The sign on the door said, “Closed for a private function.”  Any of the regulars that read it knew what it meant and who it was for.  How could they not?  He was the guy who usually sat alone, drinking a beer and brooding.  He was the guy most people were a little unsure of, not sure whether he was completely on their side, the side of the Council, or whoever was paying him the most at any given time.  He was the guy who would go to war, level a couple of buildings, scare everybody straight for a couple of months and fight until he was half dead if it meant helping his people in Chicago.

Except this time, he wasn't half dead.  Everyone that read the sign knew that this time, Harry Dresden was just dead.

The news had started like it usually does: just a whisper.  Somebody had heard something at the docks and had seen a tall person fall into the water.  Nobody had actually seen who it was, and no body had been found, but they just had to know who it was.  Besides.  Harry’s place had been burned down, and that car of his had been found totaled.  Somebody said they knew somebody who knew somebody employed by John Marcone, and he all but confirmed who it was and that nobody on the payroll was connected to any of it.

If anyone had walked by the pub and looked into the recessed windows, they would have seen how private a function it was.  One woman sitting at Harry’s regular table, staring into nothingness, with a look that said… nothing.  There’s no grief, anger, frustration or anything else to her face.  All there is, is a marrow deep look of absence.  Harry isn’t there anymore, and that’s taken something vital from her.  It looks like the room may have been set up in case other people were coming, but the only other person there is Mac.  Never a man to show much of anything, he stands behind his counter, reflexively washing the same glass over and over again.

If someone could pull back from this place and look into any building in Chicago, they could look into St. Mary of the Angels.  There, a man who looks broken and slowly on the mend kneels in a pew, alone but for his wife and a priest.  For the first time in a very long time, he can’t bring himself to pray.  He may even be afraid to, because he isn’t sure what the reply will be. His friend is gone.

In another building, a woman sits in a comfy chair, absently patting a small dog.  Her hand reaches out to pick up the phone before the first ring sounds.  “Yes, I think it’s true.  We’ll have to let people know.”  Her savior is gone.

In one of the nice apartments, it looks like it had been ransacked.  Chairs have been flipped, books have been thrown around the room, frames have been ripped from the walls and broken.  Sitting in the only upright chair, surrounded by countless bottles, is a man.  At any other time, people would call him artfully mussed; here, he’s a body with no attempt at cleanliness or care.  His brother is gone.

In a home, a young woman is curled up in her old bed.  She’s barely left the room, and has never stopped crying.  Her leg should be the thing that hurts most, but the greatest pain comes from her heart and soul.  Her teacher and crush is gone.

In a penthouse overlooking the city, an immaculate man sits at a desk.  Staring over steepled fingers, he thinks.  And plans.  And stews.  And promises.  A problem is gone, and in some dark, hidden corner of his soul, he grieves.

If someone could look beyond the city of Chicago and peer into an otherwise unremarkable apartment in Los Angeles, they’d think a bomb had gone off.  From the center of the room, it looks like everything had been thrown against the walls.  Furniture, clothes, dishes, food.  No matter the size or weight, it’s like they were toys thrown by a child.  In the center of the room, curled up on the floor and sobbing, is a woman.  The only thing anywhere close to her is a broken picture frame, showing her as a teen, being enveloped in the arms of a much larger, much geekier looking teenage boy.  Both have the smiles of the young, still with the belief that all the days afraid will be bright and that the captured moment will last.  Her first love, her first many things and her last tie to a time before trauma is gone.

And if someone could look beyond all these cities, could look beyond this continent, beyond this world, beyond this realm.  If someone could look to a place beyond everything we knew, to a place not for people.  If they could look to a land of ice, to a castle where everything is ice and cold to the touch.  If they could look at a throne, if they were allowed to look, they would see a Queen.

“So I says to him, I says, ‘Look, you crab walking Nazi ass clown.  You get one warning, then you get to choose: Doomy or a gun.’”

The blue demon next to the red devil nods his head knowingly, drains his mug.  “What is it with the Nazi’s and the weird demons they summon?  No offense.”

The red devil waves away the comment with a large, stony hand, as though it’s not worth mentioning.  “I don’t know, man. They must drag the bottom of the Pit for the winners I deal with.  I mean, come on!  A Nazi summoning a demon these days?  How stupid would the thing have to be to think, ‘Hey!  That’s a horse I can back!  These guys have a great winning streak!’”  The red demon takes a long drag from the log sized stogie nestled in his stony hand.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.  That pig sticker you carry around.  Is that…”

“Big Red!  They still let you walk around with those muttonchops?”

The red devil slowly spins around on his bar stool, hooves carving grooves into the floor, looking for whichever poor, dumb schmuck was drunk enough to insult one of the more notorious patrons of the Oblivion Bar.  He finds him, standing head and shoulders over everyone else in the bar, almost able to look the 7” behemoth square in the eye.  And in spite of himself, Hellboy smiles.

“Stretch!  Last I heard, they were keeping you locked up underground!” The two giants lake long strides across the bar floor, passing a magician in fishnet stockings, a talking chimpanzee holding court, and a man dressed in tatters that seem to have a life of their own.  Meeting in the middle, they grab each other’s hand (the more normal sized one from Hellboy) and bring each other into a back slapping embrace.

