Fic: Vacation (1/?)
Spoilers: uh, I've only actually read through Fool Moon, but there are various things I've picked up and some of them I've made up to flesh it out a bit more. Definitely spoilers up to the beginning of Fool Moon, though. I apologize for some OOC-ness and the complete fabrication of Lea's character. I know almost nothing about her, including how to spell her full name. I also don't really care, since it isn't important to the story.
Rating: some swearing, but I'd say PG-13 for now. Will get higher as the story goes on, most likely.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden
Warnings: for this chapter - foul language. Harry is very upset.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
My fairy godmother has interesting ideas on what constitutes a good birthday present. This year’s gift for a day I don’t really celebrate was a bracelet with a charm on it that reminded me of Mister. It had the slippery feel of fae magic, but all I could make out were protective sigils, and I know my godmother doesn’t actually wish me ill, so I kept it. I did not put it on, I am not an idiot.
At least, I don’t think I put it on. Not consciously. Which means there was a minor compulsion on the thing, because that little charm is the only thing I can think of that I’ve been handling lately that might have turned me into a freaking CAT.
Worst of all, I didn’t know how long this would last. I couldn’t speak (I tried, it all sounded like meowing) and I was a black cat on Halloween, in Chicago. I needed food and shelter - I was currently somewhere in Millennium Park because I’m an idiot - and I didn’t know any cat-people except maybe Mac.
The closest safe option was one I wasn’t particularly looking forward to. Everyone knew at least one of the places Marcone worked - not just owned, but worked. It was a few blocks from Millennium Park. I took it at a brisk lope, frustrated when my furry little legs didn’t eat up the ground the way I usually could. The doors were heavy and non-automatic, but I slipped in on the heels of a businessman. I managed to sneak past the office staff like a twenty-pound ninja.
Going further than this would be extremely suspicious, I figured, and it was warm and dry here, with a patch of sunlight…I fell asleep.
I woke up again in someone’s arms, so I mumbled - mewled - unintelligibly before looking up. It was Marcone. Good. I licked his face, not because I wanted to, but because I needed him to give a shit about me. He chuckled. It was warm and affectionate and all kinds of weird to hear.
Someone moved in front of us - Hendricks. “The little guy awake?” he asked.
“Yes. He doesn’t have the same prejudices against me that people do, fortunately.”
…I wasn’t sure how I felt, hearing him say that. I was pretty sure I counted as one of those people with prejudices against Marcone. Not without reason - the man controlled Chicago’s entire criminal organization and he dabbled in politics the way a painter dabbles in sketching; politics could lay a fertile groundwork for his criminal practices.
On the other hand, he was nice to stray kitties and he firmly opposed violence to children.
“Ah, he’s purring,” Marcone said quietly. He’d been stroking my head, as I thought. It was incredibly relaxing. I also found my positive feelings for him soaring as long as he was petting me. That was a bit embarrassing, but impossible to control, meaning I sulked twice as hard whenever he had to stop for trivial things like putting on a seatbelt. I wanted him to touch me again but I hated myself and him for wanting it…and then he pet me more and I forgot what I’d been thinking about.
He and Hendricks talked, but it was completely irrelevant to me as long as Marcone continued petting me. Marcone carried me again, and I rubbed against the very soft fabric of his suit. I realized wickedly that I was leaving cat hair all over them, and rubbed harder, purring. Increasing Marcone’s dry cleaning bill one suit at a time, that’s me, the vicious Dresden…
There were all kinds of interesting smells in the new building. Lots of animals and people and other things I couldn’t recognize, because even a cat’s nose didn’t help me remember the smells I’d known with a human one.
Oh shit. This was a vet office, the same one I took Mister to. I whined and pawed at Marcone’s suit.
He scratched behind my ears, which felt amazing, but was so not what I wanted right now.
“It’s just a checkup,” he said, even though he probably didn’t think I understood English. The tone of his voice was gentle, calm. A normal cat would have responded to that, maybe, and relaxed. I just whined a little quieter, scared shitless that I would come away from this cat experience missing two very important parts of my life.
Okay, so I didn’t use them often these days. That didn’t mean I never wanted them again!
Marcone set me on a table, using a hand on my neck to keep me there. My legs scrabbled at the slick metal. It smelled like urine, disinfectant, and misery, with the faintest hint of blood. I started yowling.
The vet came in. He was brisk, but shameless. What if I didn’t want you looking there, jerk? It was like having a prostate exam in front of a live audience. Hell’s Bells.
Marcone was cool in the face of my distress, as usual. I was checked briskly for pretty much everything - worms, fleas, and so on.
“He’s completely clean,” the vet said. “He’s most likely someone’s pet, but considering he has no collar, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to say whose pet. Considering the time of year, I’d wait at least a few days before putting up found signs.”
“Hm?” Marcone asked.
“Well, Halloween…” the vet paused. “Most black cats don’t last long if they’re left outside,” he said, trying to be diplomatic. “If he had an owner, they would have known that - he was a smart cookie, getting into your office building. Some people might falsely claim a black cat just to hurt it, this time of year.”
