• Sentences start with a capital letter.
• Sentences end with a punctuation mark.

Q:  Can you tell us a little more about the black staff?
A:   The staff keeps Eb from going crazy, mostly.  Also, the White Council stole it from someone.  And they really want it back.

But youve only guessed the name of one of her masks not our most powerful name.

How long has the White Council had the Blackstaff?
Look for Celtic Lore around 1065 ad.

“It is her way,” Mother Summer said, smiling. “She rarely leaves our cottage anymore. She lost her walking stick.

Ebenezar McCoy extended his left hand and spoke another word, and darkness swirled from the shadows and condensed into a staff of dark, twisted wood, unmarked by any kind of carving whatsoever.

Athropos! Skuld! Mother Winter, I summon thee!

Atropos or Aisa was the oldest of the Three Fates, and was known as the "inflexible" or "inevitable." It was Atropos who chose the mechanism of death and ended the life of each mortal by cutting their thread with her "abhorred shears."

Skuld (the name possibly means "debt" or "future")[1] is a Norn in Norse mythology. Along with Urðr (Old Norse "fate"[2]) and Verðandi (possibly "happening" or "present"[3]), Skuld makes up a trio of Norns that are described as deciding the fates of people.

"An unmaking, boy. I am the unmaker, the destroyer. It is what I am. Bound within those threads is the power to undo any enchantment done. Touch the cloth to that which must be undone. Unravel the threads. It will be so."

I knelt in front of Mother Winter's rocking chair. I couldn't see her, even from here. Even her feet were covered by layers of dark cloth. But on her lap rested a pair of knitting needles, and a simple square of cloth, trailing thick threads of grey, undyed wool. Mother Winter reached down with her withered hands, and took up a pair of rusted shears. She cut the trailing threads and passed me the cloth.

I was casting everything I had done, everything I believed, everything I had chosen everything I was against the will of an ancient being of darkness, terror, and malice, a fundamental power of the world.

going to talk to Mother Winter was about half an inch shy of trying to call up Lucifer, or maybe Death itself (if there was such a being no one was really sure)

Then he swept the Blackstaff from left to right, murmured a word, and ripped the life from a hundred men.
They just . . . died.
There was absolutely nothing to mark their deaths. No sign of pain. No struggle. No convulsion of muscles. No reaction at all. One moment they were firing wildly down at us—and the next, they simply—
Dropped.
Dead.
The old man turned to the other wall, and I saw two or three of the brighter soldiers throw their guns down and run. I don’t know if they made it, but the old man swept the Blackstaff through the air again, and the gunmen on that side of the field dropped dead where they stood.
My godmother watched it happen, and bounced and clapped her hands some more, as delighted as a child at the circus.
I stared for a second, shocked. Ebenezar had just shattered the First Law of Magic: Thou shalt not kill. He had used magic to directly end the life of another human being—nearly two hundred times. I mean, yes, I had known what his office allowed him to do. . . . But there was a big difference between appreciating a fact and seeing that terrible truth in motion.
The Blackstaff itself pulsed and shimmered with shadowy power, and I got the sudden sense that the thing was alive, that it knew its purpose and wanted nothing more than to be used, as often and as spectacularly as possible.

Does the blackstaff have any powers that relate to the dead?
Other than making people dead?  Really, that's kind of the point [Crowd Laughs]  Really but the staff itself what it really does is it keeps Eb sane while he's doing insane things.  Lucky him, he gets to deal with a hideously guilty conscious and nightmares later, but that's better than later being like *Muahahahahahahahaha*  Which is sort of the other option if your going to go around using magic like that. 

The Blackstaff itself pulsed and shimmered with shadowy power, and I got the sudden sense that the thing was alive, that it knew its purpose and wanted nothing more than to be used, as often and as spectacularly as possible.
I also saw veins of venomous black begin to ooze their way over the old man’s hand, reaching up slowly, spreading to his wrist. He grimaced and held his left forearm with his right hand for a moment, then looked over his shoulder and said, “All right!”

That was when I realized a couple of things.
The silver energy construct that had gripped the Denarian was gone.
And I couldn’t feel my right hand.
I looked down in a panic, but found that it was still there, at least, flopping loosely at the end of my arm. I couldn’t feel anything below my wrist. My fingers were slightly curled and didn’t respond when I told them to move.

The farthest grey figure, tall and lean, lifted his staff. I saw light gleam off of metal at one end of the staff, and then green lightning enfolded the length of wood as he thrust the metal end into the ground. He took the staff back—but the twisting length of green lightning stayed. He drove the staff down again about six feet away, and again lightning sheathed it. Then he removed the staff, reversed his grip on it, and with a sweep of his arm drew another shaft of lightning between the two upright columns of electricity, bridging the gap.