“Jeez, big guy.  Easy on the back.  I’m pushing half a century here,” Harry Dresden cracks, the scar around his eye crinkling as he mock stumbles and grins.

“Half century?  Pssh.  Come talk to me in another couple decades, then you might be on my level.”  The red demon jerks his head over to a corner of the bar, already roped off with a table and a wide array of chairs, stools and stumps surrounding it.  The two make their way over, easily giving the other hell, the way familiar drinking buddies might.

Using his height, Harry uses the walk across the bar to try and spot any of his expected party.  “First one, then?”

“Heh.  For once,” Hellboy says.  “Time zones, Stretch.  And I had a look at your guest list.  Think they might have gotten tied up with business?”

Dresden scratches at a beard that’s obviously still unfamiliar to him.  “Time zones, my well toned ass.  The whole world is going wacky.”  The magician in the fishnet stockings overhears this particular comment, looks over, judges and gives an approving smile at him.  He smiles ruefully back, saying, “Sorry, Z.  I am now officially off the market.  This ass belongs to one woman, and I think she’d kick it up around my ears if she heard I was seen flirting with other pretty ladies.”

From one of the many doors that seemed to move around the room, a woman who is nondescript compared to the other patrons walks through and takes a measured read of the place before noticing Dresden.  Raising a hand in greeting, she calls over her shoulder to the young man standing in the doorway, looking incredibly unsure about this sudden change in his life.  He hurries to keep at her heels, a hand compulsively clicking a pen at record speeds.

“Police Chief Maza,” Harry says warmly.  “Karren wishes she could make it, but…”

“Duty calls, right?” the dark skinned woman replies knowingly.  Despite looking like she’s among the eldest in the room by human standards, nothing about her indicates that age would slow her down in any way.  The faded red leather jacket, the eyes that know and have seen things not dreamt of in Horatio’s philosophies and the ease she waves a drink over from the blue devil at the bar tells everyone present that Elisa Maza, though vanilla human, is one of them. 

“Hey.  Hold on.  Who the hell is Junior?  You can’t just walk a kid like him into Oblivion,” Hellboy growls, stepping into his job as bouncer.  “Look.  Unless you have a real good ID or someone can vouch for you, you’re out, kid.”

“What?  I don’t even know where I am,” the young man chokes out.  The thumb clicking the pen is now a blur.  “I was helping Miss Maza with a monster problem back home, she said she had an appointment and I followed her and… Is that a talking monkey?”

“Chimp.  Talking chimp.  He gets touchy about that.  And he’s probably smarter than you, kid.  Stay focused.  Do you have an ID or can anybody here vouch for you?”

The young man’s green eyes search helplessly around the crowd, trying to look for anyone that could be in any way, shape or form be familiar to him.  “I don’t know!  I’ve never been here before!  How would I know anyone if I’ve never been somewhere before?”

A dark haired, purple eyed man leans back from his table at the noise to glance over, and nearly chokes on his drink, which is no small trick for those who know him.  Standing up, he calls out in a strong voice, “I can vouch for the young man.  Any Atlantean will.  I swear this in the name of the King.”

Hellboy swings his gaze between the two, sizing up the smaller while apparently weighing the words of the other man in his head.  “The King, huh?  You sure about that, Garth?  The kid gets in any trouble, you ready to foot the bill?”

“Trust me: I’d rather deal with you than his father if he finds out I didn’t help him.”

Nodding his craggy jaw, the big devil says, “Okay.”  Looking to the young man, he gives a quick tip of his head.  “You heard him, Junior.  Garth is vouching for you.  Now go thank the nice storm caller.”

Nodding frantically, the young man beelines over to his surprise advocate while Dresden and Maza catch up.

“How’s the family?” he asks, keeping an eye on the shifting doors of the room.

“Oh, you know.  Lex’s been talking with Staghart and we’re all waiting for the news.  Angela’s brood has everyone on their toes.  The usual,”  Elisa says with a small smile.  She straightens her hair from out of her collar, giving Harry a quick glance at a ring.

“The usual.  Yeah.  The big guy looking after the kids tonight?”

The smile gets a little wider as her eyes crinkle.  “He’s been getting all huffy about ‘my duties and responsibilities as both a parent and one responsible for the wellbeing of her people.’  Said I needed a night off, so he’d take the little ones out.  How about yours?”

Harry’s eyes go unfocused for a moment, while his mind ends up somewhere other than Oblivion.  “She’s good.  They’re both good.  I think I’m finally getting this ‘Dad’ thing figured out.  It’s… You know how our regular lives are tough?  I can’t count the number of times I end up freaking out about whether we should go to the zoo or the drive-in or for a walk in the park.”

“Yeah,” replies Elisa with a similar unfocused look in her eyes.  “But you love every minute of it.”

“And wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world when they smile and the world is suddenly right.”  The tall man and the shorter woman exchange a glance and a smile that says that nothing else needs to be said on the matter.