Marcone stroked my fur. “How could anyone hurt such a sweet thing?” he mumbled. I purred loudly, despite my inner horror at Marcone cooing at me. Also, I was not a sweet thing!
“People can be cruel, especially teenage boys,” the vet said quietly. He’d probably seen a lot of hurt cats, this time of year. I kept Mister in for it, much to my cat’s displeasure.
“Do you know what breed he is?” Marcone asked.
“You noticed he wasn’t a true black, right? Those silvery markings - grizzling, it’s called - and his size make it almost a certainty that he’s a Chausie. Judging by the weight, almost 24 pounds, and his muscle, he’s almost certainly an F1, first generation.”
“What do you mean?” I was kind of wondering that, myself.
“Chausies are hybrids - half Abyssinian, usually. The other half is a jungle cat. He’ll be smart and trainable like a dog - Chausies even play fetch, sometimes. He’ll also be pretty active in the evenings, and want a good amount of play and attention. He’ll also be able to jump about six feet from a standstill, maybe more.” That was good to know. “Oh, and he’s sterile, if he’s an F1. Most F2 males are sterile, too.” Good, no neutering necessary. As long as the sterility didn’t, you know, transfer to my human form. I couldn’t imagine it would.
Marcone - and Hendricks, who had been following along so silently I’d all but forgotten about him - paid at the front desk, and I finally, truly relaxed. Marcone had been serious about not getting me fixed. I suppose he figured it wasn’t his place, if I might have an owner, and anyway one of the main reasons to do so was not an issue. Admittedly the other reason was pretty compelling, if the cat was the type that pissed on carpets. We got back in the car, and I curled up in his lap to sleep as he stroked my fur.
My warm, squishy bed was moving again. It was almost dark - no, it was dark, but cat eyes saw better in the dim of Chicago evening. Marcone carried me inside his manor, Hendricks moving ahead of us, checking rooms. It seemed like habit, not real distrust of the security here. There were other guards, who greeted Marcone and watched me with interest. I preened, licking my paw.
My stomach rumbled. It had been a long day (though I slept through large sections of it) and I had only gotten one meal out of it. I mewled and turned my face up to Marcone. He laughed. “Someone’s hungry, hmm?” He tickled my belly. Hell’s Bells, I could almost get used to this cat business. Having Gentleman Johnny cater to my every whim was awesome and terrifying.
Dinner was chopped ham and a side of tuna. It smelled and tasted like heaven. Marcone had a healthy salad and a distinctly less healthy sub sandwich. Hendricks skipped straight to the sandwich.
Eating from a plate off the floor was weird, but the food smell was overpoweringly good, so I just tucked in. I licked stray tuna bits off my mouth.
“You gonna name him?” Hendricks asked.
Marcone shrugged. “Should wait for an owner to come forward, before I get attached or anything.”
Hendricks looked at him. “Boss, I’d say you’re already pretty attached. The dogs don’t get to leave hair on your suits.”
“Having a cat always felt a little too much like being an evil mastermind plotting to take over the world. People expect the rich to have guard dogs. I don’t keep them for pleasure.” I was glad to be right. Marcone was a secret cat person. He was too fastidious not to be, really.
I waited - rather politely, I thought - for Marcone to finish eating before experimenting with jumping. I aimed for the counter and scrabbled not to fly off the other side. Hendricks and Marcone both looked at me with wide eyes. I stalked over to sit in front of Marcone and licked his plate, just to prove I had totally meant to do that.
“Gonna have to train him not to jump on the counters,” Hendricks said.
“Quite. I’ll probably have to train him not to jump on everything.” Despite his exasperated tone, he was scratching between my ears. “I had rather hoped he wouldn’t be too much trouble, but I can see that was a foolish thing to wish for.”
“You didn’t have to take him home,” Hendricks said mildly.
“On the other hand, I have the perfect name for him now.”
Hendricks and I both looked at him expectantly.
“Hairy Dresden.” Bastard had a shit-eating grin on his face when he said it, too.
Hendricks groaned. “That is the worst pun I’ve heard in weeks, thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Hendricks.”
“Any particular reason you’re naming a pet cat after your semi-adversarial wizard?”
I was impressed. Hendricks had a multisyllabic vocabulary.
“A knack for getting where he shouldn’t be, often in low grade danger, half-wild, large and lanky, and black cats have been interpreted as both good and bad luck, depending on who was doing the talking where. He’s also not getting anywhere with the ladies anytime soon,” Marcone said, wickedly amused.
Hendricks rolled his eyes. “And this unclaimed stray is not going to be a replacement for the pet wizard you didn’t get, right?”
“If an owner comes forward, of course I’ll give him back.” He stroked me, smile softer now. “But the solitary nature is very like Dresden, too. I wonder if this little one is alone like Chicago’s wizard.”
“He’s not exactly little, you know,” Hendricks said, just to be contrary, I think. “Twenty-three pounds is pretty hefty for a housecat.”