According to the Heimskringla, Harald Hardrada flew a raven banner called Landøyðan or "Land-waster"; whether this was the same banner as that flown by Sigurd of Northumbria is unclear. In a conversation between Harald and King Sweyn II of Denmark,
Sveinn asked Haraldr which of his possessions of his he valued most highly. He answered that it was his banner (merki), Landøyðan. Thereupon Sveinn asked what virtue it had to be accounted so valuable. Haraldr replied that it was prophesied that victory would be his before whom this banner was borne; and added that this had been the case ever since he had obtained it. Thereupon Sveinn said, "I shall believe that your flag has this virtue if you fight three battles with King Magnús, your kinsman, and are victorious in all."[29]
Years later, during Harald's invasion of England, Harald fought a pitched battle against two English earls outside York. Harald's Saga relates that when King Haraldr saw that the battle array of the English had come down along the ditch right opposite them, he had the trumpets blown and sharply urged his men to the attack, raising his banner called Landøyðan. And there so strong an attack was made by him that nothing held against it.[30]

Harald's army flew the banner at the Battle of Stamford Bridge, where it was carried by a warrior named Frírek. After Harald was struck by an arrow and killed, his army fought fiercely for possession of the banner, and some of them went berserk in their frenzy to secure the flag. In the end the "magic" of the banner failed, and the bulk of the Norwegian army was slaughtered, with only a few escaping to their ships.[31]

According to the Orkneyinga Saga, it was made for Sigurd the Stout by his mother, a völva or sorceress. She told him that the banner would "bring victory to the man it's carried before, but death to the one who carries it."

I also saw veins of venomous black begin to ooze their way over the old man’s hand, reaching up slowly, spreading to his wrist. He grimaced and held his left forearm with his right hand for a moment, then looked over his shoulder and said, “All right!”

A tattered-looking raven crouched on a nearby branch, its bead-black eyes gleaming.
"Cheery," Elaine said.
"Yeah. Very Baskerville." The carriage started up again, and I looked back to see it vanishing into the mist. "Okay. Where to now?"
At my words the raven let out a croaking caw. It shook itself, bits of moldy feather drifting down, and then beat its wings a few times and settled on another branch, almost out of sight.
"Harry," Elaine said.
"Yeah?"
"If you make any corny joke using the word 'nevermore,' I'm going to punch you. Do you understand me?"
"Never more," I confirmed. Elaine rolled her eyes. Then we both started off after the raven.
It led us through the cloudy landscape, flitting silently from tree to tree. We trudged behind it until more trees began to rise in the mist ahead of us, thickening. The ground grew softer, the air more wet, cloying. The raven let out another caw, then vanished into the trees and out of sight.

The lights turned out to be a pair of lit windows in a cottage that stood by itself on a slight rise of ground. Stone obelisks the size of coffins, some fallen and cracked and others still upright, stood scattered in loose rings around the mound. The raven rested on one of them, its beady eyes gleaming. It let out another croaking sound and flew through an open window of the cottage

A raven or crow is more than affiliated with death or a symbol thereof; its considered a psychopomp or a being which helps guide the way between the land of the living and the land of the dead.

Regarding the Raven Banner angle, consider the Stormcrow Banner that appears in the Codex Alera.  In that case, it isn't directly tied to a Celtic legendary object, but I'd be shocked if it wasn't a deliberate callback.  At a minimum, this should establish that JB is familiar with the right legends.

I'm going to keep this somewhat indirect to avoid CA spoilers, but one of the Imperial military symbols on banners is an eagle.  At a significant point, one of those banners ends up getting blasted by a gout of flame that chars the threads of the eagle, making the bird-shape all black.  The legion associated with that banner decides the banner is lucky and refuses to repair it, and they are given the name "the Stormcrows."

Crows/ravens are a major symbolic element of death (possibly the biggest one) in CA, and they appear in considerable numbers over any battlefield.  It's noted at one point that you can predict how major/bloody a particular battle will be by the size of the murder that appears in the skies.  Also, "crows" is a common expletive used in the series.  In context, adopting "Stormcrows" as your legion nickname is approximately as ballsy as picking "Legion of Death."

The place was all one room. The floor was wooden, though the boards looked weathe Red and dry. Shelves stood against the stone walls. A loom rested in the far corner, near the fireplace, a spinning wheel beside it. Before the fireplace sat a rocking chair, occupied, squeaking as it moved. A figure sat in it, shrouded in a shawl, a hood, as though someone had animated a bundle of blankets and cloth. On the hearth above the fireplace sat several sets of teeth, more or less human-sized. One looked simple enough, all white and even. The next was rotted-looking, with chipped incisors and a broken molar. The next set had all pointed teeth, stained with bits of rusty brown and what looked like rotten bits of flesh stuck between them. The last was made out of some kind of silvery metal, shining like a sword.

