ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-31 12:23 am
ratherastory) wrote2009-12-31 12:23 am
Entry tags:
Death Curse: Chapter 9
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 8
*****
Thomas was still there when I awoke, shaking and sweating from my dreams. It was early enough in the morning that the room was still dark, and I could just make out his pale silhouette, stark against the shadows of the room. He leaned forward when he saw I was awake.
“Harry? How're you feeling?”
I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Been worse.” It felt as though my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, and my voice cracked.
Thomas helpfully held out a glass of water to me, then steadied my hands as they shook so much I nearly spilled the whole thing in my lap. “You're a terrible liar. Come on, it's just me, here. No one you have to chivalrously protect from the truth.”
I struggled to pull my thoughts together. There was something I had wanted to tell him, wasn't there? “I can't think straight. Everything's all jumbled together.”
He patted my arm. “Try not to worry about it. Take your time, okay? I just want to know what's going on with you.”
The room was spinning drunkenly again, and I shut my eyes, trying to make it stop. “I don't know. It shouldn't be like this.”
“Okay,” his voice was gentle, worried. “Just... try to get some sleep. It's still early, and...” The doorbell rang, interrupting him. “That's weird. Charity said she wouldn't be here until mid-morning. Hang on, I'll be right back.”
There was a murmur of voices at the door, and then none other than Sergeant Karrin Murphy herself was in the doorway to my bedroom, her hands shoved in the pockets of her trench coat. Murphy is a blond, five-foot-nothing terror who can do frightening things to people using just her bare hands, but I also count her as a friend, which is probably a good thing for me in the long run. Otherwise, she'd probably break me in half. Now, though, she just looked worried, and the sight of her was enough to make me pull together what few strands of thought I had left.
“Well, I suppose I should have known that your brother doesn't lie much better than you do, Dresden,” she said by way of hello. “What the hell have you been doing to yourself?”
“Hey, Murph,” I replied instead, in what I hoped could be interpreted as a conversational style. “I feel as though I ought to apologize for the state of my housekeeping, or something.” My voice cracked about halfway through the second sentence, which I think may have ruined the casual effect I was going for.
Thomas came up behind her, holding a second chair so they could both sit at the same time. She parked herself in the chair nearest me, and fixed me with a cold stare. “You look like you should be in a hospital.”
I shook my head, although it made the room go round even faster. “Bad idea. Machines, magic, boom. You know.”
It hadn't even occurred to me to consider the hospital, but now that she brought it up, it seemed like a way to add another problem to the veritable cornucopia of problems I had at the moment.
“You've been in a hospital before without too much going wrong.”
“For an injury. This is different. Can't take that risk.” I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. There was a glass of water on my table and I reached for it, but my fingers weren't quite working in the way I was accustomed, and only some quick moving on Murphy's part prevented me from knocking it over.
“You're a mess, Dresden. Here, let me,” she said brusquely, and held the water for me. A little humiliated, I obediently drank the water, and was treated to the sight of my brother rolling his eyes.
“Sure, when a pretty woman holds the glass, he's all meek and biddable. You sure you can't stay? He's been snippy with me the whole time.”
Murphy snorted, half with amusement. “The novelty would wear off quickly, I assure you. I'm not exactly the nurturing type.”
“I really love it when people talk about me as though I wasn't here,” I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open and failing. “Was there anything you needed, Murph?”
“I was coming to see how you were, and to ask you about those vampires, but it doesn't look like you're in any condition to do that. It'll keep.”
“No, it's okay. What did you need to know?”
I didn't even realize my eyes had closed until I felt Murphy's hand on my arm and realized I hadn't seen her move. “Don't be stupid, Dresden, you can barely stay awake. Let me ask Butters to look in on you, at least.”
Thomas answered before I could. “Would you? He's being stubborn.”
I made a half-hearted protesting sound, but they ignored me. “All right,” Murphy replied. “He should be coming off his shift just now. I'll see if I can get him to come by. Get some sleep, Harry.”
I didn't need to be told twice. Murphy was true to her word, though, and the next thing I knew someone was shaking me gently by the shoulder. I opened my eyes, to find myself staring into the round face of Waldo Butters, the city's medical-examiner-by-night. He used to be on the day shift, but after a truthful but ill-though-out report he made on some vampire corpses, he suffered a demotion. I think he's happier on night shift, overall. There's less scrutiny, and he has time to follow his other passions, too.
“Butters. How goes the polka?”
He grinned at me. “Good morning, Harry. Polka will never die, as you well know. It's you everyone's worried about.” He pulled up a chair and opened the black doctor's bag he'd taken to carrying around with him. “Why don't you tell me what your symptoms are?”