As the owner of a thirty pound cat, I took offense to that. Mister is just big-boned.
“And Dresden is nearly six foot nine, but he isn’t exactly bursting with muscle. The cat is big, powerful even, but not the same way as a dog of similar size. Besides, Dresden’s a lot like a cat himself, a bit of a hedonist, solitary but not immune to the desire for companionship, and fiercely independent.” He sounded…kind of wistful.
“Which is why you couldn’t buy him off.”
“No, I couldn’t buy him off because he had principles. He’s a noble little anachronism.” Marcone bopped me on the nose with his finger. I swatted at his hand instinctively. “Combative, too. Even when he has nothing to feel threatened by.” He sighed again. “I wish the poor idiot would have just signed the contract, but cats are like that. You have to catch them, but they don’t really serve you. You just feed them and hope they stick around.”
“Well, have you tried offering Dresden food?” Hendricks joked. At least, I thought he was joking, though the tone was serious. I revised my estimation when he added, “The man’s too skinny to be that tall.”
“I know. And from all reports, he hasn’t been eating well or enough these past few months. The police have gotten too scared to call him in, and that seems to have been his major source of income.”
Hendricks looked at Marcone. “And you of course have nothing to do with the police.”
“I have nothing to do with Karrin Murphy, who, like Dresden, is utterly disgusted with my affairs and refuses to be bought. There are other complications, but she has lost trust in Dresden and he is suffering badly for it.”
Like I needed the reminder. I head-butted Marcone’s hand and he started petting me again obediently. That was more like it.
Hendricks was finishing his second sandwich. “I’m just saying you could make the eating easier, at least.”
“How? Dresden is too prideful to accept charity and too…morally upright or some rubbish to accept a job from me, even if it pays and it’s real and not illegal.”
“So don’t have it be from you. Have someone else go in. You run a multi-million dollar business with hundreds of employees. Statistically, shouldn’t at least one of them have some kind of occult concern?”
Marcone scratched wonderfully. I wasn’t sure how I would feel if one of Marcone’s employees came with the job. He would probably be paying, at least in a roundabout way. The job would be real, I didn’t doubt that. I also couldn’t deny the food budget was starting to decrease, as more of that money went to making any kind of payment towards my rent. But I wouldn’t do it for Marcone, or food money. I’d be putting someone’s occult concerns at rest. Sure, Hendricks.
“I’m going to read. Let me know if you need me, Boss.”
“Good night, Mr. Hendricks.” Marcone continued to stroke me thoughtfully. I was finished with his plate, so I settled into his lap, which seemed to startle him out of his contemplation of my fur.
“What to do with you, Hairy?” he asked gamely, picking me up and carrying me somewhere else. As long as Marcone was around, it looked like I wasn’t going to have to walk if I didn’t want to.
He found a racquet ball somewhere and we ended up playing fetch. There was a twitching part of my brain that kept insisting I pounce the little moving thing and kill it. Then once I had it, the human part decided to play along with Marcone and bring the ball to him. There was an undertone there, a more subdued part of me that was still not human that was also insisting on this. I didn’t like that part as much, mostly because I kept feeling it was calling Marcone 'My Human.'
Supposedly Mister calls me that. That even part of me thought of Marcone as “mine” was deeply awkward. We played for an hour, Marcone tossing the ball low and high, testing my jump. The wild part knew its limits, which were pushing seven feet if I was any judge of distance (it was harder in this body, with the unfamiliar eyes and very unusual perspective). I got better at plucking the ball from midair, at the apex of the throw.
Someone knocked on the office door, and Marcone sat at his desk, tucking the ball away. “Come in,” he said, sounding as serious as ever.
“Boss, the litterbox is set up in the secondary guest bathroom,” a mafia peon said. He noticed me. “Jesus, I thought it was a housecat.”
“…That is a housecat,” Marcone said, deadpan.
“It’s the size of a bobcat!”
“Hardly. It’s only half jungle cat, if that makes you feel better.” The bastard was teasing his employee, and I was apparently the only one catching on.
The kid looked pale.
I hissed at him and he bolted. Marcone laughed quietly. “Definitely too much like Harry.”
He had used my last name, around Hendricks. I wondered if that was important. We got back to playing fetch.
Marcone showed me the litterbox and left me locked in the guest bedroom suite. I didn’t really like that. I wasn’t sleepy, though a digital alarm clock on the bed said it was nearly midnight.
I ran around some, shredded a throw pillow, and made a nest. I used the litterbox twice, and jumped onto the counter fiddling with the sink until I could get water. I even shut it off. Eco-friendly, that’s me. It was three in the morning before I was sleepy enough to curl up in my nest.
In the dream, I was in Faerie. That made me instantly suspicious, because the fae can sometimes invade dreams. Sure enough, there was my godmother.
“Why did you turn me into a cat?” I asked bluntly.
“Haven’t you enjoyed yourself so far?” she asked, bright and smiling.
“It’s Halloween. Do you know what happens to black cats on Halloween?”