When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, "Come and see!" I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.

• iron teeth = sword
• rotted-looking = plague
• pointed teeth = wild beast
• simple enough, all white and even = famine

Preface:

Small Favor is another of those books where something is going on in the background, and I've been trying to come up with a theory to explain it all.  I've come up with something, but I don't feel it is quite as solid as what I have for Proven Guilty, but I still think it is worth sharing.  As such, I am going to build up to the theory one block at a time, so that even if the full story is not perfect, at least the individual building blocks may encourages other to come up with their own insights.

Here goes (deep breath):

1) Is Mab being played, or is she the "player"?

We are told in Small Favor that the whole "Harry is predictable" explains how the Denarian's plan to capture the Archive isn't crazy.  However, there still is a critical point missing -- they would have had to predict that Mab would:
a) Choose to rescue Marcone, and
b) Choose Harry as Emissary in this task. 

Now, one could say that Harry would have investigated Marcone's abduction without Mab's intervention, but I'll deal with that chain of logic later on. 

Instead, consider the notion of trying to get Mab to do what you want.  Yes, she is predictable (i.e. no free will), but then so is that world-champion-chess-playing-computer-program.  Sure, if you study the algorithms it uses you can predict what it might do at any given position, but lets see you beat it at a game of chess....  With Mab it is much worse.  Not only do you need to be able to understand her thought-processes in an intimate manner, you also need access to every piece of information she uses to make those decisions - and she has *lots* of ways of gathering information.

Thus, if it's a choice between Mab being played, or Mab playing a game on someone else -- my money is on Mab.  If you limit the choice to "Denarians playing Mab" or "Mab playing the Denarians", I certainly know who I'm betting on.  The only way I could see Mab being played is if was someone like Titania or an Archangel playing on the other side.  I personally believe Titania is working hand in hand with Mab, but that is a subject for a different post (see here for my thoughts on that issue).

Two more points that can be read as supporting Mab:

a) Harry notes (end of chapter 7), that the first set of gruffs were sent by Titania hours before Marcone was attacked, and that this was in response to Mab declaring Harry to be her Emissary in this case. Note also that in this WoJ he says (emphasis mine):

Quote

The first are just the newer gruffs, those most recent from being Changelings.  They attacked Harry simply because Mab declared that she had chosen him as her emissary.

This essentially means that Mab made the first move.

b) At the Shedd, Harry realizes what is going on, flings Nicodemus into a wall and runs inside the descending uber-circle, but first has time to smash Namshiel with a soul-hand a couple of times.  Nic has shown that he has pretty good powers of recuperation, and yet he doesn't make it inside the Pentagram on time.  In fact, Tessa even comments about it.  You'd think Nic could have made it back in time... 

What I find further interesting is that Nic doesn't even try to run interference on the outside.  I mean, you've got wounded Gard and Hendricks (whom they need to capture for torture purposes -- to convince Marcone to take up a coin), and even two juicy Knights.  Sure, Nicodemus is a cautious fellow, but it didn't stop him from flying back to the train to kill attack Michael back in Death Masks. 

To me this suggests that the conversation with Harry in the Shedd really shocked Nic to the core.  All of a sudden, he realizes that something else is going on, and maybe he is being played somehow.  Consequently, he quietly hedges his bets and exists the scene. 

I realize this doesn't automatically mean that Mab is calling the shots (Nicodemus has also just realized that the Black Court has infiltrated his ranks), but...


On to the next point.

2) What advantage does Mab get by choosing Harry as Emissary?

Would Harry really have gone and tried to save Marcone if Mab hadn't chosen him to be Emissary (with the Archive being brought in, etc.)?  If the answer is "yes", then why did she choose him in the first place?  Having Harry as Emissary only adds on the apparent liability of causing Summer's goons to start chasing him, followed by the necessity of removing Fire from his arsenal of weapons.

Some thoughts:

a) Would Harry have been able to call in the Archive to arbitrate without the threat of Mab removing permission for the White Council to use the "ways"? 
b) Would Harry have even moved to save Marcone if not coerced by Mab?  The conversation he has with Thomas shows he might not have.
c) Even if Harry intended to investigate the building, note that he wasn't aware that Marcone was actually inside the building during the attack until Mab showed him in the ice-movie she made.  He might not have moved quickly enough, maybe even stopped at Mrs. Demeter's "Marcone is busy" routine.