A man and a woman step through one of the doors of the bar, the two of them all but dwarfed by the other occupants.  The woman is blonde, small in stature and cute in a mature way; like the aunt who was once head cheerleader.  The man is only slightly taller than her, with jet black hair that looks like it resists any attempt at control, half-moon glasses and a robe over business clothes.  Catching sight of the towering Dresden, he taps the elbow of the woman, points at the looming landmark that is their friend and motions that he’s heading for the bar.  She makes her way through the crowd with a wolf’s grace and confidence, never appearing concerned about the people and things around her, but always aware of them.

“Hey, Other Harry,” the short woman says.

“Hey, Only Buffy,” Dresden replies.  “How’s the weather in ‘Frisco?”

Squeezing Elisa’s arm in greeting, Buffy rolls her eyes.  “Raining hard when I left, but that doesn’t mean anything.  Not like we’re going outside to enjoy the sunshine these days.”

Hellboy, catching the sudden looks of concern from the group and anticipating the question, just says, “Magic barrier keeps anything unwanted out.  We had some group of morons try to catch us with a Black Plague bomb a few years back, so the best and brightest hooked us up.”

Buffy waves back to the talking chimpanzee while uttering a small and simple, “Huh.  Black Plague bomb.  Sounds like something I would have run into in my wild and crazy days.”

“I got robots, lasers and genocidal Gargoyles,” Elsa says.  “Oh.  And half human/half animal or robot people.  The Pack was a pain.”

“Tell me about it,” Dresden mutters as he waves them towards the table.  “No word from Atticus or Verus?”

Buffy rests her hands on the back of one of the chairs and lifts it, like she’s interested to see how heavy it is.  “Potter says Verus has been off the grid for the better part of the year.  And our Council last heard that Atticus was doing some soul searching in Tasmania.  Oh,” she says off handedly to Elsa, “and Bluestone said he’d stay in town for another couple of weeks.”

“Tell him to either drive back or get Alex to make a portal.  If I hear he got on a plane and flew this thing to the castle, I’ll make Bronx sit on him.”

“I’ll see if Willow can witchy something up for him.”

The young man separates himself from Garth and his drinking companions with a hurried “Thanks” and a lot of bowing.  The dark haired man with glasses carefully navigates his way through the crowd carrying a tray filled with glasses, bottles and pitchers.  Dresden, Maza, and Buffy all find a spot at their saved table and cheer when the dark haired man lowers the tray without spilling or dropping a thing.

“Potter, for a guy who doesn’t drink, you do that too damn well,” Buffy jokes, grabbing a glass full of water and putting it in front of the young man.

The dark haired man smiles and says in a quiet voice with a cultured London accent, “You get experience as a parent.  And as an uncle to a small horde.”

Reaching out for a bottle, Dresden asks, “And how is the whole Potter/Weasley/Granger/E-I-E-I-O clan these days?”

“Well, there was the whole ‘son might go over to the Dark side’ worry a few years back, but Albus is getting along fine.  James is in his fifth year and Lily and Hugo are almost finished her first.  Rose is constantly reminding the professors that’s she Hermione’s daughter, and has started taking after her uncle, may the Hallows protect us all,” Potter starts.  He catches himself, and looks to Dresden.  “Were you asking about the ENTIRE clan, because we could be here a while.”

“You’re good,” the taller man answers easily.  “I hear through the Council grapevine how the rest of the family is, but McGonagall is pretty tightlipped about her students, even with former professors.”

Buffy stares at him before shaking her head.  “I can’t believe they actually allowed you to teach kids at an actual school.”

“You and me both,” Dresden replies, raising his drink in salute.

The conversations continue in the vein of catching up on personal history before veering into what life is like in their corner of the magical world.

“I don’t think I ever apologized for wiping out an entire species of vampires, did I?” Dresden asks of Buffy.  “That’s like losing the whole point of your career.”

“I think I can forgive you for destroying an entire group of blood sucking monsters,” she admits with a steely look in her eye, but a half grin across her face.  “Didn’t slow down the rest of the world that much.  And we’re good about the weekend where we accidentally erased magic, right?”

Potter waves the question away without even a thought.  “Didn’t even notice that.  Like it happened in a completely different universe entirely.”

“And I,” Elisa starts, getting the attention of everyone around her, “have nothing to apologize for because we know better than messing around with fundamental aspects of reality.”

Percy blinks, then looks around at the unassuming people sitting at the table.  “Who ARE you people?”

Buffy raises her hand and says, “The Slayer.”

Dresden and Potter raise theirs in unison and say, “Wizard.”

Elisa puts a hand up as though to protect herself from the question and says, “Hey.  I’m just a normal, everyday human.”

“That happens to be the head of a special magical taskforce,” Buffy adds as though it’s no big deal.  “Oh yeah.  And is married to a Gargoyle and has two, wait, three otherwise impossible children that may or may not be chosen by destiny.  You know.  The normal, everyday human way.”

Percy’s eyes go wider looking around the table and seeing these people in a new light.  Potter nods at him.  “What about you, Mr. Jackson?  You walked into Oblivion and don’t seem that uncomfortable with what you’ve seen.  You must have a story.”

