As a rule of thumb, my relations with vampires tend to be a little rocky.

Well, perhaps that's a bit of an understatement. The "I burned down a brothel owned by a Red Court vampire" kind of understatement, or "I got disfigured by a Black Court vampire" kind of understatement, or "I have a troublesome half-brother White Court vampire" kind of understatement (oh, and the Byzantine politics and life-leeching succubi on the side).

Point is, I don't really like vampires (except for the aforementioned half-brother). I especially don't like vampires in my close vicinity, let alone in broad daylight. Sure, we were at Mac's, the local neutral ground for all supernatural critters, and the vampire would have to be mad to try something here. That would, of course, be cold comfort to your friendly neighborhood wizard if he ended up with his throat ripped out and used as the last snack to his last ale.

Imagine my surprise when a flippin' vampire of the Black Court turned out to be as cute as a button.

She was a small thing, maybe a few inches taller than Murphy – and the longer I looked at her, the more she resembled her. Blonde hair, eyes the color of deep azure, two tiny twintails, though obviously much younger in look, at least. Not even twenty. Despite the bounce in her step – a very interesting bounce, the neanderthal part of my brain noticed – and a big friendly smile, she maintained a professional posture and kept her hands constantly in my sight.

So, in summary, she didn't look like a Blampire in the slightest, and the pink hoodie with Count von Count's merry face on it didn't help that impression in the slightest. "Much thanks for meeting you, guvna." And she spoke Cockney thicker than the London fog. Of course. "I, uh… first of all, thanks for hearing me out."

"Well, you're the first Blampire I've met that even entertained the thought of meeting on neutral ground." I replied with a nonchalant shrug. I haven't met that many of them, but she didn't need to know that.

"Blampi… oh, huh. Never thought of that name." She admitted sheepishly. Well, thank goodness at least one person out there wasn't confused by it. "Wouldn't Blackpire work better though?"

...she was asking some incredibly insightful questions. "Nevermind that. I hope you understand that I'm slow to trust you, but we're on a good path to some kind of understanding."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Gee, I wonder why.

"So… Miss Victoria, was it? What can one Harry Dresden, slightly used, do for you?"

There's one consequence of putting your name in the phone book under "Wizards" that there's not much that can be done about: prank calls.

Far too many people have phoned only to make fun of me. It's something that you learn to tune out as you progress in any craft – apparently even 911 got these kind of "there's a corpse of King George in here" calls. As my profession doesn't exactly fit in the All-American standard of normalcy, I receive more such calls than your average fast response unit. That's just the way it is: people who aren't aware of the supernatural around them are perfectly fine to ignore it – and will go to the longest, stupidest lengths to justify everything that cannot be justified.

The few that know can either harden and adapt or they break. Fortunately, the few friends that I had belonged in the hardened camp.

I picked up the phone. "Dresden."

"Ah, is this Harry Dresden the Wizard?" The voice on the other side – youthful, British but not quite Chandler-British, a woman about twenty if I were to guess – asked.

"That's what it says in the phone book."

"Alright, good, uh… my name is Seras Victoria. I'm calling on behalf of Sir Integra Hellsing." Hm. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my name to it. I mean, the guy (lady?) was called Hellsing. If this wasn't a prank call, my incredible deductive skills suggested this had something to do with vampires – and not necessarily Red or White Courts.

"...I've been told to inform you of my, um, allegiance right away, so we can maintain as much trust as possible." Seras sounded almost sheepish. Before I could ask her to elaborate, she said five words that nearly dropped me off my chair. "I'm a Black Court vampire."

Go my incredible deductive skills. Still, the possibility of it being a prank call had suddenly dropped. To know about vampires enough to differentiate between their Courts indicated a moderate knowledge of the situation – and Black Court, or Blampires, as I came to call them a few years back, was the most dangerous of the three. Reds were parasites and predators, without morals or honors, and currently embroiled in the war with the White Council. I might have had a hand in sparking that conflict. Whites were basically succubi and incubi, feeding on emotions and life energy of others.

Blacks… were the "classic" vampires.

I've only met one Blampire in my life, and it's her to whom I owe the fact that my arm resembles a melted wax arm of a nonexistent Harry Dresden wax figure. She was ancient, utterly ruthless, with no good bone in her body. She could make Blampire fledglings out of dead bodies and dozens of mentally ravaged servants, the so-called Renfields. Let me put it this way: Stoker's Dracula was written on the request of the White Court to thin the numbers of the Blampires. It worked, but here's the thing.

