Cold Iron, Blessed Lead, and Silver Rounds

I do not own Supernatural and make no money from this story. I likewise do not own The Dresden Files books and still make no money from this story.

*****

A/N: The story itself takes place between Proven Guilty and White Night. There is also an Easter egg in the story for Clive Barker fans. And Dead Milkmen fans.

***



“Tell me why we’re here again?” Sam asked, as much to defuse Dean’s tension as to get clear on their latest job.



Dean’s mouth was set in a tight line as he navigated the Impala through the insane traffic on the Loop.



“Not now, Sammy,” he muttered. “Gotta concentrate on the traffic.”



“Yeah, okay.” Sam leaned back in the passenger seat, trying to ease his own tension. Chicago didn’t exactly hold pleasant memories for either of them. Couple that with Dean’s desire to get the car through the traffic in one piece – well, it was no wonder Dean was humming “Enter Sandman” under his breath.



Eventually the traffic thinned, the other cars peeling off exit ramps to their destinations. Dean took an exit that led them into the city proper. He popped his neck and took a deep breath.



“Okay,” Dean started. “First, we eat and get some beers. Then we can go over this job.”



“How ‘bout there?” Sam pointed to a doorway that screamed “bar” to him. Dean looked dubiously at the venue, but pulled the Impala smoothly to the curb anyway. They emerged into an early summer evening of nearly perfect warmth.



Dean led the way, which involved going in the entry and down a couple steps through a low doorway. They emerged into a bar that was dark and low ceilinged, and felt intimate and comfortable. There weren’t too many patrons, and they were widely spaced among the tables and at the bar.



Sam felt a frisson across his skin and couldn’t figure out why.



“Accorded Neutral Territory,” Dean read off a plaque over the doorway. “The hell does that mean?”



“I guess it means you shouldn’t start any fights.” Sam answered, moving around his brother to get a better feel for the place. Thirteen tables, thirteen pillars with ornate carvings on them, a bar with thirteen stools. The bartender looked over at them, appraising but not judging.



“Well, there’s no pool table, so it seems pretty unlikely, doesn’t it?” Dean headed further into the room.  Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s back, not saying the obvious: that when Dean wanted a fight, a fight inevitably happened.



“Help you fellas?” the bartender asked. He was a bald, lean man who could’ve been anywhere between the ages of 30 and 50.



“Um, two beers. And do you have a menu?”  Sam ducked instinctively away from the ceiling fans as he came up to the bar.



The bartender handed him a sheet of paper that Sam scanned quickly. “Two steak sandwiches with fries, please.” he said. He grabbed the two bottles of beer that were placed on the bar and wove between pillars until he reached the table where Dean was sitting.



“Food’s coming.” Sam said as he sat, passing a bottle to Dean.



Dean popped the cap off and took a pull, then sighed. “Sweet ambrosia.” Sam gave him a quick grin. They sat in silence for a bit, just drinking their beer and letting the tension of the journey leave them.



“Something strange about this place,” Sam started to say, but was interrupted by the bartender calling, “Order up,” and arose to retrieve their meal, bringing two plates back to the table. On each was a thick steak sandwich; hand cut fries, and a ramekin of au jus. Dean picked up his sandwich and crammed a corner of it into his mouth.



Dean actually slid down in his seat and moaned aloud, eyes rolling back in his head as he chewed. Sam glared at him.



“You are so embarrassing.” Sam stated, shaking his head. After taking a bite of his own food, he had to admit that the food was pretty good. Better than your standard pub fare, anyway.



“So, you ready to go over this job or what? I mean, when you’re done having sex with your food.” Sam finally said.



Dean scowled at Sam as he finished chewing. “You wound me, Sammy. Just because I love my food doesn’t mean I love my food.”



“Yeah, whatever.” Sam replied. “What’s important is that you believe that.”



“Shuddup.” Dean drawled. “Okay, so. We have a rash of cases of spontaneous human combustion in the Chicagoland area.”



Sam blinked at his brother. “Explain this scientific term ‘rash’, please.”



“At least five in the past two months. Enough to make the papers.”



“Are they sure it’s spontaneous human combustion? I mean, it could be a lot of things, and SHC is one of those nebulous unprovable things…” Sam was playing Devil’s Advocate, trying to get the facts straight in his head.



“They’re not using the term, but all the victims were found pretty much charred to ash wherever they happened to be, and nothing else was burned beyond scorching because of proximity to the fire.”



“So, no falling asleep while smoking, or possible electrical fires.”



“Nope.” Dean took another hefty bite of his sandwich; making his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk’s.



“Any common denominator to the victims?”



Dean swallowed. “All I got is that they were between the ages of 21 and 35.  Beyond that, I think we have to do some personal digging. Because there’s no other pattern.”



“So you think this is our kind of gig because of – what? The frequency? Or the cause of death?”



“You said it yourself, Sammy. Spontaneous human combustion is both rare and misunderstood. If it’s happening often enough around here to actually make the papers, then I’d say we could have ourselves a hunt.”  Dean’s gaze wandered off Sam and over to the bar – and stuck there.  Sam turned his head to see what had captured Dean’s attention.



Of course.



A young woman stood at the bar, chatting with the bartender. She was tall and startlingly attractive. This could’ve been because she was a couple of inches shy of six feet, or that she was built like the proverbial brick outhouse. Or it could’ve been because she had blonde hair that was streaked cotton-candy pink and blue, interesting tattoos curving down her neck and out of sight under her cropped black tee shirt, fatigue pants slung low on her hips, and black combat boots.



