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DF Reference Collection / Watsonian McAnally: the son of the chief physician.
« on: July 27, 2015, 08:35:02 PM »
You can all blame Serack for this one Doylist Mac
TL;DR version based on the original post I made in Serack's topic that spurred this all on:
Ultimately I would reiterate my position, I very much do not like the Chosen One trope, especially as it applies to Harry. The trend or parallel's heading in that direction at the moment however bear noting. Ironically the topic above regarding 'out of universe' reasoning for Mac's presence where it didn't seemed to fit spurred a thought that led to my 'in-universe' line of reasoning surrounding Mac and his importance to the story. This list in essence is meant to catalog Mac's appearances within the books as well as the surrounding storyline to illustrate that our favorite barkeep might, in fact, be yet another link in the chain of major parties interested in the Ragged Wizard from the outset and all this time.
(Thanks to knnn for the above. This is also specifically commented on by Harry in DB but that is for a bit later on in the topic.)
Fool Moon:
Death Masks:
Apparently these templates actually had character limits...who knew? Blame it on the spoiler quotes counting as text
TL;DR version based on the original post I made in Serack's topic that spurred this all on:
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Not that i'm a fan of the 'Chosen one' trope but, introducing Mac as a supernatural figure (former, current or somewhere in-between) would certainly fit the notion that Harry has been 'watched over' most of his life if not all, by interested outside parties and figures. Consider all of Mac's appearances as a more Watsonian variation:
-SF and FM: Introduction to his bar and character as a sort of 'Supernatural hangout' for Chicago. A place where various important events can and might go down early on. FM also has the last meeting between Harry and Kim Delany, the first apprentice and first 'major' direct loss/death to Harry in the books (discounting off screen deaths or supposed deaths like Malcolm, Justin, Elaine etc.), in Macs.
-Death Masks gives us out first real intro to the Accords and how they might work in the DV. Major potential turning point in the war between the Reds and WC. Additionally first introduction to the Nickleheads. Meeting with Ortega takes place there.
-Dead Beat is the mini 'war council' where Harry becomes a Warden. Mac's again is the meeting spot for a major event in Harry's life, his growing potential reliance on the Council and theirs to him. Introduction to Kemmler, Necromancy and the stronger consequences of the war/possibility of the Council 'rotting' from within.
-Proven Guilty the summit between Winter Lady and Summer Lady occur at Mac's. The idea of Mab being 'crazy' is brought to the forefront, (hand in hand with the first likely examples of Maeve's N-fected lying behavior), as well as Harry's ever increasing involvement in the Fae realm.
-Small Favor surrounds the events that would involve the Denarians once more as well as the Archive in greater detail. Additionally we are introduced to Uriel, and greater insight into the potential 'behind the scenes' machinations at hand. Mac's serves as the confrontation between Tiny and Harry/Murph. Also introduces us to Mac's secret 'Gods beer' brew.
-Changes of course has Mac as the first person Harry confides in about Maggie. He tells Dresden that he will be heading into the 'badlands, it'll be easy to get lost' and calling the situation a 'hard thing'. He offers more insight than he ever has and indeed sets the tone in his own way for everything we will come to know as a Change for Harry.
-Cold Days addressed in this topic to a degree. Following this general line of thought Harry (now the WK, another BIG change) is given insight into Nemesis and one step closer to the real answers behind everything. Mac's of course serves for the meeting between Odin and Harry where he gains some important perspective, the assault by Sharkface/introduction of Mac as a 'Watcher' and of course Mac's presence on the island.
-Skin Game has the flashback meeting between Kringle and Harry there, we are given info on the abilities of Nic and greater insight into a major plan taking place that come to surround the artifacts, Harry finds out he has an SOI in his noodle and an archangel gives up his Grace, temporarily.
So, from this general perspective pretty much every 'important' step of the way, Mac has been there either on the fringes or directly involved. Either intentionally or by dint of having the most known 'hub' of supernatural community gatherings in Chicago, the Watcher has pretty much been watching Harry's growth all the while.
If I forgot certain books feel free to point them out.