I have to give it to Butters. Even though he's much happier working on corpses, he's a damned good doctor, too. It's thanks to him that my left hand isn't completely useless, and he's helped patch me and others up more times than I can count. I let him poke and prod at me and even stick a thermometer in my mouth, although it wasn't necessarily with good grace. Good grace isn't exactly my strong suit. By the time he was done, he was shaking his head and clucking his tongue.
“Let me guess,” I said drily. “I'm sick.”
He chuckled. “Good diagnosis, doctor. Looks like a really bad case of the flu, as far as I can tell. Some of your symptoms are a little odd —the dizziness and vomiting— but that could be the head injury. If you're not better in a day or so, then I strongly suggest you go to a hospital. It isn't good for someone your age to run a fever for this long.”
“Are you saying I'm old, Butters?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Just do what your doctor tells you, all right Harry?”
“Fine,” I mumbled. “I'll be good, I promise.”
“Attaboy. There's nothing you're not telling me, is there, Harry? This isn't the time to be holding back. Remember, doctor-patient privilege.”
The nagging doubt that had receded in my mind came back to the fore. What was I forgetting? The notion that I wasn't in full control of my mind was maddening. “I... don't think so. I keep thinking that I'm forgetting something, something important. It's there, just out of my reach. I just can't remember what it is...” I tried to sit up, maybe under the mistaken idea that it would clear my head and let whatever idea it was come slipping back through the cracks. Instead, all I got for my effort was a stabbing pain in my head, and my stomach performing flip-flops. Butters pushed me back onto the bed.
“Easy, Harry. Don't get upset, it won't help anything. Look, I'll leave my card,” he pulled one out of his wallet, and began scribbling on it with a pen, “and I'll put my home number on the back. You have someone call me if you remember, or if anything else happens, all right? It's probably nothing, Harry,” he tried to reassure me. “You've got a really high fever, and that can make you think all sorts of things. Obsessing about something you've forgotten, fixating on certain ideas, it's a pretty common symptom. Try not to worry about it.”
Right then I was willing to promise anything, as long as the room stood still. “Okay.”
“I'm a phone call away. Take it easy, and drink as much as you can, all right?”
“Right.”
I never heard him leave, though I'm pretty sure I heard him talking to Thomas in the other room. It seemed like far too much of an effort to stay awake after that, and so I let myself drift back to sleep.
*****
Chapter 10
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 8
Thomas was still there when I awoke, shaking and sweating from my dreams. It was early enough in the morning that the room was still dark, and I could just make out his pale silhouette, stark against the shadows of the room. He leaned forward when he saw I was awake.
“Harry? How're you feeling?”
I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Been worse.” It felt as though my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, and my voice cracked.
Thomas helpfully held out a glass of water to me, then steadied my hands as they shook so much I nearly spilled the whole thing in my lap. “You're a terrible liar. Come on, it's just me, here. No one you have to chivalrously protect from the truth.”
I struggled to pull my thoughts together. There was something I had wanted to tell him, wasn't there? “I can't think straight. Everything's all jumbled together.”
He patted my arm. “Try not to worry about it. Take your time, okay? I just want to know what's going on with you.”
The room was spinning drunkenly again, and I shut my eyes, trying to make it stop. “I don't know. It shouldn't be like this.”
“Okay,” his voice was gentle, worried. “Just... try to get some sleep. It's still early, and...” The doorbell rang, interrupting him. “That's weird. Charity said she wouldn't be here until mid-morning. Hang on, I'll be right back.”
There was a murmur of voices at the door, and then none other than Sergeant Karrin Murphy herself was in the doorway to my bedroom, her hands shoved in the pockets of her trench coat. Murphy is a blond, five-foot-nothing terror who can do frightening things to people using just her bare hands, but I also count her as a friend, which is probably a good thing for me in the long run. Otherwise, she'd probably break me in half. Now, though, she just looked worried, and the sight of her was enough to make me pull together what few strands of thought I had left.
“Well, I suppose I should have known that your brother doesn't lie much better than you do, Dresden,” she said by way of hello. “What the hell have you been doing to yourself?”
“Hey, Murph,” I replied instead, in what I hoped could be interpreted as a conversational style. “I feel as though I ought to apologize for the state of my housekeeping, or something.” My voice cracked about halfway through the second sentence, which I think may have ruined the casual effect I was going for.
Thomas came up behind her, holding a second chair so they could both sit at the same time. She parked herself in the chair nearest me, and fixed me with a cold stare. “You look like you should be in a hospital.”
I shook my head, although it made the room go round even faster. “Bad idea. Machines, magic, boom. You know.”
