Disclaimer: Obviously, characters and concept does not belong to me, in any way. However, I do want to make note that the first ten lines have been lifted directly from White Night. After which, it's all my own work. Thank you.

There was a sudden sense of someone standing close to me—an almost tangible physical sensation of someone slim and feminine pressed against my back, arms casually around my waist, soft breath and lips moving near my ear. It was odd, but not at all unpleasant. I caught myself enjoying it, and firmly reminded myself of the danger of allowing the demon to do that.

With your permission, you need only speak to them in English, my host, Lasciel said. I will translate it between mind and mouth, and they will hear their tongue from your lips.

I so did not need any image involving their tongues and my lips, I responded.

Lasciel let out a delighted laugh that bubbled through my mind, and I was smiling a little when I faced the ghoul and said, "Okay, asshole. I've got two kids missing, and the only chance you have of getting out of this alive is if I get them back. Do you understand me?"

Both ghouls looked up at me, surprise evident even on the inhuman one's face. I got a similar look from Ramirez and Meyers.

"Do you understand me?" I asked the ghouls quietly.

"Yes," stammered the wounded ghoul, apparently in English.

Ramirez's dark, heavy eyebrows tried to climb up under his bush hat.

I had to remind myself that this was not very cool. I was using a dangerous tool that would one day turn on me. No matter how savvy and tough it made me look in front of the other Wardens.

At the time though, my only focus was saving the kids. They were relying on me, on us, to keep them safe, and despite every precaution, we had failed. Completely and utterly.

The two ghouls realized I was their best hope for getting out of here alive, and were surprisingly forthcoming with information. I promised them their lives, if nothing else, and with Lasciel's help, Ramirez and I were soon traveling over the Nevernever, foolishly optimistic in our pursuit.

"Hell's Bells" I whispered, fighting the urge to throw up everything I'd eaten the past few days. We found them alright, enough of them to identify anyhow. The Trailmen twins were hunched together, their bodies twisted and maimed like some grotesque sculpture. Chunks of flesh were missing from both bodies, and a cold rage suddenly flowed through my body. I liked it. I wanted to kill, kill everyone who could have done a thing like this. I scared Ramirez shitless – he never said a word, but his eyes spoke volumes

All other thoughts were pushed away when my eyes fell upon the murderer, its mouth still streaked with the blood of my wards. Without thinking, I summoned Hellfire, felt it course through me as I prepared my attack. A second later, and I doubt I would have condemned them with fire at all. The death would be too quick, too clean for the beasts. I wanted to rip them apart limb for limb, slowly and agonizingly - make sure they felt everything the twins had felt one hundred fold. As it was, I aimed my staff and shouted, 'Fuego'. The smell of sulfur filled the air, and a great flame roared forward, consuming everything in its path.

The heat was overwhelming, and even had I been able to keep my eyes open, the inferno denied me any pleasure of watching my opponent burn to ash. When I was able to look around, there was precious little evidence that anything had happened, no marking of the travesty that had occurred. Only charred remains and a smattering of boiled blood - a sickening brown crust splattered at random across the hard ground, that oddly enough made me think of Créme Brulée.

Now, at long last, I did heave, crouching over as bile came rushing up through my throat. The bitter smell of acid and half digested hamburger feebly fought against the overpowering stench of sulfur and charred flesh – ghoul and human. "Mother of God", Ramirez whispered, and I looked up, finally returning to the larger world. "Harry...Harry, there is nothing left here. We need to go."

Needed. Right. Because I had done such a great job when I the twins needed me. Still, there were two worthless sacks of shit back at Camp Kaboom, and if nothing else, I could extract further vengeance against them.

"Right...go" I replied shakily, giving Ramirez a hesitant nod. "Come on then." We walked back through the gate, back to the blistering heat of the southwestern sun. I still felt cold.

I killed the pair of them, out in the desert. I didn't summon hellfire - I wanted this to last, to hurt as long as possible. A good, old fashioned Barbecue. They screamed, howled in agony as their skin cracked in the magically enhanced heat, blood pouring from a hundred wounds before sizzling with a sickly hiss, like dried riverbeds across their bodies. As they passed the threshold that protected them from any further pain, I summoned my last reserves of energy, and a final time, hollered, 'Fuego!'

The ground hissed and popped, the sand transforming to glass as the ghouls let out a final shriek.