Ultimately I would reiterate my position, I very much do not like the Chosen One trope, especially as it applies to Harry. The trend or parallel's heading in that direction at the moment however bear noting. Ironically the topic above regarding 'out of universe' reasoning for Mac's presence where it didn't seemed to fit spurred a thought that led to my 'in-universe' line of reasoning surrounding Mac and his importance to the story. This list in essence is meant to catalog Mac's appearances within the books as well as the surrounding storyline to illustrate that our favorite barkeep might, in fact, be yet another link in the chain of major parties interested in the Ragged Wizard from the outset and all this time.
Quote from: Our World page 180
What we know about Mac: he opened his pub a few years before Harry Dresden came to Chicago; nobody knows where he’d been before that or what he’d done.
(Thanks to knnn for the above. This is also specifically commented on by Harry in DB but that is for a bit later on in the topic.)
- Mac set's up shop in Chi-town. Per our series timeline Harry left Eb at about 19 years of age and wandered hermit style for about a year or two before finally settling down in Chicago and beginning work with Nick Christian at Ragged Angel. He is now, conveniently enough, just about at legal drinking age and as we know a creature of habit. A favorite haunt like Mac's, especially as it tailors to the supernatural community, would be just the thing for an intrepid young wizard. More conveniently still, it's close by:
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Where was Harry’s apartment?
In the same mythical four or five blocks where his office was, and where Mac’s is. It’s really dangerous to use an actual location because there’s always that occasional unbalanced person who just decides “Well, this needs to be true to the books, I’m going to burn this house down.” *audience laughter* I knew I was gonna be wrecking the place, so maybe I’ll just kind of make it semi-mythical and that will be healthier for everyone.
- Happy coincidence or an indicator of well planned forethought? We have a nice Doylist perspective with a hint at a Watsonian one.
- Introduces us to Mac's and possibly his place in the story:
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McAnally's is a pub a few blocks from my office. I go there when I'm feeling stressed, or when I have a few extra bucks to spend on a nice dinner. A lot of us fringe types do. Mac, the pub's owner, is used to wizards and all the problems that come along with us. There aren't any video games at McAnally's. There are no televisions or expensive computer trivia games. There isn't even a jukebox. Mac keeps a player piano instead. It's less likely to go haywire around us.
I say pub in all the best senses of the word. When you walk in, you take several steps down into a room with a deadly combination of a low clearance and ceiling fans. If you're tall, like me, you walk carefully in McAnally's. There are thirteen stools at the bar and thirteen tables in the room. Thirteen windows, set up high in the wall in order to be above ground level, let some light from the street into the place. Thirteen mirrors on the walls cast back reflections of the patrons in dim detail, and give the illusion of more space. Thirteen wooden columns, carved with likenesses from folktales and legends of the Old World, make it difficult to walk around the place without weaving a circuitous route - they also quite intentionally break up the flow of random energies, dispelling to one degree or another the auras that gather around broody, grumpy wizards and keeping them from manifesting in unintentional and colorful ways. The colors are all muted, earth browns and sea greens. The first time I entered McAnally's, I felt like a wolf returning to an old, favorite den. Mac makes his own beer, ale really, and it's the best stuff in the city. His food is cooked on a wood-burning stove. And you can damn well walk your own self over to the bar to pick up your order when it's ready, according to Mac. It's my sort of place.
- Telling us from the outset how much he feels at home in Mac's and it's purpose to the supernatural community at large. This is also Harry's first major case, his grand introduction into the plot at large and how it extends into all corners of the supernatural world. At a most critical juncture he aids Harry directly in his task to confront Victor Sells and save his life:
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It didn't take me long to walk to McAnally's. I came through the door in a storm of long legs, rain, wind, flapping duster, and angry eyes.
The place was packed, people sitting at every one of the thirteen stools at the bar, at every one of the thirteen tables, leaning against most of the thirteen columns. Pipe smoke drifted through the air in a haze, stirred by the languidly spinning blades of the ceiling fans. The light was dim, candles burning at the tables and in sconces on the walls, plus a little grey storm light sliding in through the windows. The light made the carvings on the columns vague and mysterious, the shadows changing them in a subtle fashion. All of Mac's chessboards were out on the tables, but my sense of it was that those playing and watching the games were trying to keep their minds off of something that was disturbing them.