“But you got picked up by that nice boy, Johnny. He’s taking very good care of you, Harry. He’d like to take care of you like that as a human, too.”
I blinked. “I don’t think he wants to play fetch with me and scratch behind my ears.”
“Probably not that first thing, but humans can get surprisingly kinky at times,” Lea beamed.
I turned red. “Just reverse it already!” I hissed.
“Calm down. The bracelet didn’t have that much juice. At most it should last a week.” She frowned. “Maybe a month. But certainly no more than a year!”
Gaping, I fumbled for words to express my dislike. “I can’t go missing for a year!”
Lea tittered. “Oh learn how to take a joke. At most a week, seriously.”
“What about my cat?”
“Mister will be fine. I took him to Mac and said you were out of town on a case, but something came up so I couldn’t watch him.”
“What if Murphy calls?”
Lea actually looked like she was pitying me. “Harry. Murphy isn’t going to call. I don’t have to know her to know that. She’s angry with you. Besides, most of the darker side of magic takes some time off around the holiday. Think of it as a vacation, sweetie. Paid, even. I took care of your debts - why didn’t you tell me you were having money troubles?”
“Whoa, whoa, I don’t want to owe you,” I said hastily.
“Haven’t I told you this is a gift. A one-week paid vacation. No debtors to come knocking when you get back, a little sum for groceries, and you get to take this time to play and relax and not worry. Be bored, but not starving. I couldn’t have picked a better owner for you myself, that Johnny is a real sweetheart.”
There would be no getting through to her. I accepted that and moved on. I was going to be stuck as a cat for about a week, but that was no reason to get…who am I kidding, it was a perfectly good reason to get angry! I glowered and was about to give Lea a piece of my mind when I woke with a start, yowling loudly. Stupid cat mouth.
A few moments later, a sleepy John Marcone opened the guest bedroom door. He was wearing only flannel sleep pants. I guess he wasn’t as big on silk when no one was watching.
“Hey now, what’s the matter?” he said, Chicago accent stronger with fatigue. I mewled - trying to tell him to fuck off, but it came out all adorable. Completely unfair.
“Ah, did kitty have a bad dream?” he asked, clearly amused. I glared at him. He picked me up and cuddled me like a whiny kid. I realized suddenly the last time someone tried to comfort me after a nightmare had been before my father died. I started crying, but cats don’t cry like humans do. It was a low whine, and Marcone kept stroking my back until I calmed down. “Animals are so much like children, sometimes,” he said quietly, just talking to himself. I remembered again Marcone’s distaste for harming children. “Defenseless, inarticulate…cute, dependent, but able to lift your spirits at the oddest times.” He kissed my head. “Before I found you, today was a pretty bad day, kitten.”
I nuzzled his cheek and purred, trying to give him that little bit of peace. He laid down on the bed, stroking me. John Marcone was spooning a cat. I mean, not really spooning (and not really a cat) but still.
“I didn’t get into this business because I wanted drugs or money,” he said, face pinched with emotion. I felt like the worst kind of voyeur. People like John Marcone didn’t have confidantes, they had bodyguards. They didn’t have friends, they had business partners. I was pretending to be something that couldn’t tell his secrets, so he felt safe to share them. I prayed to whatever and whoever might be looking out for me that Marcone never found out who his temporary cat was. Maybe Lea would come claim me before the spell ended.
Marcone continued, “I saw Chicago as she was - corrupt, vile, rotten through the core - and I saw myself, as a young hustler, contributing to that, eating away at her beauty. And then I realized that just because organized crime has to exist in large cities doesn’t mean it has to hurt everyone it touches. At least, it doesn’t have to touch everyone. I knew there would be corrupt cops, paid-for politicians. And I wanted someone I trusted holding those leashes…but I was the only person I trusted. So I started putting my fingers in, grabbing up the strings. First I controlled the drug trade, because that was the real poison. It’s like being the FDA, some days. No one in Chicago cuts cocaine with arsenic. People are free to poison themselves with narcotics, but I won’t have dealers cheat them with fluffed drugs.”
He sighed, and I purred louder, which made him smile. “The drug trade got me enough money to pull off the rest - get rid of the Vargassis idiots, take over. It was a slow process, finding the right cops, making sure they looked the other way only at the right times. Then once I had some beat cops, I got some lieutenants, other officers, until eventually I got friendly with the Commissioner. He introduced me to the mayor. Once I had Chicago, I started thinking about expanding. But for the most part, I have what I want. Gangs know better than to have shootouts in public these days. I will freely offer them the space to kill each other where they aren’t hurting innocents. Harry - the human one - is right, in a way. I am a scumbag. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that I try to get most of the other scumbags in this city to kill themselves so I don’t have to and so they can’t hurt others.”
I didn’t know either. I licked his nose, made him laugh again. I would have to pretend this conversation never happened, eventually. In the mean-time, while I was able, I wanted to give the man some respect. He was…not what I had always thought. I would try to remember that much, at least, when I spoke with him in the future. He still profited from drugs and violence - but he also controlled it in ways the government couldn’t, with compromises and political maneuvering.