The few of them that remained were some of the most craven and merciless sons of bitches that could possibly walk on this sorry Earth. And now one of them just called me on the phone, and asked for help. If there was ever a textbook definition of a trap, this would be it.

Almost as if sensing my rapidly growing want to slam the phone down, she went on to explain. "I, uh, I've heard you don't have the best relations with vampires, so… um… neutral ground sound good?"

"You tell me, Lucy Westenra."

"I know it sounds like I'm planning something nasty, but… uh, I'm not?" I didn't reply immediately, opting to close my eyes, rub the bridge of my nose, and mentally count to ten. "Mr. Dresden?"

"McAnally's in an hour."

"Oh! Uh, yeah, sure. That's where that awesome ale is, right?" Guess she did her homework on Chicago's landmarks, at least. "...thank you for hearing me out."

"I wouldn't thank me yet."

Hm. I guess it should have been obvious that she was putting on the exaggerated accent for the effect.

Well, no matter. "Sir Integra would like to meet you in person to explain the situation at length." Seras said, looking unusually sheepish – likely having realized that a vampire asking a non-vampire to step out of the neutral zone might have been just a little suspicious. "Well, in case you prove ornery—"

"That's not the word I would use." Honestly, having a fledgling Blampire for your personal errand girl was concerning enough for me. Just what kind of unimaginably ancient vampire Sir Hellsing was? Seras sighed and, very slowly, reached into the pocket of her hoodie. "And these are the imminent means of coercion?"

"We call those Nokias." She rolled her eyes in annoyance and presented a little cellphone. I had little experience with technology, but I was pretty sure this was an equivalent of cellphone Middle Ages I had before my eyes – which was moot anyway, because a wizard's presence has this quirky side effect of making gadgets and doodads invariably fail due to malfunction. Can be helpful now and then – and I even made a little neat tech curse out of it – but I failed to see how putting this cute little thing on the table would help any.

Until I realized it wasn't turning into a pile of molten slag or an IED. "Oh." Seras snorted in amusement and tapped the buttons, making the screen flash to life with sickly green. "That doesn't normally happen."

"Yeah, it's been made wizardproof." Wizardproof? That's… I… Seeing my confusion, she decided to elaborate. "I don't really get magic much, believe it or not, but Sir Integra gave me this ol' Nokia. Told me it won't explode or anythin' in your vicinity, so it'll be perfect for a talk."

"Wizardproof?" I couldn't help but feel indignant. Being a wizard was a life of sacrifice that involved, among other things, not having a whole lot of mundane quality of life improvements. Hell's bells, I lit my apartment with freakin' candles, and all of a sudden this Cockney Draculina shows up with a phone that works as intended while being just across the table. "How do you even—"

"I don't really ask questions." She shrugged indifferently, tone suggesting she wasn't particularly invested in the matter… which reminded me: how can you not get magic when you're a Blampire? Not being able to use it, sure – though that too seemed spotty – but not "getting" it was just another bag of marbles. They were looking to hire a wizard! How do you even—

"Anyway, Sir Integra's on the line." Seras just handed me the phone with utmost casualness. Well, sure thing. They say you had to try everything at least once in your life, though I imagine they might have had something more exciting in mind than a simple phone call. (Cellphone call? Hell's bells, this was going to get confusing)

Two beeps later… "Mr. Dresden, I presume?" A regal voice of a woman, give or take, in her forties, felt strange through the phone filter. But hey, this was a first for me either way, and so for once I had no proper quip for the situation, just making an affirmative grunt. "I'll keep this brief: I'm staying at The Peninsula. I trust you know where that is. If you have any misgivings about Seras, have her swear on whatever it is that wizards swear." And just like that, the call ended and I was left with more questions than answers.

Also, for some reason, I expected her to pull a Leia on me. Getting an Iron Lady from the Greatest Isle that wouldn't take "no" for an answer… yeah, I was somewhere between "irrationally irritated" and "amazingly awed".

..."swear on whatever it is that wizard swear"? Stars and stones, this was only beginning to get interesting…

We must have looked like a pair of jokers, just rolling up to one of Chicago's high-class hotels in an old Beetle that looked one turn away from falling apart.

Well, that really wasn't fair to the Blue Beetle. It's not really blue these days anymore – a consequence of being a wizard's car and therefore suffering more wear and tear than cars should – but it's been my faithful companion for almost a decade. And, since it was so old, it didn't choke up with me around unlike other, more sophisticated modes of locomotion. Thank the Force I never actually had to board a plane.