They all turned to stare at me as I came in the door and down the steps, dripping rainwater and a little blood onto the floor. The room got really quiet.
They were the have-nots of the magical community. Hedge magi without enough innate talent, motivation, or strength to be true wizards. Innately gifted people who knew what they were and tried to make as little of it as possible. Dabblers, herbalists, holistic healers, kitchen witches, troubled youngsters just touching their abilities and wondering what to do about it. Older men and women, younger people, faces impassive or concerned or fearful, they were all there. I knew them all by sight, if not by name.
I swept my gaze around the room. Every one of the people I looked at dropped their eyes, but I didn't need to look deep to see what was happening. Word has a way of getting around between practitioners of magic, and the arcane party line was working as it usually did. Word was out. There was a mark on my head, and they all knew it. Trouble was brewing between two wizards, white and black, and they had all come here, to the shelter offered by McAnally's winding spaces and disruptive configurations of tables and columns. They'd come here to shelter until it was over.
It didn't offer any shelter to me, though. McAnally's couldn't protect me against a sharply directed spell. It was an umbrella, not a bomb shelter. I couldn't get away from what Victor would do to me, unless I cared to flee to the Nevernever itself, and for me that was more dangerous, in some ways, than staying at Mac's.
I stood there in the silence for a moment, but said nothing. These people were associates, friends of a casual sort, but I couldn't ask them to stand beside me. Whatever Victor thought he was, he had the power of a real wizard, and he could crush any of these people like a boot could a cockroach. They weren't prepared to deal with this sort of thing.
"Mac," I said, finally. My voice fell on the silence like a hammer on glass. "I need to borrow your car."
Mac hadn't quit polishing the bar with a clean white cloth when I entered, his spare frame gaunt in a white shirt and dark breeches. He hadn't stopped when the room had grown still. And he didn't stop when he pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to me with one hand. I caught them, and said, "Thanks, Mac."
"Ungh," Mac said. He glanced up at me, and then behind me. I took the gesture for the warning it was, and turned.
...
Mac stooped and picked up the keys, where I'd dropped them on the floor as I swung the chair. I hadn't noticed that I had. Mac handed them back to me and said, "Council will be pissed."
"Let me worry about that."
He nodded. "Luck, Harry." Mac offered me his hand, and I took it. The room was still silent. Fearful, worried eyes watched me.
I took the keys and walked up, out of the light and shelter of McAnally's and into the storm, my bridges burning behind me.
- He gives him his '89 Trans Am without so much as a blink. He warns him about Morgan's presence and then offers his own blunt, passive support. (Note too they shake hands without a single inkling of a practitioner's tingle.) Ultimately as we know Harry triumphs.
Fool Moon:
- Offer's up Mac's right from the outset as the meeting place between Harry and sometimes apprentice Kim Delany. The conversation surrounds the notion of circles and containment. The notion of 'higher powers' is touched upon for the first time in the their conversation:
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Her cheeks glowed with excitement, and her eyes shone. "I knew it. And what's this last one?"
I squinted at the innermost ring of symbols, frowning. "A mistake."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it's just gobbledygook. It doesn't mean anything useful. Are you sure you copied this correctly?"
Kim's mouth twisted into a frown. "I'm sure, I'm sure. I was careful."
I studied her face for a moment. "If I read the symbols correctly, it's a third wall. Built to withhold creatures of flesh and spirit. Neither mortal nor spirit but somewhere in between."
She frowned. "What kind of creatures are like that?"
I shrugged. "None," I said, and officially, it was true. The White Council of wizards did not allow the discussion of demons that could be called to earth, beings of spirit that could gather flesh to themselves. Usually, a spirit-circle was enough to stop all but the most powerful demons or Elder Things of the outer reaches of the Nevernever. But this third circle was built to stop things that could transcend those kinds of boundaries. It was a cage for demonic demigods and archangels.