It hadn't even occurred to me to consider the hospital, but now that she brought it up, it seemed like a way to add another problem to the veritable cornucopia of problems I had at the moment.
“You've been in a hospital before without too much going wrong.”
“For an injury. This is different. Can't take that risk.” I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. There was a glass of water on my table and I reached for it, but my fingers weren't quite working in the way I was accustomed, and only some quick moving on Murphy's part prevented me from knocking it over.
“You're a mess, Dresden. Here, let me,” she said brusquely, and held the water for me. A little humiliated, I obediently drank the water, and was treated to the sight of my brother rolling his eyes.
“Sure, when a pretty woman holds the glass, he's all meek and biddable. You sure you can't stay? He's been snippy with me the whole time.”
Murphy snorted, half with amusement. “The novelty would wear off quickly, I assure you. I'm not exactly the nurturing type.”
“I really love it when people talk about me as though I wasn't here,” I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open and failing. “Was there anything you needed, Murph?”
“I was coming to see how you were, and to ask you about those vampires, but it doesn't look like you're in any condition to do that. It'll keep.”
“No, it's okay. What did you need to know?”
I didn't even realize my eyes had closed until I felt Murphy's hand on my arm and realized I hadn't seen her move. “Don't be stupid, Dresden, you can barely stay awake. Let me ask Butters to look in on you, at least.”
Thomas answered before I could. “Would you? He's being stubborn.”
I made a half-hearted protesting sound, but they ignored me. “All right,” Murphy replied. “He should be coming off his shift just now. I'll see if I can get him to come by. Get some sleep, Harry.”
I didn't need to be told twice. Murphy was true to her word, though, and the next thing I knew someone was shaking me gently by the shoulder. I opened my eyes, to find myself staring into the round face of Waldo Butters, the city's medical-examiner-by-night. He used to be on the day shift, but after a truthful but ill-though-out report he made on some vampire corpses, he suffered a demotion. I think he's happier on night shift, overall. There's less scrutiny, and he has time to follow his other passions, too.
“Butters. How goes the polka?”
He grinned at me. “Good morning, Harry. Polka will never die, as you well know. It's you everyone's worried about.” He pulled up a chair and opened the black doctor's bag he'd taken to carrying around with him. “Why don't you tell me what your symptoms are?”
I have to give it to Butters. Even though he's much happier working on corpses, he's a damned good doctor, too. It's thanks to him that my left hand isn't completely useless, and he's helped patch me and others up more times than I can count. I let him poke and prod at me and even stick a thermometer in my mouth, although it wasn't necessarily with good grace. Good grace isn't exactly my strong suit. By the time he was done, he was shaking his head and clucking his tongue.
“Let me guess,” I said drily. “I'm sick.”
He chuckled. “Good diagnosis, doctor. Looks like a really bad case of the flu, as far as I can tell. Some of your symptoms are a little odd —the dizziness and vomiting— but that could be the head injury. If you're not better in a day or so, then I strongly suggest you go to a hospital. It isn't good for someone your age to run a fever for this long.”
“Are you saying I'm old, Butters?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Just do what your doctor tells you, all right Harry?”
“Fine,” I mumbled. “I'll be good, I promise.”
“Attaboy. There's nothing you're not telling me, is there, Harry? This isn't the time to be holding back. Remember, doctor-patient privilege.”
The nagging doubt that had receded in my mind came back to the fore. What was I forgetting? The notion that I wasn't in full control of my mind was maddening. “I... don't think so. I keep thinking that I'm forgetting something, something important. It's there, just out of my reach. I just can't remember what it is...” I tried to sit up, maybe under the mistaken idea that it would clear my head and let whatever idea it was come slipping back through the cracks. Instead, all I got for my effort was a stabbing pain in my head, and my stomach performing flip-flops. Butters pushed me back onto the bed.
“Easy, Harry. Don't get upset, it won't help anything. Look, I'll leave my card,” he pulled one out of his wallet, and began scribbling on it with a pen, “and I'll put my home number on the back. You have someone call me if you remember, or if anything else happens, all right? It's probably nothing, Harry,” he tried to reassure me. “You've got a really high fever, and that can make you think all sorts of things. Obsessing about something you've forgotten, fixating on certain ideas, it's a pretty common symptom. Try not to worry about it.”
Right then I was willing to promise anything, as long as the room stood still. “Okay.”
“I'm a phone call away. Take it easy, and drink as much as you can, all right?”
“Right.”
I never heard him leave, though I'm pretty sure I heard him talking to Thomas in the other room. It seemed like far too much of an effort to stay awake after that, and so I let myself drift back to sleep.
Chapter 10
no subject
In his defense, he's pretty out of it right now.