Then there is also this quote from the book that need to be resolved:

Quote

I didn’t want to think too hard about that, and I didn’t want to openly agree with her, either. So instead I nodded at the patch of ground where the sculptures had been. “Who took Marcone?”
“I do not know. That is one reason I chose you, Emissary. You have a gift for finding what is lost.”
“If you want me to do this for you, I’m going to need to ask you some questions,” I said.
Mab glanced up, as if consulting the stars through the still-falling snow. “Time, time, time. Will there never be an end to it?” She shook her head. “Wizard child, the hour has nearly passed. I have duties upon which to attend-as do you. You should rise and leave this place immediately.”

The simple explanation here is that Mab really doesn't know who took Marcone, but I find it hard to believe that with all her information-gathering resources she couldn't figure it out something about the attackers.

Examples:

a) Usage of an uber-pentegram that Harry ultimately calculates would require an arch-angel to empower.
b) She could see inside the building the Marcone was hiding in, you'd think she'd be able to see the inside of the car he was taken in.
c) Smell of hellfire -- big giveaway.

Note also that when Harry wants to ask more questions, she brushes him off with the gruff threat (not that those gruff can pose any threat while Mab is standing right there).

Thing is, Mab cannot lie, so maybe she doesn't know exactly who took Marcone.  I'll bet she has a darn good guess though.

-->

To me, the takeaway is that if we assume that Mab is the one calling the shots, then somehow, getting the Archive involved must be part of the plan.

3) The Hob attack

The Hob attack is another weird event.  On the face of it, it seems like an attempt to abduct or kill the Archive, but in fact, I find it hard to believe that gang of Hobs would be a reasonable threat to her.  This is after all a being that is at least as powerful as one of the Faerie Ladies (according to the underestimation of the Warden files), and we see her hold off a horde of Denarians without much trouble.  Add to this Kincaid and Luccio, (and possibly also Harry and Michael - Mab must be keeping tabs on her Emissary), and using a bunch of Hobs for such an operation seems downright stupid -- which Mab is not.  At the very last resort, Ivy could retreat into the Nevernever...

Thus, I suggest that if Mab really wanted to kill the Archive, she could (and would) have easily assembled a way more powerful force (e.g. sending Santa to abduct the child Archive would have been a cool twist), one that would have a better chance at overpowering the Archive and her protectors..

So if the Hob attack was not meant to kill the Archive, what was its purpose?

One possible answer is that all this is simply "warning shot" for the Archive.  Sending a bunch of Hobs to attack her is essentially Mab's way of telling her "Someone is up to no good. Take extra precautions."  One could even say that those clothes thrown around the aquarium to obscure Ivy's smell is a precuation taken by Kincaid as a direct result of this obscure warning. 

4) The Shedd

I've already mentioned Nic's tardiness, but here's another interestingly shaped puzzle piece:

Uriel gives Harry access to Soulfire in this scene (presumably as a reward for resisting Lash), but we need to remember that the only reason he could intervene in this manner on the first place is because Hell had already intevened in the form of the uber-pentegram.  In fact, if you take events in strict linear time, the Soulfire-hand takes place before the second uber-pentegram actually materializes, and so this intervention has to "counterbalance" the first pentegram (the one used to capture Marcone).

Basically it boils down to this:  If Mab wants her future Knight to get access to soulfire, she needs to offer enough bait in front of the Denarians to entice them to break certain cosmic laws -- thus allowing Uriel to counterbalance them with the offer of Soulfire.  Good enough motive for Mab to set all this up?

Another interesting point about the Shedd is that it seems that Harry actually messed up here by charging into the Circle.  Consider that the uber-pentagram couldn't stay up that long; in our timeline it comes down maybe seconds after the Archive is abducted (remember also that Denarians express a worry onscreen that might not be able to find Ivy in time).  If:

a) Harry had never realized Nic was stalling him.
b) Harry had not gotten up the nerve to charge into the Circle.
c) Harry had the sense to stay hidden longer and not take a cheap shot at Tessa.
d) Ivy didn't care about Harry enough to save him at the expense of her freedom --

Kincaid and Ivy might have been able to run out the time on the Circle and Ivy would never have been abducted.  Once the Circle came down, it would have been a BAD DAY to be a Denarian...

Basically, Harry's good intentions -- i.e. his humanity messed up here.

5)The Island

There are a bunch of interesting things that happen on the Island - not the least of which is the encounter with "Eldest", but I'd like to focus on Harry's "Second Sight" starts coming on, the indication that the Island will be important to his future. 

Take a look at this WoJ:

Quote

How strong is Demonreach compared to Mab, Nicodemus, and all the other antagonists Harry faces?
That’s depending on where you stand. Like literally your GPS coordinates. If you’re in the right spot, don’t mess with Demonreach, and if you’re not, who cares. He’s one of those situations. If you want to go out to that island and play, you better bring your A game, is the way it works out.