- Perhaps even more importantly it serves as a critical lesson for Harry:
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And I abruptly understood Kim Delaney's request. She had to have known Harley MacFinn, maybe through her environmental activism. She must have learned of his curse, and wanted to help him. When I had refused to help her, she had attempted to recreate the greater summoning circle upstairs in the bedroom, to hold in MacFinn once the moon rose. As I had warned her would happen, she had failed. She hadn't had the knowledge necessary to understand how such a construct would function, and consequently, she hadn't been able to make it work.
MacFinn had killed her. Kim was dead because I had refused to share my knowledge with her, because I hadn't given her my help. I had been so secure in my knowledge and wisdom; withholding such secrets from her had been the action of a concerned and reasoned adult speaking to an overeager child. I couldn't believe my own arrogance, the utter confidence with which I had condemned her to death.
- This was the last time he would see Kim alive. And it's a hard learned lesson for him that will ultimately help shape the way he handles sharing information with those he loves and trusts throughout the rest of the series. He would also have the door opened about his less than saintly mother:
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"Indeed," Chauncy agreed. "Your mother was a most direct and willful woman. Her loss was a great sadness to all of us."
I blinked, startled, and the pencil fell from my fingers. I stared at the demon for a moment. "You ... you knew my mother? You knew Margaret Gwendolyn Dresden?"
Chauncy regarded me without expression or emotion. "Many in the underworld were ... familiar with her, Harry Blackstone Dresden, though under a different name. Her coming was awaited with great anticipation, but the Dark Prince lost her, in the end."
"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"
Chauncy's eyes gleamed with avarice. "Didn't you know about your mother's past, Mr. Dresden? A pity that we didn't have this conversation sooner. You might have added it into the bargain we made. Of course, if you would like to forfeit another name, to know all about your mother's past, her ..." his voice twisted with distaste, "redemption, and the unnatural deaths of both mother and father, I am certain we can work something out."
I gritted my teeth in a sudden rush of childlike frustration. My heart pounded in my ears. My mother's dark past? I had expected that she was a wizardess, but I had never been able to prove anything, one way or another. Unnatural deaths? My father had perished in his sleep, of an aneurism, when I was young. My mother had died in childbirth.
Or had they?
A sudden, burning desire to know filled me, starting at my gut and rolling outward through my body - to know who my mother was, what she had known. She had left me her silver pentacle, but I knew nothing of the sort of person she was, other than what my gentle and too-generous father had told me before his death. What were my parents like? How had they perished and why? Had they been killed? Did they have enemies lurking out there, somewhere? If so, had I inherited them?
My mother's dark past. Did that explain my own fascination with the darker powers, my somewhat-less-than-sterling adherence to the rules of the White Council that I considered foolish or inconvenient?
- As well as the introduction to his ID (who as we will see later also seems to show up only in books that involve Mac to one degree or another...make of that what you will ) :
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I awoke in a dark place. It was like the inside of a warehouse, or a big, underground garage, all black, with a smooth, even floor, and a pool of bleak, sterile radiance in the middle of it that came from a source I could not see or identify. I felt like hell, and looked down to see myself covered in scratches, bruises, welts, blood, bandages, and ill-fitting clothing. I wore none of my implements or devices, and there was a curious sense of distance between me and the pain of my injuries - I was more than aware of them, but they seemed to be something that was merely noted in passing, and unimportant to my life as a whole.
I stood just outside the circle of light, and it seemed to me proper that I move forward into it. I did. And as I did, there appeared in the circle opposite me ... me. Myself. Only better groomed, dressed in a mantled duster of black leather, not the sturdy, if styleless canvas that I wore. My double's pants and boots and shirt were all black as well, and they fit him as though tailor-made, rather than off-the-rack. His eyes were set deep, overshadowed by severe brows, and glittering with dark intelligence. His hair was neatly cut, and the short beard he wore emphasized the long lines of his face, the high cheekbones, the straight slash of his mouth, and the angular strength of his jaw. He stood as tall as I, as long limbed as I, but carried with him infinitely more confidence, raw knowledge, and strength. A faint whiff of cologne drifted over to me, cutting through my own sour sweat and blood smells.
