ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-26 05:13 pm
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-26 05:13 pm
Entry tags:
Death Curse: Chapter 6
Title: Death Curse
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 5
*****
Being sick is boring, let me tell you. Basically I spent a lot of time lying around doing nothing but feel like death warmed over and stomped on by a rabid wildebeest for good measure. I spent most of the day like that, drifting in and out of sleep, fighting off a headache that never seemed entirely to go away, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. To say it was frustrating would be putting it mildly: I couldn't read, and it's not like I can keep a television that works in my place. Electronics and wizards emphatically don't mix. Mouse kept me company for most of the day, but he wasn't exactly the world's greatest conversationalist. Not that I was much good at it myself today. Feeling sick and bored at the same time did nothing for my temper, and I may have been a little short with Michael and Molly, who'd been taking turns coming in to check on me and keep me company. Michael was unfailingly patient with me, but his daughter was less forgiving.
“Quit being such a grouch,” she scowled at me after I'd growled at her for the third time as she tried to get me to accept some dry toast in the afternoon. I'd awoken from an uneasy doze to find her at my bedside with a plate and a side order of stubborn. “I am trying to help, here, and you're biting the hand that's feeding you toast.”
“'M not being a grouch, I just want you to stop fussing.”
“Don't make me argue with a sick man, Harry, because I will. Have some toast, please.”
My stomach lurched at the idea of toast. Or any kind of food. “I can't. Would you stop trying to feed me?”
“You need to eat. You haven't had anything except a couple of mouthfuls of soup since you got back yesterday morning, and I bet you anything you didn't eat before then, either. Besides, you threw it all up.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Tough.”
“Molly, give it a rest,” I snapped. Her face crumpled, and I immediately felt guilty. Way to go, champ, be nasty to your apprentice when she's taking care of you. Real smooth. “Stars and stones, Molly... look, I didn't mean...”
“It's fine. You don't want toast, you don't want toast. It's fine. I'll go throw it out.” She glared at me, eyes brimming, then stalked through the door. I heard a fair bit of banging in the kitchen, and guessed that she was throwing out the toast with a lot more vigour than was strictly necessary. I felt like the world's biggest heel, but I couldn't exactly apologize.
I lay back on the bed, and closed my eyes. My head was throbbing worse than ever, and on top of my stomach threatening some sort of military coup, it felt as though someone was tightening a vice around my chest. I coughed, trying to clear my lungs, and it turned into a fit, which let me tell you did nothing to make my head feel better. I opened my eyes again when I felt a hand on my shoulder, to see Michael holding a glass of water near my head.
“Tell your daughter I'm sorry I was mean?” I said, once I'd drunk enough to satisfy him.
Michael gave me a rueful smile. “You can tell her yourself, once she's calm enough to come back and talk to you. That cough sounds pretty painful. How are you feeling?”
In my not-especially-long career as a professional wizard, I have learned that it's useless to lie to Michael. Well, not useless, but ultimately unproductive. He has a way of getting to the truth, no matter what. I attribute it to his profession as a Knight of the Cross. Having God in your corner kind of gives you an edge. The Almighty and I have an understanding: I keep out of his way, and he doesn't smite me. That being said, Michael's my friend, and I don't like to lie to him unless I absolutely have to.
“I feel like crap, actually.”
Michael pursed his lips and placed his hand on my forehead. It was the same gesture Charity had used earlier —must come with the territory when you're a parent. “Your fever's worse than before.” He took a thermometer from the bedside table, the old-fashioned kind with mercury. The newer ones that beep don't last a minute around me.
“Come on, Michael, that isn't necessary.”
He smiled patiently. “Humour me.” He slid the thermometer into my mouth and sat next to the bed. “Besides, now you can't talk for three entire minutes, which could well be a first for you.”
It was a low-down, dirty trick, and I let him know by glaring at him with all my might. Unfortunately, he remained unfazed. For a while he just sat there, watching me, until I squirmed under his gaze, and he looked away with a small smile. He broke the silence after another minute.
