by Jim Butcher
The weird thing was that the film just vanished after two days. No one knew what happened to it, but the film technician in the room with the exclusive WGN Channel Nine videotape disappeared, too, leaving only a few scattered and low-quality copies. A couple of days later, some experts spoke up claiming that the tape had to be fake, and decrying it as a simple hoax perpetrated by a tabloid.
Some people just can’t deal with the thought of the supernatural being real. Federal government is like that, a lot. But I’m thinking that if anyone in the government did believe, they would just as soon not have had proof of the existence of werewolves and the instability of a local FBI agent showing at five, six, and ten.
The film’s disappearance didn’t stop Susan from getting a promotion at the Arcane, a big raise, and a guest slot on the Larry King show, plus a few other places. She looked good doing it, too, and made people think. She’s getting her column syndicated. Maybe, in a few hundred years, people might actually be willing to consider what was real in the world with an open mind.
But I doubted it.
I didn’t call Susan for a while, after she had seen me so far gone into being a monster that I might as well have been one. She didn’t pressure me, but kept her presence known. She’d send me flowers, sometimes, or have a pizza delivered to my office when I was working late. Hell of a girl.
Tera was badly injured, but recovered thanks to her own reversion to human form, and Murphy’s quick first aid. She asked me to meet her at Wolf Lake Park a few weeks later, and when I showed up, she was there, wearing just a long black cloak.
“I wished to tell you that what you did was necessary. And I wished to tell you good-bye,” she said. And slipped the cloak off. She was naked, with a few new, wrinkled scars. “Good-bye.”
“Where will you go?” I asked.
She tilted those odd amber eyes at me. “I have family,” she said. “I have not seen them in a long time. I will return to them now.”
“Maybe you’ll call, sometime?”
Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled at me, a little sadly. “No, Harry Dresden. That is not the way of my kind. Come to the great mountains in the Northwest one winter. Perhaps I will be there.” And then she shimmered into the shape of a great timber wolf, and vanished into the sunset.
All those people shape-shifting into wolves, and I had never once considered the possibility of a wolf shape-shifting into a person. I picked up Tera’s cloak, musing, and took it home with me, as a reminder to keep my mind even more open to the realms of possibility.
The Alphas decided that I’m about the greatest thing since sliced bread. Which isn’t exactly the most thrilling thing in the world for me. They asked me to a campout with them, which I reluctantly attended, where all dozen-odd young people swore friendship and loyalty to me, and where I spent a lot of time blinking and trying to say nothing. They’re just itching for me to lead them in some meaningful crusade against evil. Hell, I have trouble just paying the bills.
When I took some time to think about all that had happened, I couldn’t help but think that the last several months had been a little too crazy for coincidence. First, a power-drunk warlock had appeared out of nowhere, and I had to duke it out with him in his own stronghold before he murdered me outright. And then, Denton and his people showed up with enchanted wolf belts and raised hell.
I never had found out who exactly was behind the warlock who showed up the previous spring. Black wizards don’t just grow up like toadstools, you know. Someone has to teach them complicated things like summoning demons, ritual magic, and clichéd villain dialogue. Who had been his teacher?
And Denton and company had shown up six months later. Someone had provided them with those belts. Someone had warned Denton that I was dangerous, that I or someone like me from the Council would go after him. And by telling him that, they had pointed him at me like a gun, determined to kill me.
I’m not much of a believer in coincidence. Could it have been one of my enemies on the White Council? One of the beings of the Nevernever who had come to hate me? I was on the list of a number of nasty things, for one reason or another.
“You know what?” I told Mister one night in front of the fire. “Maybe I’ve finally gone around the bend, but I think someone might be trying to kill me.”
Mister looked up at me, his feline features filled with a supreme lack of concern, and rolled over so that I could rub his tummy. I did, pensive and comfortable before the fire, and thought about who it might be. And then thought that I might be getting a little stir-crazy. I hadn’t gone anywhere but to work and back home for a couple of weeks. Too much work and no play makes Harry a paranoid boy.
I reached for the phone and started spinning the dial to Susan’s number. Mister batted at my hand approvingly.
“Or maybe I’m just too stupid to get out of trouble’s way, eh?”
Mister rumbled a deep, affirmative purr in his chest. I settled back to ask Susan over, and enjoyed the warmth of the fire.