My double tilted his head to one side, looked me up and down for a long minute, and then said, "Harry. You look like hell."
"And you look like me," I said, and limped toward him, peering.
My double rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Hell's bells, you make me sick with how thick skulled you are, sometimes." He took steps toward me, mirroring my own movements. "I don't look like you. I am you."
I blinked at him for a few seconds. "You are me. How does that work?"
"You're unconscious, moron," my double said to me. "We can finally talk to one another."
"Oh, I get it," I said. "You're Evil Harry, lurking inside Good Harry. Right? And you only come out at night?"
"Give me a break," my double said. "If you were that simple, you'd be so insufferably boring you'd probably blow your own head off. I'm not Evil Harry. I'm just Subconscious Harry. I'm your inner voice, bub. Your intuition, your instinct, your basic, animal reactions. I make your dreams, and I decide which nightmares to pop in the old psychic VCR at night. I come up with a lot of the good ideas, and pass them along to you when you wake up."
"So you're saying you're wiser than me? Smarter than me?"
"I probably am, in a lot of ways," my double said, "but that's not my job, and it's not why I'm here."
"I see. So what are you doing here, then? You're going to tell me how I'm going to meet three spirits of Harry Past, Present, and Future?" I asked.
My double snorted. "That's good. That really is, the banter thing. I can't do the banter very well. Maybe that's why you're in charge. Of course, if I was in charge more often, you'd get laid a lot more - but no, that's not it, either."
"Can we speed this along? I'm too tired to keep on guessing," I complained.
"No joke, jerk. That's why you're asleep. But we don't have long to talk, and there are some issues we need to work through." He said issues in the British manner, iss-ewwws.
"Issues to work through?" I said. "What, am I my own therapist, now?" I turned my back on my double and started stalking out of the lighted circle. "I've had some weird dreams, but this has got to be the stupidest one yet."
My double slipped around me and got in my way before I could leave the circle of light. "Hold it. You really don't want to do this."
"I'm tired. I feel like shit. I'm hurt. And what I really don't want is to waste any more time dreaming about you." I narrowed my eyes at my double. "Now get out of my way." I turned to my right and started walking toward the nearest edge of the circle.
My double slipped in front of me again, apparently without needing to cross the intervening space. "It isn't that simple, Harry. No matter where you go, there you are."
"Look, I've had a long night."
"I know," my double said. "Believe me, I know. That's why it's important to get some of this out now, before it settles in. Before you blow a gasket on your sanity, man."
"I'm not worried about that," I lied. "I'm as solid as a brick wall."
My double snorted. "If you weren't getting pretty close to crazy, would you be talking to yourself right now?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Shrugged. "Okay. You've got a point."
"I've got more than that," my double said. "Things have been happening to you so quickly that you haven't had time to think. You need to work through some of this, and then you need to do some hard thinking, fast."
I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. "All right, then," I said. "What do you want to hear?"
My double gestured, and there was Murphy as she had appeared in the hallway of the police station, the flesh of her bicep tented out by the broken bone, her face pale, spotted with blood, and streaked with tears and hopeless anguish.
"Murph," I said, quietly, and knelt down by the image. "Stars above. What have I done to you?" The image, the memory, didn't hear me. She just wept silent, bitter tears.
My double knelt on the other side of the apparition. "Nothing, Harry," he said. "What happened at the police station wasn't your fault."
"Like hell it wasn't," I snarled. "If I'd have been faster, gotten there sooner, or if I'd told her the truth from the beginning - "
"But you didn't," my double interjected. "And you had some pretty damned compelling reasons not to. Ease up on yourself, man. You can't change the past."
"Easy for you to say," I snarled.
"No, it isn't," my double said quietly. "Concentrate on what you will do, not what you should have done. You've been trying to protect Murphy all along, instead of making her able to protect herself. She's going to be fighting these kinds of things, Harry, and you won't always be there to baby-sit her. Instead of trying to play shepherd, you need to play coach, and get her into shape to do what she needs to do."