"Eight minutes!" I roared, choking a sob and raging in anger. "You bastards had them for eight minutes!" I staggered forward – small jerking steps before I once more began to heave. Mercifully, there was nothing left to eject.

As for the second time in all of twenty minutes I fled and returned to some form of sanity, an awful silence invaded, and I felt the distinct sensation of waking up - my awareness returning once more.

"Harry...Mon Dios" Ramirez's voice broke the eerie calm that had settled over me for a second.

I whirled around, my audience in perfect unison taking a half step back. Carlos, his face twisted in both shock with just a tiny hint of understanding. Captain Luccio, her newfound and accidental youthfulness suddenly betrayed every year she truly was. Her eyes cut through me, as if she was seeing me for the first time. Coming from a woman I had once shot at point blank rage when instinct told be me - correctly, thank God - that a Necromancer had switched bodies with her... it was terrifying.

The most terrifying thing though, was the children. I took a foolish pride in being the 'cool' one out of the so called adults at Camp Kaboom. I was young, younger than most the other wardens by more than a few decades, despite the recent crop of replacements. The fact that I couldn't speak Latin actually worked in my favor. I was fun'..handsome too. Now though...

Now, they were scared – terrified - of me, some were even sparing fleeting looks of sympathy towards the foul smelling charcoal of their attackers. I was the monster to be defended against - their constant flinches when my eyes passed over them and the way they hid behind the wardens left nothing to the imagination.

"Warden Ramirez, Warden Dresden, with me." Captain Luccio's tone left no room for argument, and I nodded, pretending not to notice her look of relief when it seemed that I wasn't completely unhinged.

We walked to the hut that was serving as the Captain's private quarters in total silence. When we arrived, Luccio waved Ramirez in, ordering me to remain outside with an emotionless, "Warden, hold."

I spent a half hour waiting outside the hut, slowly burning up in the sun, cursing the impotency that clung to me even now. Around me, the kids and what precious few wardens were available were putting things back together. Lessons were canceled, as saving lives took precedence. The wounded had to be cared for, the dead collected - grieving would come later. Despite which, I was told to sit on my ass, and not so subtly given an unofficial watcher. John Carlton was a massive block of a man, not much shorter than myself but easily carrying an extra hundred pounds. He looked like a stereotypical lineman – the kind that completely ruined the game of football for me back in high school – no neck and all muscle. He was young, and had made Warden much the same way I had - by being alive. Carlton was nominally under my regional command, working in Boston, but it was obvious that for now, our roles had done a complete one-eighty.

"Harry, good luck." Carlos' voice broke through my thoughts. He looked uneasy, remorseful even. "Probably shouldn't go in there expecting a raise, should I?" I asked, more to break the growing tension than to say something intelligent. He let out a hollow laugh. "Maybe not." he said, before looking back down. "Talk to you later..." I nodded, I had nothing else to say.

Luccio's quarters were meticulously clean. Completely sterile, a perfect study of military efficiency. She sat, iron faced, behind a desk piled with organized stacks of paper. Her youthful looks were in direct conflict with the serious aura that radiated from her, the dimples I secretly loved obviously weren't coming out to play...

"Remain standing, Warden. Report your exact recollection of all events from the commencement of today's hostilities, onward." Warning sign number one, government slang. If my nuts weren't already on the line, they sure as hell were now. Then, thank God, she sighed. "Dresden, what the hell happened?"

So I talked. I told her about crossing into the Nevernever, and finding the bodies of the Trailmen twins, and how I'd taken out their murderer with all the power I had. How I had come back, filled with a rage to continue my vengeance, and had seen the opportunity in the two remaining ghouls. How even now, I did not regret my obsessive violence against them. My voice held an unspoken challenge, and thankfully Luccio was the more mature one of us, and ignored my not-so-subtle posturing.

"Alright Dresden... just one final question and you're free to go." She said when I fell silent, her tone lightening ever so slightly, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Shoot" I asked, before wincing internally at my poor word choice.

She held my gaze, and I wanted to do nothing more than get out of there as soon as possible. "Since when do you speak Ghoul?"

Damn, damn and damned thrice. Either Ramirez or Meyers had blabbed then - wonderful. I had no idea what I could possibly say to get out of this without causing a scene. Despite my many wonderful and lifesaving abilities, lying to beautiful women isn't one of them.