...It almost sounds like Demonreach could win an arm-wrestling contest with MAB if she ever came to visit.

Given that Harry has just found out that Demonreach will be important to his future, I think it makes sense that Demonreach also got some indication that Harry was an important figure in its future at the same time...   

Demonreach as an ally (through her future Winter Knight) is certainly a plus for Mab.

EDIT: 

Here's another interesting point:  If the Denarian's original plan was only to abduct Marcone, they didn't really need to build that holding cell on the island.  Thus, if one of Mab's original goals was to introduce Harry to Demonreach, dangling Archive-shaped bait in front of the Denarians is the perfect way do so.  It is the only place in the area that would have the ley-line confluence to be able to build a cell to hold her for any long period of time.  Under Mab's original plan, Ivy would have escaped being captured the Shedd, and then she and Harry would have traveled to the island to free Marcone. 

"Mr. Dresden please meet Demonreach.  Demonreach please meet Dresden."




------------------------------------------------------------>
Let's put all these points together into some coherent narrative:
------------------------------------------------------------>

1) Ever since the events of PG, Mab has been trying to gather allies, gain power against the BC, and get revenge on those who invaded her realm.

2) She knows that the Denarians have long been concocting a plan to abduct Marcone and give him a coin (maybe once he became a Freeholder?).  The notion of capturing Ivy is not in their plans yet. So she makes her move.

3) Mab chooses Harry as emissary - hours before the actual attack takes place.  Maybe just as Demeter tells them about the safe house.  Using a super-pentegram is still not in the picture.

4) Now that Harry is emissary, the Denarians realize that they have a chance of bagging Ivy as well.

5) They hastly change their plans.  The uber-pentegram is not strictly needed to capture someone like Marcone, but they decide to use it anyway - to test it out before using it on Ivy.  It's a last minute change to the plan, but Nic feels the risk is worth prize.

6) Thus, in the initial parley with Harry (when Tessa offers him mantis-smex), the Denarians only "fake attack" (good acting there, sacrificing Akariel...).  The real intention is to get Harry to call in mediation.  Note that Tessa is very careful to mention the Accords a number of times -- all the more to plant the idea in Harry's head to call in the Archive.

7) Mab tries to warn the Archive that the Denarians are after her by sacrificing some troops.  It's a simple "WARNING" sign from Mab.  Kincaid and Ivy take extra pecautions (such as laying clothes everywhere).  Unfortunatly, Kincaid neglects to pack claymore mines.

8 ) At the Shedd, Nic suddenly realizes that his plan is compromised.  From this point on, he begins hedging his bets (staying back).

9) The fact that the Denarians took the bait and broke the rules testing the pentegram on Marcone, means that Uriel gets to give Harry access to soulfire.  Mab dances a jig.

10) The attack on Ivy goes down, but instead of failing - with the Archive proceeding to pulverise the Denarians in retaliation (as Mab intended), Harry steps in and essentially messes everything up and Ivy gets taken.  Bad for Mab, but...

11) Harry goes to the island to rescue Ivy, and in the process Demonreach notices him -- more potential power for Mab's future Knight.

12) The Archive gets rescued after having been abused, holding an even stronger grudge against the Denarians.  Another ally for Mab in the fight against the Black Council.

13) Mab WINS.

---------------

Final note: read this WoJ, see if it fits:

Quote

The thing is that Mab never really figures Dresden quite right.  She never gets it right when she tries to predict what he will do.  But Small Favor turned out really well for her.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

"Because that Kemmler was a certifiable nightmare," Bob said. "I mean, wow. He was sick, Harry. Evil."
That got my attention. Bob the skull was an air spirit, a being that existed in a world of knowledge without morality. He was fairly fuzzy on the whole good-evil conflict, and as a result he had only vague ideas of where lines got drawn. If Bob thought someone was evil, well… Kemmler must have really pushed the envelope.
"What'd he do?" I asked. "What made him so evil?"
"He was best known for World War One," Bob said.
"The whole thing?" I demanded.
"Mostly, yeah," Bob said. "There were about a hundred and fifty years of engineering built into it, and he had his fingers into all kinds of pies. He vanished at the end of hostilities and didn't show up again until he started animating mass graves during World War Two. Went on rampages out in Eastern Europe, where things were pretty much a nightmare even without his help. Nobody is sure how many people he killed."
"Stars and stones," I said. "Why would he do something like that?"
"A wild guess? He was freaky insane. Plus evil."
"You say 'was,'" I said. "Past tense?"
"Very," Bob said. "After what the guy did, the White Council hunted him down and wiped his dusty ass out in 1961."
"You mean the Wardens?"
"I mean the White Council," Bob said. "The Merlin, the whole Senior Council, the brute squad out of Archangel, the Wardens, and every wizard and ally the wizards could get their hands on."
I blinked. "For one man?"
"See above, regarding nightmare," Bob said. "Kemmler was a necromancer, Harry. Power over the dead. He had truck with demons, too, was buddies with most of the vampire Courts, every nasty in Europe, and some of the uglier faeries, too. Plus he had his own little cadre of baby Kemmlers to help him out. Apprentices. And thugs of every description."
"Damn," I said.
"Doubtless he was," Bob said. "They killed him pretty good. A bunch of times. He'd shown up again after the Wardens had killed him early in the nineteenth century, so they were real careful the second time. And good riddance to the psychotic bastard."
I blinked. "You knew him?"
"Didn't I ever tell you?" Bob asked. "He was my owner for about forty years."
I stared. "You worked with this monster?"
"I do what I do," Bob said proudly.
"How did Justin get you, then?"
"Justin DuMorne was a Warden, Harry, back at Kemmler's last stand. He pulled me out of the smoldering ruins of Kemmler's lab. Sort of like when you pulled me out of the smoldering ruins of Justin's lab when you killed him. Circle of life, like that Elton John song."