Seras didn't seem all that bothered by our, shall we say, vintage approach. Apparently she never got to ride one of these before. Being a Blampire probably made for an effective reason to not bother investing in a car. After we were done parking the Beetle – and explaining to the bewildered hotel boy that no, this wasn't some kind of social event happening or what not – we moved into The Peninsula's foyer.

Almost immediately someone shot me a wary look – must have been my roguish charm and not the tattered longcoat I wore. There weren't many people present, and most of them seemed to belong in the "people of success" category, each of them wearing a suit more expensive than my entire stock in the laboratory. Strange to an outsider, but being a wizard didn't pay all that well. We walked over to the receptionist's desk. The girl behind the mahogany was probably my apprentice's age, plain and pleasant to look at the same way a new lamp in your living room is pleasant to look at.

"Rough work, Jill?" Oh. Apparently Seras was already on first name basis with her. Jill the Receptionist nodded miserably before looking at me. "He's with me."

"I figured." Unfortunately, her voice didn't really mesh with her well, a little too high and squeaky, like nails on the chalkboard. "Your name, sir?"

"Ben Kenobi." The two women looked at me funny. Sheesh, let me have some fun. While Jill looked understandably annoyed, Seras seemed… analytical.

"I was expecting a Lord of the Rings reference instead." She finally said, sounding almost disappointed. I couldn't help but grin approvingly. The usual response to my pop-culture shenanigans among the supernatural world is anger and/or confusion, so this was a welcome change. Amazing that I would ever think that a company of a Blampire might be pleasant, but Seras was getting up there.

"Alright, smartass. What's his name, Seras?" Jill had far less patience with this old hermit from Naboo.

"Harry Dresden."

"The weirdo that showed up at Larry Fowler's?" The vampire shrugged indifferently. This time I couldn't help but feel annoyance myself. They won't ever let me live it down, will they? "Well, whatever." The receptionist wrote me down in the guest book. "Try not to spook anyone, Garbage Gandalf."

I don't know what I was expecting when arriving at Room 325, the current lodgings of Sir Integra Hellsing – but it certainly wasn't a Mexican standoff.

"Mr. Dresden. How is it that you always find yourself in hotspots like these?" John "Gentleman" Marcone greeted me from over his cup of tea, as if he wasn't just being held at gunpoint by whom I presumed to be Sir Hellsing in the flesh. As always, the Baron of Chicago was flanked by his two bodyguards: One Hendricks (not a Jimmy, sadly), a ginger gorilla disguised as a man and currently returning the favor to Sir Hellsing with his own gun; and one Gard, Marcone's magic specialist – and a Valkyrie, to boot. She remained still as a statue, cool blue eyes drilling into Sir Hellsing.

My first instinct was to quip back at him, the second – and a much wiser one – was to grab Seras's shoulder and hold her. It was more of a symbolic gesture, since I didn't doubt she could bend me into a pretzel if she wanted to, but it did keep her from springing forward like the world's most dangerous Slinky. Even still she turned as tense as a string – and her glamour fell in an instant to boot as she bared her teeth in an animalistic snarl.

...well, "glamour". All that really changed was her eye color – to blood red – and hair color – to platinum blonde. Oh, and her left arm turned into a shadowy thing, jagged like a bonesaw and pulsing with malicious intent. I fought off the urge to let her go. The sheer degree of foul energy this sharp shadow radiated made my head spin. And yet, Seras didn't deform any further – which didn't exactly make me feel any better.

This mere fledgling held power that made good ol' Mavra's feel like party tricks – which rose questions about just who the hell sired her.

"Stay, Seras." Sir Hellsing's voice – firm like steel – cut through the tension. And Seras stayed – and even deflated sheepishly, like a scolded child. The air relaxed a little, but the guns were still up. Still, that did give me a moment to regard Sir Hellsing. She could be somewhere around her forties, with her once blonde hair showing signs of graying, yet she remained in a form and poise that would make men way younger blush with envy. She carried a sharp, slightly triangular face, with a dark brown tone of skin – Indian heritage, if I were to guess. One of her blue eyes was missing, hidden by an eyepatch, but it didn't stop her from donning a pair of round glasses.

