ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-15 11:59 pm
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-15 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
Death Curse: Chapter 4
Title: Death Curse
Author: That'd be me.
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 3
*****
The idea of sleeping in my clothes again was too gross to contemplate, even though I was so exhausted I was highly tempted to do just that. I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then slid back under the covers and pulled the blankets tightly around me, shivering. Something was definitely wrong, but my thoughts were whirling in my mind in a confused jumble of words and images and voices, and I couldn't concentrate long enough to figure out what it was. All I knew was that I felt terrible, and all I wanted now was to lie under my blankets until I was warm again. Mouse jumped up onto the bed next to me, chuffing softly with concern, and I was too tired to shove him off, even though he always takes up far too much space. He's a big dog, and my bed isn't all that spacious. He was warm, though, and it felt good to feel the heat radiate off him. I curled up into a tighter ball, and eventually, my eyes closed, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It felt like only a few minutes had passed when I awoke again, this time shoving the blankets aside, my mouth so dry I felt as though I might choke. Water was the answer to that particular problem. I couldn't remember turning on the heat; since the furnace and I don't usually get along I try to avoid that as much as possible, but it was so damned hot in the place that I must have done it while I was still feeling chilled. I sat up, swinging my legs off the bed, and waited for the room to stop rocking on its axis. My leg protested loudly as I got up, leaning on the bed, and I wondered briefly if I maybe hadn't injured it more badly than I first thought. Mouse jumped off the bed and came to stand behind me as I limped to the wall and leaned heavily on it while the room resumed rocking drunkenly back and forth. He whined and lay down at my feet.
“What?” I asked, my voice cracking. “I'm thirsty.”
He whined again, making me wonder if he didn't have a point —if dogs can even make points. Then again, Mouse isn't exactly your average dog. I was torn between going back to bed, which seemed like a really good idea, and going for that drink of water, which seemed like an equally good idea if I didn't want my throat to swell shut.
The water won out over sleep. I could sleep after I'd had water. I inched forward, keeping my hand on the wall, and I even managed to negotiate the door jamb and get into the bathroom. That's when things really started to go wrong. Instead of rocking gently back and forth the way it had been up until now, the floor decided to tilt at a really crazy angle and hit me in the face. Luckily, after that it didn't spin around too badly, and it felt really nice and cool against my skin. That's the good thing about tile: it's almost always cold, no matter what the temperature of the room. Mouse got up, nails clicking on the tile, and nosed at me. I shoved weakly at him with one hand.
“Getoffame, Mouse. Just gimme a minute.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the cold seep into my skin, and waited for everything to stand still. I was sure it would only take a minute or so...
The next thing I knew there was a hand on my shoulder, and a familiar voice was speaking to me. My brain fumbled to place it, even while my eyes refused to focus. “Harry, can you hear me?”
I made a feeble attempt to... I'm not sure what I was trying to do, frankly. I think it involved moving, or maybe speaking, but whatever it was, I failed spectacularly.
“He's conscious, anyway,” the voice said, sounding relieved. “How long has he been like this?”
“I don't know,” another voice, younger, anxious-sounding. Also someone I knew, but the wiring had gone all wrong in my head, and I couldn't make much sense of who was whom in all the muddle. “I heard Mouse bark, and when I came in he was like this. I called right away.”
“Okay. Let's get him back to bed. Harry, we have to get you up off the floor. I need you to help me, all right? Give me your arm, that's it...”
I felt myself being propped up, and finally my eyes focussed and some of the fog cleared. “Michael?”
Michael Carpenter turned a grave expression on me, then smiled reassuringly. “You're awake, then. Good. Can you get up?”
I winced as he pulled me to my feet, and couldn't quite hold back a groan of pain as I tried to stand on my bad leg. “Ow...”
“Easy, Harry. I've got you. Come on, let's get you back to bed.”
I think I might have made a half-hearted noise of protest —I still hadn't had that drink of water— but Michael either didn't understand me, or else chose to ignore me. I found myself back in bed in far less time than it had taken me to get out of bed in the first place, and my pillows had never felt more comfortable and welcoming in my whole life. Michael laid a callused hand against my forehead, and pursed his lips.
“You're burning up. What happened?”
“Just wanted water...” my voice cracked, but I did manage to get the words out. “Got dizzy. Dunno what happened.” Like magic, Michael was holding a glass of water to my lips, propping me up so I could drink without making a mess of myself. I started coughing halfway through, though, so I ended up making a mess of myself anyway, which Michael patiently mopped up with his handkerchief.