To Sam’s eyes, she looked like a cross between a perkygoth and a Valkyrie.



“GottgetanotherbeerberightbackSammy.” Dean rattled out as he made a beeline for the bar. Sam sighed and reached into his bag for his laptop to do some more research on spontaneous human combustion and some of the details of the case. He pulled out the power cord and started looking for an outlet along the baseboard.



“You won’t get that to work in here.” a female voice came from over Sam’s shoulder.



The Valkyrie came into Sam’s line-of-sight, trailed by Dean, working his trademark “Hey baby,” smile for all he was worth.



“Sam, this is Molly. Molly, my brother Sam.”



Sam stood up, waiting until Molly took a seat before he regained his.



“I was just telling Molly that we were in town checking out the journalism program at the University of Chicago.”



“Oh.” Sam absorbed their cover story, and then turned to Molly. “So why won’t my laptop work in here?”



Molly toyed with the straw in her glass, which appeared to hold only lemonade. Probably underage, Sam noted. He also noted the lip ring, labret, and gold hoops in both of her nostrils.



“Something about the energy in here.” Molly finally replied, regarding Sam through a veil of anime hair. “If you don’t want it to totally crash, you’re better off waiting until you leave to use it.”



“Thanks. I would’ve hated to lose all my data.” Sam replied, and Molly smiled. She was actually quite pretty once you got past all the metal and eyeliner.



“I’ve been reading the local news,” Sam started. “Some interesting stories in the papers lately. What do you make of those people burning up?”



Molly stopped sucking on her straw, and Sam saw a look of disappointment cross Dean’s face. Sam flashed a look of “Dude, cut it out,” at his brother, kicking his foot under the table, and refocused on Molly.



“One of the people who died was a friend of mine,” she said in a low voice.



“I’m sorry.” Sam said sympathetically. “We don’t have to talk about it.”



Molly took a deep breath, which certainly did interesting things to the weave of the tee shirt over her breasts. Dean had such a ridiculously avid look on his face that Sam wanted to cuff him across the back of the head.



“No, it’s okay. I’m dealing with it. No one really knows what happened, but I’m looking into it with the help of some friends.” Molly took another sip of her lemonade. “We were out at the club, and two days later he was dead, burned up. All I know is, when I find whoever did it, they’re going to pay for it. In blood, if possible.”



Sam opened his mouth. He was going to say something soothing about the authorities handling it, but he saw something in Molly’s eyes that stilled the words on his tongue. Something like lightning in a bottle, elemental and terrifying. He could’ve sworn he saw tiny little sparks starting to flicker at the ends of her hair.



Molly stood up so fast that she knocked her chair over. “I gotta go!” she cried, and bolted out of the pub.



Sam and Dean stared after her.



“Well, Sammy, I gotta hand it to ya,” Dean finally said, his tone dry. “That was some masterful questioning.”



Sam stood and righted the chair, deep in thought. The bartender came over to collect Molly’s glass. Sam asked him, “That girl, do you know her?”



“Molly?” he gave an expressive shrug. “She apprentices with Harry Dresden.”



“Wait, what do you mean, apprentices?” Dean interjected.



“Apprentices.” the bartender stated again. “Harry’s a wizard.”



Dean and Sam blinked at the bartender.



“A wizard.” Sam repeated flatly.



“He’s in the phone book.” the bartender picked up the pair’s empty plates and headed back behind the bar.



“Did somebody put LSD in our beer when I wasn’t looking?” Sam asked plaintively.



Dean smirked. “If only. I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow.”



Sam quirked his eyebrows at his brother.



“We’re off to see the wizard.”



 “You just had to go there, didn’t you?” Sam groaned.



“Come on, let’s find a place to crash. We can pick this up tomorrow.” Dean stood. “Hey, did you see all the piercings that chick had?”



“Yes, Dean.”



“I wonder if she’s pierced, like, all the way down.”



“Oh my god, will you shut UP?”



**



Harry Dresden, Wizard, was indeed in the phone book, along with the caveat: No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment. 



The next morning, Sam and Dean took the El to midtown Chicago to his office. Dean looked ill at ease putting himself at the mercy of public transportation, but Sam had insisted that it made more sense than trying to find a place to park the Impala wherever they went.



Dean held onto a pole grimly while Sam looked for their stop on the map in the subway car.



“You just don’t like any form of transportation you can’t control, do you?” Sam was amused.



“No.” Dean forced the word out between gritted teeth.



“Come on, you’re in one of the coolest cities in America. Look at the buildings!”



“Dude, we’re like ten stories above the ground! How can that possibly be right?” Dean hissed.



“Fine. Be a gigantic pussy about it. Here’s our stop.” Sam pushed his brother out onto the platform and led the way down the steps.



They argued back and forth as they found the building and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.



“Do you really think this guy’s the real deal, Sammy?”



Sam was going to snap, “Of course not,” but he rethought his response. “I’m not really sure.” he finally said.



“Well, that’s reassuring.” Dean quipped.



“There’s definitely some weirdness going on around here, Dean. Some things aren’t adding up. Maybe this Harry Dresden can clear them up for us.”



They approached a door that read Harry Dresden. Wizard. From behind it was the sound of a guitar being played only passably.



“He’s definitely no musical genius,” observed Dean. Sam rapped on the door. The music stopped abruptly.



“It’s open,” said a voice from within.



