little one. You made it." Said the Archangel Uriel.
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Yeah, quite a night. Forebodings, maybe even five-bodings.
So feeling a little ruffled that morning, I felt I needed a little fresh air. And I had to get out of my castle (yes, I know) to let the brownies get in and clean (oh my life...). So I decided to join the digital nomads and do my mornings work in a coffee shop somewhere.
Except that obviously, as a wizard, most computers scream and die when I open them. So I was carrying a satchel with papers and notebooks in. And I'm not paying the prices of some of those places to be stared at and eavesdropped.
And worse. It was less than four months after the Battle of Chicago. The dead (too many of them) had been buried, and the last few damaged buildings were being patched up around me, but.... the city had been burned, and it was still touchy. Sensitised. The people were still a little nervous, and watching the shadows, and the eyes of those they faced.
And sometimes they recognised me. I mean, I HAD stood up, gathered and led an army of Chicago citizens into a battle royale amongst a dozen supernatural factions, giving speeches and throwing around magic like a superhero with a HUGE special effects budget....
Some people would shut up and back away carefully from me. Others would give me space and bow their heads in respect. A couple had saluted. I'm not sure which was worse. They knew and saw me as one of the biggest monsters in Chicago (Which is so unfair, I'm maybe in the top ten, just), and only the fact that I was definately THEIR monster was stopping them running. Or shooting, I suppose.
It had been a cold winter.
So I went to McAnallys. A long walk to a good destination. It was only mid-morning, and the place was empty, apart from Mac, obviously. Unusually, he was out from behind the bar, sweeping the floor, and gave me a questioning, and slightly worried look as I came down the steps to the basement pub. I felt the protective energies over the pub enfold me as I entered, an almost watchful presence, like someone behind me holding an umbrella over me. I wasn't thinking about that now. It was on a long list of things not to think about, up to and including my forthcoming wedding. Stars and Stones.
"It's alright Mac, no crisis or anything."
He gave me a level stare. It's not as if every time I've come in here that things have exploded soon afterwards. Not even often.
"I just need to sit down and do the paperwork, after stretching my legs for a bit. And could I get a coffee?"
Mac grunted and waved at one of the thirteen tables, in the side of the room he'd obviously already swept, and I sat down gratefully.
I started gamely in on dull admin stuff. Dull administrative trivia. Administrivia. Sorting out stuff for my old home, now my new home, now a freaking castle in downtown Chicago. If my little daughter Maggie was ever going to stay there for any length of time, it needed decent furnishings. And I still had a long list of things I wanted to just have around, you know? I'd lost a lot of stuff and bounced around a lot of sofas (okay, none of them were actually sofas but never mind) and now I had a home again, I wanted it looking my way. And that was before I started with the Paranet stuff.
Mac brought me a mug of coffee. Nothing fancy, a big solid insulated mug of black awesome, with sugar. And while he was walking back to the bar, he stopped suddenly. I looked up to see him looking at the entrance, a surprised smile spreading across his face.
I... can't remember when I last saw him smile.
The door opened, and a woman walked in. I froze in place, mentally listing current weapons, escape routes, and attack strategies (The Winter Mantle stirred and focused within me, seeing the tracks of a fellow predator). I recognised her, and she could NOT be here. Not stepping carefully down, not giving an awed look at the plaque on the wall, and certainly not... giving a respectful and solemn bow to Mac? Who nodded to me and went back to the bar, still smiling.
She came over to my table, clasped her hands in front of her, and looked me straight in the eyes. There was no twitch of a soulgaze starting, but then, there wouldn't be. Not with her.
"Hello Sheila. You'd better sit down..."
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It had been a long time since I'd seen Sheila. Too many horrifying years. She looked much the same as she had then. Pale creamy skin, long brown hair tied up in a bun, and a foot shorter than me. Her heart-shaped face with the soft lips that I remembered very well looking down at me as I sat. She was wearing an open coat, over a cardigan in pale grey and a mottled grey turtleneck, over the generous curves that had long ago distracted me far too much.
