My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding by Charlaine Harris, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Caine, Esther M. Friesner, Susan Krinard, Lori Handeland, L. A. Banks Page A
Authors: Charlaine Harris, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Caine, Esther M. Friesner, Susan Krinard, Lori Handeland, L. A. Banks
Tags: Anthology
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when there wasn't any violence on.
Kirby was on painkillers and groggy, but he told me Georgia hadn't been to see him. I talked to the duty nurse and confirmed that though his family was flying in from Texas to see him, he'd had no visitors since Billy and I left.
Odd.
I thought about mentioning it to Billy, but I didn't really know anything yet, and it wasn't like he needed more pressure.
"Don't get paranoid, Harry," I told myself. "Maybe she's got a hangover, too.
Maybe she ran off with a male stripper." I waited to see if I was buying it, then shook my head. "And maybe Elvis and JFK are shacked up in a retirement home somewhere."
I went to Billy and Georgia's apartment.
They live in a place near the University of Chicago's campus, in a neighborhood that missed being an ugly one by maybe a hundred yards. It still wasn't the kind of place you'd want to hang around outside after dark. I didn't have a key to get in the building, so I pressed buttons one at a time until someone buzzed me in, and took the stairs up.
As I neared the apartment door, I knew that something was wrong. It wasn't like I saw or heard anything, magical or otherwise, but when I stopped before the door I had a nebulous but strong conviction that something bad had gone down.
I knocked. The door rattled and Fell off the lower hinge. It swung open a Few inches, drunkenly, upper hinges squealing. Splits and cracks that had been invisible until the door moved appeared in the wood, and the dead bolt rattled dully against the inside of the door, loose in its setting.
I stopped there for a long second, waiting and listening. Other than the whirring of a window fan at the end of the hall and someone playing an easylistening station on the floor above me, there was nothing. I closed my eyes for a moment and extended my wizard's senses, testing the air nearby for any touch of magic upon it.
I felt nothing but the subtle energy that surrounded any home, a form of naturally occurring protective magic called the threshold. Billy and Georgia's apartment was the nominal headquarters of the Werewolves, and members came and went at all hours. It was never intended to be a permanent homebut there had been a lot of living in the little apartment, and its threshold was stronger than most.
I slowly pushed the door open with my right hand.
The apartment had been torn to pieces.
A futon lay on its side, its metal frame twisted like a pretzel. The entertainment center had been pulled down from the wall, shattering equipment, scattering CDs and DVDs and vintage Star Wars action figures everywhere. The wooden table had been broken in two precisely in its center. One of the halfdozen chairs survived.
The others were kindling. The microwave protruded from the drywall of an interior wall. The door of the fridge had taken out the bookcase across the room.
Everything in the kitchen had been pulled down and scattered.
I moved in as quietly as I couldwhich is pretty damned quiet. I've done a lot of sneaking around. The bathroom looked like someone had taken a chain saw to it and followed up with explosives. The bedroom used to house computers and electronic stuff looked like the site of an airplane crash.
Billy and Georgia's bedroom was the worst of all of them.
Because there was blood on the floor and one wall.
Whatever had happened, I had missed it. Dammit. I wanted to kill something and I wanted to scream in Frustration and I wanted to throw up in Fear For Georgia.
But in my business, that kind of thing doesn't help much.
I went back into the living room. The phone near the door had survived. I dialed.
"Lieutenant Murphy, Special Investigations," answered a professional, bland voice.
"It's me, Murph," I told her.
Murphy knows me. Her tone changed at once. "My God, Harry, what's wrong?"
"I'm at Billy and Georgia's apartment," I said. "The place has been torn apart.
There's blood."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Georgia's missing." I paused and said,
Kirby was on painkillers and groggy, but he told me Georgia hadn't been to see him. I talked to the duty nurse and confirmed that though his family was flying in from Texas to see him, he'd had no visitors since Billy and I left.
Odd.
I thought about mentioning it to Billy, but I didn't really know anything yet, and it wasn't like he needed more pressure.
"Don't get paranoid, Harry," I told myself. "Maybe she's got a hangover, too.
Maybe she ran off with a male stripper." I waited to see if I was buying it, then shook my head. "And maybe Elvis and JFK are shacked up in a retirement home somewhere."
I went to Billy and Georgia's apartment.
They live in a place near the University of Chicago's campus, in a neighborhood that missed being an ugly one by maybe a hundred yards. It still wasn't the kind of place you'd want to hang around outside after dark. I didn't have a key to get in the building, so I pressed buttons one at a time until someone buzzed me in, and took the stairs up.
As I neared the apartment door, I knew that something was wrong. It wasn't like I saw or heard anything, magical or otherwise, but when I stopped before the door I had a nebulous but strong conviction that something bad had gone down.
I knocked. The door rattled and Fell off the lower hinge. It swung open a Few inches, drunkenly, upper hinges squealing. Splits and cracks that had been invisible until the door moved appeared in the wood, and the dead bolt rattled dully against the inside of the door, loose in its setting.
I stopped there for a long second, waiting and listening. Other than the whirring of a window fan at the end of the hall and someone playing an easylistening station on the floor above me, there was nothing. I closed my eyes for a moment and extended my wizard's senses, testing the air nearby for any touch of magic upon it.
I felt nothing but the subtle energy that surrounded any home, a form of naturally occurring protective magic called the threshold. Billy and Georgia's apartment was the nominal headquarters of the Werewolves, and members came and went at all hours. It was never intended to be a permanent homebut there had been a lot of living in the little apartment, and its threshold was stronger than most.
I slowly pushed the door open with my right hand.
The apartment had been torn to pieces.
A futon lay on its side, its metal frame twisted like a pretzel. The entertainment center had been pulled down from the wall, shattering equipment, scattering CDs and DVDs and vintage Star Wars action figures everywhere. The wooden table had been broken in two precisely in its center. One of the halfdozen chairs survived.
The others were kindling. The microwave protruded from the drywall of an interior wall. The door of the fridge had taken out the bookcase across the room.
Everything in the kitchen had been pulled down and scattered.
I moved in as quietly as I couldwhich is pretty damned quiet. I've done a lot of sneaking around. The bathroom looked like someone had taken a chain saw to it and followed up with explosives. The bedroom used to house computers and electronic stuff looked like the site of an airplane crash.
Billy and Georgia's bedroom was the worst of all of them.
Because there was blood on the floor and one wall.
Whatever had happened, I had missed it. Dammit. I wanted to kill something and I wanted to scream in Frustration and I wanted to throw up in Fear For Georgia.
But in my business, that kind of thing doesn't help much.
I went back into the living room. The phone near the door had survived. I dialed.
"Lieutenant Murphy, Special Investigations," answered a professional, bland voice.
"It's me, Murph," I told her.
Murphy knows me. Her tone changed at once. "My God, Harry, what's wrong?"
"I'm at Billy and Georgia's apartment," I said. "The place has been torn apart.
There's blood."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Georgia's missing." I paused and said,
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