Dean opened the door and went in, followed by Sam. The office was all business, not in the least arcane. There were file cabinets just behind the door, a couple of chairs, and a large desk in a corner, in view of the door.



The man sitting behind the desk was wiry and slim, with short dark hair and dark eyes, a hawkish nose and sharp chin. He had a pentagram on a chain around his neck and was putting a guitar against the desk when Sam and Dean walked in.  He stood up, showing himself to be as tall as Sam, if thinner, and regarded the two of them.



“Let me guess.” the man said. “Abercrombie and Fitch?”



Dean got that thunderous look on his face that always preceded a smartass remark and then a fight. Sam stepped in quickly.



“Mister Dresden? I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean,” he said. “The bartender at a local pub told us you might be able to help us.”



Harry blinked, looking surprised. “Mac did?” he sounded disbelieving. Then he narrowed his eyes at the pair. “Winchester, huh? That name is definitely familiar. Last time I heard it was in connection to a case in Cabrini-Green in the 80’s. Want to tell me why you’re hunting in my town?”



Dean gave Sam an exasperated “Why did you give him our real names, dumbass?” look, and Sam shrugged helplessly.



“If it was the Candyman, that was probably our dad.” Sam supplied helpfully. “And we’re here about the human combustion cases.”



“We met Molly last night.” Dean said.



“I know.” Harry replied, giving nothing away.



“Are you even looking into these deaths?” Dean asked aggressively.



“I wasn’t even aware of them until Molly’s friend got killed. Now I’m playing referee, making sure she doesn’t get hurt, since there’s nothing I can do to stop her looking into it.”



“Mister Dresden, do you think we could all sit down?” Sam didn’t want to stand all day while discussing this.



“You might as well. I’m beginning to think we have a lot to talk about. And please, call me Harry.”



Sam and Dean settled into the chairs across the desk from Harry. Dean nodded at Harry’s left hand, which was badly burned.



“What happened?”  He asked.



“Physics lesson. My shielding repels force but not heat.” Harry replied shortly. “The guitar is for physical therapy, it keeps the skin supple while it heals.”



“Oh.” Dean nodded wisely, then looked as if he were searching for something to say. Sam took pity on him and jumped in.



“What kind of information do you have on these deaths so far?” Sam asked, wishing Dean weren’t so adept at creating awkward moments for him to smooth over.



“Not a lot right now. I have a call into the Chicago PD to see what they’ve got.” Harry picked up a rubber ball and started kneading it in his burned hand.



“You’re working with the cops?” Dean was incredulous.



“Special Investigations, here in Chicago. They specialize in the unexplained. Why? Is there a problem?”



“Oh, man, I wish they had something like that for the FBI,” Dean muttered.



“We’re kind of wanted by the Feds.” Sam explained. Harry nodded wisely.



“Ah. Well, we’ll just have to keep this all very unofficial, then, won’t we?”



Sam looked over at his brother.  “This could work out for us, though, if there are security tapes to watch. The police department would definitely have access to them.”



“Yeah, security tapes might be an issue for me.” Harry said.



“Because…” Dean drawled.



“Wizards and complicated technology don’t really mix.” Harry explained, and Sam snapped his fingers.



“That’s why Molly told me not to use my laptop at the bar!”



Dresden touched the tip of his nose. “Give the boy a kewpie doll.”



“But, so, why?” Sam asked.



“It’s a place where we can all gather without fear.”



“We?” led Dean.



“Wizards, witches, vampires, werewolves, the fae – even hunters like yourselves. We go there, have a beer, and don’t worry about any sorts of grudges or hunts going on.  There’s plenty of ambient magical energy swirling around down there. Enough to fry your laptop and your cellphones.” Harry gestured with his free hand.



“Wait, there are vampires and werewolves here too?” Dean didn’t look pleased.



“Relax, cowboy. The weres are friends of mine and their pack leader keeps them under control. As for the vampires – well, that’s one war you just don’t want to get in on.” 



Dean flopped back in his chair, clearly frustrated at the fact that he wouldn’t be allowed to hunt what he considered to be his natural enemies.



“So, do you think we could get to see any of those tapes?” Sam jumped in again, wondering what was wrong with his brother.



“I can put in a call to my friend Murphy and arrange to have them brought to your hotel.” Harry replied.



“Do you know about when we can expect them?”



Harry picked up the phone, which Sam noticed was an old-fashioned rotary model, and dialed. He spoke into the receiver. “Yeah, Murph? Dresden. Listen, you know those burn deaths that are mystifying the department? Well, I might have some ideas on a lead, if I can get any security tapes the victims are on. Can I get access to them?” Dresden listened, a smile spilling across his face. “No, you know nothing newer than a Betamax will work for me anyway. Some independent operatives might be able to help, though. Drop ‘em off here? Peachy. Thanks, Murph.”



Harry looked at Sam, pointedly ignoring the scowling Dean. “She should have them here in about an hour and then I can get them to you, if you let me know where you’re staying.”



Sam scribbled their address down on a piece of paper and stood, saying, “I’m sure there’s some more legwork we could do in the meantime. Thanks, we’ll be in touch,” practically dragging Dean by the collar out of Dresden’s office.



“Dude, what the hell is the matter with you? You were downright rude!” Sam hissed as they strode out into the afternoon. “He’s our best source so far! Maybe we don’t want to piss him off.”



“There was just something about him that rubbed me the wrong way.” Dean snapped. “Did you see, on his hand? He had some sort of symbol burned into the skin.”  Dean scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “I swear I’ve seen that symbol somewhere before.”