"Since the battle with Kemmler's disciples." My mouth replied for me with unnerving ease. "To be honest, I had no idea I could until I did, if that makes sense." I was on a roll. "It doesn't seem to be a controlled ability - I imagine right now my Ghoul is on par with my Latin." Of course, with Lash in my head, that was probably true - just not the way I meant it.

Captain Luccio didn't make captain because she's dimwitted or easily led, and it was obvious she wasn't entirely buying what me and my beautiful mouth were doing our utmost damnedest to sell her. Her eyes wandered to my gloved hand, and I felt a slice of fear that she knew that more than damaged flesh hid behind the leather. She looked up a minute later, and I could have kissed Lasciel for keeping my face under control.

"Thank you Warden, that is all." Suppressing the need to sigh in relief, I gave a curt nod and then marched stiffly out, every part the perfect tin soldier.

That was all months ago, and since then, I'd done my best to leave it there. Still, I felt myself channeling just a bit of that anger as Carlos, Molly, Mouse and myself drove off in the Blue Beetle towards the de facto headquarters of the White Court, the Raith family home.

Several years ago, I had inadvertently started a war with a different group of vampires - the Red Court, when I pulled off a one man firestorm in the heart of a formal gathering, killing more than a few vampires in the process, including Bianca, an important figure in Chicago's less reputable stations, and a newly honored noble with the Vampire Court. It didn't matter that I'd been responding to said vampire kidnapping and turning my girlfriend at the time, nor that they'd had every intention to kill me that night anyway, regardless of my protection as an emissary for the White Council. As far as technicalities went, I was the aggressor, and blood has been spilled on every continent since because of it.

As if that wasn't enough, factions within the White Court were doing much to fragment the Council's already tenuous position. Human practitioners of magic were being killed off by vampires disguised as wardens, and as such a growing rift was forming between practitioners and those sworn to protect them. We'd managed to narrow down who was responsible, and in fact were heading out now to deal with that very threat. Turns out rivals for House Raith's position of power within the White Court decided that a massacre of magically attuned humans would destabilize Raith's peace platform and with a bit of luck, much of his prestige.

Of course, situations are rarely so simple, and the Raith House was itself in a state of flux. Lara Raith was secretly in charge – her father now a mere figurehead. The Council backed Raith as far as the Council would ever openly back vampires – the greasy underworld of politics. So in addition to taking out a gang of murdering vampires, I was also being used as a pawn for internal court politics, as well as acting as an emissary of goodwill towards the peace process.

Oh for the good old days of scraping by locating car keys and wedding rings. Even Murphy's attempts to arrest me seemed a nicer alternative that what I faced these days.

We drove to Chateau Raith in an uneasy silence. I didn't think much of it at the time – despite her bravado, Molly was at heart a terrified and barely legal girl, about to get her first taste of battle. Ramirez was uncharacteristically tight lipped, but that could easily be attributed to the death trap we were all but walking into. The anticipation of fighting for your life does funny things to people – it wasn't at all strange for the normally outgoing self-styled Casanova to suddenly look nauseous. For my own part, I tried to not think at all while unconsciously fondling the pentacle I wore around my neck that I had inherited from my mother. It was in a way my security blanket, my faith in magic and its ability to save me. Really, the only one who seemed to more or less carefree was Mouse, who just seemed happy to be coming for the ride.

My first hint that something wasn't right was about ten minutes out from the front gates. We drove out of the city, northward where the urban sprawl opened up into large wealthy estates that managed to maintain some feel of rural essence despite the metropolis' presence. Raith's manor is in the middle of a forest filled with massive, ancient trees – as if it had been left untouched since people had inhabited the area. Hell, belonging to what amounts to a Vampire King, it may very well have.

Ramirez stopped the car, long before we'd come anywhere near the front gates. He took a deep breath, sparing Molly a glance before looking at my face but avoiding my eyes.

"You alright?" I asked, trying to ignore the tightening sensation in my stomach. Mouse growled softly, and I looked up, startled. Something was definitely wrong, and even Molly was suddenly looking a lot more nervous than she had a moment ago. Finally, Ramirez spoke.

"Ghoul...you spoke to them, they understood you. I heard you...Meyers and I." He looked up at me, as if parsing together the final pieces of a puzzle. "Your Latin sucks." He whispered, I had to strain to hear a word he said, though there was a current of steel in him that sent a shiver of fear town my spine. "I don't know what's going on Harry, but you've changed…the rage, the mad language skills…you've done something. But…I'm sorry."

