Hey guys! I know it's been a while, yet, I'm not giving up on the story and we are moving forward...just.. with baby steps))) Anyways, thanks for all those who read/followed/favourited the story. It really means a lot.

As always, I would really appreciate your thoughts and ideas on the story)) Would you like a sequel? Enjoy!

Chapter 7

Santino Club, 10.25 pm.

The booming music was grating on his nerves, he could easily feel the beat pulsating in his guts. There was a large line and the security tried to move people along quickly. It was one of those rare popular places where the drinks were affordable, music quite groovy and the public rather decent. To say that Santino was overcrowded was like saying that New York was, in fact, a little cozy country town. People were pouring through like little greasy molecules and already, they seemed to occupy all the free space. It took Dresden more than five minutes to push his way through the group of sultry, wildly dancing college girls and their already heated stalkers. Once again, Dresden reminded himself why he wasn't a fan of such places – there was nothing but trouble in here.

Shit, shit, shit! He was late. He'd only hoped that Ms. Lewis was still waiting for him. He suddenly wondered if he's even going to recognize her. All he had was a chance meeting at the hotel, when he didn't pay any attention, and Bob's subtle description that could be…well… very frivolous.

The music was a mix of R'n'B and techno, sending nervous shrills down his spine. The style of the club was lavish: red and black. Somewhat, it reminded the wizard of Bianca's club. Incredulously though, hers now seemed much more condescended. People were mopping around, brushing him now and then, pressing their warm bodies to his still cool skin. He had to carefully maneuver, to avoid them grazing his bruised ribs and arms.

Where would she be? Looking around, Harry tried to locate the place the journalist would most likely occupy. Surely not the dance floor, she was too...proper for that. The tables? Or the bar? Somehow, the thought of this "Miss Lewis" brought up some unnecessary associations. He couldn't help but think she was the one responsible for Murphy's and his falling out. After a moment of hesitation Dresden moved to the bar, scanning the rest of the crowd, just in case. Oh, well, the hunch was right as always… There, tucked in the far corner, sat the Chicago Times reporter, with a glass of what looked to be a Strawberry Margarita. Tonight a stunning combination of independence, boldness even, and soft feminine loveliness in her was even more pronounced. Her usually messy dark chocolate hair was now loosely pinned. A classic electric-blue peplum dress showed off her slim figure, underlining just the right curves. She seemed so out of place in this mass of bodies; sitting proudly, head high, on the bar chair, just like a victor that she was. As if sensing him nearing, her head wiped around and her face broke into a radiant smile as she waved him hello.

"Mr. Dresden! Nice to see you've decided to join me!" She greeted as soon as he slid onto the stool next to her that became miraculously unoccupied. "Care for a drink?"

"No, thanks, I'm good," Harry answered with a polite smile as he studied her face closely. The only time he saw her at the Delano Hotel he thought there was something familiar about her. He now could swear he'd never met her before in his entire life, but the strange feeling of familiarity remained. He couldn't exactly place it, but the way that her bright green eyes glittered in the flashing lights of the dance floor was…troubling. Realizing he was starring, Dresden glanced around hastily, taking in the surrounding flock of people.

In the corner of her eye, Melissa noticed Harry's discomfort. She smirked slightly, enjoying the control she had over him now.

"I like this place, it's never boring in here," she offered, filling in an awkward silence.

"Yeah, well, you wanted to talk about the case, right?" Harry decided to stick right to the point. The sooner he would get his answers, the better.

"I like the business streak in you, Mr. Dresden," She laughed softly. "Anyways, you are right – no time to waste. I need to submit some new material tomorrow. Let's just help each other, shall we? I'm short of info on that last victim, you know. Quid pro quo, as they say… So-o-o…shoot away." Dresden didn't like how she got a rule over the situation. It was he, who was supposed to take the leading role. After all, she was on his suspect list.

"How come you initiated your own investigation of Lindsey Braton's death, Ms. Lewis? What is your interest in this?"

"Oh, that's the most exciting story to tell! And please, call me Melissa," she grinned, absolutely unperturbed by his obvious mistrust and suspiciousness. Gulping down the rest of her Margarita, the reporter made a sign to the barman for another one. "Should I start from the very beginning?" After receiving an approving nod, she went on, shaking her head, fairly amused with her own tale.

"Well, I've only recently become an investigative reporter. Before that I was…well, pretty much…not much. The furthest I got was a couple of features and one opinion article on conspiracy theory, involving a politician and a crazy college girl who claimed she had been molested by a spirit of the ancient Roman legionnaire, you know?" She then continued without actually waiting for his reaction. "But I always knew I wanted something bigger, see, when you have that gut feeling that you are made for something more than just tacky bullshit?" She asked animatedly, looking at him for support. Harry nodded absently, studying her behavior: the way her speech was hurried when she was excited, or how a strand of her wavy hair jumped out of the bun and now hung loosely along her face, clearly disturbing the young reporter. Dresden mentally shook his head willing himself to concentrate on her story, not her looks. What was wrong with him? "That was till one day my boss came up to me and bumped that large pile of files on my table. "Melissa," he said, "you are a decent reporter and you have a knack for a juicy story. But you need a space to grow. So, I'll give you a chance, don't screw it up." So, after I'd heard that Jim was leaving for Tribute, I knew that I had to do everything to get that position. Oh! Jim, was one of the crime reporters, of course!"