“Yeah.  Just don’t start it off with ‘I’ve saved the world on a yearly basis.’  That way lies a hurting bank account,” says Dresden behind his mug.

Percy takes a moment in silence to think, before saying a bit hesitantly, “Well.  I’m a demi-god and Poseidon is my dad?”

The silence around the table and the tables around them is absolute, until Garth calls out, “Told you he’s good for it!”  A lot of attention is suddenly on Percy from a number of the patrons, while he’s granted a new standing thanks to this not-so-minor reveal.

Potter leans over and pats Percy on the shoulder good naturedly.  “As the sitting chairman for Adolescent Heroes Who Have Seen Things, I advise you to lead in with that one next time.”

“Did…” Dresden tries to sputter out.  “Did Potter just try to make a joke?”

“Mr. Dresden,” Potter says.  “I’m afraid to tell you that you do not have a monopoly on witty or sarcastic observations.  You are just one mouthy American among many.”

The table just stares at him, each person trying their best to decide whether Potter has finally shown a sense of humor or if there’s actual malice in his words.  The twinkle in his green eyes gives him away, though.

Buffy squints at Potter, a small grin starting to make its way across her face.  “That had better not be a crack at me, mini-Giles.  Because them’s fighting words.”

“Unless you’re a mouthy American who thinks she’s witty.”

“Witty.  Me.  Have you ever heard me talk in a fight?” Buffy asks rhetorically.  “It’s like I’m channeling Spider-man.  The second one.  The skateboarder.”

Blinking furiously, Dresden stares at Buffy.  “Marry me?”

“Pass.  I already did the ‘brooding towering man with a dark past’ thing.”  The statement catches up to her brain just as it leaves her lips.  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Or you.  I’m sure Karrin thinks that’s a great quality.  Elisa?”  Buffy turns almost pleadingly to the older woman.

Raising her banded hand as a buffer to the plea, Elisa just says, “I’m a quiet, conserved American.  These grey hairs show that I’m smart enough to not get myself into anything I don’t have to.”

Switching his gaze between each person at the table, Percy Jackson tries in vain to keep up with the conversation and the speed at which compliments, friendly insults and in-jokes fly.  Trying to shake off any hesitation, he jumps right into the middle of it with typical teenage bravado, “I once told Tantalus to go chase a cheeseburger.”

Once again, Percy’s words stop the conversation cold.  It’s immediately restarted when Dresden coughs, snorts and tries to rein in the laughter that promises to erupt.  He manages to hold it in for a few seconds before the tears start to well up.  “Tantalus… a cheeseburger?  No.  You…”  The giggles start, which break down any barriers he had hoped to put up.  Dresden simply puts his forehead down on the table and laughs at the absurdity of the statement and the  pride he feels for the young man he barely knows.

“Alright,” Elisa says with a smile on her face.  “That’s one point for the new kid.  We all know how the game goes.”

Potter grins and rubs at his forehead at an old scar.  “I once killed a basilisk with a magical sword.”

Buffy leans back in her chair and shrugs.  “That’s neat.  I once shot an ancient demon with a rocket launcher.”

From his bowed position, all the table hears from Dresden is, “A cheeseburger!” before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

“Charity, you can trust me.”

“Harry, I know you’re trying to be a good man and do right, but you’re also Harry Dresden and that name doesn’t inspire a lot of trust, especially for what you’re asking for.”

“What I’m... All I’m asking for is that I can take her out for one night.  That’s all.”

“I’ve heard that request before, and we both know what came of it.”

“It was an accident!  How was I to know...”

“Yes, Harry.  How were you to know?  Something like this means you need to know, and to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

“... Mouse will be with us.  Do you trust Mouse?”

“I trust Mouse with her life.  But Mouse is just one dog and...

“Murphy will be there, too.”

“... I suppose I can trust Mouse and Karrin to keep an eye on her.  And you too.”

“Great!  Thanks, Charity.  You won’t regret this.”

       My name is Harry... Well, you know the rest.  Wizard and Warden of the White Council, Knight of Winter, Warden of Demonreach, yadda yadda yadda.  It feels like I have more titles than the Cubs at this point, and they all mean something different to someone.  After a while, it just gets tiring repeating them all, and they seem to lose their importance.

      A few years ago, none of this would have meant much for my personal life.  I lived alone, with nothing else in my life but my work and a few people kept at arm’s length that I could call my friends.  It’s funny how the years can change things.  As the world turned, my life kept getting more and more... complete, I guess.  Filled, maybe.  I found out that there are people who look up to me, then that I had a brother, got a dog, found out I had a daughter, then a sort-of-girlfriend-I-think.  Oh, and I died once, became possibly irreversibly connected to one of the greatest powers in the magical community, might possibly be losing my morality, and am currently the master of a jail that makes Area 51 look like an amusement park.  But those things aren’t as important as the family side.

      All of my history, those titles and that backstory doesn’t mean much tonight.  Everything else is pushed to the side, and tonight I’m wearing only one of those mantles.  Maybe the most valued one.  Tonight, I am Harry Dresden: Dad.  And with that mantle comes a responsibility like no other I have shouldered before.

