I'll just never learn to stop with these multi-chapter fics. J
Hope everyone enjoys!
Like most people, Harry knew that he had his good days and bad days. Though of late, the wizard was beginning to wonder if he'd inadvertently pissed off someone with a lot of supernatural clout. Well, pissed off more than usual.
In the past month, Harry's normally infrequent business had trailed off into virtually nothing. Chicago's police department had been issued with a hiring freeze, meaning that while Harry was only a freelancer, the lack of funds available meant it would be awhile until Murphy would be able to call him with a job. Any work the wizard did find himself involved in on his own had less to do with clients coming to him and more of Harry accidentally crossing paths with humans who were on the verge of getting either eaten by a demon or driven crazy by a haunting. And while it might not have been any of his business, the wizard hadn't been about to just leave said demons or ghosts to it. Not when he had the skills to stop them.
Monetary compensation would have been nice, though Harry hadn't asked for any of the people who had fallen into his hands, desperately in need of rescue. But the wizard could have done without last week's damsel in distress calling the cops on him for interrupting what she thought was a romantic night out. Never mind that her boyfriend had been a succubus, prepping her as a nice dinner course for himself.
And there had been the guy two weeks before who had been under the thrall of a sylph, disguised as the spirit of his dead wife. For his pains of destroying the sylph and saving the man from becoming spiritual fuel, Harry had been delivered a punch and a diatribe by the widower who continued to believe the wizard had undesirably exorcised the ghost of his wife.
Harry wondered why he even bothered helping sometimes.
And currently watching as his Jeep got towed, the wizard wondered why he even bothered to get out of bed sometimes.
"Read the sign, pal," stated the officer who had called in the tow. "No parking here on Tuesdays."
Harry stared at the sign that was as clear as day, telling him just that. Only the wizard could have sworn it had been different last night. But he doubted his claim of the sign having mysteriously switched overnight was going to hold up well.
"Fine," Harry relented, telling himself to count to ten. "I made a mistake. But you're towing me for this?"
"I'm impounding you."
"What?!"
"One mistake gets you a ticket," the cop replied, having already mentally moved on. "Having six unpaid parking tickets gets you impounded."
"But…you can't," Harry said, weakly, picturing very clearly in his mind the pile of unpaid parking tickets gathered on his desk. "I'm late for a meeting." The feeble protest was met with an unsympathetic look from the cop.
"You get your car when you pay," he stated.
"Listen, officer," Harry tried. "I need to make this meeting. If I don't, I can't get the money to pay for the car."
"Better call a cab, then," the cop replied, underlining his point by slapping a ticket and a notice letter to Harry's chest.
"I'm cursed, Bob," stated Harry.
"I believe that's my line," replied the ghost. He watched in silence as Harry slammed the door of his office shut, the one he'd just walked out of not five minutes ago. In his hand, the wizard was brandishing a slip of orange paper that he smacked down on his desk next to the others. "Again?" Bob asked. "Harry, that's the seventh one in the last two weeks."
"I know," Harry snapped. "I swear up and down that parking sign said it was legal until the weekend. Jesus, even I'M getting tired of hearing that," the wizard exclaimed. The most recent misreading of a parking sign had not been a fluke, but more a steady problem.
"Aren't you going to be late in meeting Mrs. Finley?" inquired the ghost on the waiting client.
"Thanks for the memo, Bob," Harry retorted, snatching up his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"What's it look like? I'm calling for a cab," Harry scowled, dialing. "The Jeep's been impoun-" The wizard's frustrations were interrupted by a sharp squeal from the earpiece as the phone fizzled and crackled. The dial tone was gone as a wisp of smoke rose up from the handset. "Oh, this is NOT happening!" Harry shouted, slamming the phone back on the cradle with enough force to finish it off. "God dammit!"
"Harry, perhaps you should calm down. Take a breath," Bob advised, seeing the inadvertently murdered phone.
"I AM CALM!"
The lights angled on Harry's prized Astounding Dresden poster abruptly winked out with a faint pop. Standing in a little more darkness, the wizard slumped against his desk with a long sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.
