Title: infriga
Summary: A dead man walks into a bar. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Post Ghost Story. Ignores Cold Days. 600 words

Fic a day 11

Macs is packed, most of the paranetters in town looking for safety, the fans work overtime to keep the room cool. It's too close to Halloween to mess about with petty magics, and there aren't any full blown wizards in town since Dresden died. Chicago got a lot more dangerous when he died. Hell, world got a lot more dangerous when he died. Presumably that's a coincidence.

The Ragged Lady does what she can, but she hasn't got the raw power to do what Harry did.

Mac's is accorded territory; the Fomor are getting bold, not stupid. They've gotten shut down hard every time they've made an attempt to take this part of town so they've gotten more cautious. The Fomor have a couple of turtlenecks on a table to Mac's right but they're minding their business and not causing trouble so he lets them be. They got as much right to a beer as anyone.

It's three minutes 'til seven and Mac has just fended off another rush when he hears the door open. He doesn't look up. It's a busy night. They'll find their way over eventually.

It's a mistake. He knows that as soon as the room goes dead silent, spreading from the door.

All six and a half feet of Harry Dresden is folding himself into the Mac's pub.

Mac has got the shotgun he keeps under the bar out and leveled before whatever is wearing Dresden's face makes its all the way in.

"Hey Mac," Says the thing. It's got its arms up, and it looks like Dresden, unshaved, bags under his eyes, same shitty sense of style, wearing black jeans and cowboy boots, why anything would want to look like that when they could do the cleaned-up version beats him. It sounds like him too, a little hoarse.

"Out." He says. gesturing with the shotgun. "Got no right to come in here wearing that man's face."

By now the crowd is angry. Harry Dresden was theirs and some demon's walking around wearing his skin. It's gonna turn ugly quick if the thing doesn't leave, probably for the paranetters, too many kids here tonight, kids with a taste for their power and not a clue about their limits. Shapeshifting's heavy enough that if turns to a fight lot of people will die.

Murphy steps out from behind him, "I'll vouch. Got Molly to check out him." Mostly she just looks exhausted. Back before Dresden died this wouldn't have flown. Murphy was just a cop, just a person in the know, and there's plenty those 'round. But now? Karrin Murphy will make Chicago safe if it kills her and she's the only person who will hear you out.

Ragged Lady is too damn scary for that.

The crowd eases up. They know Murphy, better then most of them ever knew Dresden. If she says he's good then he's good.

Dresden smiles but it doesn't touch his eyes. He moves like he aches towards the bar. The crowd watches him go, finally remembering that he could fry the lot of them. Mac uncaps him one of his special brew.

He sits on one of the barstools, Murphy hanging over his shoulder, takes a sip, says, "Thanks Mac."

Then he swivels around to face the crowd and without raising his voice, says "This is still my city."

The room's colder then it was a moment before, as if the heat is being sucked out. "If you're here because I was gone, I'll give you an hours head start."

The he smiles, like he means it, vicious. Murphy swears under her breath.

"Start running." He says. The bar is very cold.