Marcone was asleep. I purred and curled up under his chin. His hand stayed in my fur. It was nice to be held.
Rating: some swearing, but I'd say PG-13 for now. Will get higher as the story goes on, most likely.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden
Warnings: for this chapter - foul language. Harry is very upset.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
My fairy godmother has interesting ideas on what constitutes a good birthday present. This year’s gift for a day I don’t really celebrate was a bracelet with a charm on it that reminded me of Mister. It had the slippery feel of fae magic, but all I could make out were protective sigils, and I know my godmother doesn’t actually wish me ill, so I kept it. I did not put it on, I am not an idiot.
At least, I don’t think I put it on. Not consciously. Which means there was a minor compulsion on the thing, because that little charm is the only thing I can think of that I’ve been handling lately that might have turned me into a freaking CAT.
Worst of all, I didn’t know how long this would last. I couldn’t speak (I tried, it all sounded like meowing) and I was a black cat on Halloween, in Chicago. I needed food and shelter - I was currently somewhere in Millennium Park because I’m an idiot - and I didn’t know any cat-people except maybe Mac.
The closest safe option was one I wasn’t particularly looking forward to. Everyone knew at least one of the places Marcone worked - not just owned, but worked. It was a few blocks from Millennium Park. I took it at a brisk lope, frustrated when my furry little legs didn’t eat up the ground the way I usually could. The doors were heavy and non-automatic, but I slipped in on the heels of a businessman. I managed to sneak past the office staff like a twenty-pound ninja.
Going further than this would be extremely suspicious, I figured, and it was warm and dry here, with a patch of sunlight…I fell asleep.
I woke up again in someone’s arms, so I mumbled - mewled - unintelligibly before looking up. It was Marcone. Good. I licked his face, not because I wanted to, but because I needed him to give a shit about me. He chuckled. It was warm and affectionate and all kinds of weird to hear.
Someone moved in front of us - Hendricks. “The little guy awake?” he asked.
“Yes. He doesn’t have the same prejudices against me that people do, fortunately.”
…I wasn’t sure how I felt, hearing him say that. I was pretty sure I counted as one of those people with prejudices against Marcone. Not without reason - the man controlled Chicago’s entire criminal organization and he dabbled in politics the way a painter dabbles in sketching; politics could lay a fertile groundwork for his criminal practices.
On the other hand, he was nice to stray kitties and he firmly opposed violence to children.
“Ah, he’s purring,” Marcone said quietly. He’d been stroking my head, as I thought. It was incredibly relaxing. I also found my positive feelings for him soaring as long as he was petting me. That was a bit embarrassing, but impossible to control, meaning I sulked twice as hard whenever he had to stop for trivial things like putting on a seatbelt. I wanted him to touch me again but I hated myself and him for wanting it…and then he pet me more and I forgot what I’d been thinking about.
He and Hendricks talked, but it was completely irrelevant to me as long as Marcone continued petting me. Marcone carried me again, and I rubbed against the very soft fabric of his suit. I realized wickedly that I was leaving cat hair all over them, and rubbed harder, purring. Increasing Marcone’s dry cleaning bill one suit at a time, that’s me, the vicious Dresden…
There were all kinds of interesting smells in the new building. Lots of animals and people and other things I couldn’t recognize, because even a cat’s nose didn’t help me remember the smells I’d known with a human one.
Oh shit. This was a vet office, the same one I took Mister to. I whined and pawed at Marcone’s suit.
He scratched behind my ears, which felt amazing, but was so not what I wanted right now.
“It’s just a checkup,” he said, even though he probably didn’t think I understood English. The tone of his voice was gentle, calm. A normal cat would have responded to that, maybe, and relaxed. I just whined a little quieter, scared shitless that I would come away from this cat experience missing two very important parts of my life.
Okay, so I didn’t use them often these days. That didn’t mean I never wanted them again!
Marcone set me on a table, using a hand on my neck to keep me there. My legs scrabbled at the slick metal. It smelled like urine, disinfectant, and misery, with the faintest hint of blood. I started yowling.
The vet came in. He was brisk, but shameless. What if I didn’t want you looking there, jerk? It was like having a prostate exam in front of a live audience. Hell’s Bells.
Marcone was cool in the face of my distress, as usual. I was checked briskly for pretty much everything - worms, fleas, and so on.
“He’s completely clean,” the vet said. “He’s most likely someone’s pet, but considering he has no collar, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to say whose pet. Considering the time of year, I’d wait at least a few days before putting up found signs.”
“Hm?” Marcone asked.
“Well, Halloween…” the vet paused. “Most black cats don’t last long if they’re left outside,” he said, trying to be diplomatic. “If he had an owner, they would have known that - he was a smart cookie, getting into your office building. Some people might falsely claim a black cat just to hurt it, this time of year.”
Marcone stroked my fur. “How could anyone hurt such a sweet thing?” he mumbled. I purred loudly, despite my inner horror at Marcone cooing at me. Also, I was not a sweet thing!