Sorry? My retort was on the tip of my tongue, that we didn't have the time for this right now, but I could explain everything, later. Preferably over a steak and beer at McAnally's.

I didn't have that moment though, as an instant later a blinding white light flashed outside the car. Molly shrieked and Mouse was now growling in earnest, though I still couldn't see a thing as my eyes cringed at the brightness.

"Traitor, I had full faith that it was only a matter of time before you exposed yourself." Hell's Bells. Even blind, there was no mistaking the giant shadow and roaring voice as belonging to anyone but Morgan, one of the most veteran Warden's and holding an overly personal vendetta to see me brought to 'justice'. The fact that he looked like he could break me in two without a second thought was never comforting, let alone when I was all but blind. "You will be found guilty of treason, Dresden, for attempting to subvert the council and consorting with a Fallen." Oh...Fuck. A moment later, the world went black, and Molly screamed.

I woke up in a soft bed, in a room painted a light blue. For a minute, my only thoughts were if this was how Wardens punished their own, I would have signed on years ago. Once my head cleared, I let out a curse. "Lash, piss off" I grumbled. I regretted it a moment later, as my muscles sudden screamed in protest as the pain flowed through them once more, my peaceful sanctuary suddenly transformed into a shabby storage cellar somewhere. A flickering light hung openly up above, and my arms were twisted behind my back, chained to a pipe that pressed uncomfortably against my back.

A moment later, Lash appeared, as beautiful as ever and completely out of place for the squalor I was imprisoned in. Long tanned legs crossed elegantly, her robe climbing high up her thigh until it pooled tantalizingly in her lap, provocative and erotic even despite my throbbing head and bleary eyes. She sat on a overstuffed chair that looked absurd in the cramped, dank space, but she maintained an air of indifference to her surroundings, as if such things were below her notice. She smiled, a beautiful image complete with full lips and 'come-hither' eyes. Her left hand played with a strand of dark brown hair. Everything about her screamed Seductress. Damn it all, but despite the throbbing pain the coursed through my body and the dread and my situation, I was getting hard just looking at her.

"Dearest Harry, really, all I offer you is a bit of comfort." Her voice was husky, a delicate pout crossing her features.

I growled, though even to me it sounded half hearted. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm kinda busy getting ready to die helplessly. If you've got a way to get us out of this, I'm all ears. If not, then leave me alone– it's your fault we're stuck here anyway." Great, my last moments on Earth were going to consist of me whining to a beautiful woman living inside my head. With any luck, I'd wake up in a straitjacket in a padded cell.

It was true enough, but I was more than a little surprised to see the look of shame that flickered across her face, if only for a second. An instant later, it was set in a hard scowl, dangerous and cold.

"Have you not told me, dear host, that we only have ourselves to hold accountable for our actions. Don't we after all, always have a choice." The last word sounded foul and bitter, and despite my desire to silence her, I stayed quiet, listening. "I do not want to die, my host…not when I have just started to discover who I truly am."

I've been an active wizard for a long time, and through it, I've been in more than a few unpleasant situations. You'd be surprised how many of those have in some way been due to my inability to call an upset and beautiful woman a liar. Call me old fashioned, but I refuse to call Chivalry dead – even if it's almost got me killed a time or two.

So even when said grieving woman was actually the shadow of a fallen angel and infamous for her talents to seduce souls into perpetual torment, I was still inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. And Murphy thinks that she has a lot to deal with. The Chicago Police Department has nothing on me, Harry Dresden, Stereotypical Male Chauvinist.

"I'm sorry," I replied with a sigh. "Just kinda leaves a sour taste, after all the running around I've done for those bastards," I let out a harsh laugh. "Looks like they got their way after all."

Lash nodded, her face sympathetic. Then she continued, as if we'd never had the spat. "It is of course, impossible to escape as of yet. My own ability to call Hellfire has waned considerably, given the recent…separation between myself and Lasciel." Her voice is soft once more, seductive but not husky – almost resounding with genuine care. "Harry, let me help you, no strings attached. There's no reason you have to die for these idiots." She looks at me with a mix of pity and affection, and I can't help but stare back, obviously skeptical, but nonetheless intrigued. Beautiful women, it's a weakness, I tell ya.

She sighed. "If you won't believe me, at least consider this. Whether I am Lash or still a shadow of Lasciel, if you die, so must I. Even if my motives aren't entirely selfless, there ought not be doubt that I wish to see you escape this place unharmed." I nodded, my inner doubts slightly mollified, and began to fidget with the bonds that locked my limbs.