She was so lively, so energetic that Harry found himself unintentionally grinning along with her. She also had this cute manner to blow off the strands of her chocolate hair that stubbornly attempted to fall into her eyes. Immediately Dresden frowned: he was not supposed to have those kinds of thoughts, he shouldn't be interested in her, only her story, right? All she was saying now could be fake to the core. However, the wizard found himself almost unable to resist her sweet smile and animated gestures. Goodness, she wasn't even beautiful, in a way of royal sinful beauty that Bianca possessed, just a pretty smile and a couple of forest-green sparkling eyes! Swallowing hard, he shook himself of any stupor he was in. Bob was right; it must have been a concussion that was messing up his head so much.

"My first stories weren't fun at all. Imagine, a couple of guys beating the shit out of each other over a girlfriend or a jealous husband going ballistic. It was all like going back to writing about the bitching of two local reps! What I needed was a real story, something really catchy, see?" She paused, taking a sip of her cocktail before turning those big emerald eyes to him.

"And then you found out about Lindsey Braton's murder," he stated. That was his opportunity to turn the table in his favor. "How exactly have you got around that story?" Her smile dimmed, as she regarded him with almost sad eyes.

"Well, you'd never believe me if I told you..."

"Try me," Harry prompted, mentally cheering. Here it was, his window.

"D'you believe in destiny, Mr. Dresden? Or karma, or whatever it is called?" She asked out of the sudden, startling him, her eyes searching his face for an answer. Once again Harry found himself unable to look away or lie to her.

"Yeah, though sometimes I wish I didn't," he thought back to all those times when he wished he was just an ordinary bloke with a regular job and normal friends.

"Well, that story is priceless, isn't it?" Lewis chuckled sarcastically. "It's all you can wish for a career starter: a mysterious murder with a ritualistic twist, involving police incompetence..." She paused, catching Dresden's uneasy expression. Shaking her head in self-rebuke, Melissa smiled apologetically, moving her hand on the table to cover his. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I really didn't want to go hard on that detective friend of yours…Lieutenant Murphy?" Harry couldn't help but stare at where her cold thin hand rested on his. He still could feel the tingling that was almost electric, rushing up his arm and straight down his back. He shifted on his stool uneasily. God, was he that attracted to her? "It is just… well…I still believe that our police can do better than cover up the unsolved crimes and, honestly…I had a fortified feeling that you're involved in half of the cases that remain sealed shut to the public...so..." she trailed uncertainly, but her eyes were sparkling in the artificial lights and once again Harry felt a wave of recognition splash all over his guts, but he just couldn't put a foot on it.

The blast of music interrupted whatever Harry wanted to say, and people rushed onto the dance floor with renewed force as they heard the first beats of the top chart song. For a moment Harry's attention was diverted towards the flowing mass, cheering and twisting to the music, a Bacchanalia on the loose; but as he turned to his companion, he almost jumped from the change in her demeanor. Her eyes became icy cold and chillingly prickly, all the traces of previous sweet smiles gone.

"I suppose you have some questions for me, Mr. Dresden?" Even her voice dropped an octave, a hoarse and ragged whisper, but Harry could hear it perfectly clear, as if spoken right into his ear.

"Ah...yeah...er...what about Lindsey? Do you have something to do with her murder?" He mentally kicked himself for the lack of eloquence, but he found himself unable to articulate his scattering thoughts under her arctic scrutiny. She didn't flinch or give any reaction whatsoever, but reached into her purse, right as she stood up from her seat.

"Here, it's her diary," She stated businesslike, handing a worn-out thick maroon book to the astonished wizard. Before he could voice his surprise, she continued, her voice once again shifting into soft, yet firm lilt, overshadowing the noises of the drunken crowd. "I got it from a secure source I have no liberty or intention of disclosing. Take it, Mr. Dresden, please." He took the offering carefully, as if it might burn him, his eyes never leaving her brownish ones…Wait…weren't her eyes the brightest shade of green? Before he could elaborate on that thought, she broke into her most radiant smile.

"I know we can be good partners, Mr. Dresden. I, as much as you, wish for the killer to be found and punished accordingly. I think we can..," She suddenly stopped with a soft gasp, her pale lips twitching as if she was struggling to tell him something entirely different. A light tremor run along her lean frame, her hands clenched at her sides resolutely as she stepped closer to him. "I…have…a feeling that ...there's more to that case any of us can imagine. I feel…it's so much more..." She trailed of, shaking herself from whatever influence she was under, her eyes sparkling with daring and unfound bravery. Before Harry could do anything or ask if she was alright, the journalist closed the gap between them, throwing her arms around him. Stunned and speechless, Dresden's mind went blank as she pressed closer to his body, her fingers digging into the back of his neck as if her life depended on it. Her cool lips found his ear and before Harry could get the rushing shiver, engulfing his body, under control, she was whispering in desperate, hurried manner, her voice almost unrecognizable with a strain of anxiety and something akin to fear.