“Ugh, even more rude.” Sam responded. “Staring at his burns. Don’t you have any tact?”



“Leave it, Sam. We didn’t want to like each other.”



“Fine.” Sam trailed behind his brother. “By the way, where are you going?”



Dean stopped, realizing that the Impala was parked across town. Sam snickered as Dean’s “Fuck!” echoed off the buildings.



**



An hour later, they were back at their hotel, their “legwork” having consisted of catching the El and acquiring some food.



Sam reviewed the victim timelines they’d tacked to the wall when there he heard a knock on the door. A glance at Dean showed that he already had his gun in his hand, along with the pieces of one that he was cleaning on the bed. Sam went to the door, reaching for his own piece tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He opened the door a crack.



“Hello, Molly,” Sam said, surprised.



Molly smiled up at him shyly. “Harry sent me. I have these –“ she held up a shopping bag full of oblongs. “Can I come in?”



“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.” Sam ushered her into their room. She took it in with a glance, including Dean lounging indolently on his bed, gun parts spread out next to him. He gave her a winning grin and she smiled politely back. Then her attention was caught by the timelines on the wall. She zeroed in on the last picture, moving closer.



“Was that your friend?” Sam asked, coming up next to her, relieving her of the bag of videos.



“Yes.”



Her friend was Karl A. Grant,  23 years of age, and his photo showed a young man with a wide smile, ready to take on life.



“We’re gonna get whoever did this, Molly,” Sam reassured her.



“I hope so. I just don’t want anyone else to die.” Molly reached out a finger to stroke the photo, then pulled it back and clasped her hands in front of her.



“So, uh, what happened last night? Why’d you take off like you did?” Dean strolled over and started rummaging through the bag while Sam was holding it.



“Um.” Molly looked down, then up through her hair again. “Well, you know I’m apprenticing with Harry, right?”



Sam and Dean nodded in unison.



“I don’t have a good handle on my control yet. When I get too emotional – things happen. Sometimes bad things. Hearing about the deaths really upset me and I needed to get somewhere safe to calm myself down.” Molly quirked her mouth in an adorable smile at Sam. “Mac would totally ban me if I broke the treaty in his place.”



“Of course.” Sam replied, like it was totally self-evident. Which it wasn’t.



“Should we watch these?” Dean interrupted, sounding grumpy.



“Can I stay? I want to watch them too.” Molly interjected.



“Won’t you break the VCR?” Dean asked.



“I’ll try not to.” she said demurely, and sat on the tiny couch in front of the in-room entertainment console.



“Okay then,” Dean flipped through the tapes, arranging them by victim.



“The first one, Felicia Olivera? She worked at a bank. Most of what we have are security tapes from her at work on the day of her death.” Dean put the tape in as Sam turned to Molly.



“You said you were looking into this on your own. Have you gotten to talk to anyone from before Karl died? Was he acting like himself?”



Molly stared at the TV screen, lost in thought. Then she shook her head. “No. In fact, we weren’t going to ask him to come out with us because he had been acting like a real asshole. Really inappropriate grabbing, short-tempered, he hadn’t gone to his classes for a few days.”



“Huh.” Sam looked over at Dean, who appeared absorbed in the security tape. “But you all went out anyway?”



“We were going to try to talk to him about it.” Molly replied. Her eyes glistened



The TV suddenly blazed with static.



“Sorry!” she cried.



“Sam, why don’t you take Molly for one of those sissy coffee drinks you like while I watch these in peace.” Dean suggested, not taking his eyes off the screen. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and stood up.



“Come on, Molly, we can talk over coffee.”



“Okay,” she trailed after Sam, throwing another “Sorry,” over her shoulder at Dean. He shooed them out, gaze intent on the TV.



**



Sam spent an enjoyable hour with Molly at the Starbucks down the street. He liked not having to dissemble about being a hunter for a change. Molly had a lot of questions about what it was like, and he told her some of his stories.  She had a few of her own, and Sam was impressed with her matter-of-fact attitude about both her abilities and her role in the stories. She didn’t self-aggrandize, and had a rueful way of talking about her dumb mistakes that was rather sweet.



He tried to ask her about Harry, but she seemed uncomfortable talking about him with a relative stranger, so Sam didn’t press.



Sam really really liked Molly.  Which surprised him. Not because she was unlikable, but because he wasn’t expecting to meet anybody. He thought she maybe liked him, too.



When Molly regretfully noticed the time and had to leave, Sam went back up to the hotel room feeling pretty good. Which made the sight of Dean’s grim face all the more startling.



“We have a problem.” Dean said.



“What?”



“Your little girlfriend there was the last person to be seen with Karl Grant before he died.”



**



The collection of security tapes was maddeningly inconclusive in most regards, and incredibly boring to watch to reach that lack of conclusion. But what it did show, beyond the shadow of any doubt, was that each of the victims had interacted with the next in some way.



Felicia Olivera had met Mark Putnam when she was working as a teller at a bank. Mark Putnam had met Wally Daffison when he’d bought a new cellphone. Wally Daffison had then sold another cellphone to Daphne Henniman. Daphne Henniman was a cashier at a grocery store that Karl Grant had been to.



And then Karl had gone to a club with a group of friends including Molly, and security cameras showed the two of them leaving together on the night of his death.



Sam watched the tapes, frustration and unease churning his stomach.



“So, what could we be looking at here?” Sam asked. “Shapeshifter, salamander, what?”



