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"Nope, sorry, no can do," I said. "Do you want me to say it in Italian? I mean, I don't actually know Italian, so I can't, but I could probably put something together in Latin if you think it'll help."
Marcone's eyes narrowed at my rambling, and okay, look, here's the thing: usually, I would have enjoyed that. Riling up people that could probably kill me was something of a pastime of mine, and even though Marcone was genuinely kind of terrifying, I'm pretty sure I could take him a fight. So I wouldn't normally blink an eye.
Except the truth was I owed him, and I hated owing him, and I didn't know how to explain why I couldn't do the relatively simple little favor that he was asking for in return. Not even in Latin, despite my impertinent claim.
See, two weeks ago, he basically saved my life. I tried to claim that I had everything under control, but considering I'd been done up in Thorn Manacles with a knife to my neck when he came riding out of who knows where to save the day, I didn't have much of a case. He saved my ass. I knew it, and he knew it.
"Mr. Dresden, I don't think my request is unduly unreasonable," Marcone told me calmly.
He actually said both 'unduly' and 'unreasonable' together. I had to bite my lip to refrain from any sarcastic asides regarding his use of alliteration.
"I am assured it's quite a common ingredient, and easily accessible by any wizard on your White Council," he continued firmly, one hand calmly placed on his desk, not even tapping. Sometimes his restraint freaked me out more than anything else about him.
"Yeah, but see, here's the thing," I started, reaching up to absently rub my ear. "Even if I wanted to, which, by the way, if we're being honest, I don't, I'm telling you that I can't."
"He speaks the truth," Gard agreed, apparently having materialized next to me. I fought to hold back a twitch at her sudden appearance at my side, and glanced up warily from where I was slouched in the chair across from Marcone's desk.
She was calmly sorting through a stack of papers. She was wearing flats and still probably upwards of six feet, and from my disadvantage of sitting down, I was getting a little of my own back for walking around so much taller than everyone else all the time. She looked more than a little intimidating, and not just because I knew she could pack more power in a single rune than I could work up to in a week.
"Right," I agreed, then turned back and smirked at Marcone. "So we good? We done?"
Marcone ignored me, glancing over at Gard in irritation. I always knew the guy was fearless, but if hadn't already, seeing him glaring up at a freakin' Valkyrie would have done it. "You're the one that said any wizard on the council could acquire it."
"Yes, I'm sorry," Gard responded, apparently unfazed by his irritation, and not sounding very sorry, either. "I should have specified: any wizard that is of legal age. They do not allow such a dangerous ingredient to be handled by their children. I did mention acquisition would not be a simple matter, and had I known of your intention to enlist Mr. Dresden, would have voiced my concerns."
"I'm not—" I sputtered, indignant. "I'm not a child! It's a…it's a technicality! And I probably could get it, except they'd want to see my identification, and I—" Marcone held up a hand, forestalling me. Usually that wouldn't have worked, but I was actually relieved for the excuse to shut up.
"You can't get it for me…because you'll be carded?" he asked carefully, his brow furrowing in disbelief.
"Like I said, it's a technicality!" I insisted. "Look, dragon's claw is used in a lot of black magic, so they put some weird, arbitrary age restriction on it to keep it only in the hands of the most senior members of the council. That's all."
I sat back, pleased with my explanation. It was even for the most part true.
"That is not strictly true," Gard said, glancing back up at Marcone, and shattering my awesome damage control right to hell. "A wizard is not of full legal age until age 55. Harry Dresden is, I believe, thirty-two at most? In wizard terms, he is still very much a child. They age differently than mortals, though they reach physical maturity at the same rate, emotionally and magically, development is much slower. To other wizards, Harry would be seen and treated as you might a mortal of about age fourteen or fifteen."
Gard, bless her cold oblivious heart, seemed to have no understanding of the world of trouble she was bringing down on my head. I gaped up at her, making an aborted move to protest, before closing my mouth again. She didn't even glance at me as she finished sorting the pile and then added the stack of papers to Marcone's In Box, like she was a scarily efficient secretary, and not a scarily efficient...well, whatever she actually did.