“Harry, I have to be honest with you, I don't like how sick you are.” He removed the thermometer and held it up to the light, twisting it to see how high the mercury had risen. “A fever like this, it's not normal. It's gone up since this morning, too. I don't like to leave you alone until it's broken completely.”
I swore under my breath. Somewhere at the back of my mind I had known that it was a Sunday, and that Michael would have to go to work the next day, and Molly would have to go to school, but it had registered only dimly, nagging at me like an ache in a spot you can't quite reach. I didn't think it was possible to feel more guilty about imposing on the Carpenters, but apparently it was.
“I'll be okay, Michael. All I need is some sleep, I promise. It's just the flu. I bet I'll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Huh.” Michael gave me a sceptical look. “Look, you can always talk until you're blue in the face, but I'm still not leaving you alone.”
I opened my mouth to argue, and started coughing instead. He propped me up with a strong arm, and after a minute I was able to draw a ragged breath. By then, all thoughts of arguing with him had fled my mind. “Thanks.”
He patted my shoulder and got up. “Try to get some sleep, all right?”
I nodded, closing my eyes, but I couldn't get to sleep after that. I was uncomfortable, my head hurt, and my throat was raw from coughing so hard. I lay half-awake, patting Mouse, who had given up his pretence of sleeping at the foot of my bed and was now lying pressed up against me. I was pretty sure there was something important I was forgetting, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to concentrate when your head aches. In a lot of ways, being sick was worse than all the other injuries I'd had before, including the burn on my left hand a couple of years before which had all but melted away the flesh on it and rendered it all but useless. At least then I knew what I was dealing with, but this... this was constant uncertainty. My whole body was betraying me, and I felt oddly offended by it. Okay, maybe I have some control issues.
Later Molly crept in, then stopped trying to tiptoe when she saw I was awake. She bit her lip, and I decided that the ball was in my court.
“I'm sorry I snapped.”
She flushed. “It's okay. You're the one who's sick. I should be more patient.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Okay, we're both sorry. I'm putting a stop to this conversation before it turns into an after-school special.”
She laughed, looking so relieved that I felt yet another pang of guilt. “So we're cool?”
“We're cool, grasshopper.”
“Okay, I'll let you sleep, then.”
*****
Chapter 7
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 5
Being sick is boring, let me tell you. Basically I spent a lot of time lying around doing nothing but feel like death warmed over and stomped on by a rabid wildebeest for good measure. I spent most of the day like that, drifting in and out of sleep, fighting off a headache that never seemed entirely to go away, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. To say it was frustrating would be putting it mildly: I couldn't read, and it's not like I can keep a television that works in my place. Electronics and wizards emphatically don't mix. Mouse kept me company for most of the day, but he wasn't exactly the world's greatest conversationalist. Not that I was much good at it myself today. Feeling sick and bored at the same time did nothing for my temper, and I may have been a little short with Michael and Molly, who'd been taking turns coming in to check on me and keep me company. Michael was unfailingly patient with me, but his daughter was less forgiving.
“Quit being such a grouch,” she scowled at me after I'd growled at her for the third time as she tried to get me to accept some dry toast in the afternoon. I'd awoken from an uneasy doze to find her at my bedside with a plate and a side order of stubborn. “I am trying to help, here, and you're biting the hand that's feeding you toast.”
“'M not being a grouch, I just want you to stop fussing.”
“Don't make me argue with a sick man, Harry, because I will. Have some toast, please.”
My stomach lurched at the idea of toast. Or any kind of food. “I can't. Would you stop trying to feed me?”
“You need to eat. You haven't had anything except a couple of mouthfuls of soup since you got back yesterday morning, and I bet you anything you didn't eat before then, either. Besides, you threw it all up.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Tough.”
“Molly, give it a rest,” I snapped. Her face crumpled, and I immediately felt guilty. Way to go, champ, be nasty to your apprentice when she's taking care of you. Real smooth. “Stars and stones, Molly... look, I didn't mean...”
“It's fine. You don't want toast, you don't want toast. It's fine. I'll go throw it out.” She glared at me, eyes brimming, then stalked through the door. I heard a fair bit of banging in the kitchen, and guessed that she was throwing out the toast with a lot more vigour than was strictly necessary. I felt like the world's biggest heel, but I couldn't exactly apologize.