“Not a shapeshifter. No camera flare. Salamanders are more destructive. All the vics died at home, though. I think we should check those out first.” Dean paced in front of the victims’ timelines.



“Should we call Harry, see if he can get us in with the police?”  Sam asked. Dean scowled.



“I don’t see why. We’ve been doing this a long time without any help. We sure as hell don’t need the police doing us any favors now.”



Sam shrugged, and then retrieved his jacket. “Where do we start?”



“Let’s check out Grant’s place first. And we’re taking the Impala.”



**

Karl Grant didn’t live in a very nice section of Chicago, which meant that Dean was twitchy about leaving the Impala parked on the street. Sam was proud of his restraint in not reminding Dean that they could have taken the El and avoided the stress.



Because of the locale, Karl Grant’s apartment building was easy to get into, and Dean held up the crime scene tape so that Sam could pick the lock of his apartment.  They entered a shabby efficiency with a scorched spot on the rug.  Sam closed the blinds so that Dean could turn on the lights.



“Christ, what a shithole,” Dean remarked.



There was a mattress on the floor in front of a 12-inch TV on a crate. At one end of the room was a minuscule kitchen opposite a closet-sized bathroom. Paperback novels were piled haphazardly next to the mattress.



Sam circled the scorch mark, nose wrinkling with distaste. Dean moved into the kitchen, looking in cabinets and under the sink. Sam did the same in the other half of the apartment, examining the floor and the pile of books. He stopped when he reached the TV.



“Hey Dean,” he called. “Take a look at this.”



Dean came over and hunkered down next to his brother. He ran a finger over the top of the crate. It came away yellow, and Dean brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed.


“Sulphur?” Sam asked.



“God DAMN it!” Dean swore. “What IS it with Chicago and demons?”



“But it doesn’t make sense,” Sam pursued. “I’ve never heard of a demon flaming out its host when it leaves it.”



“I think the bigger question is, where did the demon go?”



Sam looked at his brother, horror and realization dawning on his face. “Molly.” he breathed.



Dean’s face showed pity for his brother, but now was not the time for a lengthy wallow. He stood again, taking a breath.



Sam’s cellphone rang and Dean jerked in startlement. He glared at his brother as Sam fumbled for the phone.



“Hello? Harry.” Sam’s face underwent a series of changes, from attentive-listening to alarmed. He said, “We’ll be right there.” and clicked the phone off.



“Molly’s missing.” he said to Dean. “She was supposed to study with Harry after she was with us, and then go home for dinner. She didn’t show up for either.”



“Let’s go.” Dean crossed the room and went out the door, Sam close behind him.



**



Sam’s phone rang again while they were en route and he relayed directions to Dean as he was driving. They pulled up to a modest house in Wrigleyville with a white picket fence and well-kept lawn.



“This can’t be Dresden’s house,” Dean stated, getting out of the Impala. He matched his stride with Sam’s as they hurried up the sidewalk to the porch.



“No, it’s Molly’s parents’ We’re meeting Harry here. He’s bringing backup.”



“Oh, terrific,” Dean muttered. “I wonder who his backup is. Werewolves? Vampires? Awesome.”



“Dean, what do you have against the guy? He hasn’t done anything to you.” Sam had that furious, Dean-be-reasonable look on his face that was almost guaranteed to drive Dean to even more irrational outbursts.



“Yet.” Dean knocked on the door before Sam could muster up a rebuttal. 



Dresden opened it, looking like he was loaded for bear. He was wearing a black leather duster and gripped an ornately carved staff, which was pointed at Dean’s chest.



“Nice boomstick,” Dean remarked. “Can we come in?”



“Thanks for coming, boys.” Dresden replied, ushering them into a comfortably worn living room. “Charity and Michael are Molly’s parents. Michael is a Knight of the Cross and Charity makes all his armor and armaments. This is Karrin Murphy, who is with the CPD’s Special Investigations unit.”



Charity looked like what Molly would in about 20 years, a statuesque Nordic beauty of immense strength and dignity. Michael was about Sam’s height and carried a sword in a scabbard slung over his back. Karrin was a petite blonde who looked like a retired gymnast. 



They all looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight, which was reassuring.



“So what’s the plan? Are we assuming she’s gone of her own free will or taken?” Murphy asked.



“At this point, we don’t know for sure about anything except that she’s AWOL.” stated Harry.



“We did find out some things about the victims,” Sam offered, and tried not to quail as multiple pairs of eyes riveted on him.



“We think Molly's possessed by a demon.” Dean said. There was a collective gasp. Michael and Charity crossed themselves.



“Do you know how it might have happened?” Harry asked.



“It was in her friend Karl, and then it possessed Molly. It seems like it jumps from host to host, flaming them out in the process.”



“Well, that certainly explains all the spontaneous human combustion cases we've had recently,” Murphy stated. “So what do we do next?”



“We find Molly, bind her and exorcise the demon out of her.” Harry said.



“But if the demon destroys the host bodies as it leaves them, how will we keep it from doing the same to Molly?” Sam asked, seeing the looks of fear under the resolve of Molly's parents.



“I'll figure that out when we find her. Which is the first thing we'll need to do, and it's going to be difficult. She's excellent at cloaking herself.” Harry looked over at Michael and Charity. “I will probably need some of your blood.”



Dean looked queasy. “Really?”



Harry cast Dean a sarcastic glance. “Sympathetic magic. It'll work better than any spell I can use myself. Even if she's cloaked, like calls to like.”



“Oh.” Dean tried to sound unimpressed, but Sam was fascinated.