      “Alright, Maggie.  We’ll go whenever you want to.  Charity made sure I know the list of houses that we can go to, and Mouse-bacca will make sure that anyone who's acting too spooky won’t bother us, okay?”

      “Okay...”

      “What?  You don’t believe in the Great Mouse-bacca?  I mean, he might not look like much, but he’s got it where it counts, right?”

      The walking carpet that is my dog actually manages something that sounds closer to a Chewbacca warble than his usual chuffing sound.  Matched with the belt slung around his middle and a little bit of brown dye, it’s hard to mistake him for anything other than a Wookie.  The rest of us are dressed in a way that makes it impossible to see us as anything but nerds.

      Maggie, with the help of a mother who has spent more years making costumes than anyone else I can begin to think of, is dressed up in a Rey costume, complete with a little lightsaber.  Karrin and I nearly came to blows over what we were going to wear.  I’m... well, ME, so of course I’d be the dashing and roguish Han Solo, right?  And my partner is a giant, furry thing.  It practically writes itself!  Karrin argued that I’m the dork and should be Luke Skywalker, while she’s the cool guy with the gun.  She may have also mentioned something about being able to kick my ass.  And so here she stands in her black vest and over-sized pistol at her side and looking (damn me for saying this) appropriately Han Solo-y.

      I wasn’t content with being Luke, and am not nearly old enough to be rocking the Sir Alec Guinness look, so I settled on something a little more my style.  Thanks to a mop of hair as a result of living out on a deserted island for way too long, a scar across an eye thanks to a past encounter and a penchant for flirting with the dark side of magic, I gussy myself up as an over-sized Anakin, pre-lava bath.  With a little help from Andy, we managed to make up a casing for my blasting rod that looks like the hilt of a lightsaber.  A little focus and the blade lights up with a nice shade of blue, thanks to a little help from Winter.  We couldn’t figure out how to get it to sound right, so I end up making the sounds myself.  All in all, we look like a nice, nerdy family out for some trick-or-treating.  And that’s how it all began: a nice, nerdy sort-of family trick-or-treating together.

      I was worried when we started out that all of the costumes, noise and excitement might be too much for Maggie.  I mean, there’s a lot that usually goes on during Halloween night.  For the normal people, at least.  There’s the noises, the lights, the people running around costumes that go from home-made to movie quality.  And while she starts off close to Mouse, Murphy and me at any particular time, she eventually starts to look the way she should: a little girl out on Halloween, hitting up houses for a sugar fix.  She might not be running around Hell and Creation like some of the other munchkins out there, but there is a smile on her face, and a little bounce in her step.

      Mouse, Murphy and I take turns going up to doors with her, each of us to varying degrees of success.  Mouse always seemed to be a lock for more candy, because whenever she comes back the bag feels a lot heavier.  When she goes up with Murphy, Karrin comes back with a smile on her face, with just a hint of conflict hidden underneath.  A part of me wants to ask; the intelligent part knows to stay quiet.  The detective part of me has suspicions.  When she was married to Rich, there was tension around them having kids and her staying home to take care of them.  Going up to a door with a kid for Halloween and being told that your “daughter” is cute is probably playing around in head each time.

      When I take her up, I get to experience my own brand of head and heartache.  I keep hearing them ooh and ahh over her costume, and how sweet or cute or cool she looks, then there’s the looks up to me.  And I hear them say again how sweet she looks.  And it tears a piece out of my heart each time.  Susan and I should be taking her out for this.  Susan should be here with our daughter.  Our daughter should never have had to go through everything she’s gone through.  She should be living a normal life, spooked of the costumes at Halloween because she has an overactive imagination, not because of what she’s lived through.  And I smile, try not to loom so much, thank them and squeeze my little girl’s hand when we walk back to the street.  I steel myself for the next time that I’ll hear those words, and try to make the most out of this first father/daughter Halloween.

      On my side of the magical divide, Halloween has this recent habit of being more exciting each year.  The wearing down the divide between the living and the dead, necromantic rituals, changing of mantles, and the killing of immortals seem like they’re only the tip of the iceberg these days, and there’s always the little whisper in my ear that there’s going to be more.  Somehow, I manage to trick myself for a fair portion of the night that this one will be different.  That the creepy crawlies from the other side will take the night off and give me a chance to have a well-deserved break.

      Yeah, right.  The author of my life isn’t ever going to be that nice to me.

      The first indication is the sudden jerk of Mouse’s leash.  He’s usually happy to trot along at his own pace, with the leash there to show everyone he’s a well-behaved dog.  It’s not uncommon for him to stop and smell the proverbial roses; but for him to stop because there’s something he wants to stop, that’s enough to get my attention.  The only thing that stands out around us is a small pack of costumed clowns hanging a little ways back.  They all have the shabby zombie costume that seems to keep its firm grip from year to year, combined with some cheap masks.  The clothes portion of the costumes are pretty good, comparatively; they look distressed, like there was some actual damage to them.  I know those kinds of rips and tears intimately.  They even got the blood patterns around the tears right.