"That's an exaggeration," I finally ground out, flushing hotly. "It's more like, I'm past eighteen but not quite twenty one."
Gard inclined her head, finally deigning to glance down at me. "By mortal law, that might be a fair assessment. You are allowed to live on your own and copulate with whomever you may so wish, but wizards are not so easily definable as mortals. They generally require a guardian until age thirty-five, and as I recall, you had to receive special dispensation to get around that. A better comparison might be to call you an emancipated minor." She frowned at me, as though she couldn't understand why I was getting so upset. "You are, to them, and to me, still very much a child. You have not even reached one eighth of your lifespan."
"Why do you not have a guardian?" Marcone asked, looking so ridiculously concerned I had to fight to keep from slamming my head onto his stupid, overly expensive desk.
"I sort of did, when I came to Chicago, okay, but I was able to prove I didn't need him anymore," I explained, hoping that would end it.
Gard watched me confusion, and then nodded. "I see," she said. "You speak of your appointed executioner."
"You're still considered a child," Marcone says, his expression becoming more and more horrified, "and your guardian was an executioner?"
I'd never seen Marcone's cool, emotionless mask break quite like this before, and it was sort of terrifying. I could practically see the gears the man had in his brain shifting, reviewing everything he knew within this new context. I tried to shut down that line of thought before it could go too far. "Gard's like thousands of years old, you can't listen to her! We're all infants to her!"
It didn't seem to work, Marcone just kept watching me with that intense gaze, before finally giving a slight nod as he came to some sort of conclusion. "Well," he said, "teenage rebellion would certainly explain most of our interactions."
I dropped my head into my hands. "Hell's bells, I am not a child! Stop looking at me with that creepy, 'must protect the child' look that you get! It's nothing to do with me, I'm all grown up. Pay my own rent and everything."
"You're two months late," Marcone said dryly.
I looked up sharply. "Okay, one, I hope you know how creepy it is that you know that. Two, I always eventually pay my rent. Satisfied? Are we done? Good. Have a lovely evening. Try not to kill yourself if you do manage to get your hands on some dragon's claw."
"Hold it right there, Mr. Dresden," he said, his quiet voice somehow more demanding that most people could manage by shouting. "We are not finished."
"Oh yes we are," I decided, heading for the door. Then the brick wall known as Hendricks neatly stepped into the office, easily blocking the only way out with his bulk. I had no idea how Marcone had even signaled him.
I turned back to Marcone in frustration. "Are we really going to do this?"
Gard causally reached out a hand and laid it against the wall. Runes lit up suddenly across one side of the office to the other, and I abruptly felt access to my power disappear. It left me feeling cold, but I managed enough bravado to look back at her and ask, "E tu?"
"Now, are you going to sit down and have a civil conversation like the adult you say you are, or should I ask Mr. Hendricks to put you there?" Marcone asked.
I didn't like being cut off from my magic, and I sure as hell didn't like being told what to do. I glanced back at Hendricks, judging my chances in a fight. I could still feel my magic, held just slightly out of reach, not unlike the effects of the Thorn Manacles.
Unlike the Thorn Manacales, though, I was pretty sure if I tried hard enough, I could bring up enough magic force to knock Hendricks out of my way, and once I broke free of the rune covered walls, I'd be home free.
But…and it was a big one…I did sort of trust Marcone, at least to the extent of the code he kept, and I knew he wouldn't hurt me unless he had no other choice. I was essentially safe here, if not comfortable, and if I turned this into a fight, someone was going to end up hurt, and that was gonna be on me.
I took a calming breath, and then reluctantly dropped back down into the chair. I would give him a chance to talk. Knocking Cujo out always makes for a comforting Plan B, anyway.
"What else do you want to know?" I asked impatiently.
"If you are truly not considered an adult, why are you left to your own devices by the others of your kind?" he asked, that little frown coming back to mar his features again.