"But that means - "
"Telling her everything," my double said. "The White Council, the Nevernever, all of it."
"The Council won't like it. If I tell her and they hear about it, they might consider her a security risk."
"And if you don't make her able to understand what she's fighting, something's going to eat her face some dark night. Murphy's a big girl. The Council had better be careful if they decide to go messing with her." My double considered Murphy for a moment. "You should ask her out sometime, too."
"I should what?" I said.
"You heard me. You're repressing big time, man."
"This is all getting way too Freudian for me," I said, and stood up, intending to walk away again. I was confronted with an image of Susan, as she had appeared on the steps to the police station, tall in her heels and dress suit, elegant and beautiful, her face stretched with worry.
"Think she's going to get a good story out of this?" my double asked.
"Oh, that's below the belt. That's not why she's seeing me."
"Maybe, maybe not. But you're asking yourself that question, aren't you?" My double gestured to himself and to me, demonstratively. "Shouldn't that make you ask a few more questions?"
"Like what?" I asked.
"Like how come you don't trust anyone," my double said. "Not even someone like Susan who has been going out on a limb for you tonight." He lifted a long-fingered hand and stroked at the short beard with his fingertips. "I'm thinking this has to do with Elaine. How about you?"
And then there she was, a girl of elegant height, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age - gawky and coltish, all long legs and arms, but with the promise of stunning beauty to add graceful curves to the lean lines of her body. She was dressed in a pair of my blue jeans, cut off at the tops of her muscled thighs, and my own T-shirt, tied off over her abdomen. A pentacle amulet, identical to my own, if less battered, lay over her heart, between the curves of her modest breasts. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, her hair a shade of brown-gold, like ripe wheat, her eyes a startling, storm-cloud grey in contrast. Her smile lit up her face, made her eyes dance with secret fires that still, even after all the years, made me draw in a sharp breath. Elaine. Beautiful, vital, and as poisonous as any snake.
I turned my back on the image, deliberately - before I could see it change into the Elaine that I had last seen - naked, festooned in swirling paints that lent a savage aura to her skin. Her lips had been stained brilliant, wet red, curving around twisting, rolling phrases as she chanted in the midst of her circle, its sigils meant to focus pain and fury into tangible power that had been used to hold a foolish young man helpless while his mentor offered him one last chance to sip from a chalice of fresh, hot blood.
"That's been over for a long time," I said, my voice shaking.
My double answered me quietly, "It isn't over. It isn't over yet, Harry. As long as you hold yourself responsible for Justin's death and Elaine's fall, it still colors everything you think and do."
I didn't answer myself.
"She's still alive," my double said. "You know she is."
"She died in the fire," I said. "She was unconscious. She couldn't have lived through it."
"You'd have known if she died. And they never found a second set of bones."
"She died in the fire!" I screamed. "She's dead."
"Until you stop pretending," my double said, appearing before me, "and try to face reality, you're not going to be able to heal. You're not going to be able to trust anyone. Which reminds me..."
My double gestured, and Tera West appeared as I had seen her crouched behind the garbage bin at the rear of the gas station, naked, her body lean, feral, leaves and bits of bracken in her hair, her amber eyes gleaming with cold, alien intelligence. "Why in the hell are you trusting her?"
"I haven't had much choice," I snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, things have been sort of desperate lately."
"You know she's not human," my double said. "You know she was at the scene of the crime, at Marcone's restaurant, where Spike was torn up. You know she has some kind of hold on a group of young people, the favorite targets of the creatures of the Nevernever. In fact, you can be pretty damn sure that she is a shapeshifter of one kind or another, who isn't telling you the whole truth, but still comes asking for your help."
"Like I can throw stones for not telling the whole truth," I said.
Hngh, my double said in answer. "But you haven't confronted her about what she isn't telling you. Those kids. Who the hell were they, and what were they doing? What is she getting them into? And why was she keeping it a secret from MacFinn? He didn't recognize the names when you dropped them."