      The night gets cold when I realize that some of the rips and the stains look fresh.  And have that quality that costumes either exaggerate or downplay.  I look from the costumes to the people (no, things) wearing them.  They move in sync, coordinated.  My brain goes back to my throw-away description of them and revises is: a little ways back behind us is a small Pack of costumed wolves.

      The Pack.  A holdover from an old fight some Hunters and I should have finished and buried.  They’re a roaming group of monsters who hunt together, and have been the death of innocents and those that have tried to stop them.  The legendary Hunter John Winchester worked with the fledgling Black Cats to kick their asses up around their mouths decades back.  After a misunderstanding, Karrin and I teamed up with his sons, Sam and Dean, to ring the bell on Round 2.  We didn’t finish them off, but I thought we left them with a nose that was so bloody that they’d never want to try hunting together again.  Apparently, the lesson wasn’t definitive enough for them, because here they stand, lesser in number but still a threat to everyone walking this street.

      Karrin must have realized that we’ve been left behind, because she calls back to us.  “You okay, Harry?”

      Mouse clues in that I’m clued in and goes from alert growl to “stay way the hell away” growl.  “Yeah,” I reply.  “Mouse just has to use the little doggy’s tree.  We’ll catch up with you in a little bit.”

      “You sure?  We can wait.”

      My gut starts to get wrenched around.  I want my daughter to be safe, and safe is away from these things.  But if she’s sent away, that means I can’t be there to protect her.

      But Murphy will be there, and short of Michael, she’s the one person I know I can trust to keep my daughter safe.  “We’ll be there in a bit.  I’m going to take Mouse away from the street so nobody has to get caught up in it.  Have you been feeding him table scraps again, Maggie?  Because you’ll have to clean up you’ve been sneaking taco’s to Mouse.”

      My daughter gives off a little giggle and Mouse lets off the subsonic growl long enough to give a happy little chuff.  I pat his head, wave to Karrin and Maggie and start to lead him to an alley, digging out one of the plastic bags we’ve been using for Maggie’s haul.  I see Karrin look from me to Mouse, to the Pack and unlatch her blaster.  Just like I put a case around my blasting rod, she has a plastic shell around her service pistol.  It might not be much, but it’ll sure as hell slow down anything that I let get past me.

      The Pack seem to size up Karrin and Maggie as they leave.  Their gaze stays on them for a very uncomfortable time, before slowing coming back to me.  The message is loud and clear: “We saw them, we’ll remember them and we’ll find them.”  Yeah?  I have my own message.

      “Okay, assholes.  You were dumb enough to sign up for Round 3, so let’s find a nice quiet corner so I can beat on you like I’m Rocky.”

      As they follow me, one makes its way out of the main body, to stand in front of them like a spokesperson.  I can tell even underneath the costume what it is, and a fire starts to burn through my veins.  Human sized, but not human like. Extra-long arms that end in claws.  An unhealthy color that some could pass off as make-up but I recognize as naturally disgusting.  And behind the mask, eyes that are weighing and measuring you up for its plate.  A ghoul.  A ghoul who has seen my daughter.  Ever since the Red Court was dealt with, the whole race of ghouls have been moved up to the top of my “Things That World Will Never Miss” list.  This one just reserved extra special placement.

      I take my hand off of Mouse’s lead as he and I turn in sync to stare at the Pack.  The lead ghoul stops only a few feet away from me.  The alley is barely wide enough for Mouse and I to stand side-by-side, but that also means that they’re limited by how many can come forward at a time.  It’s not my favorite ring to fight in, but there’s been worse.  “Okay.  Say your piece, then let’s get started.”

      “You assume too much, wizard,” the ghoul says to me.  I’m not sure if it’s actually speaking English or if I still understand Ancient Sumerian as a parting gift from Lash.  Whatever the case, it sounds like a snake slithering over broken bottles.  “What stops the hunters at the mouth of the alley from going back out to the street?  You?  The dog?”  Damn it.  “No.  You will hear what we have to say, you and the beast will die, then we will go out and continue our hunt.”

      “Alright, Smiley.  Let’s hear it, then.”

      “You are known, Wizard.  You are remembered.  The Pack knows your scent.  You went to ground, but have decided to appear again.”  There’s a murmur behind the ghoul that could politely described as “agreement”, if agreement was made up of growls and rumbles.  “You may have bested us in the past, but that is when you hunted with others.  The Winchesters.  They are known to us.  They are remembered.  They will be found.”

      For a ghoul, this guy is practically Shakespeare.  This is the most I’ve ever heard from one before and it all comes across as understandable.  “Alright.  So what’s your point here?  Are you just going to keep talking until I go into a coma so you don’t have to strain yourself?”  I keep my attention off of it and on the ones in the back in case they decide to amscray back onto the street like they were threatening to do.  “Because there’s actually stuff that I want to do tonight.  If that means I have to walk through all of you to get there, and this sounds weird coming from me, let’s stop talking and get it done.”

      “No, Wizard.  You do not decide the Hunt.  The Pack hunts its prey, and when it is cornered, their lives are ours.  You, a human, have no say in what happens.  Should we decide to kill you, you will die.  Should we decide to eat your beast, it will be eaten.  If we decide to hunt your mate and your whelp, they are ours for as long as we wish and for what we wish.”