“People can be cruel, especially teenage boys,” the vet said quietly. He’d probably seen a lot of hurt cats, this time of year. I kept Mister in for it, much to my cat’s displeasure.
“Do you know what breed he is?” Marcone asked.
“You noticed he wasn’t a true black, right? Those silvery markings - grizzling, it’s called - and his size make it almost a certainty that he’s a Chausie. Judging by the weight, almost 24 pounds, and his muscle, he’s almost certainly an F1, first generation.”
“What do you mean?” I was kind of wondering that, myself.
“Chausies are hybrids - half Abyssinian, usually. The other half is a jungle cat. He’ll be smart and trainable like a dog - Chausies even play fetch, sometimes. He’ll also be pretty active in the evenings, and want a good amount of play and attention. He’ll also be able to jump about six feet from a standstill, maybe more.” That was good to know. “Oh, and he’s sterile, if he’s an F1. Most F2 males are sterile, too.” Good, no neutering necessary. As long as the sterility didn’t, you know, transfer to my human form. I couldn’t imagine it would.
Marcone - and Hendricks, who had been following along so silently I’d all but forgotten about him - paid at the front desk, and I finally, truly relaxed. Marcone had been serious about not getting me fixed. I suppose he figured it wasn’t his place, if I might have an owner, and anyway one of the main reasons to do so was not an issue. Admittedly the other reason was pretty compelling, if the cat was the type that pissed on carpets. We got back in the car, and I curled up in his lap to sleep as he stroked my fur.
My warm, squishy bed was moving again. It was almost dark - no, it was dark, but cat eyes saw better in the dim of Chicago evening. Marcone carried me inside his manor, Hendricks moving ahead of us, checking rooms. It seemed like habit, not real distrust of the security here. There were other guards, who greeted Marcone and watched me with interest. I preened, licking my paw.
My stomach rumbled. It had been a long day (though I slept through large sections of it) and I had only gotten one meal out of it. I mewled and turned my face up to Marcone. He laughed. “Someone’s hungry, hmm?” He tickled my belly. Hell’s Bells, I could almost get used to this cat business. Having Gentleman Johnny cater to my every whim was awesome and terrifying.
Dinner was chopped ham and a side of tuna. It smelled and tasted like heaven. Marcone had a healthy salad and a distinctly less healthy sub sandwich. Hendricks skipped straight to the sandwich.
Eating from a plate off the floor was weird, but the food smell was overpoweringly good, so I just tucked in. I licked stray tuna bits off my mouth.
“You gonna name him?” Hendricks asked.
Marcone shrugged. “Should wait for an owner to come forward, before I get attached or anything.”
Hendricks looked at him. “Boss, I’d say you’re already pretty attached. The dogs don’t get to leave hair on your suits.”
“Having a cat always felt a little too much like being an evil mastermind plotting to take over the world. People expect the rich to have guard dogs. I don’t keep them for pleasure.” I was glad to be right. Marcone was a secret cat person. He was too fastidious not to be, really.
I waited - rather politely, I thought - for Marcone to finish eating before experimenting with jumping. I aimed for the counter and scrabbled not to fly off the other side. Hendricks and Marcone both looked at me with wide eyes. I stalked over to sit in front of Marcone and licked his plate, just to prove I had totally meant to do that.
“Gonna have to train him not to jump on the counters,” Hendricks said.
“Quite. I’ll probably have to train him not to jump on everything.” Despite his exasperated tone, he was scratching between my ears. “I had rather hoped he wouldn’t be too much trouble, but I can see that was a foolish thing to wish for.”
“You didn’t have to take him home,” Hendricks said mildly.
“On the other hand, I have the perfect name for him now.”
Hendricks and I both looked at him expectantly.
“Hairy Dresden.” Bastard had a shit-eating grin on his face when he said it, too.
Hendricks groaned. “That is the worst pun I’ve heard in weeks, thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Hendricks.”
“Any particular reason you’re naming a pet cat after your semi-adversarial wizard?”
I was impressed. Hendricks had a multisyllabic vocabulary.
“A knack for getting where he shouldn’t be, often in low grade danger, half-wild, large and lanky, and black cats have been interpreted as both good and bad luck, depending on who was doing the talking where. He’s also not getting anywhere with the ladies anytime soon,” Marcone said, wickedly amused.
Hendricks rolled his eyes. “And this unclaimed stray is not going to be a replacement for the pet wizard you didn’t get, right?”
“If an owner comes forward, of course I’ll give him back.” He stroked me, smile softer now. “But the solitary nature is very like Dresden, too. I wonder if this little one is alone like Chicago’s wizard.”
“He’s not exactly little, you know,” Hendricks said, just to be contrary, I think. “Twenty-three pounds is pretty hefty for a housecat.”
As the owner of a thirty pound cat, I took offense to that. Mister is just big-boned.