"Harry-" Bob began.
"I know, I know," Harry said from behind his fingers. "Take a breath. Focus. I won't do her any good showing up like this," he listed.
"No, I was going to say maybe you should stay in today," Bob suggested. The ghost was using his soft voice, the one Harry knew only appeared as often as a smile from Morgan.
I must look like hell for him to be talking to me like that, the wizard guessed.
"It's fine," Harry stated, tiredly. He gave his face one last scrub. "I'm fine. I'm calm now." Bob was staring at him, an incredulous frown on his face that was mixed with concern. Okay, I must REALLY look like hell. "I can't cancel on Mrs. Finley, Bob. I'll need that money to get the Jeep out now."
"You can always postpone until tomorrow," said Bob. "It's not as if she has another wizard on hold should you fail to relieve her of the boggart."
"I promised her that I'd do it today."
"But if you're cursed as you suspect-"
"I was just exaggerating, Bob," Harry interrupted. "You know how I get."
"Yes, I do," said the ghost, giving him a thoughtful look. "And I know that not even you are capable of this much carelessness," he continued, gesturing to the pile of parking tickets.
"Thanks, I think."
"Really, Harry. There might be more here than simple bad luck. There are several possibilities as to why you've been plagued by so many troubles this past month."
"I'm not cursed. It's just my life," Harry replied. The normally sarcastic edge was gone from the wizard's tone, replaced by something that sounded slightly defeated. Hearing it only increased the ghost's worries.
"I would advise you to give a little more thought to your cursed theory," said Bob, gingerly trying to lead his former student away from his depression.
"Well, theories will have to wait until I get back. Bob, we gotta take care of first things first," said Harry off of the ghost's anxious stare. The wizard felt around his pockets for spare change and came up with a couple of quarters to use to call a cab from a payphone. "And the first thing is doing a job and getting paid."
"Shouldn't the first thing be your safety?" asked the spirit.
Harry gave Bob a bitter smile. "Have we met?"
Mrs. Martha Finley was a 60 some year old woman who ran a small Laundromat on the other side of town. The white haired, portly grandmother type had come to the wizard as a last resort after several exterminators had informed her that whatever scratching she was hearing coming from her walls, it wasn't a rat.
Mrs. Finley had figured that much out herself after six of her dryers had exploded simultaneously, spitting out wads of laundry. The poor woman had nearly suffocated to death when the 300 thread count sheets she'd been washing for someone had engulfed her in a hot embrace.
It had taken Harry one visit to figure out a particularly aggressive boggart was at work. And it had taken him a couple of days more to figure out how to extract the spirit from the premises. The fact that extraction had ended in success with Harry suffering only the boggart soaking him in soapy water in its exit, had the wizard considering it the better part of his week. And unlike the others, Mrs. Finley was only relieved and exceedingly grateful.
"Please stay for a cup of tea, Mr. Dresden," she offered with an eager smile. Martha Finley had the face most children would consider to be that of a hag's, but her dark green eyes shined with a kindness that made her beautiful to Harry after the month he'd experienced. As the exhausted wizard helped her scoop up the dripping laundry that had burst out in the boggart's wake, he thought about all the troubles awaiting him beyond Finley's door. And the thought of tea to hold off the inevitable, sounded too inviting to turn down.
An hour later, Harry was folding his long legs as best he could under the unusually low table Mrs. Finley had set his tea and a plate of cookies on. "Scottish breakfast," she announced, pleasantly. "The very best kind of tea. Much better than that British." As Harry took a gulp, the small woman pushed a fat looking envelope toward him across the table. "Your payment, Mr. Dresden. And you've earned every penny."
For once Harry didn't quibble over the money or the praise and gratefully took the envelope. Sitting in her kitchen with the comforting smell of laundry detergent wafting in, the wizard felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. "I'm sorry I was late in meeting you today," he apologized.
"Oh, you're such a polite dear," Finley praised with a smile. The perpetually scrunched up features sagged a little with melancholy. "You're just the sort of man I would have loved to have as a son," she mentioned.