“Molly said you'd been injured, but not that you were ill.”
I leaned back and let my eyes close. “'M fine. Just got a bump on the head.”
“It's obviously more than that, Harry. Bumps on the head don't give you fevers.”
I opened my eyes, then immediately closed them again when the light from the bedside lamp threatened to sear my retinas. “Dunno what it is. Maybe it's the bird flu. Or swine flu, that's the latest big deal, isn't it? Or did they come up with another animal when I wasn't paying attention?” I grinned in spite of the throbbing pain in my head. Sometimes I crack me up.
I could feel Michael's disapproval radiating at me. “This isn't a joking matter. How long have you been feeling ill?”
I coughed again, while I was considering. “Not sure. A few hours, maybe? What time is it?”
“It's about ten pm.”
“A few hours, then,” I confirmed, hoping I hadn't lost a day or so in there. “It wasn't so bad before.”
“He didn't look sick when I left,” Molly said from the doorway, sounding defensive. “I wouldn't have gone, otherwise.”
“'S'okay, Molly, you're not supposed to be responsible for me,” I mumbled. “Other way 'round. Apprentice, master, all that.”
“No one is blaming you, Molly.”
“If he'd told me he was sick, I wouldn't have left him,” she repeated. I risked opening my eyes again, long enough to see that she was leaning against the door frame, hugging her arms to her chest, looking guilty.
Michael pressed more water on me, forestalling what probably would have been an argument, and when I had managed a few more swallows I felt too tired to argue the point anyway. I could hear him and Molly talking in low voices, but it felt like too much of an effort to try and make out what they were saying, and I drifted back to sleep, if sleep it could be called.
I spent a lot of time tossing uncomfortably after that. It seemed that no matter what I did I was always either too hot or too cold, and there was an ever-present throb of pain in my head that made restful sleep all but impossible. Whenever I did manage more than a light doze, I was plagued with confusing dreams in which I wandered through twisting corridors, voices taunting me as I got increasingly lost in a maze of identical-looking walls. Dimly I was aware that someone was coming and going from my side, when I was awake enough to remember where I was, but I could never stay awake long enough to figure out who it was. Finally, the pain receded, and the dreams stopped.
*****
Chapter 5
Author: That'd be me.
Rating: Work-safe!
Book or TV verse: Book verse. I haven't seen the show
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jim Butcher, I'm just playing in his sandbox and hoping no one sends lawyers after me.
Chapter 3
The idea of sleeping in my clothes again was too gross to contemplate, even though I was so exhausted I was highly tempted to do just that. I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then slid back under the covers and pulled the blankets tightly around me, shivering. Something was definitely wrong, but my thoughts were whirling in my mind in a confused jumble of words and images and voices, and I couldn't concentrate long enough to figure out what it was. All I knew was that I felt terrible, and all I wanted now was to lie under my blankets until I was warm again. Mouse jumped up onto the bed next to me, chuffing softly with concern, and I was too tired to shove him off, even though he always takes up far too much space. He's a big dog, and my bed isn't all that spacious. He was warm, though, and it felt good to feel the heat radiate off him. I curled up into a tighter ball, and eventually, my eyes closed, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It felt like only a few minutes had passed when I awoke again, this time shoving the blankets aside, my mouth so dry I felt as though I might choke. Water was the answer to that particular problem. I couldn't remember turning on the heat; since the furnace and I don't usually get along I try to avoid that as much as possible, but it was so damned hot in the place that I must have done it while I was still feeling chilled. I sat up, swinging my legs off the bed, and waited for the room to stop rocking on its axis. My leg protested loudly as I got up, leaning on the bed, and I wondered briefly if I maybe hadn't injured it more badly than I first thought. Mouse jumped off the bed and came to stand behind me as I limped to the wall and leaned heavily on it while the room resumed rocking drunkenly back and forth. He whined and lay down at my feet.
“What?” I asked, my voice cracking. “I'm thirsty.”
He whined again, making me wonder if he didn't have a point —if dogs can even make points. Then again, Mouse isn't exactly your average dog. I was torn between going back to bed, which seemed like a really good idea, and going for that drink of water, which seemed like an equally good idea if I didn't want my throat to swell shut.
The water won out over sleep. I could sleep after I'd had water. I inched forward, keeping my hand on the wall, and I even managed to negotiate the door jamb and get into the bathroom. That's when things really started to go wrong. Instead of rocking gently back and forth the way it had been up until now, the floor decided to tilt at a really crazy angle and hit me in the face. Luckily, after that it didn't spin around too badly, and it felt really nice and cool against my skin. That's the good thing about tile: it's almost always cold, no matter what the temperature of the room. Mouse got up, nails clicking on the tile, and nosed at me. I shoved weakly at him with one hand.