“And Dresden is nearly six foot nine, but he isn’t exactly bursting with muscle. The cat is big, powerful even, but not the same way as a dog of similar size. Besides, Dresden’s a lot like a cat himself, a bit of a hedonist, solitary but not immune to the desire for companionship, and fiercely independent.” He sounded…kind of wistful.
“Which is why you couldn’t buy him off.”
“No, I couldn’t buy him off because he had principles. He’s a noble little anachronism.” Marcone bopped me on the nose with his finger. I swatted at his hand instinctively. “Combative, too. Even when he has nothing to feel threatened by.” He sighed again. “I wish the poor idiot would have just signed the contract, but cats are like that. You have to catch them, but they don’t really serve you. You just feed them and hope they stick around.”
“Well, have you tried offering Dresden food?” Hendricks joked. At least, I thought he was joking, though the tone was serious. I revised my estimation when he added, “The man’s too skinny to be that tall.”
“I know. And from all reports, he hasn’t been eating well or enough these past few months. The police have gotten too scared to call him in, and that seems to have been his major source of income.”
Hendricks looked at Marcone. “And you of course have nothing to do with the police.”
“I have nothing to do with Karrin Murphy, who, like Dresden, is utterly disgusted with my affairs and refuses to be bought. There are other complications, but she has lost trust in Dresden and he is suffering badly for it.”
Like I needed the reminder. I head-butted Marcone’s hand and he started petting me again obediently. That was more like it.
Hendricks was finishing his second sandwich. “I’m just saying you could make the eating easier, at least.”
“How? Dresden is too prideful to accept charity and too…morally upright or some rubbish to accept a job from me, even if it pays and it’s real and not illegal.”
“So don’t have it be from you. Have someone else go in. You run a multi-million dollar business with hundreds of employees. Statistically, shouldn’t at least one of them have some kind of occult concern?”
Marcone scratched wonderfully. I wasn’t sure how I would feel if one of Marcone’s employees came with the job. He would probably be paying, at least in a roundabout way. The job would be real, I didn’t doubt that. I also couldn’t deny the food budget was starting to decrease, as more of that money went to making any kind of payment towards my rent. But I wouldn’t do it for Marcone, or food money. I’d be putting someone’s occult concerns at rest. Sure, Hendricks.
“I’m going to read. Let me know if you need me, Boss.”
“Good night, Mr. Hendricks.” Marcone continued to stroke me thoughtfully. I was finished with his plate, so I settled into his lap, which seemed to startle him out of his contemplation of my fur.
“What to do with you, Hairy?” he asked gamely, picking me up and carrying me somewhere else. As long as Marcone was around, it looked like I wasn’t going to have to walk if I didn’t want to.
He found a racquet ball somewhere and we ended up playing fetch. There was a twitching part of my brain that kept insisting I pounce the little moving thing and kill it. Then once I had it, the human part decided to play along with Marcone and bring the ball to him. There was an undertone there, a more subdued part of me that was still not human that was also insisting on this. I didn’t like that part as much, mostly because I kept feeling it was calling Marcone 'My Human.'
Supposedly Mister calls me that. That even part of me thought of Marcone as “mine” was deeply awkward. We played for an hour, Marcone tossing the ball low and high, testing my jump. The wild part knew its limits, which were pushing seven feet if I was any judge of distance (it was harder in this body, with the unfamiliar eyes and very unusual perspective). I got better at plucking the ball from midair, at the apex of the throw.
Someone knocked on the office door, and Marcone sat at his desk, tucking the ball away. “Come in,” he said, sounding as serious as ever.
“Boss, the litterbox is set up in the secondary guest bathroom,” a mafia peon said. He noticed me. “Jesus, I thought it was a housecat.”
“…That is a housecat,” Marcone said, deadpan.
“It’s the size of a bobcat!”
“Hardly. It’s only half jungle cat, if that makes you feel better.” The bastard was teasing his employee, and I was apparently the only one catching on.
The kid looked pale.
I hissed at him and he bolted. Marcone laughed quietly. “Definitely too much like Harry.”
He had used my last name, around Hendricks. I wondered if that was important. We got back to playing fetch.
Marcone showed me the litterbox and left me locked in the guest bedroom suite. I didn’t really like that. I wasn’t sleepy, though a digital alarm clock on the bed said it was nearly midnight.
I ran around some, shredded a throw pillow, and made a nest. I used the litterbox twice, and jumped onto the counter fiddling with the sink until I could get water. I even shut it off. Eco-friendly, that’s me. It was three in the morning before I was sleepy enough to curl up in my nest.
In the dream, I was in Faerie. That made me instantly suspicious, because the fae can sometimes invade dreams. Sure enough, there was my godmother.
“Why did you turn me into a cat?” I asked bluntly.
“Haven’t you enjoyed yourself so far?” she asked, bright and smiling.
“It’s Halloween. Do you know what happens to black cats on Halloween?”
“But you got picked up by that nice boy, Johnny. He’s taking very good care of you, Harry. He’d like to take care of you like that as a human, too.”
I blinked. “I don’t think he wants to play fetch with me and scratch behind my ears.”