"We're not aliens," I deadpanned. "Christ, Marcone, I'm the same today as I was yesterday. I can take care of myself. Do I look like a kid to you?"
"It is true you are grown physically," Gard allowed, acknowledging me with a nod. "But your magic is not. It is still in its infancy, untamed and growing. It makes young wizards impulsive and reckless. You could say it's a kind of magical puberty."
"Or you could not," I broke in quickly. "How about none of us ever say that?"
Once again, Gard ignored me with an ease I was trying not to take personally. "By age thirty-five, Wizards generally have a good enough grasp on their magic and their decisions are more tempered. They are allowed to venture into the world at this point as provisional adults, however, they will not reach their full magical potential and be considered a legal adult until age 55."
The look Marcone gave me had my stomach sinking down somewhere near my feet. "I'm really mature for my age, though," I assured him.
"It's true," Gard said simply, and I looked up in surprise at her unexpected defense. "Mr. Dresden is very mature for his age."
"Come again?" Marcone asked incredulously. I turned to glare at him.
"Most wizards Mr. Dresden's age would still be living with their masters, trying to grasp more difficult spell work. Dresden's unusually large reserve of power and innate talent for combat magic has him at least a decade ahead of his peers. Possibly more."
"Of course," Gard continued, before I even had time to be grateful for the praise, "it is likely the only reason the White Council granted his request to come here on his own was that they hoped he would make another grievous mistake before he was old enough to know any better, and they would be within their rights to cut off his head."
I went still. It wasn't that I hadn't heard that particular theory before. Ebenezar had yelled it at me the whole time I'd been packing for Chicago—which for Ebenezar, had been as close to asking me to stay as he ever got.
But it was something else entirely to hear it stated so bluntly, as if it were fact.
What just made it stranger was that Marcone seemed to be taking the statement even harder than me.
"Explain," he demanded tightly.
"I can't talk about it," I said quickly. "It's like Fight Club rules."
"I, however, have no such restrictions," Gard said easily. "As per my consultory agreement, I may divulge any information I deem necessary."
"This is not necessary," I said quickly. "There's no one in danger, and it's certainly no threat to Marcone."
"It is, however, a threat to you. And considering your close relationship to Marcone—"
"Can you really call a relationship close when it's with your stalker?" I asked.
Gard ignored me again, as was her custom, and continued as though I hadn't spoken. "—he could possibly be caught in the crossfire, or might request or demand something of you that you are not authorized to give. Considering you are not at liberty to tell him when that is the case, the responsibility falls to me." She looked at me, almost apologetic. "In any case, I have already briefed Marcone on the White Council."
"You mean to tell me that the wizarding council you briefed me on, the ruling powers of magic, has executed children?" Marcone asked, his voice deathly calm.
"With disturbing frequency," Gard agreed easily.
I gaped at her. Did she not understand how Marcone was about children? "You can't just say that without explaining!" I protested.
"And what should I explain?" she asked, and despite the guileless tone, I was suddenly certain she knew exactly what trouble she was causing. "That the White Council frequently ignores young people with talent, and then punishes them for breaking rules they have no knowledge of? It is rare that the punishment is anything other than death—you yourself were only saved by Ebenezer McCoy's intervention, never mind that you were basically a toddler at the time."
"Okay, let's not rewrite history, I was a teenager," I interjected warily, growing more and more concerned by the steely look on Marcone's face. "Seriously! I was sixteen, not two. Let's retain some perspective."
"From the beginning," Marcone snapped.
I glanced pleadingly at Gard. I admit it—I wasn't above begging for a good cause, and I really didn't want all my secrets laid out before Marcone. The fact that Gard knew was disturbing enough, but manageable at least. She was unlikely to actually care.
"The details of the case are not mine to divulge," she said after a moment, but I was barely able to let out a breath of relief before she continued, "suffice it to say Mr. Dresden was accused of breaking one of the laws of magic, and he has been living under the threat of death ever since."