“Getoffame, Mouse. Just gimme a minute.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the cold seep into my skin, and waited for everything to stand still. I was sure it would only take a minute or so...
The next thing I knew there was a hand on my shoulder, and a familiar voice was speaking to me. My brain fumbled to place it, even while my eyes refused to focus. “Harry, can you hear me?”
I made a feeble attempt to... I'm not sure what I was trying to do, frankly. I think it involved moving, or maybe speaking, but whatever it was, I failed spectacularly.
“He's conscious, anyway,” the voice said, sounding relieved. “How long has he been like this?”
“I don't know,” another voice, younger, anxious-sounding. Also someone I knew, but the wiring had gone all wrong in my head, and I couldn't make much sense of who was whom in all the muddle. “I heard Mouse bark, and when I came in he was like this. I called right away.”
“Okay. Let's get him back to bed. Harry, we have to get you up off the floor. I need you to help me, all right? Give me your arm, that's it...”
I felt myself being propped up, and finally my eyes focussed and some of the fog cleared. “Michael?”
Michael Carpenter turned a grave expression on me, then smiled reassuringly. “You're awake, then. Good. Can you get up?”
I winced as he pulled me to my feet, and couldn't quite hold back a groan of pain as I tried to stand on my bad leg. “Ow...”
“Easy, Harry. I've got you. Come on, let's get you back to bed.”
I think I might have made a half-hearted noise of protest —I still hadn't had that drink of water— but Michael either didn't understand me, or else chose to ignore me. I found myself back in bed in far less time than it had taken me to get out of bed in the first place, and my pillows had never felt more comfortable and welcoming in my whole life. Michael laid a callused hand against my forehead, and pursed his lips.
“You're burning up. What happened?”
“Just wanted water...” my voice cracked, but I did manage to get the words out. “Got dizzy. Dunno what happened.” Like magic, Michael was holding a glass of water to my lips, propping me up so I could drink without making a mess of myself. I started coughing halfway through, though, so I ended up making a mess of myself anyway, which Michael patiently mopped up with his handkerchief.
“Molly said you'd been injured, but not that you were ill.”
I leaned back and let my eyes close. “'M fine. Just got a bump on the head.”
“It's obviously more than that, Harry. Bumps on the head don't give you fevers.”
I opened my eyes, then immediately closed them again when the light from the bedside lamp threatened to sear my retinas. “Dunno what it is. Maybe it's the bird flu. Or swine flu, that's the latest big deal, isn't it? Or did they come up with another animal when I wasn't paying attention?” I grinned in spite of the throbbing pain in my head. Sometimes I crack me up.
I could feel Michael's disapproval radiating at me. “This isn't a joking matter. How long have you been feeling ill?”
I coughed again, while I was considering. “Not sure. A few hours, maybe? What time is it?”
“It's about ten pm.”
“A few hours, then,” I confirmed, hoping I hadn't lost a day or so in there. “It wasn't so bad before.”
“He didn't look sick when I left,” Molly said from the doorway, sounding defensive. “I wouldn't have gone, otherwise.”
“'S'okay, Molly, you're not supposed to be responsible for me,” I mumbled. “Other way 'round. Apprentice, master, all that.”
“No one is blaming you, Molly.”
“If he'd told me he was sick, I wouldn't have left him,” she repeated. I risked opening my eyes again, long enough to see that she was leaning against the door frame, hugging her arms to her chest, looking guilty.
Michael pressed more water on me, forestalling what probably would have been an argument, and when I had managed a few more swallows I felt too tired to argue the point anyway. I could hear him and Molly talking in low voices, but it felt like too much of an effort to try and make out what they were saying, and I drifted back to sleep, if sleep it could be called.
I spent a lot of time tossing uncomfortably after that. It seemed that no matter what I did I was always either too hot or too cold, and there was an ever-present throb of pain in my head that made restful sleep all but impossible. Whenever I did manage more than a light doze, I was plagued with confusing dreams in which I wandered through twisting corridors, voices taunting me as I got increasingly lost in a maze of identical-looking walls. Dimly I was aware that someone was coming and going from my side, when I was awake enough to remember where I was, but I could never stay awake long enough to figure out who it was. Finally, the pain receded, and the dreams stopped.
Chapter 5