“Probably not that first thing, but humans can get surprisingly kinky at times,” Lea beamed.
I turned red. “Just reverse it already!” I hissed.
“Calm down. The bracelet didn’t have that much juice. At most it should last a week.” She frowned. “Maybe a month. But certainly no more than a year!”
Gaping, I fumbled for words to express my dislike. “I can’t go missing for a year!”
Lea tittered. “Oh learn how to take a joke. At most a week, seriously.”
“What about my cat?”
“Mister will be fine. I took him to Mac and said you were out of town on a case, but something came up so I couldn’t watch him.”
“What if Murphy calls?”
Lea actually looked like she was pitying me. “Harry. Murphy isn’t going to call. I don’t have to know her to know that. She’s angry with you. Besides, most of the darker side of magic takes some time off around the holiday. Think of it as a vacation, sweetie. Paid, even. I took care of your debts - why didn’t you tell me you were having money troubles?”
“Whoa, whoa, I don’t want to owe you,” I said hastily.
“Haven’t I told you this is a gift. A one-week paid vacation. No debtors to come knocking when you get back, a little sum for groceries, and you get to take this time to play and relax and not worry. Be bored, but not starving. I couldn’t have picked a better owner for you myself, that Johnny is a real sweetheart.”
There would be no getting through to her. I accepted that and moved on. I was going to be stuck as a cat for about a week, but that was no reason to get…who am I kidding, it was a perfectly good reason to get angry! I glowered and was about to give Lea a piece of my mind when I woke with a start, yowling loudly. Stupid cat mouth.
A few moments later, a sleepy John Marcone opened the guest bedroom door. He was wearing only flannel sleep pants. I guess he wasn’t as big on silk when no one was watching.
“Hey now, what’s the matter?” he said, Chicago accent stronger with fatigue. I mewled - trying to tell him to fuck off, but it came out all adorable. Completely unfair.
“Ah, did kitty have a bad dream?” he asked, clearly amused. I glared at him. He picked me up and cuddled me like a whiny kid. I realized suddenly the last time someone tried to comfort me after a nightmare had been before my father died. I started crying, but cats don’t cry like humans do. It was a low whine, and Marcone kept stroking my back until I calmed down. “Animals are so much like children, sometimes,” he said quietly, just talking to himself. I remembered again Marcone’s distaste for harming children. “Defenseless, inarticulate…cute, dependent, but able to lift your spirits at the oddest times.” He kissed my head. “Before I found you, today was a pretty bad day, kitten.”
I nuzzled his cheek and purred, trying to give him that little bit of peace. He laid down on the bed, stroking me. John Marcone was spooning a cat. I mean, not really spooning (and not really a cat) but still.
“I didn’t get into this business because I wanted drugs or money,” he said, face pinched with emotion. I felt like the worst kind of voyeur. People like John Marcone didn’t have confidantes, they had bodyguards. They didn’t have friends, they had business partners. I was pretending to be something that couldn’t tell his secrets, so he felt safe to share them. I prayed to whatever and whoever might be looking out for me that Marcone never found out who his temporary cat was. Maybe Lea would come claim me before the spell ended.
Marcone continued, “I saw Chicago as she was - corrupt, vile, rotten through the core - and I saw myself, as a young hustler, contributing to that, eating away at her beauty. And then I realized that just because organized crime has to exist in large cities doesn’t mean it has to hurt everyone it touches. At least, it doesn’t have to touch everyone. I knew there would be corrupt cops, paid-for politicians. And I wanted someone I trusted holding those leashes…but I was the only person I trusted. So I started putting my fingers in, grabbing up the strings. First I controlled the drug trade, because that was the real poison. It’s like being the FDA, some days. No one in Chicago cuts cocaine with arsenic. People are free to poison themselves with narcotics, but I won’t have dealers cheat them with fluffed drugs.”
He sighed, and I purred louder, which made him smile. “The drug trade got me enough money to pull off the rest - get rid of the Vargassis idiots, take over. It was a slow process, finding the right cops, making sure they looked the other way only at the right times. Then once I had some beat cops, I got some lieutenants, other officers, until eventually I got friendly with the Commissioner. He introduced me to the mayor. Once I had Chicago, I started thinking about expanding. But for the most part, I have what I want. Gangs know better than to have shootouts in public these days. I will freely offer them the space to kill each other where they aren’t hurting innocents. Harry - the human one - is right, in a way. I am a scumbag. I don’t know if it’s better or worse that I try to get most of the other scumbags in this city to kill themselves so I don’t have to and so they can’t hurt others.”
I didn’t know either. I licked his nose, made him laugh again. I would have to pretend this conversation never happened, eventually. In the mean-time, while I was able, I wanted to give the man some respect. He was…not what I had always thought. I would try to remember that much, at least, when I spoke with him in the future. He still profited from drugs and violence - but he also controlled it in ways the government couldn’t, with compromises and political maneuvering.
Marcone was asleep. I purred and curled up under his chin. His hand stayed in my fur. It was nice to be held.