"Maybe," Bob said. "Council records stated that Kemmler had written three books; The Blood of Kemmler, The Mind of Kemmler, and The Heart of Kemmler."

"That you have little time," Mab said. She turned to face me again. "I must do what I might to preserve your life. Know this, mortal: Should Kemmler's heirs acquire the knowledge bound within the Word, they will be in a position to gather up such power as the world has not seen in many thousands of years."
"What? How?"
"Kemmler was"—Mab's eyes grew distant, as if in memory— "a madman. A monster. But brilliant. He learned how to bind to his will not only dead flesh, but shades—to rend them asunder and devour them to feed his own power. It was the secret of the strength that allowed him to defy all the White Council together."

She might have been as long as a city bus, but Sue, despite her weight, moved with power and grace. As I'd called forth energy-charged ectoplasm to clothe the ancient bones, they had become covered in sheets of muscle and a hide of heavy, surprisingly supple quasi-flesh. She was dark grey, and there was a ripple pattern of black along her head, back, and flanks, almost like that of a jaguar. And once I had shaped the vessel, I had reached out and found the ancient spirit of the predator that had animated it in life.
Animals might not have the potential power of human remains. But the older the remains, the more magic can be drawn to fill them—and Sue was sixty-five million years old.
She had power. She had power in spades.

I found those spirits, reached out and touched them, one by one.
“Memorium,” I whispered. “Memoratum. Memortius.”
Energy rushed out of me. I shoved it out as fast as it would go, and I gave it to them. To the lost ones. The seduced, the betrayed, the homeless, the helpless. All the people the vampires had preyed on, through the years, all the dead I could reach. I reached out into the turmoil Bianca and her allies had created, and I gave those wandering shades power.
The house began to shake.

I gripped the wooden grain of my staff, recalling the feelings that had surged through me when I had summoned and bound the Lecters. I called on my memories one more time. I called up the ache of sore muscles after a hard workout, and the sheer physical joy of my body in motion during a run, walking down the street, sinking into a hot bath, swimming through cool water, stroking over the softness of another body beside mine. I thought of my favorite old T-shirt, a plain, black cotton one with 98% CHIMPANZEE written on the chest in white typeset letters. I thought of the creak of my old leather cowboy boots, the comfort of a good pair of jeans. The scent of a wood-smoked grill drifting into my nose when I was hungry, the way my mouth would water and my stomach would growl. I thought of my old Mickey Mouse alarm clock going off too early in the morning, and groaning out of bed to go to work. I remembered the smell of a favorite old book’s pages when I opened them again, and the smell of smoldering motor oil, a staple feature of my old Blue Beetle. I remembered the softness of Susan’s lips against mine. I remembered my daughter’s slight, warm weight in my arms, her exhausted body as limp as a rag doll’s. I remembered the way tears felt, sliding free of my eyes, the annoying blockage of congestion when I had a cold, and a thousand other things—little things, minor things, desperately important things.
You know. Life.
Then I did something fairly nutty, as I gathered the memory for what I was to attempt. I just uttered the spell in plain, old English. The energy seared through my thoughts in a way that would have been damaging to a living wizard, maybe fatal. It seemed appropriate to use it here, and I released whatever power I had left, clothing it in garments of memory, as I murmured the most basic of ideas, the foundation of words and of reality.
“Be.”