Michael and Charity held out their hands and Harry pricked their index fingers with a pocketknife. He collected the blood onto a piece of clothing that looked like a t-shirt and was most likely Molly's. He closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath. A little spark jumped from Harry's outspread hand to the blood on the cloth, and then it glowed like plasma. Harry opened his eyes.



“I know where she is. Let's go.” He turned, ready to  stride out the door, when Charity called, “Harry, wait!”

 

He stopped and looked at the statuesque woman.



“I feel I should stay here, with the other children. In case Molly should come back,” Charity stated, looking from Harry to Michael.



“Are you sure?” Michael spoke quietly.



Charity raised her chin, certainty in her gaze. “I am. Bring our daughter safely home to me,” she skewered Harry with a look, and Sam could swear he saw the wizard gulp. “And don’t let Michael get hurt.”



“Yes, ma’am.” Harry said meekly. Michael kissed Charity quickly and turned to go.



Sam and Dean caught up to Harry next to a  battered Volkswagen Beetle that had so many replaced parts that it wasn't even one uniform color.



“We're not riding in that clown car, are we?” Dean asked, dismayed.



“Wizard or not, I can't fit you all in here.” replied Harry. “I can take Murphy, but Michael might have trouble fitting his sword in here.”



“I’m taking my truck.” Michael said, going into the garage attached to the house. Sam and Dean walked back to the Impala.



“Wait. Where are we going?” Dean stopped by the driver's side door of the car.



“Just follow me and try to keep up,” Harry called as he folded himself into the Beetle. Dean muttered to himself as he got in his car and started it, waiting for the Beetle to get in front of him.



Michael's white pickup pulled out behind them and they convoyed through the Chicago streets until they pulled up next to an enormous rambling house. Harry got out of his car and went around to a stairway off to the side, going downward. He put his hand on a door with sigils carved into the jamb and lintel, and a huge dent at the top. He mumbled something, and then pried it open.



“Happened to your door?” Sam asked Harry.



“Zombies.”



“Aw, really?” Dean sounded disappointed. “I miss all the fun.”



“Where's Mister? And Mouse?” Murphy asked, filing in behind Sam and Dean.



Harry pointed to the middle of the living room, where the rugs were flung back and a trapdoor yawned.



“Molly's in the workroom. Mouse is visiting my brother Thomas, who apparently thinks that dogs the size of ponies are chick magnets. Mister is in the portable hole cats disappear into when there’s too much disturbance.”  Harry walked to the edge of the trapdoor. “Molly! I'm coming down!”



“Okay!” The reply was slightly muffled by the floor. Harry went down, Sam and Dean behind him, then Murphy, gun drawn, and then Michael, who had a huge sword in his hand. Sam couldn’t be sure, but he thought the sword was glowing.



Molly didn't sound like she was possessed. Sam wondered why Dresden had announced himself, but decided maybe he wanted to pretend that he didn’t know she was possessed.



Harry's workroom was a long space with a low ceiling. There was a long table in the middle, covered with all manner of items best not examined at too closely. Off to the side was a series of circles and sigils made of metal and embedded in the floor.



Molly was standing by a set of shelves, hand in a sack, looking nonchalant.



“Oh, hi, Harry. I was just picking up a few things before I take off.”



Harry leveled his staff at the girl. “Drop the act, Molly – or whoever you are. We  know you're possessed. And take Bob out of the sack.”



Molly pouted, looking disturbingly knowing instead of winsome.



“Aw, you're no fun.”



She drew her hand out of the sack, looking at the skull she held. “But I'm afraid you're not getting Bob back. He has too much knowledge and I need him.”



“I'm sorry, Harry,” said the skull. Sam caught Dean as he bounced off his chest recoiling in shock. He smirked as Dean turned to glare up at him.



“Don't worry about it, Bob, we'll get you back.” Harry looked at Molly, and shouted, “Petrificalis!”



His staff lit up, the runes carved into it glowing a bright reddish-yellow. Sam narrowed his eyes. Had he caught a whiff of sulphur?



Molly stiffened, but her muscles flexed against an invisible barrier. Her eyes glared hate at Harry.



“Well, now what?” Dean asked. “If we try to exorcise her, the demon will burn her alive.”



Harry looked over at Murphy and Michael. They had drawn together, Michael looking over at Molly with sorrow and an implacable conviction. Murphy held her gun on Molly, gaze leveled calmly at her target.

 

Harry walked over to Molly and pried the skull from her hand. He put it back on a shelf between piles of paperback novels. “We're going to have to do this in Faerie.”



Sam and Dean exchanged a perplexed look.



“Come again?” Dean finally said.



“Faerie, we have to take Molly into Faerie to exorcise her.”



“Faerie’s a place?” Dean asked.



“Of course. Where did you think fairies came from?” Harry grinned at Dean.



“Er...San Francisco? Provincetown? Des Moines?” Dean replied guilelessly, until Sam kicked him in the ankle. “Ow, fuck.”



“But why?”  Sam asked, refraining from apologizing for Dean, or they’d be there all night. “What can we do in Faerie that can’t be done here?”



“Faerie exists in its own timeframe. If I can put Molly's body in some sort of temporal stasis, the exorcism can be performed without harming her body.”



“Won't you attract some unwanted attention if you go into Faerie, Harry?” Murphy asked, holstering her gun.



“Probably, but a lot depends on how quickly we can exorcise Molly.   I'll be busy holding her in stasis. Michael, can you perform an exorcism?”