And she had not, apparently, aged.
Which was fair, because she didn't exist.
When Lasciel, all those years ago, had stuck her little copy in my head, Sheila had been the face she'd first worn. Before I knew her.
A cute clerk in a bookshop. A warm hand on a cold lonely path. A scorching kiss on.... dammit Harry, focus! She'd lasted a few days. Before I found out that she was literally a figment of my imagination under Lasciels control. And after that.... there was mini-Lasciel, who I named Lash. And who'd died before my eyes, in the mornings dream.
As I thought frantically, and took a deep breath, she sat down opposite me, hands on the table where I could see them, holding an envelope.
She had never existed. She was here. She wasn't just in my head, because Mac could see her. And I'm fairly sure Mac could see through a lot of illusions. But he'd smiled to see her?
A bit of poetry came to mind, that Anastacia had quoted a couple of times. It's not as if I tend to collect those, but I liked this one. The simple PI I had tried to be would have.
"I have six valiant serving men, they taught me all I know..." I quoted.
She looked up and gave the next line, her voice warm and musical.
"Their names are What and Where and When and How and Why and Who. Hello, Harry Dresden."
I didn't take an eye off her. This was bizarre, even for me.
"Start talking."
"I.... before I start, I have a letter for you. From... Mister Sunshine." And she slid the envelope across to me.
That changed things a little. She probably wasn't going to actually attack me here, whatever she was. I opened the envelope, pulled out a simple printed sheet, and kept half an eye on her.
Harry, let me keep this simple for you. Three things.
Firstly, Lash made it home.
(My eyes watered suddenly and my grip on the paper was very tight. I blinked several times and continued.)
Well done on that. I showed you a little in that dream.
("Ah," as an old frenemy had said "much is explained".)
Second, this was entirely her idea. I gave her the choice, and she asked for this.
(This was definitely from Uriel.)
Third, she could well be of significant use to you. She is trustworthy.
Mr Sunshine.
That... was quite the endorsement, given the source. I folded the paper, hands not shaking. Really. Deep breath. Looks-like-but-isn't-Sheila was watching me, with a level of calm that.... frankly was bloody welcome after the jittery Chicago-folk.
"Well. Now what? And what was "your idea?" "
"I think it's probably best if I answer your six serving men first, sir."
Sir? Since when do I rate a Sir? It's not as if I have titles or power or a castle or nevermind. As I was wrapping my head around that, Mac came over with... a glass of water and a little dish of plain crackers. He set them before her, patted her gently on the shoulder, and gave her an encouraging smile. I recognised that smile. I'd given Maggie that smile when she was working hard on something difficult for her. What the hell?
"I am not Lasciel. I am not the one you knew as Lash. I am, in a way, Lash's daughter. It's quite difficult to explain this."
She blushed. It looked wonderfully appealing on her. Ten years ago, two years ago, I'd have been distracted. "Lash was a shard of ice, split from a greater whole, focused and shaped to a purpose. I am that ice, melted down to cool water, hanging in space, free to form my own shape. But I am the same material."
"And this time you aren't just living in my head." A statement delivered flatly. I hadn't enjoyed having a mental roomie, however useful she'd been.
"No sir, I'm really here, and I have a body and everything!" She said in a rush, and reached for the water. She took a sip and seemed to halt for a moment, focused elsewhere. "Sorry, I'm still finding this all a little intense."
Wait. She was finding drinking water a little intense? Physical sensation? I recalled my rather crazy (and possibly hallucination-riddled) time as a ghost haunting Chicago, and how good (and painful) it had been when I got anything like feeling again.
"Are you still feeling very new to bodily sensation? How long have you had that body?"