"I see," he said icily. The tighter under control Marcone was, the more dangerous he became. Right now, he was completely terrifying, but I tried to keep my own expression neutral. I was fairly certain the anger was not directed at me, but on my behalf, under some misguided illusion that I was in need of protection.
"I would like to meet this White Council," Marcone decided.
I barked out a startled laugh, and everyone glanced at me sharply. "What?" I asked. "That was a joke, right?"
"I never joke about the welfare of children," Marcone said simply.
"I am not—" I started furiously.
He held up a hand again, this time meant to be appeasing. "Even if I were to concede your assertion and disregard what is, apparently, the standard of your kind—you were sixteen at the time this began, is that not correct? And that is certainly a child by anyone's measure."
I stood up, slamming my hands on the desk and towering over the sitting Marcone. "Do I look like a child to you?"
"Maturity is in no way correlated with height or size," he answered calmly, depressingly un-intimidated. "And the fact that you would even make such a childish defense only serves to further prove the point."
I sputtered for a moment, irritated that he was right. It's not as though I meant my size, just sort of meant to intimidate him.
And apparently utterly failed.
"You understand that this is ridiculous, right?" I asked, trying a different tack.
"I've learned of a great many amazing things since my eyes have been opened to this world," Marcone told me, leaning forward, his eyes so kind it sort of hurt to meet them head on. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I'd seen into Marcone's soul before, and it didn't look anything like what I was seeing now. "You are closely tied to your magic, are you not?"
"Of course," I snapped.
"And you admit freely, your magic will continue to mature? You are not yet at the height of your ability?" he asked.
I narrowed my eyes. "Look, that isn't—"
"Yes or no, Mr. Dresden?" he interrupted.
"Yes," I snapped out. "Usually it's after the first century that you reach the height of your power, and from then on, it's just about acquiring more skill."
"Which means you won't reach your full potential for another, sixty years or so? That's only a couple decades short of my total expected lifespan," he said.
"I wouldn't count yourself out yet," I said snidely. "You've already got the title of Baron, and I'm pretty sure I've read that dragon's claw is most commonly used in extending lifespan. So let's not pretend you don't have plans."
"Regardless," Marcone said, smiling vaguely. "My point is, how could I ever use the same measure for you that I would use for myself?"
"It doesn't matter," I insisted. "Look, this doesn't change anything."
"On the contrary, I feel that it does," Marcone said, steepling his fingers beneath the tip of his chin like some kind of suave incarnation of Mr. Burns. "Your Council willfully kills ignorant children that they've made no effort to teach or save."
"Yeah, so you can bet they won't have any problem with killing you," I warned him. "You don't know what they're capable of. You don't know what they can do."
"Hmm, yes, well, in any case, it's nothing for you to worry over," he told me, after a moment's pause. He glanced up to again meet my eyes, and I startled a step back at the strange expression in them. The Soulgaze is a one time deal, no refunds or exchanges, but I wondered, for a brief moment, if we got do-overs, whether I would see the same soul now that I had back then.
"Right, suit yourself," I said, my voice somehow managing to remain steady. I spun on my heel to head for the door. Hendricks had just started to move out of the way to let me through when Marcone called me back.
"Harry, you do still owe me a favor," he called.
"What do you want?" I asked warily, glancing back reluctantly, because it was true. I still owed him, and I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to, but that didn't mean I didn't still have to do something. I may not be Sidhe, but I didn't leave my debts unpaid.
"Nothing yet," he answered, his eyes staring past me towards the wall, a small frown etched into his lips as he fell deep into thought. "But in the days to come, there might be a time I ask you to stay out of Edinburgh."
I could almost feel myself go pale, and opened my mouth to protest, but Gard gently pushed me the rest of the way out the door, and then closed it in my face.
"Hell's Bells," I whispered.
John Marcone was actually going after the White Council, which was crazy enough.
But what was crazier was that I wasn't sure he wouldn't win.