It took a special kind of person to take a pair of perfectly round nerd glasses and make them enhance her already overwhelming authority. These kinds of people are rare. Rarer still were people who I didn't feel like ever mouthing off to – and I mouthed off to Fae rulers, vampires, and Denarians before, among others. In a simple shirt and olive pants, this woman could probably make any overconfident bruiser question themselves with a look alone.

It took an exceptional, entirely mortal, non-magical woman to command utter respect from a Black Court vampire, no matter what kind.

Of course, Marcone and his ilk were no ordinary men, much as I loathed to admit it. "So, shall we sit down and discuss like adults once more? Or can Americans not have a civilized conversation for five minutes without shooting someone?"

"Hey!"

"You're the last person to be upset about that statement, Mr. Dresden." Marcone chuckled and casually gestured for Hendricks to lower the gun. Sir Hellsing returned the sentiment, the semi-auto going back in the holster on her belt. The air relaxed again as I slowly let go of Seras's shoulder. She passed me a look – a grateful one – before she turned up near Sir Hellsing's seat in blinding speed, ready to play her part of a bodyguard.

In a pink Count von Count hoodie. "Come in, Mr. Dresden." I awkwardly stepped into the apartment, careful not to bump my head into the ceiling. I could have just walked in, but it would have meant leaving some part of my power behind the threshold. Sure, it couldn't match the power of someone's actual staying place – but given the situation it might have been prudent to keep the full battery anyway.

"Now then, as I was saying, Seras or any of the Hellsing personnel is not responsible for your men's deaths." Sir Hellsing – who apparently named her group after herself – said. Oh. That's… that was a news to walk into. I usually received wind of such cases fast enough – either via my contacts with Chicago police or the supernatural informants – so it must have happened only recently. Marcone, as not just the criminal boss of Chicago, but also the sole non-magical mortal to sign Unseelie Accords as a Freeholding Lord, kept peace in the city, for a given value of "peace". That did make him a target to undermine among more unscrupulous members of the Accords however. "She was fetching Mr. Dresden at the time."

"While that might be true, I know that Black Court vampires are capable of blinding feats of speed." Marcone replied, tone even. "Plus, their rarity makes it suspicious that these killings occurred just when someone with such a vampire on a leash appeared in Chicago."

"Seras follows me as an employee of the Hellsing, not as a bound thrall." Sir Hellsing's statement carried absolute authority. Marcone smiled, and I didn't like that smile.

"Please understand my caution. Track record of Hellsing's endeavors does carry a large body count of friend and foe alike. I'm sure London has not yet faded from memory." Seras bristled again, but the only sign of Sir Hellsing's anger was the ever so slight frown. I, for my part, felt irrationally annoyed at the fact I, for a change, was not in on the loop. "I do not wish to make enemies, Sir Hellsing. All I care for is maintaining order here."

...I couldn't help myself. "So did Tarkin when he blew up Alderaan." Suddenly, every single pair of eyes in the room was on me (since Sir Hellsing did not deign to turn). Marcone sent me only a tired look – Hendricks had enough glare for the two of them. "But his criminal wit is insignificant next to the power of the Force."

Seras barely hid her laugh by coughing into her fist. "I missed your charming retorts, Harry."

"I didn't miss you in the slightest, John."

"Enough." Sir Hellsing, sadly, was not one for levity, casting both of us a thunderous look. "I think we're finished here, Mr. Marcone. I hope next time you wish to see me, you'll have more than empty threats."

"Of course." The Gentleman rose from his seat, gesturing slightly at his two goons. "And I hope we won't have to actually meet again. To trust a word of mouth is no easy task."

"Your generosity astounds me, American." Marcone smiled and nodded goodbye before making himself scarce together with his two people. Sir Hellsing took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose in barely hidden frustration. "And I still have another one to deal with..."

"To my credit, I don't run the Chicago's underworld." She passed me another look and I stood at attention despite himself. "Er, so… you wanted to see me."

"Yes. I'm beginning to think it might have been a mistake, but since you're already here… have a seat, Mr. Dresden. We have to talk business."

So… I'm surprised this isn't a crossover yet.

Here you go then. In a typical manner of leaving my last big fic unfinished, here be the Dresden Files/Hellsing crossover, set post-Turn Coat but pre-Changes. Hopefully everything will add up just fine. Writing first person narration is always a bit of a daunting task, especially if it concerns a dry-witted smartass like Harry. Another thing entirely will be to not make the various shout-outs and references seem hamfisted. ^_^;

Either way, I hope this is to your liking. Read and review. :)