Michael looked sorrowful. “I'm sorry, Harry. My duty as a Knight of the Cross has never required that I know that ritual.”



“I can do it. I know it by heart.” Sam's said firmly, and they all looked at him, except for Molly, who still couldn't move. Although if looks could kill, Sam was reasonably sure he would have been cinders. 



“Alrighty, then, let's load Molly up and head out to the lake.” Harry sounded morbidly chipper as he turned to head back up the trapdoor steps. Michael stepped forward, cradled Molly's immobilized body in his arms and followed him.



“Wait, why're we goin' to the lake?” Dean called.



“It's a border. Borders are the best crossover places for creating a portal into Faerie. We're fortunate that it's not that long past sundown.” Harry yelled. “Let's go!”



Back they went into the summer evening. Michael lay Molly gently in his truck cab and then they all set off for the edge of Lake Michigan.



Harry's beat-up Volkswagen led them to a seldom-used road that led to the shore of the lake. When they parked, Dean walked to the back of the Impala and opened the trunk. He pulled out his sawed-off and started loading shells into it. Sam joined him and took his own gun out.



“Faerie, huh?” Dean remarked.



“Cold iron, blessed lead, and silver rounds oughta do it,” Sam replied.



“Hey, you're not supposed to be packing. You're going to perform the exorcism. I can cover you.”



“Like I'd go in there without a gun,” Sam snorted.



Dean quirked a smile and slammed the trunk shut. They walked over to where Harry was standing inside a circle. Michael supported Molly, and Murphy stood slightly behind them.



“Now, I really don't want to spend too much time in there, opening this portal will draw enough unwanted attention as it is.  As soon as I get the stasis spell set, I want you, Sam, to start the exorcism. Can you do that?”



Sam nodded firmly.



“You just tell me when,”  he said.



“Michael, Murph and Dean, I'm going to need you to help defend us, since we'll both be busy.”



“Right,” Dean said.



Harry raised his staff and slashed it across the air, saying, “Aparturum.”   Reality just – ripped and then he was shouting, “Run! Go!”



They all piled through the rift and stopped short on the other side. They were standing on a barren hill facing a forest of gnarled trees, silvery grey in the inchoate light.



“This spot is good enough.” Harry nodded to Michael. “Put her down over there.”



Michael lay Molly on bleached-out grass and stepped away. He bowed his head, folding his hands, his lips moving silently. Obviously praying, Sam thought, and felt a brief pang of envy for Michael’s apparent faith.



Dresden walked in a circle, dragging his staff and muttering under his breath. When the ends joined, light flared briefly and then dissipated. The air pressure seemed heavier. He looked over at Sam.



“That circle should keep her in. I’m going to release the petrifaction spell and then put her in stasis. It’s going to take a lot of concentration and power, and I need you to be quick, okay?”



Sam nodded once. Dresden flicked his fingers at Molly and she ran at him, screaming, her face contorted in rage. She bounced off the edge of the barrier and snarled.



“You can’t win this one, Dresden, I’ll kill this little meat puppet and find another host so fast you won’t even know it,” Molly sneered. She looked at Sam and made a sympathetic face. “Poor Sammy, you actually thought she liked you. Maybe I’ll take up residence inside you -- after all, you already have a space inside you for it, don’t you? You even know what it’s like.”



“Can’t you shut her up?” Dean’s lips were compressed into a bloodless line, his shotgun aimed at the ranting girl in the circle.



“Be quiet, Dresden’s concentrating,” Murphy snapped, glaring at Dean.



Dean narrowed his eyes at Murphy, but turned his attention back to the circle. Something was happening.



Molly was quiet again, and while she wasn’t immobile, she was somehow static, as though her movements were happening somewhere out of sight. Her position changed in jerks.



“Sam! Go!” Harry shouted. His expression was strained.



“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,” Sam’s hair started to swirl in a wind that seemed localized to him. Inside the circle, Molly’s figure threw back its head and screamed in freeze-frame. 



“Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu Christi,” Sam stretched out his hand towards the circle, feeling power build strangely inside him, then pour out of the end of his fingers into the maelstrom surrounding the girl.



Molly’s scream went on and on, sounding choppy, as black smoke poured out of her and the vivid colors leached out of her hair in bullet-time.



“Eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis!” Sam finished triumphantly, flinging his hand up, and the last of the power crackled through his arm, leaving it tingling faintly.



Molly sank to the ground jerkily and the black smoke swirled around and around in the binding circle.



“Sam, reach into my jacket pocket and grab the bottle in there.” Harry said through gritted teeth. Sam pulled out a blue bottle and handed it to Harry. Harry walked towards the circle and smudged the perimeter, releasing the power. Sam’s ears popped at the release of pressure.



Dresden pointed the blue bottle towards the black smoke and chanted a few words in Latin. The smoke funneled out of the circle and into the bottle. Harry corked the bottle and sagged on his staff. From the circle came hopeless weeping and Michael swept up his daughter in his embrace.



In the distance came the sound of a horn and hounds baying.



“Dresden, we gotta go!” Murphy yelled. “Company’s coming.”



Sam turned in a circle, gun at the ready, but there was nothing he could see to shoot at.  Dresden didn’t look as if he could light a candle, let alone open up another portal, but he straightened.



“Never a dull moment,” he said, muttering, “Apurturum.” He sketched out another gesture with his hand and staff. A ragged tear opened up, showing the shore of Lake Michigan that they had left not that long before.