      “You don’t want to do this,” I mutter, while Mouse begins to growl behind me.  The only mercy I can think of is that Karrin is away from us, and that Maggie will be safe with her.  I might even be able to take a few of them with me.  I might be able to protect my daughter from what’s to come.

      The ghoul doesn't break eye contact with me, but I’m willing to be to bet that it knows what’s going on and what’s going to happen.  The cocky bastard doesn’t even seem to care.  “Oh, I think I do, wizard.  I think I will.”  The Pack behind him shifts, the sounds of claws scraping ground, of bones snapping and reforming into monstrous forms.  I get a death grip on the lightsaber case and start to will my power into it.

      Why?  Why does this always have to happen?  I try to take my daughter out for something nice, like a trip to the zoo or out for Halloween, only for things to go sideways on us.  This life, this job, this responsibility... I’m okay with it.  But I want to be a father once in a while.  I want to try and give Maggie a normal life whenever possible, but something seems so damn set in ruining that for us.  There is always something that shows up and ruins things and keeps me from connecting with my own daughter.  Susan should be here.  Our lives shouldn’t be so... wrong.  She should be allowed to grow up with a mother and a father and never have to worry about all of these things.  All of this is happening and I’m just about ready to...

      Something around us changes.  I’m not even aware of it until I hear something shift in Mouse’s voice.  It still carries a sound of warning, but there’s something else.  Anticipation?  Excitement?  A certain reckless happiness that his human sometimes shows?  He’s ready for a fight, but there’s something that’s allowing him to relax, even in the smallest ways.  He’s not worried about the fight.  From what I hear, he might even be looking forward to it.  I do a quick scope around me to see what could flip the switch in him.  Turns out it’s a lot closer than I’d ever expect.

      It’s my blasting-saber.  A firey shade of orange is starting to appear in the core nearest the hilt.

      Its old color.  Something from years ago that has since been covered in Winter ice.

      MY old color.  A color of will, and excitement, and barely controlled power, all of it coming from me.  Not a mantle.  Not a mostly immortal Faerie Queen.  

                                                      Me.

      I bring my eyes back up to the ghoul, and I smile.  It’s not a nice smile, but it’s one with a promise.  “Let me rephrase that.  You’re NOT going to do this.”

      The remnants of the Pack shift, the faces under their costume masks shifting.  Most of them change their posture and flex their hands, getting ready for the fight they’ve been working themselves up for all night.  What they don’t understand is that the moment they looked at my daughter, they didn’t have a chance in Hades.

      “Here’s why you’re not going to do that.  In fact, here’s why after tonight, you’re never going to see each other every again.”  A few give off growling laughs.  “I am Harry Dresden.  I am a wizard and Warden of the White Council.”  “Warden” makes a few of them twitch.  “I am chosen by Mab, Queen of Winter, Air and Darkness to be her Knight.  I wear the mantle of Winter, and I wear it very damn well.”  Mouse has stopped growling by now, as though he doesn’t want to take any attention off of me.  “I am Warden of Demonreach, jailer to nastier bastards than you’ll all ever be.  Combined.”  The blue of my blasting-saber exists only on the outside of the blade; fire is making up the core and it’s becoming a brighter shade of red with my every word.  “I am Bane of the Red Court.  The one who has outplayed and overcome Death.  My ride is one of the greatest predators to ever roam this earth, and I brought it back from millennia of rest. I am Ally to Hunters and Slayers.  I know and will invoke the names Winchester and Summers.  I have been tempted by and refused a coin of the Blackened Denarius.  I have led the Wild Hunt.”  THAT gets their attention like I know it would.

      The air around us suddenly gets warmer.  Almost spring-like, like the nights you sit outside near a fire.  There might be a chill in the air, but there’s also the promise of warmth and comfort.  The snow starts to melt and the grass can be seen again, and there might even be the faint sign of flowers starting to bloom.

      Life and warmth after a snow that never seemed like it would leave.

      The various creatures in front of me start to look around, probably trying to figure out what all this means.  The quicker ones figure it out and look at me, the hostility they had been showing before beginning to melt away, revealing something almost like fear.  But right now?  Fear is not enough.  Fear can be conquered or forgotten.  They need to feel something much more permanent.

      “I am Harry Dresden.  This is MY city.  And this is MY night.  I claim it by birth and by my strength.”  The tension that’s been building in this little alleyway just... pops around me.  If there’s a pressure, I don’t feel it anymore.

      “You have threatened my daughter, and I will protect her.  Ask the Red Court what that promise means.”  I let those words hang in the air, full of meaning and threats.  “This is my city, and I will protect it.  Ask anyone how far I’ve gone to keep it safe, and what happens to the people that threaten it.”  I let my blasting-saber dip until it nearly touches the pavement, which starts to send up wisps of smoke.  “The people who live here are my people, and I.  Will.  Protect.  Them.  Ask the Heirs of Kemmler and the Black Court what that oath means.”

      I don’t make any of this a challenge, or a brag, or something to piss them off.  These are all things that simply are.  They’re all true, like that the sun rises or that water is wet.  You can argue and try to ignore it all you want, but these things are, have been and always will be.  I am who I am, and I do what I do, no matter the mantle I wear, or what tries to change me.