Lash said nothing more, and after a half hour of futile struggling I gave up, still exhausted after the beating I had apparently taken that rendered me unconscious. Suddenly another thought flashed through my head, one that would have shamed me for not thinking of earlier if I hadn't suddenly been filled with dread. Molly. What on earth had the Wardens done with her? An instant later, I was again trying in vain to loosen the manacles, thrashing wildly as I was ever eager to run and play the hero for a damsel in distress.

"Do not fear, my host." Lash immediately replied in a calm, soothing tone, this time clearly from within my head. "She is alright for the moment. Ramirez has insisted that she be questioned personally, that she might not play a role in your supposed betrayal."

I scowled. "Merlin and the council won't care. She'll be found guilty, nothing a single warden says will change that."

"Perhaps," Lash's voice calmed my thoughts. "But she is alive, and unharmed. If you are to rescue her as well, you must keep your wits, not simply charge forward without a plan."

Dammit, I hate it when women are not only stunningly beautiful, but right as well. Salt in the wound. But she's right, and I needed to conserve what little strength I have left, if we're to have any chance to get out of this.

For the first time, I take stock of the situation. I've been sloppy, a wizard should always scope out his surroundings before all else. Magic is a very powerful force, but a magic user is severely hampered if he tries to cast spells by the seat of his pants. Remember the seven P's: Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance. So, observation it is.

My blasting rod and staff were gone, presumably being held by the council. My mother's pentacle was also missing, but my shield bracelet and my rings were all still in place – the wardens have gotten terribly sloppy lately. Of course, it doesn't help that a few years back, the council suffered a massive blow at the hands of the Red Court, an attack that all but destroyed the Council as a fighting force. The fact that I'm a warden after everything speaks volumes, but at least I'm a professional. Some of these kids that call themselves Wardens were still shitting their pants while I was fighting for my life against my former mentor. Still, that evil overlord list wasn't just for the bad guys – it stood for principals. It ought to be required reading. Thankfully, it's not, and for the first time this actually works to my advantage.

So I've got some defensive capabilities, and can pack one helluva onetime punch of kinetic energy. Of course, I'm suspected of being a fallen and a traitor, and if it's an execution, a good part if not all of the Senior Council will be there, including The Merlin himself, and my oldest friend and current Blackstaff of the Council, Ebenezer McCoy. No doubt The Merlin is going to let Morgan do the honors…in short, it'll take more than a few punches to get out of this mess.

Also of course, is the fact that I am, in fact, hosting a Fallen, or at least the shadow…former shadow…of one. Don't look at me, I've never said my situation was straightforward. Granted, I've haven't taken the coin, but the sigil alone will condemn me. Even if Ebenezar is sympathetic, he can't outright rescue me from my own execution, not this time anyway. And if I use hellfire to escape…assuming I get away with it, or that Lash can call enough to matter...I'll be cutting off any hope of reconciliation between us forever. Funny how at times like this, that saying about pots and kettles hits me with full force. 'Sir, you lied to me, hid things from me…that's wrong' The voice in my head is cruel and mocking. Hell's Bells. I really, really don't want to die.

My life story was cut short by a creaking sound as the door opened, and my eyes snapped up, blinking stupidly at the sudden increase of light. Ramirez entered, saying nothing and looking at me with a gaze that's equal parts wariness and sympathy. Behind him, Morgan was absolutely glowing. "Your day of judgment has come." Morgan stated in what can best be described as an emotionless gloat. Despite everything, I couldn't help but roll my eyes and marvel at just how utterly typical he managed to be.

"You know Morgan, I know you're loving this, but isn't there just the tiniest chance that your fixation with your sword isn't a sign of something more serious...maybe overcompen-"

He snarled, and I swallowed the rest of my opinion. Ramirez's face flickered for a moment, before the grin slipped off and his face became to a stony mask. The grin never reached his eyes – I'm well and truly screwed.

Morgan stepped forward, his eyes always on me even as his hands unlocked the chains that held me against the wall. Roughly, he pulled me forward, and we stumbled out into the light, towards my death.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like a steak – a real steak, rare as hell. With a loaded baked potato. I don't want the salad, but you better not skimp on the bacon bits."

Morgan growled, pushing me roughly forward without a response. Right, first step when I get out of this mess, I'm writing my Congressman.