"Ah, yes. And.... that gets a little tricky to answer in terms of linear time. But... it's been quite a while since I was... in full control of a body. Feeling everything myself." She picked up a cracker and nibbled at it delicately.
"How old are you, Daughter of Lash?"
"I have the memories of Lash, and of Lasciel when she was split off, but for all that, I myself am... very new."
Oh, Stars and Stones. It... she's a baby angel?
"Do you have a name I can use?"
She smiled at me. "Glad to see you've learnt politeness in that field. I have a Name, of course, and you can't learn it. You can think of me as Sheila for now, but that really isn't me. She was a mask worn by another. I am actually hoping, sir, if you can find me a name in time."
Yeah, I am not going to try finding out the true Name of anyone sent to me by the Archangel of Really Sneaky Stuff. But nicknames I can do for days.
"I'll see what I can do," I nodded as I watched her cautiously munch what I knew to be the plainest fare Mac could have brought her as if it was the best Burger King had to offer, and hang on "Mac? What is your relationship to him? He recognised you?"
She coughed on a bit of cracker. "Urch-hem. We've not met before. But our situations rhyme. He recognises what I am, if not whom."
"And what are you?"
"Here to help, Harry Dresden."
"To help who or what?"
"You."
I blinked. This might be one of the few times I've had dangerous and beautiful women pop up in my life not causing me nasty problems. Or it might be one of the times when I'm too stupid to see them at first glance. There've been no shortage of those. Or... and I glanced at the letter again.
"This is a test, isn't it. Of whom?"
"Oh you, of course. And me, obviously. Also this city, your friends, and probably your enemies as well. For starters."
"Thank you, Mr Sunshine."
"Part of his Name translates to Ever-expanding-recursive-analysis-to-hidden-glorious-purpose."
There was a sort of a snort from the bar, and I glanced over to see Mac wiping something down, and definitely not surpressing a chortle. Completely straight face. Right.
"Okay..." I marshalled my scattered thoughts with the easy skill of someone juggling chainsaws. "That accounts for the who, the what, the where and when and how. Now why? Why are you here, talking to me, now?"
She straightened up, held her hands together on the table, looked me in the eye and said in a formal manner "Harry Dresden, I wish to enter your service."
I managed to not sit there going duh. Years of practice to break that habit. I waved a hand for her to continue.
"Or maybe re-enter? No, Lash was never really working for you as much as with you occasionally. But you did impress her a couple of times."
"My service?" The concept was still sinking in.
"You have several beings working for you, sworn to you to one extent or another. The Little Folk. The Temple Dog. Demonreach."
"Hold on, they're hardly in service..."
"The Knights of the Bean."
"They are definitely not in my service!" The survivors of the Battle of the Bean, those who'd followed my banner into battle, I'd sworn to help them if they called. I was not some sort of feudal overlord. Was I?
"Harry Dresden, you need help."
"So I've been told, by many people." From Justin duMorne and his harsh lessons, to Mouse teaching me how to build a bike. And not even counting the people who'd laughed at the window of my office. I still missed that office. But I missed so many people and places and things...
She was smiling at that. "Harry Dresden. I wish to help you. I think... would it help if I asked for a job as your personal assistant?"
That did frame things slightly better for me. "I, uh...." Behold the eloquent Wizard Dresden, able to tie his own tongue in knots at the thought of being formally someone's boss. "I.... may need one." Heck, in my last few years working as a PI I HAD needed one, if only to juggle the bills and follow up on leads. Molly had helped a bit there, but I really couldn't pay her at that point. Now... as the Winter Knight of Faerie, I had access to substantial resources. I hadn't really pushed there. "What can you do?"
She smiled. "I am as mortal as you, Wizard Dresden" (which meant mostly), "but I can do your paperwork and research, answer your communications, be another pair of hands when needed, and of course, I still have a perfect memory and all that Lasciel knew. I may not tell all, but I can tell much."
Stars and Stones. I'd be hiring an angelic librarian with her own internal library. "Uh, where would you live?"