      “So here’s what you’re going to do.  Tonight, I curse the name ‘Pack.’”  There’s another subtle pop in the air as those words gain meaning and permanence.  Words have power, and I invest a portion of my own self into those words.  “All those who live under it do so under pain of... Well, death is too nice.  Non-existence.  Erasure from history.  I will call in every favor, from the crater of Sunnydale to the Isle of Manhattan and every road of that cuts across this country.  You will cease to exist.  You will never be spoken of and you will never be remembered.  And you will all die bloody.”  I draw my gaze from one face to another, never letting off until they look away first.  They wouldn’t need to Soul Gaze me to know what is on my mind; it’s pretty damn apparent to any of them with half a clue.  “You will never run together again.  You will not do it under the name Pack, or any other name.  Because if I hear so much as a rumor that a group of creatures attacked an innocent person, you’re done.  You will be found, then you will be gone.  This right here is your only warning.  Any questions?”

      “And you,” I say to the ghoul.  I start walking forward, the cape billowing behind me, my blasting-saber burning a line in the ground.  I get right up to its face, and lean down towards its ear.  “I really, really hate fucking ghouls,” I whisper.  “And I know how hard your kind is to kill.  I have experience with that.  But you want to know something?”  

      I whip the blasting-saber down and take its hand off at the wrist.  We both look down at it in surprise.  I was expecting some burning, maybe a little cut, but not full blown lightsaber action.  I doubt it was expecting anything at all.  We both bring our eyes back up and I stare it down one more time.  “I have one more title for you: I was the Fire of Camp Kaboom. There was a message that was sent back with a survivor.  I told it ‘Never Again.’”  And I bring the blade flashing up in an arc and sear through its head with barely any resistance.  The head drops with a stunned look on its face as the body falls back into the hastily made space its friends make.

      “Never again.  Never again in my presence, in my city or to my people.”  I bring my gaze to each of them once again, but this time, nobody is too excited to look me in the eye.  “Do I need to repeat that to any of you?”  None of them reply. I snake out the blasting-saber again and take a chunk out of a rawhead and take out what looks to be a rugaru at the waist. That’s the sign they needed to break away and run, but not before I take a couple of slashes at their retreating asses.  I manage to down some; Mouse manages to run down another before it makes it to the mouth of the alley.  The ones I see escape split up.  When I step back onto the street, they’re long gone.

      Mouse and I take some time getting rid of the bodies, thanks to some creative uses of Ways and a few convenient garbage cans. The ghoul got some extra-special treatment, just like I promised.  I only realized how much time had actually passed when we finally caught up to Murphy and Maggie.  They’re less than a block away from the Carpenter’s home, with Karrin carrying an impressive haul of sugar filled goodness.  Even with all the best intentions, I still missed my first night of trick-or-treating with my daughter.  I try not to let my disappointment show as I lope up to them and ruffle Maggie’s hair.

      “Ha... Dad?  Are you okay?”

      “Yeah, I’m okay.  Just had to help Mouse clean up a mess.”

      “Your lightsaber is red.  Um... Isn’t red the color bad guys use in Star Wars?”

      “A lot of them do.  But remember the end of Return of the Jedi?”

      “We never finished it.  The Emperor... I don’t like what he says to Luke.”

      “He’s a pretty scary guy, and his threats are pretty serious.  But when he threatens Luke, Vader decides that his son is more important than his master.  He decides to fight against the Dark Side.”

      “So... Vader... becomes a good guy?”

      “It’s... complicated.  He did bad things, but family helped him so he could try to be good again.  He decided what to do, and that he didn’t want to follow the Emperor’s orders anymore.”

      “So, you’re like Darth Vader.”

      “... Yeah.  And the people I care about are helping me come back to the Light Side of the Force.  There’s going to be... bad things in my past, and there are going to be people who tell me what I have to be, but I decide whether that’s who I am.”

      “That’s... you’re kind of a cool guy.”

“Cooler than Han Solo?”

      “Well Mouse is cooler than Chewbacca, and he’s your partner.  So I guess that means you’re cooler than Han.”

I admit, it kills some of the cool vibes, but I squeeze Karrin on the shoulder and as she looks up at me, I stick out my tongue like I’m a kid.  I get an elbow in my hip in return, but it’s worth it.   I’ve never gone out trick-or-treating before tonight, so my expectations were pretty low.  But this was actually pretty fun.  And my daughter thinks I’m a cool dad.  Yeah.  That’s never going to go to my head.

      “Hey, Dad?”

      “Yeah, kiddo?”

      “Do you want to stay after we get back and watch Return of the Jedi?  If you’re there, I think I can make it past the Emperor this time.”

      “I’d love to, Maggie.”

      Murphy gives my hand a tug, and gives a nod of her head to let me know she wants to whisper something to me.  

      “I don’t know everything that happened, but you were pretty amazing tonight, Dresden.  And it’s your birthday.  There’s a Slave Leia costume I think we should break in later.”

      I love Halloween.

      “But you’re wearing it.”