"All right, all right," I said. "I was going to talk to her anyway. As soon as I wake up."
My double chuckled. "If things are that leisurely. These murders are still happening, and they're starting to pile up. Are you serious about doing something about them?"
"You know that I am."
My double nodded firmly. "I'm glad we agree on something. Let's look at some facts. MacFinn couldn't have committed all the murders. Most particularly, he couldn't have committed the most important murder - the industrialist, Marcone's partner. He and his bodyguard were killed the night after the full moon. And Spike was wiped out the night before the full moon. MacFinn doesn't have any control over his shapeshifting. He couldn't have been the one to pull off those murders."
"So who could have?" I asked.
"His fiance. The men were ripped apart by an animal."
"But the FBI lab said that it wasn't a true wolf that did it."
"Werewolves are slightly different from real wolves," my double said.
"How do you know that?" I demanded.
"I'm the intuition, remember?" my double said. "Think about it. If you were going to change yourself into a wolf, do you think you could hold that image in your head, perfectly exact? Do you think you could make all the millions of subtle, tiny changes in skeletal and muscular structure? Magic doesn't just work - a mind has to direct it, shape it. Your emotions, your feelings toward wolves would color it, too, change the image and the shape. Ask Bob, next chance you get. I'm sure he'll tell you I'm right."
"Okay, okay," I said. "I'll buy that. But the FBI said that there was more than one set of tooth marks and prints, too."
"MacFinn explains some of them. During last month's full moon, he probably killed some people when his circle went ka-blooey."
"And the group Tera had - they called themselves the Alphas - could explain the rest of them, if they were shapeshifters."
"Now you're catching on," my double said, approval in his tone. "You're smarter than you look."
"Do you think they were behind spoiling MacFinn's containment circle? The fancy one with all the silver and stuff?"
"They had the knowledge to do it, through Tera. Tera could have let them in, providing opportunity," my double said.
"But they didn't have a motive," I said. "Why would they have done it?"
"Because Tera told them to, maybe?"
I frowned and nodded. "She is a creature of the Nevernever. Who knows what's going through her - its head. It doesn't necessarily have to be understandable by human logic."
My double shook his head. "I don't buy that. I saw the way she looked at MacFinn - and how she sacrificed herself to divert the FBI and the police so that he could escape. Your instincts are telling you that she is in love with MacFinn, and that she wouldn't act against him."
"Yeah. You told me that about Elaine, too," I shot back, another pang of memory going through my chest.
"That was a long time ago," my double said defensively. "I've had time to get keener since then. And less easy to distract."
"All right," I sighed. "So where does that leave us?"
"I don't think we've run into the real killers yet. The ones who ruined MacFinn's circle and whacked the mob guys on the non-full-moon nights."
I squinted at my double. "You think so?"
He nodded and stroked his beard again. "Unless the Alphas are doing it without Tera knowing, and they look a little too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to be doing that. I think it's someone else entirely. Someone trying to set up MacFinn and take him out of the picture."
"But why?"
"Maybe because they didn't want him putting the Northwest Passage Project through. Or, gee, maybe because he's a freaking werewolf, Harry, and someone caught on to it and wanted him dead. You know that there are organizations who would do that - some of the Venatori Umbrorum, members of the White Council, others who are in the know."
"But you don't think I've seen them, yet?"
"I don't think you've picked them out from the background," my double said. "Keep your eyes open, all right? Which brings us to the next topic of discussion."
"Does it?"
My double nodded. "Threat assessment. You've got all kinds of things staring you right in the face, and you're not noticing them. I don't want you to get killed because you're too distracted." He glanced to one side, frowned, and said, "We're almost out of time."
"We wouldn't be if you weren't such a wiseass."
"Bite me," my double said. "Don't forget Marcone. You pissed him off by not taking the deal he offered you. He thinks the killers are coming after him next, and he might be right. He's scared, and scared people do stupid things - like trying to off the only man in town who has a chance of stopping what's going on."
"Let me worry about Marcone," I said.