“Move it,” gritted out Dresden, which everyone did. The edges of the portal didn’t look all that stable. Michael went first, supporting Molly, then it looked as if Dean and Murphy were going to fight about who covered their rear, so Sam bellowed, “Go! Go!” He was pretty sure he knew what the horn and hounds were and didn’t want his suspicions confirmed.



Once they were all through, Dresden staggered out and closed the rift quickly, then collapsed onto the sand on his back, breathing heavily.



“Everyone more or less okay?” Harry asked from the ground.



“Yeah, I think so,” Sam replied. He felt weird for coming out of it relatively unscathed, but not weird enough to regret it.



Michael stood. “Harry, I’m going to take Molly home.”



Harry sat up with some effort. “All right.  But I expect her at my place tomorrow at the usual time for training. I think we might need to work on her defensive skills a bit more than I thought.”



Michael nodded, then walked over to where Sam and Dean stood awkwardly apart from the group.  He held out his hand to Sam.



“Thank you for saving my daughter. I'm sure that the Lord sent you to Chicago to help us.”



Sam shook his hand, definitely feeling uncomfortable. “You’re welcome, sir. Uh, no thanks needed.”



Michael also shook Dean’s hand, and then went to his daughter, putting an arm around her. Molly cast a glance over her shoulder at Sam, her expression sad and yet devoid of any recognition. The Molly Sam had met was no longer there.



Michael’s pickup truck roared away into the night, leaving Sam and Dean, Dresden, and Murphy.



“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I could definitely use a beer.” Dresden hauled himself to his feet. “What say I buy you guys dinner at McAnally’s?”



Dean and Sam exchanged a look.



“Yeah, okay.” Dean assented.



*



They toasted to their success, clinking their bottles of ale, and fell to their plates with a will.



“What I’m confused about is what the demon wanted,” Murphy said.



“I don’t think it really wanted anything except to create havoc.” Dean replied. “Demons don’t seem to plan all that well. At least, not until you get into the big leagues.”



“It just happened to accidentally hit the jackpot when it possessed Molly. Not only did she have talent, but she also had access to all my magical artifacts. That would have made it a big player on the other side.” Harry stated.



“How did you work that stasis spell, anyway?” Dean asked Dresden. “I wasn’t really clear on the details.”



“To be honest, neither was I. But it was the only solution I could come up with. I basically put her about a millisecond behind our time, so that Sam could exorcise her before her body caught up with it. I picked Faerie because time runs differently there. I could create an area where time moved more slowly there much more easily than I could in the World.”



“That’s a lot to have riding on a hypothetical.” Sam said.



“Harry does his best problem-solving when the situation looks bleak,” Murphy stated, not sounding entirely complimentary.



“Seat-of-the-pants magic is my specialty.” Dresden responded, grinning, toasting Murphy with his beer bottle. She punched him in the arm, and he mouthed, “Ouch,” while rubbing it.



“The horns and hounds we heard, that was the Wild Hunt, wasn’t it?” Sam pursued. “Is that why you wanted to get out in a hurry? So we wouldn’t get caught up in it?”



“There’s that, and the fact that the last time I met the Erlking I trapped him in a binding circle, which was erased. He has a score to settle with me, and I’d just as soon not hand it to him on a silver platter.” Harry replied, giving Sam a bland look that didn’t fool him for an instant. Sam knew power when he saw it, felt it. Harry Dresden was one powerful wizard.



“What about you guys, what’s next for you?” Harry continued, as if nothing had happened.



Sam and Dean exchanged a look and a shrug.



“We’ll go wherever the next hunt is.” Sam replied.



“Heading out tonight?”



“Well, if it’s all the same to you and the fair city of Chicago, I think we’ll be happy to have it in the rearview mirror sooner rather than later.” Dean said, finishing his beer with finality. He stood, and Sam followed suit.



“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Harry said. They looked over at Murphy, who was finishing off her steak fries.



“Don’t look at me,” Murphy said. “The less I have to fraternize with you two known felons, the better it is for me. I may be off the clock, but I’m still a cop. Have a safe trip and stay out of trouble.”



Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”



They walked up to the street. The Impala rested at the curb, looking somehow coiled, as if she could spring away like a panther after prey.



“I wanted to thank you both again for your help with Molly. And the demon.” Dresden started.



“Yeah, about that --“ Sam said.



“A demon in a bottle could be potentially useful for a magician, so no, you can’t have it. But I promise to use it for good, not evil.”



“You better. We hear about anything untoward, we’ll be back.” Dean warned.



“Oh, I know.” Dresden replied. “You know, you’re not as abrasive as your old man. You still get my back up plenty, though. Drive safely.”  And he stepped back after shaking their hands.



Dean drove out of Chicago, not speaking until they reached Schaumburg.



“Where to, Sammy? Wisconsin or points even more west?”



“Just get us the hell out of the Midwest, Dean.”



“You know, I finally remember where I saw that symbol burned into Dresden’s hand. It’s from the Order of Blackened Denarius.”



“Yeah? So what’s that mean?”



“Sammy, I’m ashamed of you. I thought you knew everything about demon lore.”  Dean grinned at Sam’s eyeroll. “Well, it means that he is or has been possessed by a demon himself. A pretty powerful one, at that. I think we should keep an eye on Harry Dresden, Wizard, for a while.”



There was silence in the car as Dean sped past soybean fields and windmill turbines. For a change, Dean didn’t want any music.



Finally, Sam spoke.



“Dean?” he asked.



“Yeah, Sam.”



“What IS it with Chicago and demons, anyway?”