"I know what really brought you here…Listen to me, Harry…please…for your own safety…DO NOT go looking for justice. DO NOT try to get to the truth. DO NOT go anywhere near It. And whatever you do, DO NOT let him get you...Please…stay away…"

She drew back a moment later, her green eyes overwhelmed with unrecognizable emotions, as she watched him with an almost familiar look, before she let go of him, taking a step back, flustered. "I'm sorry," she stammered, taking yet another step back towards the crowded dance floor. "I just...just…had way too many drinks…I…need to go…I have lots of things to finish…Bye." Before he could grab her arm to stop her from running and demand what the hell had just happened; she had already slipped away, disappearing in the flash of lights and artificial fog.

Harry stood rooted to the floor, almost paralyzed with the strangeness of the whole encounter. What did her warning mean? Was it some sort of a twisted joke she pulled just to get a reaction from him? The strange shiver that has run through him as her lips pressed against his ear begged to disagree. Yet another sudden change in her behavior… It was as if several different, completely opposite personalities were raging inside her. He still could smell the sweetness of her perfume, from where she was pressed against him almost desperately, – grapes, peach and a touch of sea breeze freshness. So ingenuous and natural, so unlike the heavy seduction act she has tried on him before. And yet, at the same time it was her – dark and secretive, light and smiling. God, that all was so bloody confusing!

A blinding red light from the laser projector hit Harry right in the eyes, stirring him from a whirlwind of confusing thoughts. Now, with her gone, he started to notice a sense of desolation, seeping through him like stale well water. It started as a tingling in the fingertips of his right hand and soon spread up his arm, slithering across his shoulders and down his back. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming, making Dresden shake visibly, despite the suffocating heat of hundreds of sweaty bodies rubbing against each other.

The wave of unexplainable panic crashed into him, so sudden it stole his breath away. He doubled over, winded, before sinking to his knees, head down, trying desperately to take gulps of putrid sticky air.

Something wasn't right…Something was terribly, catastrophically wrong…What the hell is going on? He had never felt so helpless, so weak, not even when he had been shot at by Boone…Dresden felt someone's hands on him, dragging him up. Despite the lack of oxygen in his already burning lungs and dancing spots behind his eyes, Harry tried to fight them off with all the slipping away strength that he could master. He could not let them take him, not after the words of Melissa Lewis's warning still rushing through his brain like a news ticker.

Mark, the security guard, unceremoniously hauled the obviously OD'd guy to his feet steering him towards the exit despite the lame excuse of a fight he was trying to put up. He callously threw him onto the pavement, not really caring if the narc would actually hit his head to crack it open. Shaking his head at the pathetically whimpering form, the security spit onto the pavement in derision. Hell, he hated those crankheads! Those were the worst kind, why couldn't they know limits? Sure, you want to have some fun, relax after a long day and all, but hyping all over the floor? The bloke was so high; he couldn't even stand, curling on the floor in a mess of limbs. Pathetic! Glancing around, to make sure no one was watching, Mark delivered a well-deserved kick at the nearly unconscious fellow. Will teach him right! Next time think twice before zonking out! Fairly satisfied with his work the security strolled back towards the club, leaving a hurting mess sprawled on the sidewalk near the dumpster.

The drizzling rain on his face was a soothing change from the burning agony he was in. Its rhythmic pounding along with a chilling cold of the night helped to clear his head a bit. His breathing was still ragged, but at least he could inhale the mouthfuls of cool fresh air. The drenching panic slowly subsided, leaving him cold and exhausted with dull pain spreading all over his body. His already broken ribs should have been in agony after that kick he received; instead all he could feel was immense weakness, his whole body rocking up with tremors he had no control of. This weakness he felt, it was unnatural…Harry wasn't even sure it was entirely physical...Something was wrong with him…Something has weakened his defenses…

Grabbing onto the nearest trash can blindly; Harry tried to haul himself up. His legs were shaking like jelly, as all the powers seemed to leave him. God, what is wrong? Did someone cast a spell on me? A curse? How long had he been lying there? Aside from bruised ribs he wasn't physically injured – which was good. Good he wasn't robbed and stabbed while lolling on the ground in the dark alley or gunned down for that matter. He wasn't even sure he would be able to defend himself against any direct assault like he did with Boone…Now, why did his memory kept insisting on bringing up that particular episode?

Right…Boone shot at him, while being in Murphy's body…he wouldn't be alive to tell the tale if it hadn't been for his mother's shield bracelet…Wait…Panic returned tenfold as Dresden desperately shook his head.

"No, no, no, no," instinctively, he knew what was wrong. This weakness, this dread…He no longer felt protected…shielded by his mother's charm. He nearly ripped his jersey's sleeve off, the need to reach the bracelet, feel its protective power seeping through his bones again almost overwhelming him.

A cry of agony tore through the thickness of the night, as Dresden once again sunk to his knees, his fisted hands hitting the wet concrete in rage and devastation…His mother's shield bracelet…It was gone…