Seeing the shadow darken her eyes, Harry felt a twist of sympathy toward her. There was some tragedy in her past that she held close to her heart and having lived with a ghost who shared a similar history, the wizard knew not to pry or pity. Instead, he smiled as brightly as he could at the sad compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Finley."
His voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she'd been momentarily lost in. She quickly returned the smile with a cheerful one of her own. "I'm simply fascinated by what you were able to do for me," she said, pouring herself a cup. A thin, gold bracelet slid down her fat wrist and clinked lightly against the ceramic teapot. "It must be terribly wonderful to have such abilities."
"More terrible than wonderful these days," Harry murmured into his tea.
"Oh, dear," frowned Finley. "I thought I noticed a certain cloud over your head when you came to see me. Here, have a black and white cookie," she urged, pushing the plate toward him. In all his years, Harry had never had the experience of someone trying to soothe his troubles by offering him baked goods. Even when he'd been living with his father as a small boy, the stage magician had only offered comfort to Harry in the form of soft jokes and his general, loving presence. But Finley looked so convinced that a cookie could successfully cheer Harry up that the wizard found himself believing her as well and bit into the sweet treat.
As the delicious taste spread on his tongue, Harry felt his heart lighten. The room felt warm, the company pleasant. The wizard wanted nothing more, suddenly, than to pass the entire day with her.
"This is really good," Harry complimented around his mouthful.
"My own recipe. The secret is cinnamon." Watching Harry chew, Finley took a surprisingly dainty sip from her own teacup, despite her sausage-like fingers. "I'd imagine the life of a wizard is nothing but fascinating. It must be like a fairy tale."
"Not exactly," Harry sighed, feeling the weight of what awaited him again. "Being this way hasn't ever done me much good." He'd said it as the first thing that came to mind, but thinking over his life since he'd first discovered his powers, the wizard realized it wasn't far from the truth. "Half the time I just want to be like everyone else."
"Really?" asked Mrs. Finley, resting her chin on her hand. "You wish to be a regular person?"
"Sure. Why not?" said Harry, thinking of the slew of problems that could be erased with just that one change. He would be able to get a regular job and be around a microwave without having it freak out on him. But more attractively, he would finally be issued some time off. A reprieve from taking on responsibilities that of late had only discouraged and disheartened the wizard. He was tired of being beleaguered upon and he was tired of being constantly broke. He wanted room for a break. Sadly, his occupation couldn't afford vacation days. Thinking on the cyclical nature of his life and the never-ending he'd been trapped in, Harry felt achingly tired. "I'd love to just be normal."
Mrs. Finley smiled. "Well, then I'm afraid that's that, Mr. Dresden," she replied.
"That's what?" asked Harry. The squat old woman slid a thick hand across the table and grasped the wizard's thin fingers. It was a simple motion and the wizard wondered for a moment if she was only giving him a comforting gesture.
But then it was as if someone had simply switched the lights out in the room, plunging the entire area into darkness. Only the black was absolute and Harry could no longer even feel his body as he floated lost and drift less in the inky air. Any sound or shout of exclamation died in his throat as he lost track of his neck, his limbs, his thoughts and himself.
Harry was falling, spinning, breaking, disappearing.
And then as quickly as he was nearly nothing, Harry felt life spark up in his body, like a struck match. His body flared with awareness as something solid and wooden connected with the back of his head with a sharp crack.
"Harry! You okay?" he heard someone demand.
Harry tried to tell the strangely familiar voice that he was fine, except being blind, only to realize that he simply had his eyes closed. Immediately, he felt hands gently padding his body, cradling his aching head.
"Ow," Harry muttered.
There was a sigh of relief. "Jeez, kiddo. That was a nasty fall."
At the nickname he hadn't heard in twenty years, Harry opened his eyes at the face hovering above his. He blinked rapidly at the image, almost willing himself to wake up so that he could get going on feeling sad already at losing what could only be a wonderfully nostalgic dream. Only he wasn't waking up. And it wasn't a dream.
"Dad?"