Given the way my life has typically progressed, I probably should have guessed that What Came Next was pain.
A whole lot of pain.
I tried to take a breath, and a searing burst of agony radiated out from my chest. I held off on the next breath for as long as I could, but eventually I couldn’t put it off anymore, and again fire spread across my chest.
I repeated that cycle for several moments, my entire reality consumed by the simple struggle to breathe and to avoid the pain. I was on the losing side of things, and if the pain didn’t exactly lessen, it did, eventually, become more bearable.
“Good,” whispered a dry, rasping voice. “Very good.”
I felt the rest of my body next. I was lying on something cool and contoured. It wasn’t precisely comfortable, but it wasn’t a torment, either. I clenched my fingers, but something was wrong with them. They barely moved. It was as though someone had replaced my bones and flesh with lead weights, heavy and inert, and my tendons and muscles were too weak to break the inertia. But I felt cool, damp earth crumbling beneath my fingertips.
“Doesn’t seem to bode well,” I mumbled. My tongue didn’t work right. My lips didn’t, either. The words came out a slushy mumble.
“Excellent,” rasped the voice. “I told you he had strength enough.”

Nah, the very foundations of the story worlds--their magic--are fundamentally incompatible.  Potterverse magic is based largely upon the dictates of story drama.  It's irrational, capricious, finicky, and generally doesn't make a lot of sense from any rational perspective.  (Flick your wand like THIS not like THAT and say the word like THIS and not like THAT and it works.)  Magic is a force unto itself, a law unto itself, and while it /does/ operate with absolute fidelity and consistency within the story world, it's beholden to no one.

Dresden universe magic is modeled more closely upon physics.  Magic still has to pay attention to fundamental universal laws--such as "matter and energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only rearranged."  The energy for all those magical effects has to come from somewhere.  There ain't no free lunch.

For instance, you could fly someone on a broom in the Dresden universe, but you'd have to be providing the same kind of kinetic energy you'd see from one of those James Bond rocket packs that they fly into the Superbowl from time to time--IE, a buttload.  (Those packs are good for about twenty or twenty five seconds of flight, if I remember correctly, and that's it.)  In the Potter universe, dozens of children who know next to nothing about magic can gad about on brooms in the afternoon for fun and recreation, and no one thinks anything of it.  There's a foundational difference in the approach to how magic interacts with reality.

And yeah, Voldemort wouldn't have graduated high school in the Dresden universe.  Once Tom Riddle started playing with the evil juju, someone in a grey cloak would have shown up to whack off his head and nipped him in the bud.

Unless, of course, someone more highly placed in the Council intervened on Riddle's behalf, and maybe gave the kid a little more guidance and maybe even a chance to choose a different path.  Then, who knows.

Old Tom might up and do something else entirely with all that potentially-dark talent. >

Jim

“I will make this offer exactly once, Dresden,” Evil Bob said quite calmly. He put his other hand on the staff, mirroring me, and I suddenly realized that if he wanted to, he could fling me considerably farther than he had Sir Stuart—assuming he didn’t just ram the staff straight back into my chest and out of my back.
I was suddenly unsure whether the spook squad could take Evil Bob even if they were all right there, Lecters, guardians, and all.
“What offer?” I asked him.
“A relationship,” he replied. “With me.”
Yeah. He actually said it like that.
“Um,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe you could clarify what you mean by a relationship. Because I’ve got to tell you, Bob, I’ve, uh . . . I’ve been hurt.”
The joke missed him completely. I was apparently snarking on the wrong frequency. “In the nature of an apprenticeship,” he said. “You have sound fundamental skills. You are practical. Your ambition is tempered by an understanding of your limits. You have the potential to be an excellent partner.”
“And I’m not flipping insane like the Corpsetaker,” I said.
“Hardly. But your insanities are more manageable,” Evil Bob said, “and you have few self-delusions.” He sniffed. “The Master never favored that creature, in any case. But he would have been interested in you.”

“You were able to manifest after all? Intriguing. You’ve a natural gift for darker magic, I think. My master would have snapped you up in an instant.”

Uriel’s smile blossomed again. “You’ve got it backward, Harry,” he said. “You are a soul. You have a body.”

There were a few more screams, the quick, light sound of frightened feet, and I whirled. I saw someone flee the room from the corner of my eye, but I didn’t get much of a look at them.

“What the hell,” he said, and shook the light a few times. He had his hand on his gun, the restraining strap off, but he hadn’t drawn it yet. Good man. He knew as well as I did that the hotel was going to have far more panicked attendees than potential threats.

“We’ll try mine,” I said, and got the silver pentacle on its chain from around my neck. A gentle whisper and an effort of will and the amulet began to emit a pure, silver-blue light that reached into the darkness around us, burning it away as swiftly as it pressed in, until we could see for maybe fifteen feet around us. Beyond that was just a murky vagueness— not so much a cloud or a mist as a simple lack of light.

struggled to ignore the sounds of frightened people in the dark and focused on my magical senses. I reached out to the cold and the gloom, and found it a vaguely familiar kind of spellworking, though I couldn’t remember precisely where I’d encountered it before.