"I am you, and I'm worried. Next is the cops. Some of Murphy's people are dead. There is going to be hell to pay once she gets that arm fixed - and someone is going to remember that you were around, and with your luck, they won't remember that you kept even more people from dying. You see Murphy and the police again, you'd better be careful or you're going to get shot to death resisting arrest."
"I'll be careful," I said.
"One more thing," my double said. "You have forgotten about Parker and the Streetwolves entirely. Parker needs you dead if he's going to remain in control of his people."
"Yeah. You'd have thought he'd have been more on the ball than this."
"Exactly," my double said. "You've been hiding and away from your apartment for a while - but you show up in public again, and you can bet that Parker will be on your trail. And think. He knew the real deal between you and Marcone, and he's a petty thug in Chicago. There's probably a connection between them, and you've been too dumb to think of it."
"Stars above," I muttered. "It's not as if the situation is very complicated. No pressure, right?"
"At least you're willing to deal with it now, instead of just closing your eyes and pretending that they can't see you. Be careful, Harry. It's a real mess, and you're the only one who can clean it up."
"Who are you, my mother?" I asked.
My double snapped his fingers. "That reminds me, right. Your mother - " He broke off, glancing up and around him, an expression of frustration coming over his face. "Oh, hell."
- Murphy, Elaine, Susan, Trust, His Mother, the case, Harry's inner turmoil and what makes him tick, lessons and issues he will continue to battle throughout the series are all introduced here.
And it all started under Mac's roof.
Death Masks:
- Mac's next comes into play as the meeting place between Ortega and Harry to discuss their duel. It introduces us to the Accords in a more tangible, in-depth way and Mac's as a viable example of Accorded Neutral Ground. On the fringe however we have a great many major plot points for Harry. Coming head to head with Nicodemus and the Denarian's for the first time, he meets Ivy and Kincaid for the first time, (important relationships both), obtain's Thomas' help yet again and learns a bit more about his mother's 'darker' associations. But in a more direct application right outside the bar Harry and Shiro discuss the war:
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Shiro stood quietly for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully, before he said, "Ortega means to kill you."
"Yes. Yes, he does," I said. I managed not to grind my teeth as I said it. "Everyone is saying that like I didn't know it already."
"But you do not know how." I frowned and looked down at Shiro. His shaved head gleamed under a nearby streetlight. "The war is not your fault."
"I know that," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
"No," Shiro said. "It truly is not your fault."
"What do you mean?"
"The Red Court has been quietly building its resources for years," he said. "How else were they ready to start their attacks in Europe only days after you defeated Bianca?"
I frowned at him.
Shiro drew a cigar from inside his jacket and bit off the end. He spat it to one side. "You were not the cause of the war. You were merely the excuse. The Reds would have attacked when they were ready."
"No," I said. "That's not how it is. I mean, damn near everyone I've spoken to on the Council-"
Shiro snorted. He struck a match and puffed on the cigar a few times while he lit it. "The Council. Arrogant. As if nothing significant could happen unless a wizard did it."
For someone who wasn't on the White Council, Shiro seemed to have its general attitude pretty well surrounded. "If the Red Court wanted a war, why is Ortega trying to stop it?"
"Premature," Shiro said. "Needed more time to be completely prepared. The advantage of surprise is gone. He wishes to strike once and be certain it is a lethal stroke."
I watched the little old man for a minute. "Everyone's got advice tonight. Why are you giving it?"
"Because in some ways you are every bit as arrogant as the Council, though you do not realize it. You blame yourself for what happened to Susan. You want to blame yourself for more."
"So what if I do?"
Shiro turned me and faced me squarely. I avoided meeting his eyes. "Duels are a test of fire. They are fought in the will. The heart. If you do not find your balance, Ortega will not need to kill you. You will do so for him."
- The bigger picture begins to focus a bit more now, and Harry is perhaps only just starting to get a glimpse of his place in it all. A certain Fallen Angel's shadow also takes up residence in his head...
Apparently these templates actually had character limits...who knew? Blame it on the spoiler quotes counting as text