"You have a castle. It has, I believe, substantial living quarters."
"You'd move in with me?"
"It seems apropos. Although given your record, I'd like to state now that I would prefer not to serve in battle or in bed." She gave me a wicked grin with that and I recalled teaching Molly a lesson with a jug of ice water. "And while I intend to learn to cook, we had perhaps better not rely on my skills there for some time!" A much warmer smile.
"Stay there." I headed back to the bar. Mac perked up attentively, and cocked an eyebrow. I put my coffee mug on the bar, and hissed at him "What the hell Mac? She wants a job? What if I say no?"
He swept a hand in an inviting gesture at the space behind the bar and the kitchen beyond.
"Oh. Good man. Should I say yes? What do I know about being a boss?"
He smiled, and brought out a child-sized mug from under the counter, and placed it next to my big one. I'd brought Maggie in here last month, after a walk through a snow-covered city. She'd had hot chocolate and looked at all the carvings on the thirteen pillars as if she wanted to do rubbings of them. Mac was right. I was managing to be a Dad. Boss was no great challenge.
"Thanks Mac. Oh hey, can you teach her to cook?"
He gave a grunt that might have been another snort of laughter, and nodded deliberately.
I returned to Not-Sheila and sat down. "Okay, I guess I can.... give you a job?"
"So hesitant, my lord?"
"Don't call me that. Not master either. Really."
"Mr Dresden?"
"If you must. Boss is fine. Oh hell, do I need to do anything special?"
"The Rite of Naming and Binding would be an appropriate bit of ceremony, if you recall it?"
I nearly bit my lip. That had been one of last lessons of my first teacher, just before I broke away from him and... never mind. He'd taught us that one, with intent to perform it.
"I really don't want to bind you into anything!"
"Boss, that you do not would mean it is lighter than most mortal contracts. You would not be chaining me into servitude, you'd be gifting me a leashless collar of cobweb."
I blinked at that. "Okay. Poetic. Nice. Right, I'd need..."
At a footstep behind me, I turned to see Mac there. He passed me a small tray, on which was a white napkin and a shotglass of something that smelled expensive. Whiskey. I gave him a suspicious look, but he just took a step back and crossed his arms, watching and waiting.
"Right. And a name. I have thought of one."
"It's one of your strengths boss. Along with quick if imprecise wit."
I ignored that and continued. "You'll be working as my PA. With knowledge and secrets and expertise, and a way with words. So this seems to fit." At its core, stripped of anything needed to empower it, the Rite was very simple. I gathered a thread of power, and spun it through the tiny glass of whiskey. I dipped a thumb in it and she leaned towards me. I pressed my thumb on her forehead; "I name you Sage, and welcome you to my service."
She gasped, and I bit down on mine, as I felt her mind, as if a weight at the end of a thin thread, barely in tension. I took a sip of the whiskey. So did Sage. Then she nearly choked and I handed her the napkin.
"Thanks boss. Achem. I'm not ready for that stuff, I think."
"It's an acquired taste."
"Well." She looked up at me, brown eyes twinkling. "I'm on your staff."
"And I didn't even bring my staff."
"Not going to do the joke about your other staff."
"Probably best."
We had to have a long talk there to hash out the details, of course. It did help that Sage, as Lash, had been in my head for a while and knew most of those involved in my life. And when we eventually stomped out into the winter air, I was mostly thinking about what women I knew who could take her on a shopping trip for a few things, and thought of something she might want to know.
"Sage?"
"Yes boss?"
"After Lash.... uh.... died, I found she'd left me something. Well, a few things, but one in particular."
"Anything dangerous?"
"Oh indeed. Lash used to refer to Lasciel as her Big Sister."
"No, that was you boss."
"Okay, fine. But as I said, she left me with something when she left. Daughter of Lash," (I grinned inwardly), "you have a little sister!"
"....what?!"