I nodded once at him, turned, and plunged into the darkness, Rawlins at my back. Screams erupted around us, sometimes accompanied by the sight of stumbling, terrified people. Rawlins nudged them toward the walls, barked at them in a tone of pure paternal authority to stay near them, to move carefully for the exits. The gloom began to press in closer to me, and it became an effort of will to hold up the light in my amulet against it. A few steps more and the air grew even colder. Walking forward became an effort, like wading through waist-deep water. I had to lean against it, and I heard a grunt of effort come out of my mouth. “What’s wrong?” Rawlins asked, his voice tight.

We passed under one of the hotel’s emergency light fixtures, its floodlights only dim orange rings in the murk until my amulet’s light burned the shadows away. “Dark magic,” I growled through clenched teeth. “A kind of ward. Trying to keep me from moving ahead.”

He[Rawlins] gave me an odd look, grabbed an older woman who was passing blindly, and sent her off to follow the wall to the door out. He shivered then, and when he exhaled his breath came out in a long, frosty plume. The temperature had dropped maybe forty degrees in the space of a minute.

I caught my breath a little, and asked, “Anything at Pell’s theater?”

Murphy nodded and crossed the room to pick up two of the candles. “A lot of nothing. Place was locked up tight. Chains on the front doors, and the back door was locked. Sign on the door said they were closed until further notice.”

I grunted. “You’d think Pell would be wild to have the place open, if the convention was providing a significant amount of his income—even if he was in a hospital bed. Hell, especially if he was in a hospital bed.”

“Unless he doesn’t have anyone he trusts to run it for him.”

Two girls, both too young for me to think adult thoughts about, sidled by in black-and-purple clothing and makeup that left a lot of skin bare, their faces painted pale, trickles of fake blood at the corners of their mouths. One of them smiled at me, and she had fangs.

The young woman who entered the bar could have been Lily’s sister. She had the same exotic beauty, the same canted, feline eyes, the same pale, flawless skin. But this one’s hair was worn in long, ragged strands of varying lengths, like a Raggedy Ann doll, each one dyed a slightly different color from frozen seas—pale blues and greens, as though each had borrowed its color from a different glacier. Her eyes were a cold, brilliant shade of green, almost entirely darkened by pupils dilated as though with drugs or arousal. A slender silver hoop gleamed at one side of her nose, and a collar of black leather studded with silver snowflakes encircled the graceful line of her slender throat. She wore sandals and cut-off blue jean shorts—very cut-off, and very tight. A tight, white T-shirt strained across her chest, and read, in pale blue letters stretched into intriguing curves, “YOUR BOYFRIEND WANTS ME.”

She looked young. Young enough to make a man feel guilty for thinking the wrong thoughts, but old enough to make it difficult not to. Her hair had been bound into long dreadlocks, each of them dyed a different shade, ranging from a deep lavender to pale blues and greens to pure white, so that it almost seemed that her hair had been formed from glacial ice. She wore leather pants of dark, dark blue, laced and open up the outside seams from calf to hip. Her boots matched the pants. She wore a white T-shirt tight enough to show the tips of her breasts straining against the fabric, framing the words OFF WITH HIS HEAD. She had hacked the shirt off at the top of her rib cage, leaving pale flesh exposed, along with a glitter of silver flashing at her navel.

Rawlins stared at me for a second and then said, “What the hell is going on?”

There were running footsteps and shouts and cries in the gloom. All of them sounded choked, muffled somehow. One of the two teenaged “vampires” stumbled into the circle of my azure wizard’s light, sobbing.

That is one way to describe it,” Lily said quietly. “I would not, myself, interpret it that way. I had no part in bringing the fetches here—but their presence and their capture of Lady Charity’s daughter presented us with an opportunity to temporarily neutralize the presence of Mab’s forces upon our borders.”

“We,” I murmured. “Maeve is working with you. That was why she showed up at McAnally’s so quickly.”

The third victim had been one of the little vampire girls I’d seen the previous evening. I could only tell because her head had landed facing me. The rest of her was hopelessly intermixed with the other two bodies.

Time resumed its course. The energy that powered the spell fled out of me in another rush, and left me lying on my side, struggling to draw in enough breath. I could feel the spell sizzling down the lines of power for the summoner, and a heartbeat later there was a sense of impact as the spell went home. As it happened, the entities my web touched went abruptly still, the web ceasing its trembling—and then they all surged forward into sudden motion, vanishing from the web, and presumably streaking after the lure.

All but one.