I lay back on the bed, and closed my eyes. My head was throbbing worse than ever, and on top of my stomach threatening some sort of military coup, it felt as though someone was tightening a vice around my chest. I coughed, trying to clear my lungs, and it turned into a fit, which let me tell you did nothing to make my head feel better. I opened my eyes again when I felt a hand on my shoulder, to see Michael holding a glass of water near my head.
“Tell your daughter I'm sorry I was mean?” I said, once I'd drunk enough to satisfy him.
Michael gave me a rueful smile. “You can tell her yourself, once she's calm enough to come back and talk to you. That cough sounds pretty painful. How are you feeling?”
In my not-especially-long career as a professional wizard, I have learned that it's useless to lie to Michael. Well, not useless, but ultimately unproductive. He has a way of getting to the truth, no matter what. I attribute it to his profession as a Knight of the Cross. Having God in your corner kind of gives you an edge. The Almighty and I have an understanding: I keep out of his way, and he doesn't smite me. That being said, Michael's my friend, and I don't like to lie to him unless I absolutely have to.
“I feel like crap, actually.”
Michael pursed his lips and placed his hand on my forehead. It was the same gesture Charity had used earlier —must come with the territory when you're a parent. “Your fever's worse than before.” He took a thermometer from the bedside table, the old-fashioned kind with mercury. The newer ones that beep don't last a minute around me.
“Come on, Michael, that isn't necessary.”
He smiled patiently. “Humour me.” He slid the thermometer into my mouth and sat next to the bed. “Besides, now you can't talk for three entire minutes, which could well be a first for you.”
It was a low-down, dirty trick, and I let him know by glaring at him with all my might. Unfortunately, he remained unfazed. For a while he just sat there, watching me, until I squirmed under his gaze, and he looked away with a small smile. He broke the silence after another minute.
“Harry, I have to be honest with you, I don't like how sick you are.” He removed the thermometer and held it up to the light, twisting it to see how high the mercury had risen. “A fever like this, it's not normal. It's gone up since this morning, too. I don't like to leave you alone until it's broken completely.”
I swore under my breath. Somewhere at the back of my mind I had known that it was a Sunday, and that Michael would have to go to work the next day, and Molly would have to go to school, but it had registered only dimly, nagging at me like an ache in a spot you can't quite reach. I didn't think it was possible to feel more guilty about imposing on the Carpenters, but apparently it was.
“I'll be okay, Michael. All I need is some sleep, I promise. It's just the flu. I bet I'll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Huh.” Michael gave me a sceptical look. “Look, you can always talk until you're blue in the face, but I'm still not leaving you alone.”
I opened my mouth to argue, and started coughing instead. He propped me up with a strong arm, and after a minute I was able to draw a ragged breath. By then, all thoughts of arguing with him had fled my mind. “Thanks.”
He patted my shoulder and got up. “Try to get some sleep, all right?”
I nodded, closing my eyes, but I couldn't get to sleep after that. I was uncomfortable, my head hurt, and my throat was raw from coughing so hard. I lay half-awake, patting Mouse, who had given up his pretence of sleeping at the foot of my bed and was now lying pressed up against me. I was pretty sure there was something important I was forgetting, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to concentrate when your head aches. In a lot of ways, being sick was worse than all the other injuries I'd had before, including the burn on my left hand a couple of years before which had all but melted away the flesh on it and rendered it all but useless. At least then I knew what I was dealing with, but this... this was constant uncertainty. My whole body was betraying me, and I felt oddly offended by it. Okay, maybe I have some control issues.
Later Molly crept in, then stopped trying to tiptoe when she saw I was awake. She bit her lip, and I decided that the ball was in my court.
“I'm sorry I snapped.”
She flushed. “It's okay. You're the one who's sick. I should be more patient.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Okay, we're both sorry. I'm putting a stop to this conversation before it turns into an after-school special.”
She laughed, looking so relieved that I felt yet another pang of guilt. “So we're cool?”
“We're cool, grasshopper.”
“Okay, I'll let you sleep, then.”
Chapter 7